Dead Wrong (22 page)

He typed then said, “It comes up as Sunnyvale, California. Silicon Valley. It could have originated there, but it’s more likely the email carries the host IP. Doesn’t mean she’s in California.”

Maggie printed out the email and went to find Detective Prince.

Near Fort Collins, Colorado
Saturday, January 25

Albert steered into the lot of the truck stop, cruised slowly past the gas pumps and the front of the restaurant. As he rounded the side of the building, he spotted the tail end of a truck that resembled the one he’d seen on the hill. He stopped, backed up, and parked around the corner, halfway between the front and back doors.

He left the car running while he called Ortega.

“They got a fix on her five or ten minutes ago,” Ortega said. “She’s at the southwest corner of I-25 and—”

“I know. I’m here.”

“Do not let her get away,” Ortega said.

“She’s in a public place. Lots of witnesses.”

“Get my stuff, Getz. If you get my stuff, you can let her go.”

“Then it’s time you told me what she has.”

“The most important thing is a mailing envelope with checks inside. Even if you don’t get anything else, you must get those checks. And Sammy Grick’s phone. I’ll call you as soon as my flight lands in Miami.”

Los Angeles, California
Saturday, January 25

Benny boarded his plane moments after his conversation with Getz and made one more call to his tracker. Nothing had changed. The cell phone no longer emitted a signal. He retrieved a bottle of scotch and a glass from the galley cupboard. Once buckled in, he poured a generous amount in his glass.

When did everything start to go wrong?
Benny leaned his head back and stared out the window.
When the Foster woman got in the way. No. Before that. When Sammy killed Maria.
He paused to think about Maria and pressed his cold glass to his forehead. He wouldn’t miss her all that much, but now he had to worry about Sammy being connected to her death. Lots of people knew Sammy did jobs for him all the time. It would look as though he’d hired Sammy to kill his wife. Considering her life insurance payoff, the cops would consider Benny the prime suspect.

Getting the checks posed a completely different problem. If they were ever tied to Sammy or to Benny, the Feds would have his balls in a vise. He couldn’t cash the checks now anyway, but even if he’d recovered them sooner, he couldn’t have used them while Foster was still alive. What had she seen and how much had she figured out? He had to assume she snooped through his belongings. If the thefts hit the news, she would know he was responsible. Unless he had her killed, and the others with her, he would be exposed. He had to face facts. All their work stealing these checks had been wasted effort. The only reason he needed them now was to shred them.

He was in enough trouble already without inviting the Feds to join the party. Because of his wife’s death, everything he’d done in the last month, every trip he’d taken, every shithead he’d ever hired, everything and everyone would be scrutinized. Even if he claimed Sammy Grick had never been in his employ, the cops would still do their best to tie Ortega to his wife’s death. Truth was, they already hated his guts because he was Cuban and he was filthy rich. He’d been questioned about his various business interests several times in the past.

He poured himself another drink as he considered the possibility Foster would take the rap for her husband’s murder. He wondered if she did it.

He thought about the checks again. The combined forces of the IRS, the FBI, plus every other agency involved with interstate commerce and banking would investigate every nook and cranny of Ortega Enterprises.

His business would bite the dust, and he would go to prison.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wiped it off with his sleeve.

Near Fort Collins, Colorado
Saturday, January 25

Thomas walked toward Lynnette with Blue at his side, gesturing and waving her arms. Thomas glanced past Lynnette toward the door, then quickly strode to a side window and peered through the glass. He pointed through the window and Blue placed her hand over her mouth. Lynnette grabbed Grace’s hand and ran to the window.

“Is that your car? Do you have another set of keys?”

“Yes,” Thomas said. “On the same ring as the truck keys.”

Lynnette stuck her hand out. “Give me the keys to the truck. Is there a back door in this place?”

“Yes, but you can’t handle the truck—”

“Don’t be stupid. When he comes in the front, you take Blue and Grace out the back and make a run for it in the car. He doesn’t care about any of you, only me and the stuff Grick stole. I need the truck keys to get my laptop case. That’s where I put the checks.”

“I think it’s better if we all wait in here together.”

“Why? Because you called the FBI? What did you tell them?”

“I told them you were being pursued by a couple of thugs because you accidentally came into possession of checks that might expose a major crime. I thought our safety was more important than—”

“You’re right. You three should never have become involved in my mess. But you have no right to make decisions for me. You can take the girls and walk away, or you can take your chances and wait for the Feds, but you can’t tell me what to do.”

“I don’t see that you have a choice. I’m not giving you the keys to the car or the truck. It’s too crowded in here for this guy to try anything funny. A dozen truck drivers would jump him if he threatened any of us.”

“He might have a gun,” Grace said.

“That’s right, Dad. He could hurt a lot of people before anyone could catch him.” Blue held out her hand. “Let me have the keys. I’ll help Lynnette get this guy’s stuff out of the truck and we’ll—”

“No.” Thomas stuffed his hands in his pockets and widened his stance. “Sit down in the booth. Everything is going to be okay.” He reached for Grace’s hand.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “If you hurt me or my mom again, I’m telling.”

Thomas jerked his hand away and took a step back and stared at Grace. Two burly truck drivers stopped in their tracks and glared at Thomas. They took a few steps in his direction, but Blue held up her hand and smiled. “It’s okay,” she said. “My little sister has a mental problem.”

“I do not!” Grace yelled. “And I’m not your sister!”

“Grace, come on,” Blue said. “Don’t do this.”

Lynnette held out her hand. “Blue, unless you want me to start screaming bloody murder, you’d better make your dad give us the keys.”

Thomas fumbled in his pocket for his keychain, removed one key and placed it in her hand.

Grace tugged on Lynnette’s jacket sleeve and tried to pull her toward the hallway. Before she could move, she saw Thomas and Blue look toward the front door of the restaurant.

“Mrs. Foster, hello.”

The guy from the library edged in her direction. His left arm hung in a sling, and his puffy jacket made him look chubby and off balance.

Her first thought was that he’d walk up to her, they’d chat, and she’d retrieve what Ortega wanted and hand it over.

As soon as the guy began to fish around in his pocket, Lynnette panicked. Maybe Grace was right. Maybe he had a gun. She yanked Grace out of the way, thrust her laptop and purse into Grace’s hands, and shoved her toward Blue. Thomas pulled Grace and Blue behind him. He reached for Lynnette, but she jumped away and turned to face Ortega’s man. Two steps took her close enough to his left arm to grab hold of the sling and jerk it toward his elbow. As he yelped and jumped away, he clutched his arm closer to his body.

Lynnette plunged her hand into his right pocket, grabbed his middle finger and jerked it upward.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled as he pulled free from her grip. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

A tall man wearing a Caterpillar baseball cap stomped his feet on the floor mat to loosen the snow from his boots. “Hey, buddy, there’s ladies and kids in here. Watch your mouth.”

Grace pulled away from Thomas and pointed. “He’s got a gun in his pocket.”

“I don’t have a gun.” The guy from the library reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe and cell phone. “I need a word with Mrs. Foster. She’s in no danger from me.”

“He has a gun somewhere,” Grace said. “Frisk him.”

“Damn it, kid, shut the fuck up.”

“Hey! What’d I tell ya?” the trucker yelled.

“Right. Sorry. Mrs. Foster, all I need is the contents of the laptop case Sammy Grick had when yours got switched with his. I have a list. If I get everything, Mr. Ortega says that you all walk away and there’s no more trouble.”

“Lynnette, be careful,” Thomas said. He had grabbed hold of Grace’s wrist and yanked her behind him. “Let me handle this.”

Lynnette ignored him. She didn’t know whether to believe Ortega’s man or not, but she had to be the one to decide, the one to take a chance. It seemed too simple, especially considering the terror she’d felt when Sammy Grick was after her. Was it any different now? What had changed? Maybe Ortega just wanted his checks and cash. And the checks? Perhaps they were intended for Ortega’s companies. If so, she was a thief.

“Okay,” Lynnette said. “My case is in the truck. I’ll get it. You wait here.”

“Not a chance,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Grick’s phone is in my purse.” She took her purse from Grace, pulled the phone and its battery from an outside pocket, and handed them over.

“We’ll go out the rear door,” Lynnette told Thomas. “Take care of Grace.” She handed her purse to Grace as she passed.

“Are you coming back?” Grace asked.

“She’s coming back, kid,” the man said. “Don’t worry about it.”

When Lynnette reached the door leading to the parking lot, she glanced over her shoulder. Ortega’s thug followed right on her heels, replacing the battery in Grick’s phone as he walked. Grace watched from the other end of the hallway, her pack in place on her back, Lynnette’s purse strap over her shoulder and the laptop tucked under one arm. Lynnette smiled, then turned and walked out the door.

Glades, Florida
Saturday, January 25

“This is all we have,” Maggie told Detective Prince. “I checked with the techies. It’s nothing. She could be anywhere.”

“I don’t believe this crap she sent you. It’s a smoke screen. She’s trying to cover her ass because she knows we’ll catch up with her sooner or later. Making it sound like she’s running because the boogey man scared her. This woman ran because she killed her husband or she hired Grick to kill him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Follow up. Same stuff. Send her another email that sounds sympathetic. Offer protection.”

Maggie returned to her desk and leaned back in her chair with her feet propped on the partially opened bottom drawer. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Prince wasn’t looking at anyone else for Carl Foster’s murder. He’d already decided Foster’s wife was guilty.

When Maggie opened her eyes, a teenage girl with long, dark hair stood in front of her desk. She wore a white peasant blouse and jeans. Maggie jerked her feet off the drawer and sat up straight. “What can I do for you?”

The girl blushed and shook her head.

Maggie switched to Spanish. “You don’t speak English?”

The girl shook her head again.

“Sit there.” Maggie motioned toward a chair. She grabbed her clipboard and a pen.

“What’s your name?” she asked in Spanish.

“Laura.”

“And your last name?”

“It’s better if I don’t say.”

“Why are you here?”

“That cop who was murdered. They’re saying his wife did it.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“A guy I know. Said he saw it on TV.”

“Why do you care?”

“She didn’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“I know who did it, but if I tell you, they’ll kill me.”

“They?”

“They’re crazy. Make us all look bad.”

“Gangs?”

“Yes. That’s all I can say.” Laura stood up and started to walk away.

“If you can’t tell me who did it, why did you come here?”

“I don’t want that woman to get blamed for something she didn’t do.”

Holy shit,
w
hat do I do if this girl disappears?
“Wait,” Maggie said. “If you leave, there’s no way I can help Mrs. Foster. I need you to tell my boss what you told me.”

Laura shook her head and kept going.

Near Fort Collins, Colorado
Saturday, January 25

Lynnette led Ortega’s henchman to the truck. “You got a name?” she called over her shoulder.

“Al.”

“Okay, Al. Everything else that belongs to your creepy boss is in my laptop case. You said you had a list, so you’ll know you have everything. There’s cash. It’s all there. You have the phone already. The charger for the phone . . .”

Lynnette paused when she got to the truck and inserted the key. As she opened the door, Al said, “There’s also an envelope. It has checks inside.”

Damn.
She had hoped he didn’t know about the checks. “Yep, got those too.” She climbed into the truck’s cabin and pulled the door partially closed. Al reached up and grabbed the top of the door so it wouldn’t close all the way. Lynnette reached for the laptop case and unzipped one side. Her hand reached for the cash. She hesitated.

With one fast movement, she grabbed the door with her left hand, jerked it shut on Al’s fingers, then kicked it open, slamming it hard against the man’s chest.

With his left arm in the sling and his right hand bleeding across the knuckles, he had no way to break his fall without hurting himself even more. His feet slipped out from under him as he fell, and the back of his head smacked against the hard-packed snow.

Lynnette tried to fit the truck key into the ignition, but quickly realized she held only a door key. It wouldn’t start the engine. She stepped out of the truck with her laptop case. Al lay on the ground. He didn’t move. Blood trickled from his nose.

She set the case on the snow and dug through his pockets until she found the keys to Thomas’s car. As she ran toward the sedan, parked several yards on the other side of the truck, Grace burst through the back door, the laptop clutched to her chest with one hand and dragging Lynnette’s purse across the snow with the other.