Cold Case Reopened

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Chin tilted up and ice in her crystal blue gaze, she said, “If we’ve eliminated Matt, then we move on to the other scenarios, and they include the possibility that Selene is alive, Detective. So what do we do next?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ugh, detective-zoned. Far worse than friend-zoned, but he understood that Gail’s information had upended what had been the most plausible explanation for what had happened to Selene. The others, including that Selene was alive...

  He pushed off the bumper and opened the door for her. Meeting her gaze, he said, “We head back to the pub and speak to Marcus. Maybe he knows more about those two men.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he walked around and eased into the driver’s seat. They were at the pub in no time. Quite a number of vehicles were in the parking lot, since it was almost lunch hour. Jackson parked, and Rhea and he entered. They located Marcus, who once again took them into his office to avoid prying eyes and gossip about Jackson’s visit.

  “How can I help you again?” Marcus asked with a tired sigh as he plopped into his chair.

  “Rough morning?” Jackson asked, inching a brow upward in emphasis.

  “Totally, dude. One of the chefs burned himself pretty bad, and we had a problem with one of the freezers, but I’m handling it,” Marcus advised and skimmed his gaze from Rhea to him and back.

  “You two look like your morning was as bad,” Marcus said.

  “You could say that,” Rhea blurted out.

  Marcus trained his gaze on Jackson, as if asking for his confirmation. Instead, Jackson took the photos from his folder and handed them to his former colleague. “What can you tell us about those two?”

  Marcus shuffled through the photos and then gestured to Rhea with them. “This is your sister in the photos?”

  Rhea nodded. “It is.”

  Marcus let out a low whistle. “You really are identical, aren’t you?”

  “Marcus, focus,” Jackson said, and it brought back memories of working with the other man on the force. Although he’d been a good cop, he’d also been easily distracted.

  “Easy, dude,” Marcus warned and glanced at the photos again before handing them back to Jackson. Fingers laced, he laid his hands across his midsection and said, “They apparently come in every few months.”

  “Have you seen them lately?” Jackson asked.

  Marcus tilted his head to the side and looked upward, searching his memory, and then shook his head. “Come to think of it, no. The staff calls them the ‘Mountain Men.’”

  Rhea jumped in with, “Why is that?”

  With a shrug, Marcus said, “When they first came in, I got bad vibes. I asked the old-timers who gave me the skinny on them. That they seemed like recluses who only came down every few months. Kept to themselves. Creeped out some of the female customers.”

  “In what way?” Rhea asked, her gaze narrowed as she trained it on Marcus.

  “I’m told they’d stare at them. Make comments. I wasn’t around at the time, but they were asked to leave one night and got in the old manager’s face. Pushed him around.”

  “Did you call the police? Is there a report possibly?” Jackson said, hoping that there would be so they might identify the men.

  Marcus shook his head. “Sorry, but they didn’t. It got handled, and no one was hurt.”

  “Do you mind if we ask your staff about them?” Jackson said.

  Marcus frowned. “Dude, we’re just about to start the lunch service. Can I send them to the station later?”

  He glanced in Rhea’s direction. She was bouncing her feet nervously, expectantly. She clearly would prefer to deal with it now as he would, but Marcus had been open and helpful, and he didn’t want to push. Besides, they had things to do at the station anyway.

  “We’ll be there,” he said, earning a quick hard glance from Rhea, but she remained silent.

  “I appreciate that, Jax. I’ll speak to my guys and ask them to go over after their shift. I’ll make a list of who might have info also, just in case.” Marcus stood as if to reinforce it was time for them to go.

  “Just in case?” Rhea asked and stood, her face puzzled.

  Marcus did a quick shrug. “Some of my guys... Let’s just say they’re not fans of the police. But I’ll get them to you, I promise.”

  “Appreciate the help, Marcus. We truly do,” Jackson said.

  Once they were out in the restaurant, Jackson played it up as if to make it seem like their visit had been only a friendly one, since several eyes had turned in their direction. “Thanks for that donation to the PAL fund, Marcus. We truly appreciate it,” he said, his voice loud enough to be overheard by those in the area.

  Marcus smiled and chuckled. “You’re welcome, Jax. Anything for a friend.”

  Rhea went up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheek, truly grateful for his assistance. “Thank you.”

  With a wink and a broad smile, Marcus said, “Anything for you, pretty lady.”

  Rhea returned the grin and suddenly felt the possessive press of Jackson’s hand at the small of her back. Still angry, she glared at him and pushed away, eager to return to the police station. As she had told Jackson earlier, she thought she had seen one of the men at the station.

  She hurried from the pub, the soft soles of her espadrilles creating a dull thud with each quick step. She shoved through the door to the cruiser and didn’t wait for Jackson to do the gentlemanly thing. Grabbing the handle, she waited for the kerthunk to signal that he’d opened the lock, but when it didn’t happen immediately, she turned to find him standing there.

  “What?” she asked, wondering at his delay.

  “I know you’re angry,” he began, but she shut him down with a sharp raise of a brow and the crossing of her arms. She lifted her face to stare at his, her chin tilted in defiance.

  “My possibility is as plausible as any that remain.”

  Jackson jammed his hand on his hips, looked away from her penetrating gaze and sucked in deep breath. Blowing it out sharply, he said, “It is, Rhea. But it’s the one that will bring you the most pain if it proves false. I don’t want you to experience that kind of pain. Again.”

  His words mollified her anger, filled as they were with concern. “I’m a big girl, Jax. While it may be painful if I’m wrong, it brings me comfort to think she might be out there somewhere. To think we might be able to save her from suffering if she’s alive.”

  He nodded, and while she sensed he had more to say, he bit his tongue. Literally, because she could swear she saw him wince before he unlocked the doors and walked around to his side of the cruiser.

  She eased into her seat and buckled up, and Jackson took off for the police station. The trip was short, since Regina wasn’t all that big. As they crossed Main Street, its beauty struck her once again and made her itch to finish the sketch she’d started the other day. When her gaze skimmed to Jackson, the sharp lines of his handsome face stole her breath and roused passion, both to finish his sketch and to be with him again.

  At the station house, the desk sergeant who had been on duty the day Rhea had first come to see the chief was guarding the entrance again. Rhea smiled at her, and at the dip of Jackson’s head, she buzzed them through.

  But Jackson paused right past the barrier and turned to Rhea. “Do you see the officer here who had brought in one of our possible suspects?”

  Rhea gazed around the various desks, looking for the middle-aged officer she thought she had seen with someone who looked like one of the Mountain Men, but she didn’t spot him. But then two officers emerged with coffee from what must have been a break room. She pointed in their direction. “I think that’s him. The one to the left.”

  Jackson nodded and called out to his colleague. “Officer Bellevue. Do you have a moment for us?”

  The officer hurried over. “How can I help?�
�� he said as he shook Rhea’s hand and dipped his head in Jackson’s direction.

  Jackson opened his folder and handed a photo to Officer Bellevue. “Have you seen either of these men before?”

  The man examined it and tapped on the face of one of the men. “Had this one in earlier this week.”

  Jackson shared a hopeful glance with Rhea. “Can you pull your report for us?”

  A bright stain of color erupted across the officer’s face. “I’m sorry, Jax, but I didn’t file one. I brought him in for some minor shoplifting, but the owner said that if he paid for the items, she wouldn’t press charges. He did, so I let him go with a warning.”

  Jackson dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. “You didn’t get a name or address?”

  “I did get a name, although it took some doing. Guy kept on muttering about how his brother would be so mad at him for getting in trouble. He did have a wallet, but no ID. “ Officer Bellevue said and pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket. Flipping through the pages, he stopped at one and said, “Wade Garrett.”

  “Thank you, officer. That’s really helpful,” Rhea said with a smile, trying to ease the officer’s earlier upset about not filing a report.

  “If you need me to run him down—”

  Jackson held up a hand to stop the other man. “Thanks, but we’ll do it. If there’s anything else you can think of, please let us know.”

  “I will, Jax,” he said and walked away to his desk.

  “A name. I guess that’s a start,” Rhea said.

  Since they’d almost made peace after that morning’s upset, Jackson didn’t want to tell her it wasn’t much of a start, especially if the man had provided a fake name. “Let’s go to my office, so we can try to track him down.”

  He laid a hand at her waist and was grateful she didn’t shy away as she’d done before. With gentle pressure, he guided her to his office. Tossing the folder with the photos on his desk, he sat and explained to Rhea what he was doing on his computer. He couldn’t let her see the screen once he logged on to the various police databases since she wasn’t authorized, but he did turn the screen slightly as he added the photos his cousins had retrieved to their digital notebook and also updated the information from Gail Frazier.

  “I’m going to run Wade Garrett through the state and federal databases to see if we get a hit,” he said and moved the screen out of Rhea’s line of sight.

  “Do you think you will?” Rhea asked, worrying her lower lip, her look expectant as she leaned toward him, almost as if urging him to get going.

  Jackson shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He tapped away on the keys while Rhea sat there, almost bouncing up and down in her chair. The records he searched brought up several hits in various court cases, but as he skimmed through the available details it became clear a few of the cases dated to the early 1940s and involved an adult male.

  “Got a few hits involving criminal cases, but the person would be way too old,” he said, but quickly added, “Although it could be a parent.”

  After reviewing the last few entries, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Nothing here, and in Colorado vital records are considered confidential and not online. Plus, that assumes they’re locals, and we don’t know that. I’ll search the DMV records, even though Bellevue said he didn’t have a license. It might mean he just didn’t have it with him.”

  But the DMV search didn’t produce any hits and he advised Rhea of that. “Since that was a bust, I’m going to search through the national criminal databases that are available.”

  “Like which ones?” Rhea asked, craning her neck toward the screen, clearly wanting to be involved.

  While Jackson entered his username and password into the first system, he said, “A whole alphabet soup of databases. NCIC. NICS.”

  A BRIGHT GRIN and chuckle relieved her earlier intensity. “Definitely alphabet soup. Which reminds me that we haven’t had lunch yet.” As if to reinforce her comment, her stomach grumbled noisily and she hastily laid a hand over her midsection to quiet the noise.

  Jackson smiled and with a flip of his hand at the monitor, he said, “This may take a while. There are some chips and things in the break room, but also a nice sandwich shop just a few doors down on Main Street.” He reached into this top desk drawer, found a take-out menu and handed it to her.

  Rhea accepted the menu. The edges were ragged, and the paper was soft, as if it had been handled many times. “I guess you order from there a lot.”

  With a chagrined smile, Jackson said, “You have a lot of late nights in this job. Sandwiches make it easier to eat and work at the same time.”

  “But not healthier, mentally or physically. I’ll take a walk and go get us something.”

  She placed the menu on his desktop, but as she moved away, he raised an index finger. “No salad. I’m allergic to green things.”

  She chuckled as he had intended and shook her head. “Got it. No salad.”

  Hurrying out to the street, she walked toward the center of town, where most of the stores and restaurants were located. She remembered seeing one place that sold pot pies with various fillings. They’d be a nice hearty lunch and force Jackson to take a break from the tedium of searching through the databases.

  The shop had quite an assortment of fillings, from one mimicking a Cuban sandwich to the more traditional chicken and turkey pot pie variations. She chose the chicken for herself, but a chili-style filling for Jackson.

  She had barely gone a block when she got that feeling she was being followed. Turning quickly, she caught a glimpse of someone ducking into a small alley between two of the buildings.

  The hackles rose down her neck and back, and she quickened her pace almost to a run. Turning every now and then to see if she was still being followed. She thought she caught another glimpse of someone as she hit the stairs for the police station, but safety was just a few steps away.

  She stumbled on the last step, almost sending herself tumbling into the glass doors for the station, but she righted herself and managed not to drop their lunch while doing it.

  Bursting through the doors, she immediately drew the attention of the desk sergeant who jumped to her feet, eyebrows knitted with worry. “Are you okay, Rhea?”

  Rhea peered back over her shoulder. No one outside on the steps. Lifting her gaze to glance across the street, she thought she saw a big, bearded man again, one who looked too much like the one in the photos from the pub, but then he vanished.

  Maybe it was all in her imagination. Her mother had told her on more than one occasion that she had a vivid imagination and, of course, it came part and parcel with being an artist.

  “I’m okay. Just a little spooked.”

  The officer glanced past her and out the door, as well. “I’ll buzz you through,” she said after apparently determining that everything was in order.

  “Thanks,” she said and hurried to Jackson’s door.

  He was at work, but looked at her as she walked in. He was immediately in action, coming to her side to take the package and guide her into a chair.

  As he wrapped his arm around her, she realized for the first time that she was shaking.

  “What happened, Rhea? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, drawing her closer and brushing a kiss across her temple.

  She wiggled her head, embarrassed. “Nothing, only... I thought someone was following me.”

  Jackson muttered a curse. “I’m sorry. I should have told you that I had one of our officers trailing you to make sure you were safe.”

  “Maybe that’s why I felt I was being followed,” she said with a shrug, wanting to alleviate the obvious guilt he was feeling.

  “Maybe,” he said, hugged her hard again and skimmed another kiss on her cheek.

  A rough, overly loud cough, drew them apart.

  Sh
e peered over her shoulder to find Jackson’s boss staring at them intently. His face as hard and rough as the stone outcroppings on the mountains around Regina.

  “Am I interrupting something?” the chief said and arched one bushy gray eyebrow.

  “I just had a scare,” Rhea said and slid to one side of her chair to create some distance from Jackson.

  The chief crooked a finger in Jackson’s direction and he rose, then stepped outside his office to speak to his boss. Bodies tilted toward each other, voices low, the two men spoke and, while she was unable to hear, their posture and the few chest pokes the chief gave Jackson said it all. He was clearly not happy with what he had just seen.

  When the other man left, Jackson laid his hands on his hips and looked upward before entering his office and shutting the door for privacy.

  “He’s angry, isn’t he?” she said as Jackson busied himself with removing the pot pies and cutlery from the bag. He ripped the bag open and spread it across the surface of the desk to act like a place mat.

  “Jackson, talk to me,” she said and placed her hand on his forearm to still his angry motion.

  “Chief says I need to wrap this up. We’re wasting too many man hours and resources. I’m letting it get too personal.” His words were clipped and chilly.

  She laced her fingers together and laid her hands in her lap. Peering at them, she said, “I’m sorry, Jax. I know how important becoming chief is to you—”

  “But not more important than justice, Rhea. We’re close. I can feel it,” he said.

  His body was stiff, and he had clearly shut himself off from her, so she decided not to press. They ate in silence, and while the food may have been scrumptious, she didn’t taste a thing thanks to the emotions roiling inside.

  Jackson gobbled his pie down in record time and swung back to his computer. Barely a second later, he returned to his two-fingered pecking at the keyboard. His brow furrowed as he paused, probably to review the information on the screen. That process was repeated over and over while Rhea picked at her pot pie, keeping herself occupied with counting the peas and carrots as she ate to keep from bothering Jackson.