Missings, The (17 page)

“That’s not what I asked you.” She set her jaw. “What are you talking about?”

Chase read people well. And he knew Elizabeth Benavides knew exactly what he was talking about. “This fire could have killed someone—you know it and I know it. This one? Another warning. A strong one and probably the last. The next time something happens it won’t be a warning. I don’t want that kind of responsibility. Do you?”

Elizabeth’s face hardened and her eyes squinted into steel. A tear worked its way out of her right eye and crawled down her face.

“I know this is hard,” Chase said.

“How could you know? Don’t tell me you know.” Elizabeth choked the words out. “Have you ever lost somebody you loved before you should have?”

The sun slipped behind the western edge of Cobalt Mountain and they went from dusk to night in the blink of an eye. Chase felt the familiar bruise in his chest.

The scene was now lit by the numerous headlights of response vehicles and curious bystanders. Chase cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Benavides, as a matter of fact I have.”

They stood in silence while the firefighters packed up their gear and prepared to depart. The captain walked up to Elizabeth. “Do you have someplace your family can stay while you make the repairs to your home?”

“Don’t worry about us. Our neighbors will help.”

The firefighter touched his hat in a salute and walked away.

Elizabeth’s father had joined her mother. The couple stood as close together as they could without quite touching. Heads bowed close together for a moment, then turned toward their home, and finally toward their daughter.

“You might be willing to risk your life, Elizabeth. But are you willing to risk theirs?”

She brought a fist up and hit him in the chest. Hard. Chase remained still and she hit him again. This time without the force. Without the anger.

“I will keep you informed every step of the way. But your involvement in this investigation is over. Agreed?”

An older couple approached Elizabeth’s parents. Pulled them away from their home and began walking across the street. Mrs. Benavides stumbled and supporting arms reached out to steady her.

“I need you to find my sister’s murderers. I need them to pay.”

“We will.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “We are having a service Wednesday morning. You should come.”

“I will.”

Chase turned to leave, checking traffic before he crossed to his car. Light from a streetlight spilled over a dark, possibly black, Mustang. He hesitated then changed course. Four strides in the direction of the parked car, it pulled out, did a three-point maneuver and left the scene.

Aspen Falls Police Department

Monday, September 24

Chase hurried into the meeting room and surveyed the other two detectives. Terri appeared fresh but Daniel sagged in the chair and his normally crisp clothes melted into wrinkles.

“You okay?”

No response.

“Daniel, you okay?”

“What did I miss?” The detective focused mournful eyes on Chase. “Tell me what I did wrong that ended up with Elizabeth’s house burning to the ground.”

“Her house didn’t burn to the ground and no one got hurt. And you did nothing wrong.”

Daniel fell silent.

“I need you both on top of this with me. We have a new number of victims. Twelve.”

Both detectives sat straighter in their chairs. “Twelve?” In stereo.

“Thanks to Daniel and Elizabeth, I met with a contact—credible—who knows of eleven missing people from the Hispanic community. With Rachelle Benavides we have twelve.”

“Names?” Terri asked.

“Not yet but he’ll get them to us.” Chase tossed his folder on the table. “There’s another thing. I want to know if either of you turn up a connection to a black Mustang.”

“What’s the connection?” Daniel asked.

“One direct—a black Mustang was parked on the street across from the Benavides home. When I approached, it took off.”

“Plates?” Terri wanted to know.

“Didn’t get a chance to see the license plates. But I did note two occupants. Both white, both male, thirties.”

“And the indirect?” Daniel asked.

“Skizzers talked about the Batmobile the night we found the body in the dumpster. Wasn’t the Batmobile black? Could be a Mustang. And someone in a black Mustang has been shadowing my family. May or may not have anything to do with our case. But the coincidence bothers me.”

“Following your family?” Terri pressed.

“A black Mustang has shown up often enough that Bond noticed. I don’t know if one thing is connected to the other. Just call me if you see one.” Chase looked at Terri. “What did you get from the ER?”

“Another list of names, but not quite as many. Orders for blood tests are computerized, and supposedly only the doctors have access, but we all know computers can be hacked, passwords can be discovered, and security can pretty well suck when there’s a computer involved.”

Daniel laughed. “Almost as bad as when it’s person-to-person.”

“Touché.” Terri winked at Chase. She’d egged Daniel on with her computer comment and it worked. Daniel Murillo hadn’t worked fraud cases for years without coming away with a healthy respect for the fact that more fraud occurs in person than via technology. He had a hard time trying to convince his fellow detectives, but when a waitress gave Terri back the wrong credit card and then tried to deny it Daniel had new believers.

“At any rate,” Terri continued, “I have a list of all ER employees, including docs, who have access to the system. They’re required to change passwords every month but we should be able to find our hacker pretty fast. The doctors get a printout every week with their test requests on it. Some are better record keepers than others, but we should be able to find a pattern and someone responsible.”

“Assuming it’s someone in the ER,” Daniel added.

“Who else would it be?”

“Just keeping an open mind.”

“You wanna help with the list?”

“Sure.”

“Here are copies of the sketches Dobson did on the two men Maria Sanchez saw.” Chase handed out the pictures. “Show them around and see if anyone recognizes either man.”

The detectives studied the drawings. Terri spoke first. “Wish we could’ve gotten Carol, but we’ll work with what we’ve got.”

“We also received the preliminary autopsy results back on Sanchez. Looks like he died of sepsis from the nephrectomy,” Chase said.

Daniel looked thoughtful. “He died from bacteria. Because he sold a kidney to buy papers for himself and his wife.”

“Have either of you heard of the Preston Clinic?” Chase asked.

Blank stares and headshakes answered his question.

“It’s a private hospital for the wealthy. Just west of town. They do transplants, among other things.”

“How come we don’t know about it?” Terri asked.

“I asked myself the same thing. We’ve all lived here long enough to know that money can buy just about anything—and that apparently includes everything from publicity to secrecy. The Preston Clinic falls on the secrecy side of things. Only they call it ‘privacy.’ We need to see what private secrets we can uncover.” Chase pulled out a Twizzler and bit off the end. “We’re working with an entity that has been able to operate on the down-low for a long time. I’m getting the decided impression that there are some very deep secrets in the very deep pockets of the Preston Clinic.”

“I’ll see what Leslie James knows about them.”

Chief Whitman walked into the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem, Chief. What can we do for you?” Whit would not interrupt a meeting without a good reason.

“I got a call from the sheriff. Said you didn’t get some information he’d sent along several months ago.”

“Yeah, true. But we have it now.” Whit had to have a different reason for being here.

“And I got another call. From someone named Cassandra Lindgren at the Preston Clinic. She doesn’t want to deal with you in the future. If they’re to be bothered, they’re to be bothered by me.”

Okay, a little better reason, but Chase knew there had to be more.

“And as busy as my day has been fielding calls related to you and this case, I received yet one more call.”

Chase could tell he should pay close attention now.

“A friend of mine who’s fighting the good fight in Mexico called to put in a positive word for someone you met with earlier today. Does the name Mex Anderson ring a bell?”

“Kind of hard to forget a name like that isn’t it? Mr. Anderson and I did meet. He alluded to some additional information but so far he’s only upped our probable body count.”

“Well, he’s in my office now and ready to talk a little more.”

Aspen Falls Police Department

Monday, September 24

Chase followed Whit into the chief’s office. Mex Anderson stood, cowboy hat in hand, inspecting Whit’s wall of photos. They weren’t the usual, and Chase had always sensed some pride in Whit because of that fact. No glad-handing politicians or framed awards. No pictures of Whit in full dress uniform, not even a photograph of the current president. And Chase was pretty sure the man had gotten Whit’s vote.

Chief Cornelius Whitman’s wall of photos consisted of birds. Most of them colored shots, all of them framed, and every one of them a photo taken by the chief.

Without acknowledging Whit and Chase, Mex spoke. “You have an impressive collection, Chief Whitman. A wide variety of Colorado birds—but one doesn’t belong.”

“Yes?” Whit watched his visitor.

“
Toxostoma curvirostre.
Curve-billed Thrashers are common in Mexico. I never knew them to go farther north than Arizona and New Mexico.”

“Are you a birder, Mr. Anderson?”

“I’ve always appreciated the freedom, tenacity and spiritual quality of birds. A single feather is a miraculous feat of engineering.”

Chase intervened. “Chief Whitman says you’re ready to give us some more information.”

“I’m ready for more than that, Detective Waters. But I’ll be taking things one step at a time.”

“As long as the step you’re taking now helps us solve these murders, I’m good,” Chase said.

“It’s information. What you do with it is up to you.”

“Good. Go.” Chase quelled his need to push. People were falling dead all around him. When he did catch a few minutes of sleep his dreams crawled through his gut and fed his guilt in gory detail. His team’s responsibility increased for every new death, and with each bit of information they dug up, his personal responsibility tripled.

Mex gestured toward the chairs. “Please, we need to sit.”

Chase took another look at Mex. He had a scar along his hairline, his knuckles looked like they’d been through a meat grinder more than once, and yet he wanted them to sit. Fine, they’d sit.
If the man has viable information and wants tea and cookies, I will find some damned tea and cookies in this building.

Whit walked around his desk and left the two chairs in front open. Chase sat first, then Mex joined them.

“Thank you,” Mex said. “In my experience I have found that often friends will sit—while enemies stand.” Chase met his gaze and noted that Mex waited until Whit did as well. “Doesn’t mean shit, of course. But it makes me feel better.”

“Mr. Anderson, I don’t want to jeopardize any information you may be willing to share to further this investigation, but I am under intense pressure to provide some answers,” Chase said. “If you have something to tell me, now would be good.”

“I’ve told you about the eleven missing people within the Hispanic community. I suspect they are all dead. I suspect they all died in either the same way Rachelle Benavides died or the way José Sanchez died.”

“Wait,” Chase said. “How do you know how José Sanchez died? Or Rachelle Benavides, for that matter? We didn’t get the autopsy results back on Sanchez until this afternoon.”

“It’s a small community, Detective. And I’m pretty much at the center of it when it comes to things like this.”

Chase decided to wait to push the issue until he heard what Mex Anderson had to say. He signaled for Mex to continue.

“For the last year or so, people have been routinely approached with a proposal to sell an organ. For example, one of their kidneys. People believe they have found the poor man’s answer to cash for gold. Most have survived, but others, who I suspect turned down the initial offer, donated more than they ever bargained for. Especially those whose blood type is on the rare side.”

Chase leaned forward. “Do you know who is behind these offers?”

Aspen Falls Police Department

Monday, September 24

Chase’s normal cop suspicion kicked in and he watched for any sign of subterfuge from Mex. He saw none. “Do you? Do you know who’s behind these murders?”

“If I did, believe me, I wouldn’t be here now.” Mex looked at Whit who sat quietly behind his desk, hands steepled in front of him. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Whit got up and walked over to a dark walnut wall unit where he pulled out three glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. He leaned over and opened another door that housed a refrigerator/freezer combo. “Rocks?”

“Neat,” Chase and Mex said in unison.

Whit closed the door and poured two fingers in each tumbler.

“How much money is being offered?” Chase asked.

“I’ve heard amounts from three hundred dollars to well over two thousand.”

“How many people are you talking about?”

“More than twenty that I know of.”

“Does that include the eleven who are missing?”

“Nope. The twenty, twenty-five I’m talking about are walking around, as far as I know.”

“Are they still in Aspen Falls?”

“Not many. Most have moved on.”

“Would any of the people who are still in town be willing to talk to me?”

Mex shook his head. “Maybe not even me, once they hear I’ve met with you.”

Chase wanted to hit something.
So close
. He could flex some legal muscle and force them to come in, but in the end he knew he’d get nothing. And he’d have a public relations nightmare. “Do you know whether or not any of them have been to the emergency room at Memorial?”