Cold Case at Cobra Creek (6 page)

“Jeez. He was a pro.”

“What did you find?”

“He stole the name Lewis from a dead man in Corpus Christi.”

“A murder victim?”

“No, he was eighty and died of cancer.”

“So he stole his identity because it was easy.”

“Yeah, Lewis was an outstanding citizen, had no priors. His son died in Afghanistan.”

“What else?”

“Three of the names—Joel Bremmer, Mike Martin and Seth Handleman—have rap sheets.”

“What for?”

“Bremmer for theft, Martin for fraud and embezzlement and Handleman for similar charges.”

“Did he do time for any of the crimes?”

“Not a day. Managed to avoid a trial by jumping bail.”

“Then he took on a new identity,” Dugan filled in.

“Like I said, he’s a pro.”

“Who bailed him out?”

“Hang on. Let me see if I can access those records.”

“While you’re at it, see if you can get a hold of Sheriff Gandt’s police report on Lewis’s car accident. I want to know if Lewis was shot before the accident or afterward.”

“The sheriff doesn’t know?”

“According to Gandt, he thought the man died in the car fire. Now we have a body, the M.E. pointed out the gunshot wound. When I asked Gandt if he saw a bullethole in the car, he sidestepped the question, and said the car was burned pretty badly. But all that tells me is that he didn’t examine it.”

“Shoddy work.”

“You could say that.”

Dugan drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited. Seconds later, Jaxon returned.

“Each time, a woman bailed him out. The first time, the lady claimed to be his wife. The second, his girlfriend.”

“Their names?”

“Eloise Bremmer,” Jaxon said. “After Bremmer disappeared, the police went to question her, but she was gone, too. Same thing with Martin’s girlfriend, Carol Sue Tinsley.”

“Hmm, wonder if they’re one and the same.”

“That’s possible.”

“How about the other names?”

“One more popped. Seth Handleman. He was charged with fraud, but the charges were dropped. Says here his wife, Maude, lives in Laredo.”

“Give me that address,” Dugan said. “Maybe she’s still there.”

She also might be the same woman who’d bailed out Bremmer and Martin.

* * *

S
AGE RUBBED HER FINGER
over the locket she wore as she parked at the coffee shop where Ashlynn Fontaine had agreed to meet her. After Benji had disappeared, she’d placed his picture inside the necklace and sworn she wouldn’t take it off until she found her son.

It was a constant reminder that he was close to her heart even if she had no idea if he was alive or...gone forever.

Clinging to hope, she hurried inside, ordered a latte and found a small corner table to wait. Five minutes later, Ashlynn entered, finding Sage and offering her a small smile. Ashlynn ordered coffee, then joined her, shook off her jacket and dropped a pad and pen on the table.

“Hi, Ms. Freeport. I’m glad you called.”

“Call me Sage.”

“All right, Sage. You said there’s been a new development in the case.”

Sage nodded. “I take it you haven’t heard about Ron Lewis’s body being found.”

The reporter’s eyes flickered with surprise. “No, but that is news. Who found him?”

“Dugan Graystone, a local tracker, was searching for some missing hikers and discovered his body at Cobra Creek.”

“I see. And the sheriff was called?”

Sage nodded. “Sheriff Gandt said he would investigate, but he didn’t do much the first go-around.”

“How did Lewis die?” Ashlynn asked.

“He was shot.”

“Murdered?” Another flicker of surprise. “So he didn’t die from an accident?”

“No.” Sage ran a hand through her hair. “He died of a gunshot wound. At this point it’s unclear if he was shot before the accident, causing him to crash, or after it, when he tried to escape the burning vehicle.”

“Interesting.”

“The important thing is that they found Lewis’s body but not my son’s. So Benji might be alive.”

Ashlynn gave her a sympathetic look. “Did they find any evidence that he survived?”

“No,” Sage admitted. “But they also didn’t find any proof that he didn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Think about it,” Sage said. “The shooter may have wanted to kill Ron. But maybe he didn’t realize Ron had Benji with him. When he killed Ron and discovered Benji, he may have taken my son.”

A tense heartbeat passed between them, fraught with questions.

“That’s possible,” Ashlynn said. “But it’s also possible that he didn’t.”

Sage’s stomach revolted. “You mean that he got rid of Benji.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashlynn said. “I don’t want to believe that, but if he murdered Lewis, he might not have wanted any witnesses left behind.”

Sage desperately clung to hope that Ron’s killer hadn’t been that inhumane. Killing a grown man for revenge, if that was the case, was a far cry from killing an innocent child.

Ashlynn traced a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “I hate to suggest this, but did the police search the area for a grave, in case the killer buried your son?”

Sage’s throat closed. She clutched her purse, ready to leave. “I didn’t call you so you’d convince me that Benji is dead. I hoped you’d run another story, this time focus on the fact that Lewis’s body was found but that Benji might still be out there.”

She pulled a picture of her son from her shoulder bag. “Please print his picture and remind people that he’s still missing. That I’m still looking for him.” Desperation tinged her voice. “Maybe someone’s seen him and will call in.”

Ashlynn reached over and squeezed her hand. “Of course I can do that, Sage. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get closure.”

Sage heard the doubt in the reporter’s voice. She didn’t think Benji would be found.

But Sage didn’t care what she thought. “I know you have your doubts about him being alive, but I’m his mother.” Sage stroked the locket where it lay against her heart. “I can’t give up until I know for sure.”

Ashlynn nodded and took the picture. “Did Benji have any defining characteristics? A birthmark, scar or mole? Anything that might stand out?”

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Sage said. “He was born with an extra piece of cartilage in his right ear. It’s not very noticeable, but if you look closely, it almost looks like he has two eardrums.”

“Do you have a photo where it’s visible?”

Sage had actually avoided photographing it. But it was obvious in his first baby picture. She removed it from her wallet and showed it to Ashlynn.

“This might help,” the reporter told her. “I’ll enhance it for the news story. And I’ll run the story today.” Ashlynn finished her coffee. “As a matter of fact, I have a friend who works for the local TV station. I’ll give her a heads-up and have her add it to their broadcast. The more people looking for Benji, the better.”

Sage thanked her, although Ashlynn’s comment about searching for a grave troubled her.

As much as she didn’t want to face that possibility, she’d have to ask Dugan about it.

* * *

D
UGAN ENTERED THE ADDRESS
for Maude Handleman into the note section on his phone, then drove toward Lloyd Riley’s farm, a few miles outside town.

He’d heard about the tough times some of the landowners had fallen upon in the past few years. Weather affected farming and crops, the organic craze had caused some to rethink their methods and make costly changes, and the beef industry had suffered.

Farmers and ranchers had to be progressive and competitive. He noted the broken fencing along Riley’s property, the parched pastures and the lack of crops in the fields.

He drove down the mile drive to the farmhouse, which was run-down, the porch rotting, the paint peeling. A tractor was abandoned in the field, the stables were empty and a battered black pickup truck was parked sideways by the house.

It certainly appeared as if Riley might have been in trouble.

Dugan parked and walked up the porch steps, then knocked. He waited a few minutes, then knocked again, and the sound of man’s voice boomed, “Coming!”

Footsteps shuffled, then the door opened and a tall, rangy cowboy pushed the screen door open.

“Lloyd Riley?”

The man tipped his hat back on his head. “You’re that Indian who found the hikers?”

“I was looking for them, but another rescue worker actually found them,” Dugan said. He offered his hand and Riley shook it.

“Name’s Dugan Graystone.”

“What are you doing out here?” Riley asked.

Dugan chose his words carefully. Tough cowboys were wary of admitting they had money problems. “I spoke with George Bates at the bank about that development Ron Lewis had planned around Cobra Creek.”

Riley stiffened. “What about it?”

“Bates said he asked him to invest before he died. He also mentioned that he talked to some of the locals about investing, as well.”

“So?” Riley folded his arms. “He held meetings with the town council and talked to most everyone in town about it. Didn’t he approach you?”

Dugan shook his head. “No, he probably meant to, but he didn’t get around to me before he died.”

Riley pulled at his chin. “Yeah, too bad about that.”

The man sounded less than sincere. And Bates had said that he thought Riley made a deal with Lewis. “I heard Lewis offered to buy up some of the property in the area and made offers to landowners. Did he want to buy your farm?”

Riley’s eyes flickered with anger. “He offered, but I told him no. This land belonged to my daddy and his daddy. I’ll be damned if I was going to let him turn it into some kind of shopping mall or dude ranch.”

“So you refused his offer?”

“Yeah. Damn glad I did. Heard he cheated a couple of the old-timers.”

“How so?”

“Offered them a loan to get them out of trouble, supposedly through the backer of this rich development. But fine print told a different story.”

“What was in the fine print?”

“I don’t know the details, but when it came time to pay up and the guys couldn’t make the payments, he foreclosed and stole the property right out from under them.”

Riley reached for the door, as if he realized he’d said too much. “Why’d you say you wanted to know about all this?”

“Just curious,” Dugan said.

Riley shot him a look of disbelief, so he decided to offer a bone of information.

“Lewis was a con artist,” Dugan said. “The day of his so-called accident, I suspect he was running away with the town’s money.”

Riley made a sound of disgust. “Sounds like it.”

“Who was it he swindled?”

“Don’t matter now. Lewis is dead.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I figured the deal was void when he died. Haven’t seen anyone else from that development come around.”

That was true. But if they’d signed legal papers, the deal would still be in effect. Unless the paperwork hadn’t been completed or whoever killed Lewis had him tear up the papers before Lewis died. “Can you give me a name or two so I can follow up?”

“Listen,” Riley said. “These are proud men, Graystone. You know about being proud?”

His comment sounded like a challenge, a reminder that Riley knew where Dugan had come from and that he should be grateful he’d gotten as far as he had. “Yes, I do.”

“Then, they don’t want anyone to know they got gypped. Maybe that accident was a blessing.”

“I guess it was for some people,” Dugan said. “But, Riley, the body I found earlier was Ron Lewis’s. He didn’t die in an accident.”

Riley’s sharp angular face went stone-cold. “He didn’t?”

“No, he was murdered.” Dugan paused a second to let that statement sink in. “And odds are that someone Lewis cheated killed him.” Anger hardened Riley’s eyes as he realized the implication of Dugan’s questions. “What about Ken Canter? Was he one of those Lewis cheated?”

“Canter didn’t care about the money. He was just happy to unload his place. He wanted to move near his daughter and took off as soon as he signed with Lewis.” Riley made a low sound in his throat. “We’re done here.”

Riley reached for the door to slam it, but Dugan caught it with the toe of his boot. “I know you want to protect your buddies, but Sage Freeport’s three-year-old son disappeared the day Lewis was murdered.” He hissed a breath. “Lewis was a con artist, there’s no doubt about that. And I’m not particularly interested in catching the person who killed him,
except—
” he emphasized the last word “—except that person may know where Benji is. And if he’s alive, Sage Freeport deserves to have her little boy back.”

Chapter Six

Sage had slept, curled up with Benji’s blanket the night before. Just the scent of him lingering on it gave her comfort.

But Ashlynn’s comment about a grave haunted her.

After she arrived back at the B and B, she called Dugan. She explained about her visit with Ashlynn and her suggestion that the sheriff should have looked for a grave where the killer might have buried her son.

“According to the report my friend got for me, the sheriff arrived at the scene shortly after the explosion. I don’t think the killer would have had time to dig a hole and bury Benji, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check it out.”

His words soothed her worries, but she couldn’t leave any questions unanswered. “Thank you, Dugan. It
would
make me feel better.”

“All right. I’ll head over there now.”

“I’ll meet you at the crash site.”

She hung up, poured a thermos of coffee to take with her, yanked her unruly hair into a ponytail, then rushed outside to her van.

By the time she arrived, Dugan was waiting. “You didn’t have to come, Sage. I could handle this.”

“This search should have been done a long time ago.”

“Actually, the police report said that searchers did comb the area for Benji after the crash.”

She studied Dugan. “Were you part of that team?”

He shook his head, the overly long strands of his dark hair brushing his collar. “I was out of town, working another case.”

“I understand it’s a long shot, and I hope there isn’t a grave,” Sage said, “but ever since that reporter suggested it, I can’t get the idea out of my head.”