Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 Page 18

  “There are twenty-four stacks,” Tracey said.

  Sam took her into his arms and they kissed passionately.

  “You are one hell of a woman,” Shanks said. “Thanks for coming up with this.”

  “Thanks, Sam. If you hadn’t saved me from Vinton all those years ago, things would be different.”

  At the mention of Blackwell, Sam scowled. “You wait. You may have to save me from him before this is all over. If I don’t kill him first. ”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Crystal bent over a box and ran two strips of packing tape across the seam between the two flaps. Two movers were taking one of her leather couches out the front door of her loft, and several others were following with armloads of cardboard boxes. Michael Zimeratti stood leaning against the kitchen counter, reading through the documents Crystal’s realtor had assembled for the sale of her property.

  “That’s the last one,” Crystal said to the realtor as she walked over to join them in the kitchen.

  “Okay then, the sign is up downstairs, and we’ve got you listed on the MSL. I’ll call the stagers and have them position the furniture tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get an offer in the next week or so. I’ll give you a call,” the realtor said.

  “Sounds great, Angela, I hope it sells quickly. Judging from what you said earlier, it sounds like these downtown lofts are a hot commodity.” Crystal grabbed her purse and turned back toward Zimeratti, who was watching her with a big grin.

  “You got any place to be today?” he said.

  “No, what were you thinking?”

  “We could spend the rest of the day together here in town before we head up to the mountains.”

  “How about you follow me in your car out to Golden and we’ll see what trouble we can get into out there?” Crystal said, not wanting to take a chance on running into anyone from her old job in Denver.

  A few minutes later, she was pulling out of the underground parking garage and following Zimeratti, who was driving his green Jaguar. They drove down Speer Boulevard until they got to 8th Avenue and then headed west toward the mountains. The sun was up above the foothills, and Crystal welcomed the warmth on her face as she followed Zimeratti.

  She started thinking about Reece Culver and wondered if he’d returned from Tulsa. Crystal steered the Mercedes with her left knee and fished her cellphone out of her purse. She could see Zimeratti’s car up ahead moving away with several cars filling in the gap between them. Crystal dialed Reece’s number.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Where are you?” she asked

  “In my office, why?”

  “I thought you were going to call me when you got back to Denver.”

  He seemed distracted. “Was I?”

  “I need to see you, Reece. I have some new information about my mother’s case.”

  “What sort of information?”

  “I’ve received several letters from her.”

  “You have? That’s interesting,” Reece said, sounding a lot more interested. “Handwritten or typed?”

  “Some typed and some handwritten, but I know they’re from her.”

  “Do they have a return address?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know they’re from your mother?”

  “I just know. What are you doing right now? Can I come see you?”

  “I’m busy working on another case.”

  That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear at all. Not when she was so close to finding her mother. “I have to go out of town for the afternoon. But try to get unbusy, because I want to talk to you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Sam Shanks sat in the study of his Minturn, Colorado, home sorting through the last of his business papers. He’d set up a trust in Michael Zimeratti’s name to transfer the ownership of his Minturn property. He was now officially renting the property from the trust. With the document in place he was making good on a promise he’d made to Zimeratti’s father Anthony years past to look out for his son.

  His thoughts turned to Tracey Roberts and what had happened all those years ago when Vinton Blackwell found them together at Tracey’s condo in Santa Barbara. Blackwell went into a fit of rage and proceeded to trash the place until Shanks finally got him under control. Everything seemed fine and Sam left thinking he’d placated Vinton. Sam rubbed his hand over his head, thinking about what he’d put Tracey through. Not until she called him from the hospital several months later did he realize how demented Blackwell was. He’d beaten her and held her captive in his van in the desert. Tracey snuck away one night naked and half out of her mind and made it to a fire station. She’d been hospitalized and treated for anxiety and hysteria.

  Sam pulled away from the memory. It was painful recalling what Tracey had endured. He thought of Crystal and Owen and the family life Tracey once had back in St. Louis. She was in a better place now. Shanks had succeeded in giving her a new life. Owen, even though he tried, wasn’t worthy of her.

  Shanks knew Tracey liked the life they’d built together since he’d smuggled her away to Blackhawk. She’d become educated and successful in a place far away from Blackwell’s threats. Sam had managed to see her from time to time, and over the decade and a half since California they’d built a lasting relationship. He yearned for the time when he would take her away to Uruguay. Shanks thought of Blackwell—he had to be killed. He was the only thing standing between Sam and Tracey and their happiness.

  Shanks felt the vibrating ring of his cellphone and answered. “Hello.”

  “I’ve got a big problem down here.”

  “What kind of problem Escodar?”

  “It’s with Customs. The agent I paid off was fired today. They’re cracking down on security. I don’t know if I can solve this problem in one week,” Pablo said, sounding frantic.

  Shanks was used to unexpected problems, and he quickly grasped a possible solution. “What if we didn’t need Customs? I’ve been thinking about the plan you had earlier. What if I was on a separate flight on the Lear with just a few pieces? The most precious pieces.”

  “What do you have in mind, Mr. Shanks?”

  “What if we had everyone get off the Airbus in Guayaquil while they service the plane? The pilots will escort them to the lounge on the second floor of the jet center. There will be a celebration with champagne. That should buy some time.”

  “Okay, I could put that in place easily. What else did you have in mind?”

  “The mechanics will find a problem with one of the engines while the plane is being serviced. They will open the doors to the cargo area to gain access to a control box or something like that. The mechanic will make a call to the local authorities and inform them that they are working on a suspicious aircraft,” Shanks said.

  “That all sounds feasible. I like the part about your people celebrating. They won’t know what hit them when they’re arrested.”

  “I’m hoping that’s the case … but there’s one problem I have with it now that I think about it. Do you remember Michael Zimeratti from our days up in St. Louis?”

  “Yeah, Anthony’s son. What about him?”

  “I don’t want him going down with the others. He needs to be spared.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Reece stood at the corner window of his office late in the day on Friday, staring west toward the mountains. The usual cast of characters was walking up and down Colfax pedaling drugs, sex, or both. The ballistics report Mike Mobley had faxed to Haisley had changed things. Now he had confirmation that his father’s case, Crystal Thomas’s missing mother Tracey, and Owen Thomas’s death were all connected. He was curious to see what Natalie had found. He needed some clue to follow forward. Reece thought about Crystal and the letters she mentioned. Were they from her mother, or were they a trick from the trigger man?

  It didn’t take long for him to find the address and telephone number for Charles Anders on his laptop. He dialed the number, but the call went to
voicemail. Reece hung up figuring he’d rather see Anders in person.

  Reece thought about his mother and her earlier interest in his case. Maybe he’d managed to make her realize he was serious about catching the people that murdered her husband. He decided to give her a call.

  “Hey, Mom, am I catching you at a good time?”

  “Yes dear, I’m just watching TV. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, things are fine,” Reece said.

  “Have you found any more clues in your case?”

  “A few.”

  “Reece, I want to apologize to you. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously earlier. I’m proud of what you’re doing, and I appreciate you putting your career on hold to solve Dad’s case.”

  Reece couldn’t believe his ears. He wondered for a moment if she was using some kind of ploy to get information for Agent Cox. He held the phone away and laughed to himself. He was being paranoid. If he couldn’t trust his own mother, whom could he trust?

  “Reece, you were going to tell me something you found. You can tell me. I did some soul searching and you’re right. That FBI agent screwed up. Just like you said he did. I was so messed up back then. For a while I didn’t remember how the police handled Al’s case. They botched it.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mom. I’m sorry they dropped the case, but I’m going to fix things,” Reece said.

  “I hope you can, son, but I don’t want you taking chances. I want you safe. If you need to call Haisley—he can help.”

  “Yeah,” Reece said.

  “Will you do me a favor? If you need help, will you call him?”

  “Sure,” Reece said.

  “Oh, I wanted to thank you for letting me use your rental car. I talked to the nice man at the Toyota dealer. They need to keep my Camry for a week. It is the transmission, after all. They have to replace it, but it’s still under warranty.”

  “Mom, you can keep the rental for as long as you want. It’s paid for. Just let me know when you turn it back in.”

  “You’re such a good son, Reece. I love you,” Helen said. “Tell me, what did you find on your case.”

  “When I was in Tulsa, I helped Haisley with some surveillance for a case he’s been working. We found a body,” Reece said.

  “A body. Oh, my goodness. Like a dead body?” she said, raising her voice in shock.

  “Yes, a dead body. But that’s not the big deal. The important part of the news is the ballistics report.”

  “Yeah, so what does that mean?”

  “Whoever shot this dead guy we found used the same gun to kill Dad.”

  “Oh no!” Helen Culver said. “Reece, be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful, son.”

  *

  After feeding his dog Manchego, he took him for a quick walk, still thinking about the case. When he returned to the apartment he filled the dog’s water bowl before locking up his apartment and walking down the stairs to the GTO. Reece scanned the surrounding buildings, just in case anyone had followed him from Tulsa. He knew someone wanted him dead, but he still wasn’t sure who it was. His instincts were pointing to Crystal, or someone working for Sam Shanks. Yet he’d made a handful of enemies solving cases over the past couple of years, and knew it could be totally unrelated.

  Reece had stuck the key in the ignition when the thought of what happened to his hotel room in Tulsa came to him. He climbed out, got on his hands and knees, and looked underneath the car. He traced the exhaust pipes from the headers coming off both sides of the engine to the twin mufflers, and back. He spied several old wires running down the left fender well that were taped together with black electrical tape. Reece searched the bottom of the car. Everything looked as it should, and he reminded himself to take it to the car wash. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Next he popped the hood, and looked around, wishing he’d brought a flashlight, but decided he was being paranoid. He got back in, turned the key, and listened. The starter barely turned the engine over, then it started with a roar, and he eased his foot off the accelerator.

  The oil temp gauge sat on zero and then jumped up as the engine warmed. The temperature was coming up, and he thought of his expired tags. Reece got out, walked around to the license plate, and saw that the month sticker was an eleven, and the year a ten. He was four months over due on his registration. He made a quick decision to try to cover up the stickers and get new tags the next day.

  Reece, leaving the car running to charge up the battery, walked over to the grass plot next to the street. He dug his hand into the dirt beside a tree. With a palm-sized glob of mud he returned to the car and smeared the brown muck across the plate, covering up the stickers. It was a quick fix, but he thought it just might work for the night. Reece stood up from his squat, just in time to hear the engine sputter and die. He jumped in and hit the key. The starter made a clicking noise and he knew the battery was toast.

  After walking out to the curb in front of Chui’s Chinese he looked for a cab. Two woman dressed in short blue jean skirts with a collage of poorly done tattoos were leaning against a street sign on the opposite side of the street. One of them grabbed the frayed edge of her skirt and flipped it up, motioning for him to come join them. The last thing he needed tonight was a hooker.

  Reece spotted a cab going the opposite way as it passed the two women, and he waved hoping the cab would spot him. The cabbie continued down Colfax for another block and then pulled a U-turn. That was more like it, he thought. He jumped in the backseat and they headed west down Colfax toward downtown Denver.

  *

  On the way to the restaurant, Natalie told him about a recent case she’d worked involving a motorcycle gang from Los Angeles that had relocated to Denver and taken over a large chunk of the cocaine trade from a rival gang. Nineteen months after placing an undercover officer in the gang, they did a citywide sweep, arresting most of the bad guys.

  “Reece, you seem kind of down tonight. How did your trip to Tulsa go? Are you any closer to finding your missing person? What was her name? Tracey?” Natalie said. Reece looked over at her face, tinted in the red glow of a traffic light. “Not by much. The whole thing was a waste of time. All I did was blow through lots of money and tons of time. I’m starting to hate this damned case.”

  Natalie pulled her Toyota FJ Cruiser into the restaurant parking lot and hunted for a spot. It took two revolutions around the building to find one. Once inside, the hostess took them to the table. Reece watched Natalie slide into the booth and took the seat across from her. The waitress came and Natalie suggested red wine.

  “So tell me what you got on Crystal. I can’t take the suspense,” he said, smiling at her after the waitress left with their order.

  “Yeah, I guess that was why we came here in the first place,” Natalie said. “You always get what you want. Don’t you?” She flipped up the flap on her large purse, pulled out a brown folder, and slid it across the table.

  “You know most of the events of her childhood, so I won’t bore you with any of that, but I think you might find it interesting that her stepfather has no history of employment in this country.”

  “What do you mean, no employment?”

  “I went one step further than what you asked, and took a look at the Social Security records for her birth parents and stepparents. Her stepmother, Diane Blackwell, worked at a bank for twenty years, and has spent the last ten years working at a horse riding facility. The stepfather, Vinton Blackwell, got a social security card when he was twelve, and spent two years working as a paperboy. After that there is no history of employment.”

  “None at all? That’s interesting,” he said, sensing that something was up with Natalie, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Reece was about to speak when he heard her cellphone ring.

  “I’ve got to get this. I’ll be right back,” she said, holding the phone to her ear. He figured it was work- or boyfriend-related and she didn’t want him listening.

  Reece started reading Crystal’s file. The first sec
tion was a detailed account of her life from the time her mother Tracey went missing, to the six months she’d spent in the orphanage, and finally to her adoption by the Blackwell family. Vinton Blackwell had volunteered at the orphanage. The next section detailed the accidental death of her high school boyfriend while on a camping trip in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. He skimmed over that section since he’d found most of the information at the Tulsa library.

  Reece looked up—and almost bit his tongue. Crystal Thomas rounded the corner, walking into the aisle at the far end of the room. He slammed the file shut and shoved it under his left thigh. She smiled, noticing him, and walked up to the table.

  “Reece, what a surprise,” she said sliding into the booth across from him.

  Reece smiled back, extremely conscious of the file lying awkwardly underneath his leg.

  “You don’t mind if I join you for a few minutes, do you?”

  “It doesn’t look like I have a choice,” he said, then broke into a smile to temper how his words came out.

  “Are you here with a date?” she asked, looking around.

  “I’m here with a friend, but she left to take an urgent call,” he said, not really wanting to explain. Natalie walked by the table heading away from them. Reece noticed her making an OK sign with her index finger and thumb.

  “So, what’s new on the case? Have you gotten any closer to finding my mother?”

  He stared at her, silent, wanting to ask if she’d hit anyone in the head lately, or if she was surprised to see him alive after setting fire to his motel room. He wasn’t entirely sure the culprit was Crystal, but Reece figured she was in deep enough with Sam Shanks to know about what happened to him in St. Louis.

  “I’ve gotten a few good breaks, and I’m closing in,” Reece said, lying to her.

  Crystal was immediately delighted. “Is she in Denver?”

  “No, not Denver, but I’m getting close,” he said, not wanting to tell Crystal that he was at a dead end.

  “How do you know that, Reece?” she asked, leaning forward.