Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (24 page)

Chapter Seventy-Six

H
aisley and Reece
took turns keeping watch in the miserable cold. When the sun came up the next morning, the air felt harsher than it had in the dark. They wrapped Mobley’s leg in a makeshift splint, and Haisley made a sling for Reece’s left arm out of bath towel he’d found in Mobley’s pack.

They set out just before sun-up, knowing Blackwell and his men wouldn’t be far behind. They still didn’t know what to do with Mike Mobley, but had searched every inch of his backpack and pockets in an effort to avoid any more surprises. Reece took the now empty water bottles from Mobley’s pack and held them one at a time to let the rapidly moving stream fill them. He leaned out, reaching as far as he could with his good hand, trying to catch the fastest water. Reece figured it might save them from ingesting giardia parasites or swallowing some other form of bacteria that they weren’t equipped to handle. With the water bottles full they headed north, hoping to find the highway. Mobley seemed a little better after a night of rest next to the fire, but the pain in Reece’s shoulder had grown worse and he knew he needed medical attention.

They hiked all day, following the flattest ground they could find with no sighting of anyone or anything. It was rugged country, and as he walked Reece’s thoughts ran all over the
place, ranging from what it must have been like as a frontiersman, to Vinton Blackwell, and finally to Crystal Thomas and her missing mother. He’d all but forgotten the case and was concentrating now on catching Vinton Blackwell. The man he was now sure murdered his father.

Up ahead, Haisley was gathering rocks at a spot where two large trees had fallen, forming a giant T. Some big boulders on the western side formed a windbreak, and it looked like a good spot to stop for the night. As Reece latched onto a big branch of dead pine with his good arm and dragged it back, he started to think about food. He formed a picture of a big juicy steak in his mind, and that would have to do.

Suddenly, Haisley came running over toward Reece. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The two men stood motionless, listening to the forest. The wind was rustling the branches of a stand of trees beside them. Then Reece heard the rumble of an engine far off in the distance, back toward where they’d left the Tahoe.

“They’re on motorcycles.”

“In this terrain?” Haisley said, looking at the mile-wide scree field they’d just traversed.

“How many miles do you think we’ve covered since we left the truck?” Reece asked.

“I don’t know, why?”

“It might not be Blackwell. This is a national forest. Maybe they’re spring hunters? Let’s find some food and kill it while we have a chance,” Reece said.

Haisley started prying the brass out of a .357 Magnum round, and Reece figured they had a half hour of sunlight left before it dropped below the horizon. They got a fire going and started discussing ideas for finding food. The stream was farther away now, down in a canyon to the west, but if they could find something to make a fishing hook and something resembling line, they might have a chance of catching a rainbow or brown trout.

“What’s that noise up in that tree?” Mobley said, coming to life.

“It’s a squirrel, why?” Reece said. He smelled the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke and glanced over toward the heavy man. “Don’t you think this might be a good time to give those up?”

“It helps me when I have an empty stomach.”

“Shush, give me your gun, Reece,” Haisley said, sounding parental.

Reece handed him the gun, and his friend aimed up into the tree. Then Reece too saw a fat squirrel standing out toward the end of a branch, twitching its tail.

Haisley fired two quick rounds, and the squirrel dropped, hitting the ground a few feet away. Reece pulled out his Leatherman and started stripping what little meat there was from the bundle of fur. Haisley grabbed the flashlight and headed out toward a copse of pine trees.

With a three-foot limb from an aspen tree Reece sharpened both ends and placed two large rocks on each side of the fire pit, He pushed the aspen limb through several chunks of squirrel meat and laid the branch across the fire. Before long Reece smelled the scent of meat cooking, and felt like everything would be okay.

He heard a couple of more shots ring out in the distance, and Haisley arrived a few minutes later with two more dead squirrels for their dinner. Reece bit into the first chunk of cooked squirrel meat and smiled. It was a little tough, but he wasn’t complaining. Now all he needed was to get back to civilization, before Shanks and Blackwell disappeared. Worse, before the FBI offered Blackwell immunity.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

S
am Shanks pried
open the window to the laundry room in Vinton Blackwell’s Minturn villa. He knew Crystal and her stepfather were away and he had the house to himself, but that didn’t help him. Shanks was nervous and out of his element. He was the planner and manipulator, the brains behind the operation. He hadn’t been on the action side of his crimes in decades.

Shanks started casing the house, searching for anything that could hide a small painting. He started on the second floor, not wanting to be caught up there if Blackwell came earlier than he guessed. One room had a row of bookshelves, and he looked behind the books for the small Van Gogh, but found nothing except dust balls. Through the dormer window to one side he saw the first glimpses of daylight. He had to hurry or he’d be caught.

The bald man left the room and hurried toward the next, picking up the scent of Crystals perfume as he entered her bedroom. He saw a rolltop desk and searched it, knowing the small painting could be hidden anywhere. A sudden squeak erupted out of nowhere, and he froze in his tracks, listening. It must just have been the settling of the house, he decided after long seconds. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead and splattered on the leather insert of the desk. Shanks pulled out his shirttail and blotted up the perspiration, not wanting to leave any trace of his unannounced visit.

He sprinted down the stairs and went room by room, searching for any sign of the painting or the black felt bag it might have been stored in. He spotted a page from the architectural plans on the kitchen counter and searched the cupboards. Streaks of light shone through the windows, looking like someone with a flashlight was outside.

Shanks ran for the basement door and found it locked. He knew he’d found the right place, but he wasn’t sure how to unlock the door with the tools he’d used to enter the laundry room.
Where would they keep the keys?
Casting about the kitchen, he saw a brass key rail in the shape of stallion hanging above the microwave oven.

Going to it, he examined the key rings, searching for the one that would most likely open the door. He saw a single brass key and snatched it from the hook. It turned out to be the right guess. With the door opened, he replaced the key before slipping down the stairs. He wanted the Van Gogh more than anything, for the incredible price it would bring. Besides, he’d be able to stick it to Blackwell one last time.

Shanks rummaged inside a cabinet at the base of the stairs. He went through the built-ins on the adjacent wall but came up empty handed. The house creaked above him, and Shanks froze. Madly he tried to think of a possible excuse for breaking into Blackwell’s villa. He was a sitting duck down here in the basement.

He wondered if Blackwell would be bold enough to take him on after all of these years. The fight they’d had in the kitchen of his home after he’d found the newspaper article about Michael’s death surprised him. It had been too easy to subdue his hired gun.

The furnace kicked on behind a door under the staircase, and Shanks startled with surprise. He considered that room and dismissed the thought quickly, knowing no one would store a priceless painting next to a furnace. Turning around in a wide arc, Shanks spotted a small wooden desk on the opposite wall. It was covered in envelopes and papers, looking like it hadn’t been touched in years. He peered down behind the desk, thinking it might be the perfect hiding place for a small painting. No such luck.

He spotted a briefcase leaning against the side of the desk and pulled it out, noticing how light it felt. Shanks sat in the desk chair and set the briefcase on his knees. He tried to open it by pressing the two tabs sideways, but it was locked.
What series of numbers holds the clue to opening this case?

The answer came to him. He entered them and pressed the brass tabs sideways. The top of the leather case popped open. He nearly lost his breath when he saw the painting inside. The priceless Van Gogh with its vivid yellow and red poppy flowers was staring up at him. The wooden frame was old and distressed, but the picture looked like a museum piece. He pulled the felt bag from his back pocket and slid the priceless artwork inside, taking care not to damage it with the now continuous beads of sweat dropping off his forehead. Shanks picked up a pile of the envelopes off the top of the desk, shoved them into the briefcase, shut the lid, and stuffed it back alongside the desk where he’d found it.

Chapter Seventy-Eight

R
eece followed Haisley
and Mobley up toward the top of a forested hill and knew they’d made it when he heard Haisley yell, “Woo Hoo! Look at that, boys.”

They looked across a small valley toward a string of tractor-trailer trucks driving east on I-70. Heartened by this discovery, they walked another few hours before the feel of firm hot pavement met the soles of their boots. Reece pulled out his cellphone and for the first time had coverage. He thought about whom to call and handed the phone to Mobley. He watched him closely as he dialed the number for the Vail detective he’d met a few days before. Mobley got through and told Detective Hughes about their predicament, and current location at the guardrail of the entrance ramp onto I-70 east at the Edwards exit. Reece watched Mobley hang up and grabbed his phone back.

“What’s wrong with you, Culver?” Mobley asked.

“Plenty. Look, when this friend of yours comes to pick us up, I don’t want you running your mouth. I want Vinton Blackwell, and I don’t want the Vail PD or anyone else getting in my way. You understand?” Reece said, staring down at Mobley.

“Reece, I think you’ll like Detective Hughes. He’s a real good guy. One of us,” Mobley said, sounding much more alert than he’d been earlier.

Reece walked a ways down the guardrail and heard someone following. He turned to find Haisley staring down at his own cell phone, then making a funny look.

“What’s going on, Haisley?” Reece asked.

Haisley grabbed Reece’s good arm and tugged him a few paces farther away from Mobley, then leaned close. “I’ve got a bunch of missed calls from Agent Cox.”

“You going to call him and check in?” Reece said, alarmed.

“No, read this last text message,” Haisley said, passing his phone.

Reece read the screen of Haisley’s phone: “Suspect Sam Shanks is in Vail Colorado. Closing in on his location. Call when you get this.”

Reece handed the phone back to Haisley, and they exchanged a meaningful look. Haisley pointed as a gray Crown Victoria pulled up beside the guardrail a few yards behind them. A tall silver-haired man in business attire got out, carrying a trio of bottled water containers.

“You guys look like hell,” Detective Hughes said, handing out the water.

“We feel like hell,” Reece said, glad to be back to civilization.

“What the hell happened?”

Mobley supplied the lie: “We blew a tire on our Tahoe and went over the side of a cliff.”

Reece watched Hughes, knowing he probably wasn’t buying Mobley’s explanation, but he didn’t feel like he needed to do any explaining.

“Let’s get you guys stitched up.”

After driving into town, Hughes dropped them off at the Vail Valley Medical Center. Reece got a couple of X-rays and it was determined that he had a tear in his rotator cuff, and would need to be scheduled for surgery the following week. Haisley got a few stiches for a head wound. Mobley remained at the hospital for observation with a banged-up knee, three broken ribs, and possible internal injuries.

Hungry as hell, they found the same restaurant they’d eaten burgers at several days earlier and discussed their options.

“I think we should go have a chat with Mobley and make sure he doesn’t give us up,” Reece said, starting to feel the effects of the pain meds the doc had prescribed.

“I’ve already taken care of Mobley. Detective Hughes knows the story about Cox too, and as far as I can tell, he’s not cooperating with the FBI.”

“That’s good to know. Thanks for taking care of our liability.”

Reece felt his phone rattle in the front pants pocket of his jeans.

“Hello?”

“Reece, it’s your brother Raymond. Have you heard from Mom?”

“No, I haven’t,” Reece said, surprised by the call. When did his brother ever call him?

“She’s missing, Reece.”

“Missing? What are you talking about?”

“Well, it all started out when the Toyota dealer called Mavis Averton looking for Mom,” Raymond said.

“Yeah, Mavis called me, but she thought Mom might have gone out of town with some of her friends. Are you saying that wasn’t the case?”

“Reece, that was over a week ago. No one has heard a thing from her.”

“Have you called the Tulsa police?”

“Yeah, we did three days ago and no one’s seen a thing.”

“So you filled a missing person’s report?” Reece said.

“Yeah.”

“How about my rental car?” Reece said. “The blue Mazda 6. I lent it to Mom just before I came back to Denver so she’d have something to drive while her car was in the shop.”

His brother sounded eager about this possible lead. “I don’t know about that. Maybe you should call the rental car place and report it missing too.”

“Sounds like a plan, Raymond. Hey, call me if she turns up. I’m hoping she just went out of town or something, but this doesn’t seem like her. I hope she’s okay.”

Reece ended the call, feeling prickles of dread dancing down his spine.

“What’s going on, Culver?” Haisley said.

“It’s Mom, she seems to be missing.”

Haisley was immediately alarmed. “That can’t be good. Are you going to go back to Tulsa to look for her?”

“That’s what I should do, but we’re too close to catching these guys.”

Reece stared down at the table, thinking about the last time he’d spoken to his mother. Then he thought about the rental car and reminded himself to call the rental place in Tulsa.

“What’s your plan for catching Blackwell and Shanks?” Haisley said.

“The last time I talked to Crystal, she invited me up to Vail to go skiing. I’m thinking I should call her and take her up on the invitation,” Reece said, knowing she was the best chance he had at getting close to Blackwell.

Haisley was not too receptive to this idea. “I don’t know, Reece. You’re pretty beat up. You’re in no condition to ski, and that crazy bitch will do anything to protect her stepfather.”

“I know, but we can’t just wait around until Cox shows up and offers Blackwell immunity so he can put Shanks behind bars. We’re talking about the guy who killed my father.”