Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (26 page)

Chapter Eighty-Three

V
inton Blackwell sat
in his truck watching the line crew service the Airbus A-320. He pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed.

“Aspen Jet Center, how may I help?” a young woman answered.

“This is Mr. Blackwell. Are we all set for my Friday flight?”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell. Everything is ready. Just use the keycard I mailed you and enter the hangar via the side entrance. The pilots have been briefed about your dietary wishes and your destination.”

“Good,” Blackwell said, ending the call.

He arrived back at the villa just as Crystal was unloading her trunk.

“Do a little shopping?” he yelled from his window, then got out and walked up to her.

“Yeah, you never know what you’ll need when you’re having a dead man over for dinner,” Crystal said.

She followed him into the kitchen with the box under her arm, along with the bag of hardware she’d bought. Crystal turned the key in the basement door and followed her stepfather down.

“Have you got your bags packed?” he asked.

“All packed. When do we leave?”

“I’ll swing by Friday around nine am, and pick you up,” Vinton said. “If you have any trouble at all with that clown, send me a text and I’ll come put him out of his misery.”

“What are you thinking, you’re going to finish the job the third time around?” Crystal said sarcastically. “First you knocked him senseless in St. Louis, and then you torched his hotel. What did you have in mind this time?”

Vinton’s face turned red with fury. He walked over and grabbed her roughly by the throat. She coughed, pawing at him desperately, and started to choke. His grip tightened, and for a moment she thought she was going to die.

Then he let go. “Don’t forget who’s running the show, little girl. None of the other men in your life have done a damn thing for you.”

Crystal coughed, trying to regain her composure. “I know that. I,” she said coughing loudly. “I was only joking.”

Chapter Eighty-Four

R
eece sat in
the lobby of the Vail Marriott, watching the hands of a big circular wall clock tick toward seven o’clock. His shoulder ache was coming back and he searched his jeans for the bottle of Vicodin, telling himself he could handle Crystal better if he put a dent in the pain.

Needing to do something, he jumped up, grabbed another cup of coffee from the breakfast bar, and retreated to the men’s room with the intent of sawing one of the big white pills in half. Both stalls were full, and the room smelled. He glanced down at his watch: 6:50.

A stall door flew open and an elderly man walked out in a bright yellow Descent ski outfit, looking like he was ready for the Olympics. Reece took the stall, and felt the warm seat through his jeans, guessing the old guy had spent the better part of an hour in there reading the crumpled-up
Denver Post
cast aside on the floor. He took out his Leatherman, and noticed that the blades still carried the stain of squirrel’s blood from their dinner a few nights earlier in the wilderness. He didn’t have time to clean the thing, so he gripped one of the white pills in the jaws of the pliers and squeezed, breaking it into small chunks. He stuffed what he thought was half the pill into his mouth and chased it with hot coffee. It was a foul tasting concoction but he managed to choke it down.

Reece capped the pill bottle and left the stall. The same old man was toweling off. He reached toward his lips with a funny look and brushed at something. Reece didn’t have the faintest clue what the guy wanted. Not something to do with the Olympics, he guessed.

A few minutes later, the front door of the hotel slid open and Crystal appeared, dressed in a bright pink ski parka with white fur circling her collar along with skin-tight black stretch ski pants. She had a funny look on her face as she approached him.

“Hi, Reece, I like your cowboy look,” Crystal said. “What happened to your arm?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a little tumble.”

“So, I see why you were not up to skiing today. I wonder if that will interfere with any other activities,” she said, sounding playful.

They walked out to her hot car, and after driving around the valley to show him the sights they stopped off for coffee. From there they went to the factory shops in Dillon and ate lunch. They spent the afternoon bumming around and then headed back up to Vail. He was enjoying himself, but was keeping his guard up for a chance to catch her on something. Soon they were roaring up a mountainside toward the villa that Reece knew her father owned. The place had a huge deck off to one side, and that’s where Crystal led him once she parked the car.

Two steaks on a plate were waiting for them, and Crystal stabbed hunks of meat with a large stainless steel fork plopping them down on the gas grill. The heat radiating out felt good on his torso. Reece battled the urge to close his eyes. He was physically relaxed, but knew danger was near.

“How do you like your meat?” Crystal asked.

“Cooked,” he answered.

“Does that mean medium or burnt like an old shoe.”

“Medium will do,” he said.

“Do you like drama or comedy?” Crystal asked, pulling her steak off the main part of the grill and turning up the flame under his tenderloin.

“Are we talking real life or movies?”

“I was talking movies, but I guess it concerns real life as well,” she said, giving him a sassy look.

“I’d say drama is best for both, unless I’m in the mood for something funny,” he answered, watching her walk into the kitchen with a slow back and forth.

After dinner, they settled in on one of the plush leather couches in the den, bringing in the bottle of cabernet they’d shared at dinner. They started watching the movie
Unstoppable
. She reached for her wine glass, and as she brought it to her lips he watched the red nectar disappear like blood drawn into a vampire.

“That’s the last of it,” she said. “Would you like me to open another bottle?”

“Sure, if you’ll join me.”

Playing voyeur once again, he watched her glide across the floor in her stocking feet. Reece grabbed the empty wine bottle and walked toward the kitchen himself, feeling a much greater level of intoxication than he’d normally felt after a couple glasses of wine. He saw an open basement door just beyond the refrigerator. He deposited the empty wine bottle into the trash, and was contemplating a descent down the basement stairs after her when Crystal came running up with a bottle of red in each hand. She slid to a hault and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Taking the corkscrew lying on the kitchen counter, she reached for two long-stemmed glasses and coaxed him to follow her toward the stairs. He knew exactly what she had in mind.

Chapter Eighty-Five

H
aisley sat on
the bed in the hotel room, flipping through the television channels. He couldn’t find one that suited his interest, but that wasn’t what was bothering him. The worry that filled his thoughts was of Reece Culver sacrificing himself to catch a killer. Haisley knew Reece was desperate to catch Blackwell, but he wished he’d persuaded his dead partner’s son to do it another way. He knew Reece had something to prove not only to himself but to his mother. Haisley picked up the phone and dialed Detective Hughes.

“Hughes, it’s Haisley Averton. I thought I’d check in with you.”

“Haisley, how are you guys healing up?”

“Oh, I guess as good as can be expected for a bunch of old-timers. Hey, I was wondering if you’d heard from that FBI agent we told you about.”

“Yeah, I just got off the phone with Agent Cox. He’s not too happy with you.”

“Oh yeah, what’s his problem?” Haisley asked, knowing the answer before it came.

“He said you’re working for that PI of yours, Culver, when you should be helping him.”

“He didn’t happen to mention his plan to offer that career criminal Vinton Blackwell immunity in exchange for testimony against Sam Shanks.”

“No, he didn’t mention anything like that. What’s your interest in Blackwell?” Detective Hughes asked.

“Vinton Blackwell gunned down my old partner from the St. Louis detectives squad back in 2009.”

“Okay, that explains your interest, but why does this PI have such a hard-on for Blackwell?

“My partner, Al Culver, was Reece Culver’s father,” Haisley answered.

“Okay, I got it. So, do you guys have a plan to catch these guys?”

“We’re working on that right now. Is there a good time I can drop by and have a chat with you?”

“Now’s as good a time as any. You know where we’re located?” Hughes asked.

“Yeah, I got the address right here,” Haisley said ending the call.

Haisley left the hotel and made the short drive over. The interior of the Vail Police Department was nicer than Haisley had ever remembered a police headquarters being. He checked in with the receptionist and waited for Hughes to come out to the waiting area. Haisley wondered what type of cases a detective in a ritzy ski town might see in the course of his career.

“You look better than the last time I saw you, Averton,” Hughes said, walking up behind Haisley’s chair.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better too. It’s amazing what a good night of sleep, a hot shower, and some food will do,” Haisley said as the two men walked past the reception area toward the detective’s office.

“You want to fill me in on your plan, or should I just wait and clean up the bodies after you guys play hero?”

“I’m counting on your help catching these guys, Hughes.”

“Call me Mark.”

“Okay, Mark. Like I said, I’m counting on your help, but catching Blackwell isn’t going to be easy. Agent Cox and the FBI have been tracking Shanks and his people for close to a decade. I worked with him on the task force he had going. I know all the background on the case. I also know they want Shanks. He’s the big fish, but Vinton Blackwell is worth taking down too. He’s got blood on his hands from at least two murders.”

“Murders? Who were his victims?” Hughes asked.

“I told you about my partner, and he most likely murdered an Owen Roberts a few weeks ago,” Haisley said.

“He sounds like a muy busy hombre. So, what’s your plan, Averton?”

Chapter Eighty-Six

R
eece felt the
fullness of his bladder but resisted waking as long as he could. He held his eyes closed, slowly coming to. Crystal was on his right side with her warm leg over his thigh. He had no memory of getting from the couch to her bedroom and was worried about it. He was thankful to see he was still wearing his boxers.

He reached for the side of the bed to free himself from her leg, and felt a lightning bolt of pain shoot down his wounded left arm. He cautiously slid out from under her. She cooed as she turned over onto her side, took a deep breath, and then let it out like steam from a kettle.

He stood next to the bed, making sure she was still asleep. Reece donned his shirt but left his Tony Lama cowboy boots on the floor. Taking short steps, he made his way out of the door, down the hallway, and to the top of the stairs in the blackness of the early morning. Making sure to remain silent, he went down the steps. He was still feeling the effects of the Vicodin- and wine-laced euphoria. The bathroom at the bottom of the stairs was a welcome relief. Reece peered out of the bath toward the dark kitchen while toweling off his hands and saw the dim green light of the microwave oven display.

Something metallic caught his eye near the knob of the basement door. He felt the pull of intrigue and slid in his sock covered feet across the smooth hardwood floor. She’d left the key in the knob. Reece pulled gently on the door. It opened, and he went down the stairway, pulling the door shut behind. He hoped Crystal would stay asleep long enough for him to find out why she’d kept the room under lock and key.

Reece stepped off the bottom step into a large carpeted room. He flipped on the light switch, illuminating a finished basement. A large antique pool table occupied the center, and the exterior walls were covered in an assortment of both black and white and colored photographs. He started near the stairs and stopped at each photo, observing Crystal’s family history.

It was chilly down there, and he slid his hand into the pocket of his blue jeans. He was pleased to find that he’d brought his cell phone. Reece gazed at a picture showing a face that very much resembled the description of the man who’d beaten his father on the rooftop of the apartment building several years before his death. The man was standing with his arm around a girl who had long red hair. It was Vinton Blackwell and his stepdaughter Crystal. He went to the next picture and recognized the same man a few years older standing next to Owen Roberts and the same girl.

Reece pulled out his cell phone and typed a text to Haisley.

“I’m in the basement. She’s still in bed. There’s a photo history of Shanks and Blackwell down here. Be ready to move. I’m going to break the news to her.” He pressed send and saw only two bars of reception on the phone. He could only hope the text message reached Haisley.

He advanced to a desk in the corner with several envelopes pilled on top of one another. The top envelope contained a bunch of old receipts and bills. Reece scanned through the scraps of paper and other items on the desk. He found a crisp white envelope unlike any of the others. He peeled open the gold clasp and reached inside. He pulled out a stack of passports from two different countries in South America and three others in Europe. Each had the name Vinton James Blackwell. Reece rifled through the drawers of the desk and found a folded-up map of North and South America with a line running from Vail to Uruguay. Reece paged through the passports and noted that the two for South America were new.

He pulled his cell phone out and sent Haisley another text.

“Found maps and passports in Blackwell’s name for both Ecuador and Uruguay. Check Eagle Vail airport. Is this what Shanks is up to?”

*

Up in her bedroom, Crystal slid her hand across the cold cotton mattress in search of Reece’s warm body. He was gone. Startled, she opened her eyes and sat up, blinking as she adjusted to the dark. Stumbling through the night, she made her way into the bathroom, feeling the effects of the night’s wine. She ran both hands through her hair and smiled at the pleasant memory. If her PI had proved to be a bust otherwise, at least he could deliver in bed.

Through the small bathroom window she saw light outside. Crystal rose from the toilet, reached to flush, and then decided against it.
What’s he up to
? She pulled back the bathroom window curtain and looked out toward the forest. The ground below was dark except for a sharp wedge of light shining outward from the basement.

Back in the bedroom, Crystal glanced down at the red iridescent 5:07 on the clock-radio beside her bed. From her closet she pulled out a fresh pair of jeans, a shirt, and her favorite barn coat. As she dressed, she mulled over what she was going to do about Reece. They’d had so much fun the night before, but now it was time for a different kind of fun.

*

Down in the basement, the thought of Vinton Blackwell and Sam Shanks getting away with their stolen cache of art masterpieces made Reece’s stomach turn. He had to finish up down here. His luck with Crystal could change at any minute. She was volatile, just like her stepfather.

He flipped open the phone and typed out another message.

“Haisley – you’ve got to get to the airport and stop Shanks and Blackwell. They’re headed to South America.”

Reece sent the text and put the cell phone on silent mode. He couldn’t risk the noise it would make if Haisley decided to call him back. His shoulder throbbed and he thought about his pills, but knew he needed to stay sharp. He moved along the wall, eyeing the last few photos taken at what looked much like the casino farm he’d visited with Haisley in Tulsa. All of this would be good evidence later on—if there was a later.

Reece heard a noise from overhead and raced to flip off the light switch. He stood motionless in the dark basement, thinking about escape, but he couldn’t go yet. He needed a confession. It was vital for Crystal to realize how Blackwell had been playing her and come willingly.

Reece had mounted the first few steps on his way back up the basement stairs when the basement light came on, and the door above flew open. Crystal raced down the stairway toward him with a revolver pointed at his chest.

“You bastard. Why did you have to ruin it? What are you doing down here?” Crystal screamed as she pulled back on the hammer, cocking it. Reece held out his hand to say stop. She was barreling down the stairs toward him. He retreated backward into the basement and almost tripped off the last step.

“We were having so much fun, and now you had to come here snooping, and break my trust. You’re just like all the others,” she shouted.

Crystal kept backing him up, pointing the gun with a mixture of anger and fear in her eyes. She looked disappointed, but at the same time had the set face of a killer. It was a face he’d seen before.

“Get up onto the pool table. Lie down, legs out,” Crystal demanded.

Reece was watching her closely, and calculated if he should try a grab for the gun.

“Do it or I’ll shoot you right now, you bastard.”

He hopped up onto the pool table, and as he lay back, he felt the cold slate press against his flesh. He watched her open a cupboard on the far wall and take out a plastic bag. She fetched several lengths of rope, each with a loop on one end. It was obvious that she had premeditated her plan before having him over, and it sent chills down his spine. She really was the black widow she appeared to be. Haisley was right.

He’d miscalculated. She was deadlier than he’d imagined. She spun around with the gun and jabbed it toward him, as if to say, lie back down. With the rope in one hand she roughly looped it around his right hand and cinched it tight. He struggled to pull back against the rope as she ducked underneath the pool table, tying down the other end. The thought of driving his fist into her head when she came up occurred to him, but he didn’t have enough slack. Reece focused, fighting the pain in his shoulder. He needed his wits.

Crystal worked her way around his body, poking the gun toward him each time he sat up from his prone position. She looked evil, like a changed woman. He remembered about the newspaper clippings he’d found in the library. His thoughts turned to the file his friend Natalie from the Jeffco Sheriffs had given him, and all the other men Crystal had killed. She tied his feet in a fashion similar to his arms, running the ropes to the legs of the pool table.

He yanked against his right wrist, trying to buy some slack. As Crystal held the gun in her left hand, she reached down to slip the loop over his left wrist. She shoved the gun into her waistband. He could feel his torn rotator cuff stretching as she pulled it outward and wrapped the other end around one of the metal support poles that rose from the basement floor to the wooden joist that spanned the ceiling.

She savagely pulled his wounded left arm, straightening it out.

“Aaaaahhh!” he screamed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Crystal said coldly.

Reece chastised himself for not calling for help. He’d sent three messages to Haisley about his findings and going to stop Shanks, but he’d screwed up not calling in the calvary.

“Why are you doing this, Crystal? Didn’t you enjoy yourself last night? I thought we had something. A connection,” he said, trying to reason with her.

“You’re in the way, Reece. You don’t fit our plans.”

Crystal walked back to the cupboard where she’d found the ropes. He watched her retrieve a cardboard box with the words “Veterinary Supplies” stenciled across it in large black letters. He wondered what the box contained and knew it wouldn’t be good. Reece once again pulled against the rope, but all he ended up doing is burning the skin on his right wrist.

Crystal set the box next to his left foot and pulled out a large glass syringe. Reece heard the ring of a phone in the upstairs kitchen, praying she’d run to answer it. Crystal heard it too and set a clear plastic box down onto the green felt.

“Don’t move,” she ordered, then ran up the stairs. She began talking on the phone and Reece could hear her muffled voice. While she was gone, he seized the chance to struggle vigorously against the ropes. He managed to pull some free slack with his right arm. He strained hard against the rope and jabbed his fingers into his pocket. He could feel his cell phone buried against his thigh. Reece pulled and twisted his body, trying to gain more slack in the rope. His right wrist ached from the rope abrading it. Reaching farther, he finally touched the phone with his middle finger and concentrated on easing it back until it dropped out of his pocket and onto the pool table. He rapidly hit the keys, writing a text, and hit send.

Reece heard footsteps thudding across the ceiling. Crystal was coming toward the basement door. He shoved the phone under his right buttock and lay back, staring at the ceiling.

At the top of the stairs he heard Crystal say:

“Sounds good, Papa.”

Reece rolled toward the staircase and in doing so felt a shot of pain course through his left shoulder. He could see her coming down the stairs, still talking on the cordless phone.

“Was that Vinton Blackwell on the phone?” Reece asked.

“No, it was your father calling to ask if you’re still as stupid as you were when he was alive,” Crystal said nastily.

She was angry now, and Reece wondered what Vinton had said to her. She climbed up onto the pool table. He thought about fighting back, but the slack he’d created in the rope wasn’t enough to allow him to grab her throat. Crystal straddled him, sitting on his pelvis. The sexual connotations of the position reminded him bizarrely of the night before, but she looked nothing like the person he’d sexed. Her face was screwed up and her eyes were sharp and focused like a predator’s.

She reached back toward his left shin and opened the clear plastic case. Crystal took out a vial of fluid and a syringe, then pulled on a pair of yellow latex gloves. Reece wondered if the bottle contained cyanide. He knew it was lethal enough to penetrate the skin and kill a person. That explained the gloves. If it was, she’d done her homework.

She poked the needle through the rubber opening on the clear glass bottle and pulled back on the plunger, drawing the liquid into the syringe.

“Did Vinton tell you he murdered your father Owen in cold blood,” Reece asked, playing for time.

Crystal glared at him and continued preparing the syringe.

“You know what happened when your mother disappeared, don’t you? Owen made a deal with the devil to get rid of his life-long gambling debts to Shanks,” Reece added, hoping to shake her.

“Shut up. I tried to love you just like all the others, but you betrayed me. The only man who’s ever loved me is Papa. My father Owen abused me. He abused my mother. He deserved to die,” Crystal muttered.

She held the syringe in her hand and pointed it down toward his chest. Reece pulled against his feet, trying to gain some leverage so he could flip her off. He wasn’t going to meet his end like this.

“It’s no use trying to struggle, Reece. This will all be over for you very soon,” Crystal said in a deep, evil voice.

“It was a trade, Crystal. Vinton doesn’t love you at all. I’m sure he abused you too. He’s been using you all these years to stay one step ahead of the FBI.”

That time he hit the mark. Crystal snorted, looking hurt. She set the bottle down by his foot, frowned at Reece, and held the needle straight up into the air.

“Crystal, your mother ran off with Vinton Blackwell in 1981. She met him at a Rolling Stones concert,” Reece said in a soft voice.

“No, that’s not true, my mother would never do anything like that. She was a good woman,” Crystal said, on the verge of tears.

“Vinton got your mother pregnant and left her on the street in California. It was Owen who took her back. It was Owen who raised you as his own daughter until your mother disappeared.”

Crystal’s look changed and she seemed to be considering this scenario. He hoped she’d believe him and cut him loose. She set the syringe down on the pool table near the side rail, put both hands down on his waist and leaned forward, staring into his eyes. She slid her hands down onto the pool table with her wrists against his hips. Her hands were getting too close to the phone, and he tried to shift his hips to block them.