“A phone number should be easy to find,” Cal said, settling his lanky frame into a leather chair. “Let me finish up here…” His hands flew across the keyboard for a second and then he turned to me. Cal’s specialty was computer viruses and virus protection, and his skills were highly sought after. He was involved with organizations and people that most of us knew nothing about, and he could hack into almost any system, even the Pentagon’s. It’s why he had a secluded home outside of Pine Junction, west of downtown Denver. He lived a quiet, reclusive life, rarely leaving his home. And he covered his tracks so well, it’s almost as if he didn’t exist.
“I’ve got Deuce’s cell phone number,” I said, handing Cal a piece of paper. “His carrier is Verizon. A little after one a.m. this morning Deuce received a phone call. I want to know who called him, where this person lives, and anything else we can find out about this person.”
“Piece of cake.” His brown eyes glinted and he started humming as he set to work. Tap, tap, tap. When Cal worked at the keyboard it was as if he was effortlessly playing a piano concerto. In seconds he said, “Okay, I’ve got Deuce’s cell phone records.”
I pulled up a folding chair and gazed at the computer screen. “That was fast.”
Cal snorted. “C’mon, that was easy.”
On the screen were Deuce’s phone records.
“That’s great,” I said.
Cal manipulated the mouse for a second, then pointed at the monitor. “Here’s the list of calls Deuce received in the last twenty-four hours.”
I scooted my chair closer and stared at the monitor. Deuce had received six calls since noon on Friday.
“Recognize any of them?” Cal asked.
“This one is Ace,” I said, pointing to a number. “That was this morning.”
“What time was the call you’re wondering about?”
“One a.m. or so.”
“Right here.” Cal highlighted part of the screen with the mouse. “The call lasted thirty-two seconds. Here’s the number that called Deuce.”
Cal rattled it off and I jotted it down, along with the other numbers.
“Let me call it,” I said, grabbing my phone and dialing the number. It rang for a moment and then a generic message came on. “No name.” I set the phone down. “Can you figure out who owns this number?”
Cal looked at me askance. “Does the pope live in Rome?”
“Technically, he lives in Vatican City.”
“Whatever,” Cal said. “Give me a minute.”
“And can we listen to any messages left on his phone?”
Cal nodded and he set to work again. The screen flickered as windows popped up and closed with dizzying speed.
“How are things with you and Willie?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the screen. I grinned. He stopped and turned to me. “What?”
“She spent the night last night.”
“No kidding?”
“Hey, keep working.” I waved at the screen.
“Sorry.” Cal focused again, but a smile spread across his face. “You and Wille…about time.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t had a chance to savor it.” I’d hardly had time to think about the last twelve hours because of Deuce. “I’ll tell you what, if this is some practical joke that Deuce is playing…”
“You think he’d do that?”
I frowned. “No, that’s the problem. He tells Ace everything.” I stood up, irritated. “I’m going to get a drink,” I said. “You want anything?”
Cal barely shook his head as he declined. He was in the zone, murmuring as he worked. I left him alone and wandered into the kitchen, searching for something with caffeine in it. I grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator, opened it and took a long swig while I gazed out the kitchen window. Cal’s house was built on a gentle slope that afforded gorgeous views of the Rocky Mountains. On a distant ridge the sun hit a green and gold grove of aspen, and it was like looking at a painting. Sadly, a sight like this one was wasted on Cal because he was almost always in front of his computer. I smiled to myself and went back to the office.
“…Vatican City…knew what I meant,” Cal muttered under his breath as I sat back down.
“Let it go, big guy,” I said, punching his arm.
“Uh huh. I should quit helping you out.”
“Aw, you love it.”
“As long as you don’t drag me out of this house to help you.”
“It’s good for you,” I said. Somehow I’d managed to get Cal’s assistance on a couple of my cases, assistance that required him to leave the safety of his house.
Cal’s lips curled into a smile.
“Admit it,” I ordered.
Cal laughed. “Okay, it was kind of fun. But not again. And…” he paused for effect. “There was only one message on his phone, from Ace, left this morning. And here’s the name registered to the number that called Deuce at one a.m. Gary Granderson. Here.” Cal handed me a piece of paper. “Now you know what he looks like.”
“How’d you get that?” I asked.
“I found his driver’s license photo and printed it.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask how.”
I studied the picture. Gary stared with cold blue eyes at the camera, no smile, trying to appear tough. It reminded me of a mug shot. His long brown hair was thinning on top, and he weighed 160 at the time the license was issued. “So Gary, what were you doing calling Deuce at one in the morning?”
“Unless someone else used Gary’s phone to call Deuce.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Highly unlikely, don’t you think?”
“True.”
“What can you tell me about Gary?”
“He’s twenty-eight, never married, no kids. High school diploma. Here’s his address.” Cal highlighted a portion of the monitor.
“He lives off of Evans and Santa Fe, west of the DU campus,” I said, referring to the University of Denver. “What else can you tell me about him?”
“Does he have a record, that kind of thing?”
“Yes.”
Cal’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “He had a DUI two years ago, he’s had a couple of speeding tickets, and he was arrested for assault three years ago. He works at Criss Cross Construction.”
“That was a great movie,” I said as I continued jotting notes.
“What?”
“Criss Cross. It’s a movie starring Burt Lancaster, and it was Tony Curtis’ screen debut.”
“And one of your favorite noir, right?” Cal and I’d been friends since grade school and he knew of my love of all things film noir.
“It’s a classic,” I said. “Lancaster gets involved in a love triangle, then commits a robbery and gets shafted by his partners.”
“He gets criss-crossed,” Cal laughed.
“Yeah,” I said. I sat back in my chair. “Deuce works in construction.”
“How much you want to bet Gary and Deuce work together?”
I shook my head. “I won’t take that bet.”
“What do you think Gary wanted with Deuce?”
“Good question,” I said.
“You think Deuce is in real trouble?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “It’s not like him to up and leave and not tell anyone. But it’s not like him to get into trouble, either.”
“You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
I met Cal’s gaze. “Yeah, I guess I am.” I realized that even though I teased the Goofball Brothers, we’d become good friends, and I didn’t want to see anything bad happen to them.
“I’m here to help,” Cal said.
“You already have,” I said, tapping my notes. “I think it’s time for me to pay Gary a visit and find out why he called Deuce.”
“It’s about lunchtime,” Cal said. “You want something to eat? I’ve got leftovers.”
I glanced at a plate of dried-out bread crusts. “Thanks, but I’ll get a bite somewhere.”
“Suit yourself.” Cal turned back to the com
puter. “Let me know when you find Deuce. And tell your mom hello from me.” My mom loves Cal, and she treats him almost like a son.
“I will,” I said and left him to his work.
Chapter Five
As I headed down Highway 285 back toward Denver, I called Ace.
“Hey, hear anything from Deuce?” I asked, even though I knew Ace would’ve called if he’d heard from his younger brother.
“No, Reed. Not a word. Willie and Bob called all the hospitals in the area but Deuce isn’t at any of them.”
“That’s good, at least he’s not hurt.” Granted, Deuce could be hurt, or worse, somewhere else, but why mention that to Ace? “Have any of his friends heard from him or know where he might be?”
“No one’s talked to him in a few days,” Ace said. “What did you find out?”
“A guy named Gary Granderson called Deuce after you guys left the bar,” I said. “Have you ever heard Deuce mention him?”
“I don’t think so,” Ace said slowly.
“Next question: where does Deuce work?”
“Criss Cross Construction.”
Bingo. “Gary and Deuce work together,” I said.
“So why would Gary call Deuce so late?”
“I’m on my way to Gary’s now, to ask him that very thing.”
“I hope he knows something,” Ace said. “I’m really getting worried.”
Me, too, but I didn’t say so. “I’m sure Deuce is fine. Maybe he went over to Gary’s to have a few more drinks and he’s too hung over to come home.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Ace wasn’t convinced. Neither he nor Deuce was a big drinker.
“Are Willie and Bob still there?”
“Bob had to go home and get ready for work, but Willie’s still here.”
“That’s nice of her to stay.”
“Yeah,” he said. Relief laced his voice. He clearly didn’t want to be alone.
“Can I talk to her?”
I heard Ace mumbling something and then Willie’s voice burst through the phone. “Hey, handsome, what’s going on?” she asked, trying for cheery but not quite succeeding.
“I’m still out detecting.” I filled her in on everything.
“Let’s hope Gary can tell us what’s going on,” she said when I’d finished, “and where Deuce is.”
“That would be good.”
“What else can I do?”
I thought for a moment. “Nothing, really. Keep Ace company if he still wants it.”
“I’ll stay,” she said. “We’ve been watching an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, trying to keep from worrying.” She lowered her voice. “He doesn’t know what to do without Deuce around.”
“If anything would help, it’d be Arnold.” Schwarzenegger was Ace’s favorite actor.
“Are you coming back after you see Gary?”
“I want to go by B 52’s and see if anyone saw him come back.”
“Will they be open?”
“Yes. It’s Saturday and there’s a Rockies game tonight, so they’ll be open.” B 52’s was located near Coors Field, where the Colorado Rockies baseball team played, and many fans stopped at the bar before and after games. “I’ll head home after that.”
“How about we order a pizza, and Ace can join us if he wants.”
“Works for me,” I said.
I hung up and turned on the radio. I love 80’s music, and The Smiths, a great British alternative rock band, are one of my favorites. I had their singles collection loaded up, and while “Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now” played, my mind wandered over what I’d found out, which was next to nothing. I was feeling a little miserable myself, at my lack of progress. I tried to enjoy the drive – fall in the mountains of Colorado is spectacular, with golden aspen groves dotting the hillsides – but my concern for Deuce overshadowed that.
I drove out of the foothills and stayed on Highway 285, a north-south highway that actually meandered east and west through Denver. I exited on Federal, drove north to Evans, and then east. Gary Granderson lived in an older Denver neighborhood that was an eclectic mix of homes, some nicely kept up, others shabbier. It was a quarter past two when I turned onto Acoma Street. The houses were small one-story, most with small lawns and alley garages. And right in the middle of the street sat a rundown duplex. The two units were connected by two single-car garages that shared a driveway. Tan paint peeled from the siding and faded sheer curtains covered the front window of the south unit, where Gary lived. I parked my 4Runner on the street and walked past a dried-out lawn to the front porch. I rang the bell and waited. It couldn’t have been a better day, the air warm but not stifling, and I wondered if maybe Gary was out enjoying it. After a minute, I pushed the button again, listening for a bell sound. Nothing. I banged on an aluminum door that had jagged rips in the screen. A moment later I heard footsteps and then the inner door opened.
“Yeah?” The man in front of me was average height, but muscles bulged through a tee shirt stained with grease spots and dirt. And, unlike the driver’s license photo, this man had a shaved head. Colorful tattoos covered his arms, starting at his wrists and disappearing under his shirtsleeves.
“Gary?”
“Yeah?” he repeated. It came out in a rush, as if he was irritated, in a hurry to get back to the college football game that I could hear playing in the other room.
“My name is Reed Ferguson and I’m a friend of Deuce Smith.” Gary stared at me through the screen. The smell of cigarette smoke and beer lingered in the air. “You know Deuce, right?”
“Don’t think I do,” he said. The television volume in the other room grew louder, crowd noise, and Gary glanced over his shoulder.
I eyed him for a second. “You work with him.”
“It’s a big company.” Gary ran a hand over his bare skull. “Maybe he’s on a different job than me.”
“You know him.” I pulled open the screen door. “You’ve even called him.”
Gary scratched his stomach as he surveyed me. “Maybe I’ve seen him around. Maybe I’ve called him. So?”
“Deuce went out to play pool last night and he never came home. You talked to him last night and I’m wondering if you know where he went or what might have happened to him.”
Something flashed in his eyes, a wariness. “I didn’t talk to him,” he said, a bit too quickly.
“Yes, you did. You called him. Deuce’s brother was with him, and he overheard the call.”
“Wait a minute.” He took a step back, puzzled, but also cautious. “I didn’t call Deuce last night.”
I pressed him hard. “You called him at about one this morning.”
“No, I didn’t.” His face turned to stone. “I hardly know him.”
“I have Deuce’s phone records. He received a call from you at about one.”
Gary stared at me.
“Trying to think of a lie?” I finally asked.
“How do you have his phone records? You the cops or something?”
“I’m his friend, but I’m also a private investigator.”
“No way you could get his phone records legally.”
“How I got them doesn’t matter,” I said, hoping to deflect his very astute comment. “I’m just trying to find Deuce. It’s not like him to not tell anyone where he went.”
“Listen, pal.” Gary straightened up and crossed his arms, challenging. “I didn’t call Deuce last night and I haven’t seen him in I don’t know how long. I don’t know where he is, either.”
Something Cal said popped into my brain. I leaned against the screen, casually, so he’d know I wasn’t intimidated. “Did you loan your phone to anyone?”
“Of course not,” he snapped.
“Then how do you explain your number showing up on Deuce’s phone?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“How about letting me see your phone?”
“What for?” he asked, an edge in his voice.
“So I can see the phone history,” I
said, even though I knew he could’ve deleted Deuce’s number from the phone. I just wanted to see his reaction – the coldness remained, but he was confused as well.
“Dude, take a hike,” Gary said, slamming the door in my face.
“What a nice guy,” I said. I turned away and let the screen door bang shut behind me. I walked slowly back to the 4Runner and got in. I turned the key and rolled down the window as I gazed at the house. Was it my imagination or did the curtains move slightly?
I waited and watched. It was my turn to play the intimidation card. Let him know I didn’t buy his story, that I’d keep on him. My stomach growled. I’d not eaten breakfast and now it was past lunch. A burger sounded good. I was debating where to get some fast food when the front door flew open and Gary stormed out onto the lawn. “Get outta here or I’ll call the cops,” he hollered at me. It was most likely an empty threat as I didn’t get the sense Gary would want the police around, but I figured I’d gotten under his skin enough. I smiled and waved as I put the car in gear. Gary flipped me off. I pulled out and slowly drove off down the street.
I mulled over the conversation as I headed for a bite to eat. Gary seemed genuinely surprised that Deuce’s phone had his number on it. But if he was telling the truth about not talking to Deuce, then it seemed a good guess that he was lying about lending his phone to someone else, who then called Deuce. But why did he act so confused about that? Good acting to throw me off? And more questions: if Gary didn’t call Deuce, who did? Why was Gary evasive about that? If he didn’t call Deuce, why did someone else use his phone to call Deuce? I’d worked myself into a mystifying circle I couldn’t follow anymore…
I’d wasted more than half the day and all I’d come up with was that Gary was lying. It wasn’t much. And it didn’t help me find Deuce.
Chapter Six
I arrived at B 52s a little after three and it wasn’t very crowded. Apparently, I’d missed the lunch crowd, and since the Rockies didn’t play until early evening, it was early for the baseball bunch to show up. Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” greeted me as I strolled through wood doors covered with stainless steel, then looked around. I spied a few young guys in shorts and polo shirts playing pool in another room. A couple sat at a table near the front window, sipping beers and watching people walk by. I moseyed up to the bar, where a tall black woman with short dreadlocks was wrestling with a keg and cursing under her breath.
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 3
