My phone rang. It was Willie. I started to answer, but the cop frowned at me so I shut it off. Maybe now wasn’t the time to chit-chat with my girlfriend, although I hated to miss the call. But then again, she’d want to know what I was doing. Sitting in a cop car, waiting while some detectives check on the dead body I just found. That would go over really well, especially since Willie’s major objection to dating me was that my job was too dangerous. Her father had been a cop, and she’d shared with me worrying whether he’d come home after work each day made for a horrible childhood. She didn’t want to live that way as an adult. Yeah, maybe it was better to miss the call…
I was beginning to think no one wanted to talk to me when the blond emerged from the front door. She gestured at us, so the uniform and I walked up to the porch.
“His name is Reed Ferguson,” the uniform said. “He’s a private dick.” I wasn’t sure if there was a little extra emphasis on the last word. He quickly repeated what I’d said to him, acting as if I wasn’t there.
She nodded when he finished and he stepped away. The brown suit came out, leaned against the wall, took out a notepad and pen, and stared at us.
“I’m Detective Spillman,” she said. Cold, coffee-colored eyes bore through me. She nodded at the suit. “That’s Detective Moore.”
I looked at him and he grunted.
“You’re a private detective?” Spillman asked.
“Yes.”
“Never heard of you,” Moore grunted.
“I haven’t been around long,” I said.
“You called this in,” Spillman said, taking control.
She was so no-nonsense that I avoided any flip comment. “Yes,” was all I said.
“You know the deceased?”
“His name is…was…Gary Granderson. But I don’t really know him.”
“What were you doing here?”
“I came by to talk to Gary, but he didn’t answer the door. I thought maybe he was trying to avoid me, so when he didn’t answer, I went around back. The door was unlocked. I let myself in, and I found the body.”
Succinct, to the point. How could she find any issues with that? Moore took notes while we talked.
“You just let yourself in,” she repeated.
I nodded. Apparently she did have issues with my story. I needed to tread carefully.
“Through the back door?”
Another nod.
“And you found the body.”
“Yes.”
“And you left everything alone, came back outside and called us?”
I tried for nonchalance, like how could I be lying to you? “That’s right.” There was no way I could tell her about the guy who came to the door while I was inside, or they’d find out I was in the house longer than it takes to verify a man is dead.
“You didn’t touch anything?”
I thought about the paper in my pocket. “I checked to make sure he was dead,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Then I called the police.”
She tipped her head up and down, just once. “Uh-huh. So if we find your hair or clothing fibers from your clothes on the body, your checking to make sure he was dead would explain it.”
“I would assume so.”
A bright flash briefly illuminated the doorway. They were taking pictures of the crime scene.
“What’s a private detective, who knows the deceased by name, but doesn’t really know him, doing here?”
“A friend of mine is missing. Gary works with my friend, but he lied to me about it. When I found out he lied, I came back to talk to him.”
“And you found the body.”
“No, I came back yesterday to talk to him again, but he wasn’t at home. This morning I went to their work site, and I found out Gary didn’t show up and no one had heard from him. That’s when I came here and found him.”
“Have you reported your friend missing?”
“Yes.”
Spillman leaned inside. “Spats.”
The other suit materialized. He was flashier than Moore, dressed in sleek black pants, a silk shirt with cufflinks, and polished wing-tipped shoes.
Spillman turned to me. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Deuce Smith.”
She paused for a second. She had to be wondering if I was making up the name. “Check on the report,” she finally said.
He disappeared inside.
“Spats?” I said, eyebrows arched.
“Detective Youngfield,” she said to me.
“Nice nickname,” I murmured.
She ignored that and continued questioning me.
“You said Gary might be avoiding you.”
“I thought he might be,” I said.
“Why?”
“I first came by on Saturday to talk to him, he wasn’t very pleasant.”
“You think he’s hiding something from you, or he has information about your friend?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
Spats stuck his head through the doorway. “There’s a missing-persons report for a Deuce Smith, reported by his older brother.”
Spillman tipped her head again, the single nod.
“So you’re trying to find your friend, you think Gary has something to do with it, and you’ve been around here before.”
“Yes.” I suddenly was unsure of myself. I did a quick mental review of our conversation and I didn’t like where this was headed. I glanced at Moore. He stared back, his face a blank slate.
“Or do you think Gary did something to your friend, so you came here, killed Gary, and then reported it to us?” Spillman said.
“If that’s true, why would I report it?”
“To throw us off track.”
Our eyes locked. I waited her out. She was forced to look away when Spats came back out.
“We’ll need his prints, Spillman,” he said, pronouncing it ‘Speelmahn’.
“No problem,” I said, but I was getting nervous. What happened if and when they found out I searched around the house?
He turned to me. “You just touched the doorknob and nothing else?”
I nodded.
“Okay, let’s get this done.” He went inside and returned with an inkpad and fingerprint card. He was careful as he printed me, not wanting to get ink on himself. When he completed the job, he handed me a tissue. I worked on my hand, but the ink remained.
“Am I a suspect?” I asked.
“Until we can eliminate you.”
Great. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the police.
“Where were you last night?” Spillman asked.
“With my girlfriend. She came over about eleven and I was with her all night, until I left for work this morning.”
Spillman nodded. “We’ll need to verify that.”
I rattled off Willie’s number. Moore wrote it down, then poked his head inside, presumably giving the number to Spats. So much for keeping Willie in the dark. I sighed.
“Spillman,” Spats called to her.
“Wait here,” she ordered me, then marched inside.
I waited, my eyes on Moore. He made a few notes and then looked in the house. My phone rang again. Moore glared at me as I shut it off. It was Willie again. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. A few minutes later, Spillman returned.
“Detective Spillman,” I said, spreading my hands. “I’m trying to find my friend. What I’ve told you is the truth.”
Spillman contemplated me for a moment. “I believe you,” she said, softening just a bit. “So far your story checks out.”
“Good.”
“What else can you tell us?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Not much.” I explained what I knew, leaving out how Cal had gotten the cell phone information.
“But you don’t know how, or if, Gary’s death is connected to your friend?”
“Not yet. But I’ll figure it out.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d share what you find out with us, and you don’t inter
fere with our investigation.”
“Of course,” I said. “Do you need me here anymore?”
Spillman shook her head. “No, but we might call you back.”
I turned to go, then stopped. “Does the exchange of information go both ways?”
“No way,” she snapped, then paused. “It depends on what mood I’m in.”
“Thanks.” I backed up. “Do you have a first name?”
She looked me up and down. “It’s Sarah,” she finally said.
“Nice name.” I tipped a make-believe fedora at her, Bogie-style. Then I stepped off the porch and walked to my car.
She stayed on the porch, watching as I drove away.
Chapter Sixteen
I pulled over a few blocks away and sat for a moment, gathering my thoughts. I hadn’t been interrogated like that, ever. Even my mother’s nosiness paled in comparison. I breathed deeply for a moment and assessed the situation. Deuce was still missing. Gary was now dead. I’d found him. I’d stolen something from his house. I’d lied to the police about that. I hadn’t told them about the man looking for Gary. If Spillman figured all that out, it was going to be bad for me. And if I was going to find out what happened to Deuce, and to Gary, I would have to work fast and stay ahead of her.
But first things first. I grabbed my cell phone and called Willie.
“Reed, what in the world is going on? I get a call from the police asking if we were together last night, and I haven’t heard a word from you.”
“What happened to ‘Hey handsome’?”
“That’s not funny. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I exhaled slowly. “Remember Gary, who worked with Deuce? He’s dead.”
Willie gasped. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I launched into a quick account of everything that happened since I’d last seen her.
“Reed, how is Deuce involved?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But Gary seems to be at the center of all this.”
“He did lie to you about not knowing or talking to Deuce. But now that Gary’s dead, how do you find out why?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated, with more certainty than I actually felt. “And something he did to somebody was enough to get him killed. My play now is to figure out who killed Gary, and hopefully it’ll lead me to Deuce.”
“You don’t think that maybe…” her voice cracked. “Do you think someone would’ve, you know?”
“No, I’m sure Deuce is okay,” I said. “If he’s involved in whatever’s going on, he’s probably hiding out somewhere. I could see him not knowing what to do, so he runs away instead of facing us.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, it’ll be okay. Hey, I’ve got a couple of things to follow up on. Do you have time to check on Ace?”
“Sure, I’m off today so I’ll pop over and see how he’s doing.” She paused. “Will I see you today?”
“I hope so.”
“Okay, call me later.”
“Will do.”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the seat, frustrated. I wanted to go home and spend the afternoon with Willie. Instead, not only did I still need to find Deuce, I now needed to find a killer. And even though I’d tried to downplay my worry to Willie, I was scared that Deuce might’ve been killed, too.
I dug the piece of paper from Gary’s room out of my pocket and studied it. There was a list of websites: Craigslist, Diggerslist, eBay, Builder2Builder, and others. Craigslist and eBay I knew. Some of the others I didn’t. Below that was another short list of construction and electrical companies.
I picked up my phone, connected to the internet, typed in Diggerslist, and a moment later the page loaded. It was billed as a home improvement classifieds site. I clicked on the about page, and read more. Diggerslist was similar to Craigslist, another hugely popular online classified site. But unlike Craigslist, where you could buy and sell stuff, place personal and want ads, advertise jobs, and much more, Diggerslist focused solely on buying and selling products specifically related to home improvement and construction. You could also narrow your search to where you lived. I clicked around the site for a bit, noting that it had a ton of stuff for sale, from building materials to heavy equipment, tools, interior décor and furniture.
I typed in the other site, Builder2Builder, and saw that it was similar to Diggerslist, but appeared to have less inventory.
I stared out the windshield, thinking. Gary had a lot of building materials on his back porch. Maybe he was looking to sell some of it. Better than having it clutter up the yard.
I picked up my phone again and called Cal.
“You making progress?” he asked. Right to the point.
I felt like a broken record as I again related all that had recently occurred.
“Wow. You actually saw a dead body? You okay?”
“It smells different than you’d think,” I said, sensing the odor in the car. I rubbed my nose. “I’ve read about it, but now experiencing it, it’s like nothing I can describe.”
“You want to consider a career change? Your mother would be delighted.”
That was true. My parents would love it if I gave up being a detective and got a real job. “I don’t give up that easily. Besides, I have to find Deuce.”
“What can I help with?”
“Has anyone else called his cell phone?”
“That would be a negative. At least since this morning.”
“Okay, keep checking. Another thing: would you be able to get onto Craigslist and see if Gary placed any ads there?”
“That’s a weird request. What rabbit trail are you going on?”
“It’s probably nothing, but Gary has a bunch of stuff on his back porch, like electrical wiring, copper pipes, and rebar. And he had a list of websites, including Craigslist, on a notepad in his bedroom. It makes sense he’s selling the stuff.”
“So?”
“Maybe someone killed him over that stuff.”
“That’s a bit thin, don’t you think? Is anything valuable?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Copper’s worth a lot right now. I’ll bet the pipes lying around would make him a pretty penny.”
“Enough to kill someone over it?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe there’s more stuff in the garage. Did you check?”
“No, I was a bit sidetracked…you know, by the body.”
“Oh yeah,” Cal said. “So, if we follow this theory of yours, we need to find out if Gary was selling his leftover materials. Which brings us back to Craigslist.”
“Yes.”
“You know how Craigslist works, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “You place an online ad and people contact you.”
“Yeah, but you don’t typically email the person placing the ad. The emails go through the Craigslist servers so the users are anonymous. It’s safer that way.”
“Unless Gary put his name, phone number, or email in the ad itself.”
“He’d be stupid to do so, but if that happened, I can do a search on the ads and find one.”
“If not, wouldn’t Craigslist have some record of Gary’s real email?”
“Absolutely. So I’d need to find Gary’s email.”
“Can you?” I asked.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“And one more thing.”
“That isn’t enough?”
“This is easy,” I said. I gave him the license plate of the forest-green truck.
“That’s the guy that came to Gary’s house while you were there?”
“Yeah. He talked about dumping some stuff, and sounds like he’s in cahoots with Gary. He might know who came by Gary’s house last night.”
“You’re right, that is an easy request.”
“Can you do it? Now?”
“Hang on a second.” I heard clicking. His fingers on the keyboard. “It’s a truck registered to Shane
Mundy. He’s twenty.”
“Address?”
He rattled it off and I jotted it down.
“Great. I’m going to run by Shane’s and see if he’s there.” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was now after two in the afternoon. “And I’m going to get some lunch. Can you do a little more research on Shane, see if you can find anything interesting?”
“Will do. I call you in a while.”
I thanked him, hung up, and drove off.
Chapter Seventeen
I stopped at a Subway for a meatball sub. As I wolfed it down, I thought about where things were going. Somehow Deuce was tied to Gary, but I didn’t know how. And Shane was tied to Gary, but I didn’t know how. I hoped by the time I figured it out, it wouldn’t be too late for Deuce. It was as bad as The Big Sleep, with its convoluted plot.
Shane Mundy rented an apartment near Broadway and Dartmouth, about six miles directly south of downtown Denver. The building was like many others in the area, a three-story L-shape with a tiny parking lot, and no extra amenities like a pool or workout room. Shane lived on the third floor.
I scanned the lot and the surrounding streets, but didn’t see his truck. I was debating what to do next when my phone rang.
“Shane works at Criss Cross Construction,” Cal said without any ado.
“I should’ve known. All these guys know each other. And I’ll bet that means he knows Deuce, too.”
“Uh huh.”
“How’d you find that out?”
“Let’s just say I tracked down his banking information and traced back the direct deposits from Criss Cross.”
“I don’t want to know how you did it all,” I said. How Cal never got caught, I don’t know.
“Did you find out anything about Craigslist?”
“Negativo, but I’m still working on it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to see if I can track Shane down at Criss Cross.”
“What if he works at a different site from where Deuce did?”
“Good question.” I paused. “I’m stabbing in the dark right now.”
“I’ll see if I can find out,” Cal said. “Oh, and still no calls to Deuce’s cell phone.”
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 8
