Lake of fire, p.21
Lake of FIre, page 21
part #4 of Allison Coil Mystery Series
Hackl had no Facebook page. Bloom took a stab at the high school yearbook and pulled up an online version of Meeker High School. Hackl was there as a junior but not as a senior. His junior year snapshot sported baby cheeks and long hair cut crudely, as if he had done it himself.
Bloom hadn’t learned much other than Hackl earned enough money to buy a house and he had connections to McKee’s girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or plain old friend, Jayne.
Without a last name or an idea of whom to look for, Bloom had no place to start to look for Jayne. A quick search for Garrett McKee on Facebook found nobody in Meeker to track on social media, which wasn't a big surprise.
Lenny Brandt graduated from Meeker High School three years before Hackl. They could have met there. Still, the small town factor was in play. Everybody knew everybody. It didn’t take high school to meet. They were about the same age, big whoop.
Lenny Brandt’s girlfriend, Erica Cross, lived her life online. Her Facebook page hummed with news. She posted status updates at least three times a day, sometimes more. Minutia. Observations. Things her two kids said. Dinner menus. Lack of sleep. A new pop tune she adored. The photos were snapshot variety. Two dogs, one cat. “Good day at work.” “I’m blessed to have a job.” “I hope everyone has a peaceful and wonderful day.” Erica Cross looked like she was trying hard to hold onto her teenage girlishness. Pay no attention to these two children, her messages suggested, I’m still a goofy kid at heart. She worked as a dental assistant. Lenny Brandt started popping up in pictures and comments the previous January. He had tight, curly hair and a Fu Manchu that looked like it required daily care. He had a goat-like quality to his long face. He was smile-less, judging from this batch of Erica’s Facebook photos, and always seemed to be standing on the edges or in the background like he didn’t quite belong. From their photo-posing styles alone, Brandt and Hackl came from separate galaxies. But Erica referred to Lenny in routine fashion. Their age difference, from appearances, wasn’t that striking. Lenny’s road-weary look made him appear older. Whatever happened to the father of Erica’s two kids, one boy and one girl, wasn’t apparent. To Bloom, it didn’t matter. From what Bloom had gathered from Bonnie Brandt, Lenny’s relationship with Erica Cross might have been his first sustained deal. With Lenny’s background being such a black hole, it was hard to see or know the attraction. Based on Erica Cross’s busy and well-supported life, although no job was obvious, Bloom had a hunch that Lenny Brandt felt like a lucky fuck.
The clock thundered. Hotchkiss burned. Coogan fretted.
One more.
Drone Farm.
He needed a hook into the database. If he could troll all day, no problem, but he didn’t have all day. How do you even guess at the number sequence? Zillow helped. About a half-mile from the drone farm and on the opposite side of the road, the real estate web site showed a property for sale.
A woman answered at Rio Blanco Realty. No fuss and runaround in Western Colorado—people at work.
“You’re the listing agent?” said Bloom, “Correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And how long has the property been for sale?”
“Six months,” she said. Her name was Rachel. “Are you nearby? I’d be glad to take you out there. I can tell you that the sellers are motivated.”
“And why is that?” Drones buzzing? Whacky neighbors?
“He has a job offer in Grand Junction,” said Rachel.
“I’m in Rifle now.” Bloom put on his most serious voice, like he had money. What a joke. “I want something remote, if you know what I mean.”
“This is a productive ranch, good Lord, and nobody is going to bother you out there,” she said.
“I see a property across the road though, further east,” said Bloom. “I’m looking online, of course, but it looks kind of, I don’t know, not well put together.”
Rachel paused. “I’d be glad to show you the area,” she said. “It’s really something you have to see in person.”
“I like your price, if the acreage is as good as it sounds,” he said. “Any idea of the address of the one down the road? I’d like to pull records, if you don’t mind, before I drive up there to take a look.”
The pause came again.
“It’s 4803 County Road 15. But activity around there is way back off the road,” she said. “Can I schedule a time for you to come out?”
Bloom declined. The mild ruse was painless. And productive.
Checking the Rio County property tax data base, the owner was listed as Guarantee Bank, Town of Meeker. And the previous owner was listed as Daisy Vega.
Chapter 44
Monday Afternoon
As hugs went, it was okay. A quick kiss, too.
“How is he?” said Colin.
“Agitated,” said Allison. “Impatient. Where’s Trudy?”
“I told her I’d wait for you while she went down to the grocery store to see if she could pick up anything useful,” said Colin. “Local knowledge.”
“You’re local knowledge.”
“Current local knowledge,” said Colin. “She wanted to bounce a name or two off of the guys, see if she could figure out if the cops were making any progress.”
That made sense. Trudy had a good friend named Brett Merriman who owned the store. Trudy had been a good customer for years.
“Where have you been?” asked Allison.
If it was possible, it seemed even hotter outside than a half-hour ago. Smokier, too.
“Around,” said Colin. “I went back to the ranch at first, and then a friend of Daniel’s needed help moving some cattle. His whole field caught a spark, and there was nothing left so we moved about eighty head to grazing land halfway to Craig. Six round trips from twenty miles west of Meeker. I tried calling you the other night but you didn’t pick up.”
“Busy,” said Allison.
“It was midnight,” said Colin.
“I wasn’t in a spot where I could talk.”
“Oh?” said Colin. “Care to share?”
“Everything,” said Allison.
Surprised to have run into Colin, she wasn’t sure in what order to get to the questions about his brother Garrett. Did it matter? Seeing Colin produced a jolt of reassurance. She hugged him again and wanted to hang on—heat or no heat, sweat or no sweat, sticky smoke or no sticky smoke. Seeing Colin made her yearn for a nap in a cool room. She’d even concede to a hotel, what the hell.
Colin scored two giant iced coffees from Wendll’s, and they commandeered a park bench where they could wait for Trudy’s return.
“Definitely know Lenny Brandt,” said Colin.
Allison had finished a quick recap.
“You and your father both.” Allison started with the Lenny Brandt angle of things—the bus and the water truck.
“You were asking him about all this?” said Colin.
“I was looking for you,” she said. “And I mentioned some of this, yeah. Of course.”
“Did my brother’s name come up?”
Again, unprepared. “Which one?” Playing innocent.
“Garrett,” said Colin. “Daniel is out of the picture—too stable. I heard Garrett was hanging around with Lenny Brandt, so it wouldn’t surprise me if his name, you know, surfaced in the mix.”
Colin slurped the coffee, folded his leg on the bench like he had all the time in the world.
“Is he?” said Allison.
“Is he what?” said Colin.
“Buddies with Lenny Brandt?”
“They’ve known each other since high school,” said Colin. “Off and on. When you work auto repair in a small town, you get to know everyone, and Lenny Brandt is one of those guys who is always working on something to do with cars. Garrett seems to make friends for a while. Then things get weird.”
“Jayne?”
“Couldn’t believe she showed up the other night,” said Colin. “I thought that had hit the rocks, too. I feel sorry for Garrett sometimes. He tries so hard, it kind of backfires.”
“Know where he might be now?” said Allison.
“Why? You want to ask him?”
“I think Soto ran into something or somebody at Lenny Brandt’s place.”
“Have you told the cops?”
“I’ve got nothing solid. And I can’t say I trust them, after what they did to Devo and Devo’s people. The whole thing.”
“Garrett might be working,” said Colin. “We can go down and find him—his trailer or work or some place in between. Nothing steady in his life, though, so you never know.”
“Think he’d tell us?”
“He’d better,” said Colin. “But you should at least tell the cops about anything you know.”
“Tell them Soto was having an affair, too?”
“Really?” He reacted like he’d been slapped, thinking of the implications. “With who?”
The obvious question. “One of his team, a young woman named Andrea Ingalls.”
“Any chance she’s got a boyfriend, and the boyfriend found out?”
“And staged that whole deal up in the woods?” said Allison.
“Doesn’t sound like a jealous boyfriend.” Colin gave a good impression of a thinking man. “But if you want to light a spark on the whole investigation, you could talk to the cops or tell Duncan to put it in the paper.”
“Duncan knows,” said Allison. “And all we have is Andrea Ingalls’ claim. It could be a fantasy, too. Unless Andrea’s boyfriend is a seething, raving hulk who has an axe collection, and until we find out that Andrea’s boyfriend found out, well, it’s irrelevant, too.”
“It was an axe?”
“We’re putting two and two together,” said Allison. She filled him in on Devo’s attacker and Devo’s escape, which he had heard about.
“So it’s back to Lenny Brandt. Seems reasonable. Again, though, the cops. Turn it all over, why don’t you?” Colin sighed. He look tired. “Let’s head home.”
“You’d be able to leave with your father in jail and things unsettled?”
Colin shrugged. “What’s unsettled? He’ll bond out, insist on a trial, and that will be weeks or months away. Meantime, he goes back home to the middle of a burned-out moonscape and figures out what to do with the cattle—and everything else.”
The semi-permanent taste of smoke on her tongue was all the motivation she needed to think about heading home. But could she walk away now? Every fiber screamed for completion. Deep down, she didn’t think the cops could see the big picture—and were probably sniffing around the wrong rat holes. Every time she inhaled, she thought of precious forest going up in smoke and how many decades it would take for the hunting grounds to recover.
Colin sensed her preference. “Then we find Garrett,” he said. He glanced at his phone. “Damn things.” And answered it.
Allison spotted Trudy making her way into the park. “Char,” said Colin.
Allison left Colin to his conversation and headed to meet Trudy, who was already shaking her head.
“Found your guy,” said Trudy when she got closer.
“Or he found me,” said Allison.
A pink sheen glazed Trudy’s cheeks but the walk in the mid-day heat didn’t prompt one complaint.
“How’s Brett?”
“The cops are looking for the guy Devo picked out,” said Trudy.
“Your grocer knows this?”
“Only by watching the news.” Trudy smiled. A flash. “He walks home for lunch—every day. They’ve got a warrant for the guy’s arrest, and he’s an outdoor enthusiast.”
“You mean freak,” said Allison. “Name?”
“Anton Hester,” said Trudy. “Thirty-two. Last known address was Meeker. And get this—he hasn’t been seen for several days, and Brett remembers that back in high school Anton Hester had an issue with matches.”
“A pyro?”
“Spent a year in juvenile.”
“So they are going to want Devo back to do the witness thing, and they probably think they’ve got it all wrapped up.”
“If it all fits,” said Trudy.
“Maybe Anton was in the middle with Lenny Brandt and the others.”
“Garrett McKee,” said Trudy. “And Dug.”
“You'd think we would have run across the Anton Hester name before now, but it’s possible he’s part of the same crew and the cops have found a connection to the same den of bus-driving Bible-thumpers.”
At this point of their relationship, looks and gestures didn’t require interpretation. “Doesn’t seem likely,” said Trudy. “By the way, how is he?” She side-nodded her head in the direction of Colin, who was still on his phone.
“Not surprised at all that Garrett’s name has come up,” said Allison. “Says we’re going to go find him, too.”
“He thinks we can find him?” She said it like Garrett McKee was the Wizard of Oz.
“Makes sense to me,” said Allison. “He should know what’s going on in that barn, or if Soto ever got tangled up out there.”
Colin walked over, having finished his call. “That was Char,” said Colin. “She said Earl called, and they got word that judge should be here by late afternoon. She’s on her way down, and she wants me to stay, show the judge he’s got family and all of that.”
Moral support for a bail hearing seemed like overkill, Allison thought, but maybe it was another small town thing. “Daniel coming?” she asked.
“Denver’s too far away,” said Colin.
“Garrett?”
“She can’t reach him,” said Colin. “As we know. But that’s not unusual.”
“You ever hear of Anton Hester?” Trudy asked like she needed to know.
“No,” said Colin. “Who’s that?”
Trudy filled him in.
“Sounds familiar,” said Colin. “They’re going off Devo’s ID and what else?”
“Don’t know,” said Allison. “But now we got two reasons to find Garrett—get him to the bail hearing and ask him about Lenny Brandt.”
“Stop at the Budgie’s Auto Repair, and check there first,” said Colin.
“What about his place? It’s closer, isn’t it?” There was no point in extra movement of any kind.
“Char just called, and there was no answer,” said Colin. “Middle of the day? Not Garrett. He’s always off poking around somewhere.”
“You’ll be here when we get back?”
“Most likely,” said Colin.
Chapter 45
Monday Late Afternoon
“Lenny Brandt? He owes me nine hundred and fifty-six bucks.”
Carl Kenyon stopped work on a government-issued Suburban jacked to the ceiling. It filled one half of the two-bay garage, a jungle of dark mechanical mysteries. In the next bay, a second mechanic stood under a behemoth SUV. Allison found herself wondering how often the lifts failed, and how many car mechanics had been found splattered under their work. And why did she see doom in routine? Kenyon continued to poke around the Suburban’s sticky nether regions.
“By the way, Earl McKee is the one that sent me here,” said Allison.
“What did Lenny Brandt do to you?” said Kenyon.
“Is Lenny around?” she said. Trudy remained in the freshly-tired truck. They had decided one-on-one might come across as more normal—just popped in to see if Lenny Brandt was here.
“Not except when he’s paying down his debt,” said Kenyon. “You’re talking to me why?”
She put Kenyon at about fifty. Impacted layers of grease and its ever-present companion, grime, coated all visible skin. He had a heavy jaw, spiky ear hair, bushy eyebrows. He came across as busy and wanted everyone to know it.
“Know anything about a school bus?” said Allison. “For a summer camp?”
“Summer camp?” said Kenyon. “Lenny Brandt? Still don’t know how I’m involved here,” said Kenyon.
“We’re friends of Dante Soto’s.”
The lie felt okay. Trudy belonged to the same community. She knew him, Dante Soto knew her.
“And we know that Dante Soto and some of his people—”
“His network.”
“Exactly,” said Allison. “That they were out at Lenny Brandt’s place before Dante Soto’s disappearance. There was some sort of incident.”
Kenyon leaned on a wrench as long as her leg and grunted.
“One of Dante Soto’s crew said they saw he was restoring a school bus for a summer camp.”
The wrench dropped to the cement floor with a deafening clatter. Kenyon gasped like he’d set a personal best for bench press. He mopped his long forehead on his shirt sleeve.
“Try the same questions down at the auto parts places. And tell me again why you’re asking. You’re not from here, I take it. I recognize your friend’s truck, but.”
Kenyon stepped to a high bench crowded with tools on the far wall and, on return, stopped to inspect the progress of a co-worker, a good twenty years younger than Kenyon and more fit, less greasy. He had short hair and wore a baseball cap with a long bill, which seemed out of place under the shadows of the vehicle on the lift. They finished consulting on the SUV’s ills. Then, the co-worker made a call from an old-fashioned land line phone that hung on the wall by a Snap-On Tools calendar. Either they had travelled back in time or Kenyon had a particular fondness for the ample brunette featured in April 1993. The calendar was faded. The phone was struck on the wall between shelf units sub-divided into dozens of slide-out compartments like drawers for the dead in a mini-morgue.
“My friend was pretty scared,” said Allison when Kenyon returned to his work on the Suburban. She merged in her mind what happened to Andrea Ingalls and Trudy Heath into one big lump of fear. It was possible they each kicked separate legs of the same angry moose. “And the cops have their hands full.”
Kenyon headed to the mini-morgue, slid open an unmarked tray, looked inside and flipped it shut.
“My wife reads novels about people like you,” said Kenyon. Another tray, another misfire. “Didn’t know they existed, tell you the truth.”
