Third Grave Dead Ahead

Chapter 14

I steered Misery in the general direction of south until we came to a crumbling group of apartments behind another crumbling group of apartments behind an abandoned group of apartments that made the first two look like the Ritz.

“Charley’s House of Cards,” I said into my phone while pulling in to the lot of the worst of the apartment buildings.

“Yost’s first wife was cremated,” Cookie said.

“What?” I turned the ignition to off. “But her death was suspicious. And they let him cremate her?”

“Apparently. He had it done on the islands before he brought her back to the States.”

“Why do these people not check with me first?”

“No hit on the alias yet. Still looking.”

“Okay, let me know. Soon, because the odds of me getting out of this neighborhood alive are nowhere near good.”

“I knew it. I should have come with you.”

“So we could die together?”

“True. Well, good luck.”

I kept the phone to my face even after we’d hung up. A phone made the perfect excuse not to notice the people ogling me as I strode to apartment three. It didn’t actually have a 3 on the door, but I was pretty good at counting in the single digits.

I rapped on the door of one Mr. Virgil Gibbs, and a thin man, hunched over with age and abuse, answered. He had dark hair and a graying beard.

“Hi,” I said when I got his attention. He was busy looking at a group of men looking at me. “My name is Charlotte Davidson, and I’m a private in—”

“Maybe you should come inside, sweetheart.”

He stood back but kept a wary eye around us.

“Okay.” I was so going to die. I stepped inside nonetheless. He didn’t look super agile. Surely I could outrun him.

His apartment wasn’t bad, considering. A couple empty beer bottles on an end table. A television complete with foil-laced antenna sticking out. No dirty ashtrays, which surprised me. Or underwear on the couch.

“You want a beer?” he asked, the fact that he was missing a few teeth becoming evident with the question.

“No, thank you.”

He stepped to the fridge to get one for himself. “What did you say your name was?”

“Charlotte Davidson. I’m a private in—”

“Davidson?” he asked, twisting off the cap and eyeing me with a squint of blue.

“Yes, I’m a—”

“Well, if you don’t want a beer, what do you want?”

If he’d let me finish a freaking sentence, we’d get through this much faster. “Wait,” I said, walking to the window. “Is my Jeep safe out there?”

“Honey, I could put a cup of gold out there and it’d be safe. They know not to mess with what’s mine.”

“You seemed pretty worried about me,” I countered.

He smiled, showing his disastrous collection of teeth. “You ain’t mine, unfortunately. But you’re in my house. They’ll leave your Jeep be as long as you’re out of here before dark.”

With several hours left in the day, I had every intention of being just that.

“So, you ain’t selling anything?”

“No, I’m a private investigator looking for someone you know.”

“Really?” His interest piqued, but in an amused way. “You don’t look like no dick.”

“Well, I am. And I’m looking for—” I paused and flipped through my notepad to give him a minute to let his emotions level out. I needed a clean read. “—a Mr. Earl Walker.”

He balked, both mentally and physically. “You about ten years too late, missy. You weren’t exactly his type anyway.”

I knew that. I knew Earl’s type, and it was neither female nor grown. And he wasn’t lying. He truly believed Earl Walker was dead. Hell, maybe he was.

With two scratched off the list, it looked like I was going to Corona.

“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Gibbs.”

“Ain’t no problem. If you find him, tell him Virgil says hey.” He laughed into the bottle as he took another swig.

“I’ll do that.”

I climbed into Misery with several sets of eyes watching, including Virgil’s. He wasn’t a monster like his friend Earl, but I doubted I’d hang with him anytime soon.

I called Cook to let her know where I was headed.

“Hey, boss.”

“I struck out.”

“Oh, was he good looking?”

“No. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if you asked him out and he said no.”

“Not that kind of struck out. With the guy from Reyes’s list.”

“Oh, bummer. What now?”

“I was going to head out to Corona, but I think I’ll go talk to Kim Millar first.”

“Reyes’s sister?”

“That’s the one.”

Reyes had a pseudo-sister, a girl he’d grown up with, and he cared for her deeply. While Reyes had been kidnapped from his birth parents as a small child and sold to Earl Walker, Kim had been given to the man. When she was two, her drug-addicted mother dumped her on Earl Walker’s doorstep, the man she suspected was Kim’s father, then died days later. Had Kim’s mother known what kind of monster Earl Walker was, I could only hope she would never have left her daughter with him. Walker didn’t sexually abuse her, as I’d feared. He did the next best thing. He used her to control Reyes, literally starved her to get what he wanted out of him. And while we never discussed exactly what it was he wanted from Reyes, the implications of sexual abuse were all there.

“I’ll head to Corona after I talk to her,” I said.

“It’s getting late, and it’ll take you a couple of hours to get there.”

“Yeah, but I need to get this done, and since I can’t do anything about the doctor without more info, I’ll do this.” I could hear her pressing buttons on the fax machine, then rustling a paper or two.

After a moment, she said, “Holy cow, he was there.”

“What? Who was where? The doctor?”

“Yep, just got it. A receipt from the Sand and Sun Hotel in the Cayman Islands. One Mr. Keith Jacoby checked in on the very day Ingrid Yost was found dead. Paid for one night with cash and never visited again.”

“Oh, my god, Cook. We got him.”

“You need to call your FBI agent.”

“Okay, I’ll try her in a bit. Keep digging.”

“You got it. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

“I resent that remark.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, I might. You don’t know.”

“Do, too.”

“I’ll call you when I get out to Corona.”

“’Kay. And tell me what Agent Carson says. And tell me how Reyes’s sister is. And how much coffee have you had?”

“Seventeen thousand cups.”

“Don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

I glanced in the rearview to make sure my handy-dandy tail was doing his job. Yep. Right on my freaking ass. I hated being tailed. What if I wanted to run naked through a wheat field? Or pick up a male prostitute?

“This guy ain’t moving.”

Startled, I turned to Angel, who’d popped into the passenger’s seat. “Angel, you little shit. What guy?”

He shrugged. “That doctor you sent me to watch. He’s all boo-hooing over his wife. Are you sure he did it? I mean, he seems really upset.”

Geez, the guy was good. “Of course he did it. He was drowning in guilt when he came in.”

“Maybe he was guilty of something else, like cheating on his taxes.”

“Dude, I’m not wrong. Tax guilt is completely different. And unless I’m gravely mistaken, he killed his first wife, too.”

“Okay, but I’d rather hang with you.”

“Fine, but just for a few minutes. He didn’t give you any leads? Make a suspicious phone call? Go out to the shed? Down to the basement? Meet a woman in the alley and have hot animal sex? Maybe he’s having an affair.”

He tossed me an irritated glare. “I would have noticed.”

“Just checking.” I threw out a talk to the hand sign to block his ’tude.

“Besides, there are feds all over that place. He could have hot animal sex if he wanted to, but he’d have an audience.”

“Did you check his property? Maybe there’s some freshly turned dirt. Or a new garden. That’s always popular with serial killers.”

“Nothing. The man’s clean. Who’s that guy following you?”

“Uncle Bob put a tail on me.”

Angel smiled. “I like Uncle Bob. He reminds me of my dad.”

“Really? That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, not really, but if I knew who my dad was, I think he’d be like Uncle Bob.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “I bet you’re right.”

We drove in silence a few miles before Angel tossed me a “See ya,” and popped out again.

I stopped for coffee at a twenty-four-hour convenience store, then booked it over to Kim Millar’s apartment complex, flashed my ID to the guard at the gate — then offered him a ten-spot if he refused entrance to the black pickup following me — and parked close to her door. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. Admittedly, this was more curiosity than honest-to-goodness investigative work. Did she also believe Earl Walker was still alive? Did she know something Reyes didn’t? According to Kim, she and Reyes were in a zero-contact agreement. For her own safety, Kim’s existence was never brought up in any of the court documents. Because she had a different last name, it was easy for her to fade into the background, at Reyes’s insistence.

From what I could tell, Kim worked from home as a medical transcriptionist. No idea what that entailed, but it sounded really important. However, I’d been to see her twice, and after getting a glimpse of her life, her pristine apartment, and neat-but-out-of-date attire, I was beginning to think she needed to get out more. She was beautiful. Slim with auburn hair and silvery green eyes.

I padded up the walk to her turquoise door. The complex was styled to look like authentic Pueblo with round-edged adobe walls, flat roofs, and stepped levels, each one with vigas along the roofline, heavy timber beams extending through the exterior walls. Every door was painted a different Southwest color, from bright blues, reds, and yellows to the more earthy tones of terra-cotta and rich umber.

The last time I visited Kim, Reyes got a little upset. I tried not to let that worry me. He was bound now. He’d never know. Still, I couldn’t help but hesitate before I knocked. But knock, I did. A few moments later, the door opened. Kim stood there, pencil in hand. I flinched. Not because she was gripping the pencil like a switchblade and my sister had tried to stab me with one once — a pencil, not a switchblade, her grip quite similar — but because if I thought she’d looked fragile before, she looked ten times that now. I regretted my decision to come here instantly.

Her huge green gaze landed on me, worry and despair saturating the air. “Ms. Davidson,” she said, her voice soft and surprised. She glanced around, and I could feel the hope carried in each glimpse, each hesitant blink of her eyes.

“He’s not with me,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“But you’ve seen him.”

Her grip tightened on the pencil and I forced myself to stand my ground. This time, I glanced around, then looked back at her and offered the slightest hint of a nod. Her eyes widened. She pulled me inside and slammed the door shut.

“They’ve been here already,” she said, closing curtains and leading me to her small living room.

“I figured they might come here.” Those U.S. Marshals were nothing if not thorough.

She turned back to me after closing one last set of curtains. “Do you think they’ve bugged the place?” she asked, sitting next to me on the sofa.

Despite the fragility that seemed to encase her like a thin layer of crystal, she had a healthy glow, a soft blush on her porcelain skin. She seemed almost excited.

I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know, but I don’t really want to say too much.”

“I saw on the news where he escaped.” She was way too happy when she said that.

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle. “Do you think he’ll come here?”

“Heavens no. Remember, no contact. Like it matters anymore. The authorities know all about me.”

I’d wondered how the marshals had discovered her in the first place. There was nothing to connect Kim with Reyes. Then, a couple of weeks back, I found a reference to the possibility of a sister on one of those prisoner groupie sites and figured that’s where they caught her scent. Of course, the fact that fan sites existed at all for prisoners stunned me to my toes. And when I found out there was not one, but several dedicated to one Mr. Reyes Alexander Farrow … to say I’d been taken aback would’ve been the understatement of the millennium.

Still, it was the only explanation I could think of to explain how the U.S. Marshal’s office had become aware of Kim’s relation to Reyes. Like I’d said, thorough.

I thought I should warn Kim about Reyes’s attitude toward our friendship. “Kim, the last time I came to see you, Reyes was none too happy.”

Startled, she asked. “Did he … did he threaten you?”

“Oh, no. Well, maybe a little.” He’d actually threatened to slice me in two if I ever came to see her again, but I doubted he really meant it.

She rolled her eyes. “He won’t do anything. He’s all bark, that one.”

Her newfound boldness floored me. She was so excited and open. “You seem really happy.”

“I am.” Glancing down at the hands in her lap, she said, “Now he can go to Mexico or Canada. And he can live.” Her hopeful gaze landed on mine. “For the first time in his life, he can live. But I need to give you something.” She was glancing around again and went for the pencil. I braced myself, but she also went for paper. Thankfully. She scribbled a note, then handed it to me. “Can you get this to Reyes? This is the account number and the password. It’s all there. Every penny.”

“The account number?” I asked, studying the line of digits.

“It’s his money.” When my brows slid together in question, she said, “Well, my money. But he gave it to me. I just live off the interest. And I take only a little bit of that. It’s his. All of it. He could live like a king in Mexico with this.” She rethought her statement. “He could live like a king anywhere in the world with this.”

I folded the paper and held it in my hands. “Where on earth did it come from? How—?” Shaking my head, I realized I would never understand how Reyes did the things he did, so I switched gears. “I’m assuming this is a bank account?”

She nodded, a huge smile on her face.

“How much is in there?”

She looked up in thought, pursing her lips. “Last I checked, a little over fifty million.”

I stilled.

She giggled.

I slipped into a mild state of shock.

She patted my shoulder, said something about the account being in Switzerland.

I grew light-headed.

She waved a hand in front of my face, offered me a paper bag.

I knew Reyes was good at computers. He’d hacked into the NM Public Education Department’s database and given himself a high school diploma so he could take online classes while in prison, and with it, he’d gotten a master’s degree in computer information systems. And the first time I’d met Amador and Bianca Sanchez, Reyes’s aiders and abettors, they’d explained how he’d helped them get their house, how he’d studied the market, told them when to buy stocks and when to sell. But $50 million?

I pressed the paper back into her palm. “Kim, if he did this for you, then this is your money. I know him. He won’t take any of it from you. But more importantly, you can’t trust anyone with this information, even me.”

She pushed it back. “You’re the only one I’d trust with it. You’re the only other person on the planet he’d want to have it if anything should happen to me.”

I stuffed the paper in my pocket reluctantly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she said, a reassuring smile on her face. “Just in case. You know.”

My brows slid together in concern. She wasn’t lying so much as not telling me everything. “Hon, is everything okay?”

She blinked in surprise. “Absolutely, why?”

Okay, that wasn’t a lie. “No reason. I just wanted to make sure. You seem to be cooped up a lot.”

Glancing around her apartment, she said, “I get out. Probably not as much as I should. I go walking around the grounds every day. We have a pool.”

Part of me wanted to comment on how many pools she could have with 50 million dólares in her bathing suit, but she seemed comfortable here. Who was I to suggest a house on a beach in Hawaii?

She was feeling so good, so calm, I almost didn’t bring up the reason I’d come. But I needed to get her opinion on the matter. I just wasn’t sure if Reyes was seeing things clearly.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, pulling her attention back to me.

“Of course.” She’d pinned that smile back onto her pretty face.

I scooted closer and braced myself for any reaction she might have. “Do you think it’s possible that Earl Walker is still alive?”

The smile on her face didn’t waver. It didn’t falter or fade in the least. But the smile in her eyes, the genuine part of a smile, vanished. Then, like a geyser erupting from her core, panic rose in her and hit me full force, but she sat perfectly still. Motionless. Frozen in the throes of her own fear.

I put a hand over hers instantly and leaned forward. “Kim, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She blinked, appearing like a mannequin with the emotion that had been painted on her face a little too garish. “You didn’t frighten me,” she said, the lie hanging thick in the air. “What you asked is absolutely impossible.”

I backtracked as fast as I could. “You’re right,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry I even brought it up. I just thought if Reyes was innocent.”

The smile faltered at last. “He’s innocent? Did he tell you that?”

“No!” I lied, literally jumping forward. “No, he didn’t. I–I just wondered why he would escape. I just thought—”

“But you were with him,” she said, putting the facts together. “When he first escaped. I saw it on the news. He carjacked you.”

“Yes, he did. But … that’s not what I meant. He never said—” The fragility that had been there on my first two visits, the crushing sadness, resurfaced, and I was afraid her bones would crumble to dust before my eyes.

She pulled back, her gaze wandering past me to another place and time. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“No, hon—”

“I should’ve known Reyes would do that.” Her eyes suddenly shimmered with unspent tears. “Of course he would do that. He’s always done that.”

My thoughts shot from How do I get out of this? to Come again? “What do you mean? Kim, what did he do?”

She replaced the smile and turned back to me. “He told me he killed him.”

Well, shit. What the hell was going on? Was Earl Freaking Walker alive or not?

“And he lied.” An iridescent pool sat trembling on her lower lashes as she battled her lungs for air.

“Why would he lie about something like that?” I asked, struggling to understand.

After glancing at the hand covering hers, she clasped her fingers around it, then looked up at me as though she felt sorry for my lack of depth. “Because that’s what he does. He protects me. He does anything for me. He always has. Do you know there are pictures everywhere?”

“Pictures?” I asked, fighting past the grief.

With an almost invisible nod, she said, “He kept pictures. Proof. Blackmail.”

“Reyes?”

“Earl.” She shook visibly as memory after memory washed over her. “In the walls.”

I leaned forward, trying to get through to her. “Sweetheart, what pictures?”

She stood, walked to the door, and opened it for me. Reluctantly, I followed. “I’ll get in touch with you the minute I know something,” I promised.

Her breath hitched in her chest, and I realized it was taking all her strength to hold herself together. The kindest thing I could do would be to leave. So I did. She closed the door softly behind me as I walked to Misery. And everything she’d told me before about Reyes and her surfaced. How Earl Walker had used her to get what he wanted out of Reyes. He had abused him in the worst way possible. Had he taken pictures? Wouldn’t that implicate himself?

Then understanding of what she meant about Reyes protecting her dawned. He had gone to prison partly for her. Cleary, she needed to believe Earl Walker was dead with every ounce of her being. And I had just planted a seed of doubt in her mind.

Reyes was going to kill me.