Corrector (15 page)

Soon enough he arrived at Glenmore Springs, and found the hotel where he’d made reservations over the phone without difficulty.  He checked into his hotel, unloaded some of his bags, and went in search of a local map and something to eat.  He needed to get his bearings before he would be able to locate the Granger place.  Besides, it was late and would be getting dark.  It would be best to have a look in the morning.  The paper had said Granger had had dinner at the fanciest place in town the night before he’d been killed, which was just down the street.  Jake figured he would eat there tonight and see what he could learn about the actor’s schedule.

“Incredible what nature can do, isn’t it?” The deputy asked as he walked over toward Jake after parking behind the Silverado. 

Jake had to agree.  He had parked his truck adjacent to the driveway with the still intact and nicely built gate in front of the driveway that had lead up to the house.  The gate was motor driven, and there was nothing to reveal who had lived here, but Jake had found a fountain of information in one of the waitresses the previous evening.  Not only had she been able to provide him with detailed directions to where Granger had lived, but had told him about the dinner with a couple of friends that he’d shared that night.  Apparently Granger was well liked by the locals.  He was here frequently, and never acted like a big shot.  He mingled easily and was more than a little generous.   Jake had been able to tell the waitress’s sadness at the man’s passing had been genuine.

A short distance in from the highway the road had taken a sharp turn to the left, going up a small hill to where the house had been.  The garage, Jake assumed that’s what the structure was, was still standing.  Parked and waiting was a Dodge pickup, white like his own.  It was a couple of years old, with a large scrape in the front bumper that was visible.  The house had been behind the surviving structure, but now there was a large dark gouge in the land where the ground had simply slipped out from under the structure and the mud and rock from uphill had come flowing down.  The dark swath continued downhill into a large rocky area.  The broken remains of a large structure could be partially seen buried in the mound at the bottom of that hill.

“It’s a little scary,” Jake admitted as he turned to face the deputy.  He was surprised that someone had shown up so quickly.  They must be keeping an eye on the place for some reason.  Well, maybe it was the best way for him to learn something.

“May I help you with something?” the deputy asked.  His eyes watched Jake carefully.  “This area is off limits.  I hope you weren’t thinking of going onto the property.”

“I wouldn’t think it would be safe,” Jake said.

“It’s not.  We had a devil of a time recovering the body and almost had a couple of men buried as they were digging.  But you’d be surprised what some people will risk for a souvenir.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You’re a long way from home,” the deputy observed.  “Your plates say Nevada.  Do you have some ID and a reason to be here?”

Jake handed him his driver’s license.  “I’ve been on vacation for the last two months.  I was up by Cheyenne when I saw an article in the paper.  I couldn’t believe it.  I’ve been a fan of Granger’s for years.  I just felt I needed to come by and see.”

The deputy had looked carefully at the ID and Jake’s face.  Jake knew he had mentally stripped away the beard and would not forget the specifics.  He would also bet the man had recorded his license before getting out of the car.  More than likely he had called it into dispatch.

“Bret was pretty well liked around here.  He will be missed.”  The deputy handed back the license.

Jake hadn’t missed the use of Granger’s first name.  The deputy had used the name as if he was accustomed to addressing the actor that way.  Somehow, Jake was certain he had known him.

“He was here alone?” Jake asked.

The deputy nodded.  “That was a bit unusual, but he was expecting guests this week.  He had dinner with friends, got back around midnight based on our estimates, and a couple hours later the mountain gave way.”

The deputy seemed to realize he was being too open and that Jake wasn’t a local.  “I would appreciate it if you were to move along now.  There’s nothing more to see here.  Are you staying in town, or just driving through?”

Jake explained that he had a room at one of the hotels.  The deputy asked for the hotel and room number.  Jake had no doubts he would be run through the computer before an hour passed.  Jake thanked him for the information, and climbed back into the Silverado.  He made a U-turn and headed back toward downtown.  There he turned west on 70 and drove the twenty-five miles to the small town of Rifle.  Like Glenwood Springs, it was more deserted than usual, and he was able to locate a couple of places where he could rent a small cottage for a week.  The owner of the place he liked best told him all six had been empty for a couple of weeks.  Jake promised to call him back and accepted a card with a phone number on it.  Then he drove back to his hotel.

He spent the afternoon working through his plan.  It wasn’t the best, but he really wanted to do this.  He had an early dinner, then turned in.  He was already on the road when the sun came up the next morning.  It took him nine hours to drive back to Rapid City where he checked into the same hotel he’d been staying at the previous week.  The pretty woman at the desk was surprised to see him back, and without his even asking she gave him his old room once again.  He left everything in the car and went up stairs to the room and lay down on the bed.

He’d had all day to think it through.  There was nothing more to do.  He back-tracked a full week.

Jake groaned and rolled over in the bed, kicking back the covers as he grabbed at his head.  His eyes found the clock on the side table, the red numerals glaring at him.  It was 7:30 in the morning, and his headache was fierce, the kind only caused by one thing.  It came as a surprise.  He hadn’t expected to be doing any back-tracking during the trip, so something unexpected must have happened to cause that to change.  He didn’t want to think about it at the moment.  First order of business was some aspirin and something with a heavy dose of caffeine.  He slid out of bed, nude except for the briefs he wore.  His travel kit had a small bottle of the pills he sought and he quickly downed three of them with some water cupped in his hands from the sink.  He slipped on a pair of pants and a T-shirt, then hurried down the hall where he bought two cokes from the vending machine.  He had completed drinking one by the time he made it back to the room, and opened the second as soon as he was back in his room.

The pain was already starting to recede, partially from the medication, and partially from his being up and moving around.  The memories that he had passed back were in place, and for one of the rare times he wondered if his future self had thought this through correctly.  He had come back a full week that helped explain the intensity of his headache.  It was an odd situation.  All of the memories and thoughts were his own, even though this version of himself hadn’t actually taken the time to work through the logic and decision making process.  It only felt like he had.  That usually meant there was nothing more to do but start taking action.  This time, for the briefest moment, Jake wondered if he realized what he planned to attempt.  Much more risk was involved in what he had planned than was usually the case.  Still, it was Bret Granger.  He could understand why his future self had wanted to take action.

Jake washed his face and combed his hair, then slipped on his shoes.  There was a lot to get done.  He left the room, leaving the
Do Not Disturb
note on the door, and took the elevator down to the lobby, stopping by the front desk on his way to the cafeteria to extend his stay for two more days.  He had been scheduled to check out today, but now he would need more time to prepare.  While he was there he asked if they would skip the room clean up for the day.  After he finished his breakfast, he went out to his truck and brought back to the room a number of items he normally left in the vehicle.  Then he drove to the local Chevy dealer he had found in the phone book.  Once there, he drove into the service area and told them what was wrong with his drive train.  The service manager was skeptical as he couldn’t hear anything wrong, but Jake was insistent they pull the unit apart and have a look.

“I guess it’s your money,” the man said finally.  “Are you sure you don’t want to wait and see?”

“I’ve had a problem like this before,” Jake told him, implying it was another vehicle rather than this one which would develop the problem in another hundred miles or so.  He couldn’t afford to have the problem come up while he was in the middle of what he had planned.  “I don’t want to get caught somewhere where it can’t be fixed easily.”

“Okay.  It’ll be ready by five o’clock.  Do you need a ride?”

Jake indicated he did, and was directed to a waiting room where two others waited ahead of him.  Within ten minutes a young man pulled up in a small van.  The three customers piled into the vehicle, gave their desired locations to the driver, and sat back and rode in silence as each was dropped off.  Jake was second based on the relative location, and was back in his room by ten o’clock.

The first thing he did was to pull the battery from his cell phone.  Then he activated one of the throw away phones he always carried in the truck.  With that phone he called the number he had memorized for the cottages in Rifle, Colorado and talked with the owner he had met a few days from now.  Of course, that meeting would never take place, but Jake recalled it vividly and remembered the layout of the six cottages.  He knew that all would be vacant and that number six was the most isolated of the group.  He told the owner he would like to rent number six for a week starting on Friday night.  He explained he had been there once before with a friend, and coming back to the same cottage would be the most familiar.  That would be especially helpful since he expected to arrive very late at night, and would appreciate if the unit were left unlocked with the keys inside.  Jake would check in with the owner Saturday sometime.  He gave him the name and credit card for his operational identity that he had brought along just in case.  Next he scanned the Internet for places in Edwards, Colorado, and checked into an upscale hotel resort for Thursday night.  Once again he used the fake identity, with the associated credit card.

He was now set up with places to stay, neither of which was in Glenwood Springs where he would intercept Bret Granger.  He had a number of things he needed to do here, but without the truck it would be difficult.  He also didn’t want to leave the room unwatched any longer than necessary.  He spent the day surfing the net learning as much as he could about the areas he planned to visit and as much personal information about Bret Granger as was available.

The next morning, Wednesday, Jake drove the now repaired Chevy to the shopping center.  The maintenance man had been impressed that Jake had detected the problem and had known exactly where to look.  Twenty-twenty foresight was a hell of a diagnostic tool Jake thought to himself, pleased that the truck would be free of mechanical issues now.  At the shopping center he bought some nondescript clothing, a new pair of Nike shoes, some thin leather gloves, dark glasses, a John Deere baseball cap, and a section of nylon rope.  At the supermarket he stocked up on canned foods, drinks, and bought a couple of bottles of the washable hair dye he had used before.  By early afternoon he was ready, but the drive to Edwards would take eight or nine hours and he wanted to start fresh. 

Before turning in for bed, Jake applied the dye to his beard and hair.  He wasn’t as happy about the beard.  It looked almost too dark, but there was little he could do about it.  It would only be for a few days and he hoped almost no one would see him.  The beard would be coming off completely after this was done anyway.  In the morning, just as the sun was coming up, Jake checked himself out leaving the keys on the desk in the room and drove away.  No one at the hotel saw him with his altered hair color, and he bought breakfast at a drive through MacDonald’s at the edge of town. 

Twenty miles down the road he stopped alongside a large field where a stripped down old car sat in the weeds of some farmers field.  He had noted it on the drive back up from Colorado before back-tracking.  He stepped between the strands of barbed wire and walked out through the brown matted down grass to the vehicle where he removed the license plates.  He had stopped at the mall earlier and scanned the cars in the outer parking area.  It hadn’t taken very long to find what he sought.  A surprising number of people had actually followed instructions and had removed the previous year’s license plate renewal sticker.  Soon enough, however, he found a vehicle where the owner had simply pasted the newest sticker on top of a series of older ones.  On that one he was able to use a wood chisel and cut through the underlying layers and retrieve the newest relatively intact.  With a little contact cement, another item he had purchased knowing he would need it for this, and the older plate he had just found would appear entirely legal.  Someone would have to kneel down close to the plate to determine the plate number didn’t match the number on the sticker.

He would put these plates on his truck somewhere quiet later in the day.  He wanted to fire a couple of rounds through the Glock as well.  He needed a couple of spent brass cases.  Back in the Silverado, Jake settled down for the long drive ahead.  The road was now familiar to him, recalling having driven it twice before in the coming week.  He reached Edwards without difficulty, and checked into the hotel shortly before dinnertime.