Icy Betrayal (5 page)

NINE

T
he Lennox Ice Company was located in an isolated industrial area on the east side of Castle Springs. The plant consisted of several long, tall buildings that ran parallel to each other. Sound from refrigeration units, transport trucks, and ice cutting blades echoed throughout the area. Adjacent to these buildings was a main office with a small parking lot in front.

Keller’s unmarked car had seen better days. It rattled through the potholes in the parking lot as he pulled in.

“Follow my lead and don’t bring up any details unless I do first. And don’t mention the insurance.”

“Got it,” said Mia.

They climbed the stairs to the main office and walked through a set of double doors. Inside, a man stood behind a counter, sorting through paperwork. A large doorway behind him opened to a warehouse. The doors were thick rubber with big scratched Plexiglas windows.

“Can I help you?”

Keller flashed his badge. “Yes, I’m Jack Keller, and this is my partner, Mia Serrano. We’re with the Rocklin County Sheriff’s Office. We’re looking for Scott Lennox.”

“I’m Scott Lennox. What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating the death of your business partner, George Lombard. We won’t take much of your time—we just have a few questions. May we sit down?”

“Why don’t we go in the back,” Lennox said.

Scott Lennox was in his mid-forties, clean-cut and handsome, with dark brown hair and deep-set blue eyes. He dressed in a western-style plaid shirt, belt, jeans, and simple work boots.

He escorted them to a large room behind the reception area. There were no other employees in the administration area. The office was stark, and the sounds coming from the refrigeration units in the nearby buildings were clearly audible. The noise was offset somewhat by the country music being piped into the office.

Mia recognized the song right away. “Back to Texas” was one of her favorites from Tripp Barnes, a popular country singer/songwriter known for his good looks and deep voice.

“I’m not sure what I can tell you. I was shocked. It was a horrible accident.”

Lennox offered them seats at a large wooden conference table but didn’t offer water or coffee. Both investigators sensed Lennox wanted the meeting to be brief. Keller sat in silence looking intently at their potential suspect. The pause was uncomfortable, and Mia fought the urge to fill the void. Keller set the pace and the mood, and he did so effortlessly.

Lennox quickly became unnerved. He shifted in his chair awkwardly. “So, how can I help you?”

“Oh, this is all routine. Paperwork, you know. We have to interview people who knew the victim just to tie up any loose ends for the report.”

“But it was an accident, right?” Lennox asked uncomfortably. “He was hit by a car.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Keller assured him. “But Mr. Lennox—may I call you Scott?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Scott, we have all these procedures. If it was just an accident involving a car and a pedestrian, we might just call and do all this nice and neat on the phone. But because there was a gun involved, a rifle actually, it opens up a can of worms. The state requires all kinds of forms be filled out if there’s any sort of gun involved. I’m sure you understand.”

Lennox nodded as if he did.

“So, we know Mr. Lombard was hunting that morning. He had a hunter’s vest on, and we found a rifle belonging to him near his body. But we keep asking ourselves why Mr. Lombard was out hunting so early that morning. I mean, it was bitter cold, and he was out there looking for deer? Does that seem peculiar to you?” asked Keller.

“Not at all. George lived to hunt, anytime, anywhere. He’d go out several times a week during deer season. Sometimes just to study their patterns. In fact, he kept some of his hunting gear here in his office so he could go at a moment’s notice. I think it was his way of relieving stress.”

“Hmm.” Keller made a few scribbles in his notebook. Mia figured he was just doodling to toy with Lennox but couldn’t tell.

“I don’t hunt, so I don’t really know. It’s not my thing.”

More scribbling.

“So, what exactly did Mr. Lombard do here?”

Lennox eased up a little. “He was my partner. Numbers aren’t really my strength, so he brought a lot to the financial side of the business. I learned a lot from him. We’ve expanded quite a bit over the past three years, mostly because of George.”

“I’m sure you’re being a little modest, after all that’s your name on the door. How did you two partner up?”

“A few years ago, a mutual friend put me and George together. I needed capital for expansion but banks don’t want to give you money unless you don’t need it. He believed in what we were doing here and took a percentage of the company in exchange for the investment. He also helped us on the financial side. He was great with the financial stuff, so he pretty much ran that side of the business. I couldn’t have done this without him,” he said softly.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Jack offered. “You said he handled the finances. Did Mr. Lombard work here in the office?”

“He spent a lot of time here in the early days. But over the past year or so he started coming in less and less. George had other investments, and I think he managed them from home. These days, he’s in two, maybe three days a week. Or was, I guess I should say.”

Keller gave Lennox a moment and shifted gears. “So how much ice do you guys make here in a given day?”

“About eighty tons a day, sometimes more. We service grocery stores, convenience stores, fresh food producers, hospitality, and so on. Cubed, crushed, block. If you want ice, we’ve got it,” Lennox said proudly, smiling for the first time since they arrived.

As Tripp Barnes started up in the background with a rendition of the Eagles song “Take it Easy,” Keller turned to Mia, inviting her into the conversation.

“Eighty tons a day, can you believe that, Serrano?” he said, genuinely.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Mia replied. “I notice you’re playing Tripp Barnes in here over your loudspeakers. Are you a fan?”

“Oh yeah, since before he was anybody. I got to meet him once several years ago at a little club in Boulder. A couple of us from here at the plant went out to see him perform. He was just starting out back then, but everyone knew he was going to be big. I’ve been to every concert he’s performed here in Colorado and a few in Kansas City as well.”

“I saw him at the Pepsi Center in Denver a few years ago,” Mia added.

Lennox was in his element. “Crossroads tour. That was a great show. Did you see him at Red Rocks several months back?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Mia said. “Work, ya know.”

“A friend got me 7th row, center. It was amazing.” Lennox boasted.

“Was Mr. Lombard a fan?”

“Not really. In fact, George wasn’t much of a music guy.”

“Do you mind if we get a look in his office?” Jack asked.

“Sure, I guess so.”

Lombard’s office was small and sparse. There was a modest desk, computer, and printer on one side and a clothes locker and gun safe on the other.

“Can we get a look inside these? It’s just routine,” Keller asked.

Lennox quickly pulled open Lombard’s top right desk drawer, opened a small keepsake box, took out a key ring with two keys, and used one to open the gun safe. Inside, there were three rifles and a .45 caliber handgun, along with an assortment of ammunition. The investigators were careful not to touch anything, but Mia took notes.

“Okay if we look in here too, Scott?” asked Keller.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Using the second key on the ring, Lennox opened the locker. Inside they found an array of hunting gear, mostly camouflage, along with hats, boots and gloves. Lombard was prepared for any weather condition, even temperatures well below freezing.

Keller asked, “Does anyone else have access to this office?”

“No, just George. I mean, I have keys to everything here, but I have no reason to ever go in here.”

As they headed back toward the lobby, Keller made small talk.

“How do you make so much ice, and how do you deliver it all?”

“Well the entire operation is highly automated. That’s why you don’t see a lot of people around. We make the ice in those buildings over there,” Scott said, motioning across the small parking lot. “We do cubes and crushed from those two, there’s storage in the third and we do big blocks and special orders in this building. We load the ice in freezer trucks and deliver directly to the customer.”

“How cold is it inside those trucks? I mean, the ice melts if it’s not kept below thirty-two degrees, right?”

“For storage and transport we try to stay between 20 and 25 degrees depending on the season. Those truck doors get opened quite a bit on a delivery route and we have to maintain quality.”

“Wow, this is really some operation you got here. Well, listen Scott, you’ve been very helpful, and we really appreciate your time. Again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Lennox said.

They all shook hands. “I think we have all we need. Best of luck to you,” Keller said.

“You too. Have a good day,” offered Lennox, seemingly relieved.

As Mia and Keller walked towards their car, the sharp “beep, beep, beep” sound of a forklift echoed between the buildings. They watched as a worker climbed down from the forklift, flipped open the latch to a delivery truck, and pushed up the heavy door. The investigators were some thirty feet away but the blast of cold air from the truck immediately took Mia’s mind back to the icy cold of the other morning when she saw George Lombard for the first time.

“Well, what do you make of it?” Mia asked.

“You first,” Keller replied.

Mia knew this was the first of what would be many evaluations by her new partner.

“Well, going in I figured he was the guy. Now, I’m not so sure. He’s hard to read.”

“Yep, he’s pretty cool and collected, no pun intended,” Keller said with a smirk. “Didn’t seem to try to hide anything. He allowed us access to Lombard’s office and lockers, and he was forthcoming about the business. He either had nothing to do with it, or he figures we don’t have a clue. Maybe he thinks he’s pulled off the perfect crime.”

“You didn’t ask him about the insurance money or mention Lombard’s terminal cancer.”

“In cases like this, it’s better to play one card at a time. It’s like poker. He gave us a bit of a tell. Did you catch it?”

Mia thought it better to be honest rather than guess. “No,” she told him.

“The gun locker. Lennox knew exactly where that key was. He doesn’t hunt and says they don’t spend much time together, but he went directly for that key. It’s possible Lombard told him where it was, but I don’t think so. Why would he?”

“If Scott Lennox did kill him for the insurance money, imagine his surprise when he learns Lombard had cancer and would likely have been dead within three months anyway,” added Mia.

“Yeah, bummer for him,” chuckled Keller, shaking his head.

“So, what’s the next step?” she asked.

“Focus on the moment at hand, be aware of the next, learn from the last. How many suspects do we have so far?”

“One. Lennox.”

“So we focus on that and try and figure out if he’s our guy. How could Scott Lennox make this homicide look like a run of the mill traffic accident? How did he get Lombard out on Highway 46 that morning? Did he push him in front of the car? Was he already dead when the lady hit him? Was he killed somewhere else and then dumped out there? I don’t know, but this was no accident, and it ain’t no suicide.”

They drove quietly through Castle Springs as the heat of the sun worked to melt the recent snowfall. Keller thought about the $2 million payday that would come Scott Lennox’s way if they couldn’t make a case.

“I think we should go and talk with the woman who hit him,” Mia said. “She was in shock that morning. Maybe by now she can give us more.”

“Okay, Investigator, but what do we do before visiting the driver?” quizzed Keller.

Mia was clueless. “What?”

“What time is it?”

Mia looked at her phone. “11:45.”

“Right. We get lunch.”

TEN

T
he small town of Rosebud was a thirty-minute drive from the Lennox Ice Company in Castle Springs. It was nearly 1:30 by the time Keller and Mia pulled up in front of Lisa Sullivan’s apartment building. The hour they spent at Sal’s, the Jalisco-style Mexican restaurant where Jack Keller introduced Mia Serrano to some of the best Mexican food she had ever tasted, had been time well spent.

On the way out to Rosebud, Mia suggested they call Lisa Sullivan to make sure she was home. Keller disagreed. He said it was better for investigators to arrive unannounced and keep the subject off balance. It gave them less time to cook up a story—if there was one to cook up. Keller figured if Sullivan really was as shaken up as she appeared, there was a good chance she hadn’t yet returned to work, so she was likely home.

The Pine Tree Apartments in Rosebud were tired, in need of paint and maintenance. Carports offered the tenants marginal protection from the harsh Colorado winters, though some appeared on the verge of collapse. The complex had a large pool, covered for the winter, two tennis courts and a BBQ area. It had been a nice family complex thirty years ago.

Keller decided Mia would be the lead on the Sullivan interview. They parked and made their way up some creaky steps to the apartment marked #238. Mia rapped on the door and waited. Thirty seconds ticked by with no response. She banged on the door again, only harder. She noticed a corner of the curtain covering the window a few feet from the door open slightly. She held out her badge in the direction of the curtain.

The deadbolt turned a few seconds later, and the door opened just a few inches. The safety chain tightened.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Sullivan, it’s Mia Serrano with the RCSO. I was the investigator you talked to at the accident you were involved in last week. Can we come in and talk for a few minutes?”

“Give me a minute. I gotta put something on.”

The door closed slowly and caught.

It was a long minute. The two investigators eyed each other warily. Keller’s senses heightened, taking in every visual cue, sound or movement. They had no way of knowing what was on the other side of the door or around the building. Sullivan was probably touching up her makeup, but she, or someone else inside could be loading up a weapon. Far too many cops die in situations just like this, and Keller knew it.

He reached for his Glock and nodded for Mia to do the same. Both pulled their weapons, clicked off the safeties and held them low and out of sight. They stayed clear of the doorway and listened closely for anything going on inside the apartment. The seconds dragged on.

Finally, the chain shifted sharply and the door opened seemingly in a single movement. The investigators both instinctively snapped their muzzles toward the sound, but stopped short when Sullivan’s hands appeared and pulled back the door. They quickly holstered their weapons. The woman hadn’t even noticed.

Lisa Sullivan apologized for keeping them waiting. Mia gave her the once over. Sullivan looked better than she did the morning of the accident but not by much. She wore a large, old Denver Broncos sweatshirt with jeans and was barefoot. Her face was haggard, with black circles under her swollen eyes.

Mia introduced Lisa to Investigator Keller. They shook hands, but Sullivan paid little notice.

“Come in, if you want,” she said. “But I told you everything the other day. This is such a nightmare. I wish I could forget it ever happened.”

“We understand, but we are just trying to wrap up the loose ends of the investigation. It shouldn’t take too long,” responded Mia.

“Okay, then.”

Sullivan guided them through the cramped living room to the kitchen, where she offered them a seat at a small table. Across the kitchen sat an old refrigerator, along with a stove and oven that were at least thirty years old and avocado in color. The burnt orange linoleum on the floor was cracking and peeling up in one corner.

“What do you need to know?”

“That morning, you said Mr. Lombard, the deceased, suddenly appeared in front of you. You said he looked to you like a deer in headlights. Do you remember saying that to me?”

“Not really. I just know that there was nothing I could have done to miss him. It was dark and the curve in the road—”

Mia cut her off. “No, no, I don’t mean to imply there was something you could have done differently. That’s not why we’re here. We just need to clarify a few things for the final report.”

“Well, I think I told you everything. I really just want to forget the whole thing.”

“I understand. We won’t take much of your time today. But that morning you said he appeared to be standing in the roadway. Could you tell us again about that?”

“Well, I’m not really sure. That may have just been the shock of hitting him. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, so in reality, I’m sure he wasn’t just standing there.”

“Do you remember if he was turned to either side when you struck him, or was he facing you, or did he try to turn away or move away when he realized he was going to be hit?”

“It all happened in a split second. Am I going to be in trouble now for hitting him? It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“No, I don’t mean to upset you. We are just trying to close out the case.”

“When will the case be closed? I just want it to be over.”

“It should be wrapped up pretty soon. Is there anything you’ve remembered since that morning?”

“No, nothing at all. I told you everything that day. I don’t understand why you’re here. It was an accident. Like I said, I didn’t mean to kill the poor man.”

“Okay, we just thought that some time had passed, and that you might recall some other details.”

“No, I told you everything, I swear.”

Mia eyed Keller for guidance. He offered only a blank expression. This was looking like a dead end.

“Okay, well, thanks for your time, Miss Sullivan.”

Mia felt sorry for her. Lisa Sullivan clearly had trouble making ends meet and her apartment was a dump with an avocado-colored refrigerator. Like the one Mia remembered from her own home, Sullivan’s was covered with magnets. They held pictures of friends, cats and an old concert ticket. Mia studied it.

“Are you a Tripp Barnes fan?” Mia asked Sullivan. “It looks like you went to a concert at Red Rocks a while back. I was there, too. Great show,” Mia lied. “Wow, you had great seats,” she added, glancing at Keller.

“We were so lucky to get those seats,” Lisa said, upbeat for the first time. “I try to go to all his concerts. That was the first time I’ve ever been really close to the stage.”

Keller had made the connection, but instead focused on an old photo—one with a young woman with a small girl sitting in her lap.

“Is this you in the picture?” he asked Sullivan.

“Yes, that’s me in my mom’s lap… I think I was about three. I really don’t remember it. I was so young.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“I’m from the Midwest originally, and then my mom moved us here to Rosebud. She was a single mom, and we moved to Colorado when she found work out here.”

“What kind of work did she do?”

“She was an office manager for a couple of different medical supply companies. First in Denver, and then later here in Rosebud. She died two years ago.”

Keller examined the photo closely. “You look like your mom,” he said quietly.

Lisa smiled and nodded.

“Everybody tells me that.”

“Is this your sister?” Mia asked, as she pointed to one of the girlfriend pictures that appeared to have been taken at a bar.

“Uh, yeah, that’s her.”

“Is she the one you were going to visit in Big Pine the morning of the accident—the one going through the divorce?”

“Um, yeah.”

“How is she doing?” responded Mia.

“Oh, she’s fine.”

After an uncomfortable pause, the pair thanked Lisa Sullivan again for her time and left.

As soon as they were back in the car Mia started in. “Seventh row at Red Rocks? And that woman she says is her sister looks nothing like her. I don’t know what she’s selling, but I’m not buying it.”

“We’ll need more than a concert ticket for a conviction in a murder case. A hundred people could have been in the seventh row. And sisters often don’t look alike. My kids don’t look anything like each other,” responded Keller, looking out the window at the hillsides covered in pine trees as they headed toward I-25.

“So you don’t see a link with her and Lennox?”

“It’s possible, I guess.”

“I wish I had gotten a better look at the seat number on that ticket stub. You didn’t happen to catch it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Keller responded with a shrug.

Mia wondered why Keller was so dismissive about the concert. She decided to let it be, for now.

“Investigators were just here, and they were asking me again about what happened. I just answered the questions the same way I answered them the day of the accident. I don’t understand why they keep asking me stuff,” Lisa Sullivan said into her cell phone as she paced across her living room.

“It will happen, just a few more weeks and the money will be here,” the man told her.

“And then we can leave?” Sullivan asked.

“Yep, we are all set. Once we get the money, we are out of here forever.”

“God, I wish I could see you. I’m scared to death.”

“Tell you what,” Keller said as they pulled into the Justice Center complex. “I’ve got a buddy at Ticketline. I’ll have him take a look at the transactions for the seventh row for that particular concert at Red Rocks. He works up in Denver, and he owes me a favor. It’s almost end of shift, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just drop you off, and I’ll run up there and pay him a visit. You see what you can dig up on Lennox, okay?”

“Okay, Jack.”

Mia climbed out and headed back to her office. As she was passing by the admin section she decided to drop in on McCallister and give him a quick briefing. Mick was packing up a laptop and files from his desk when she arrived.

“Hey, Captain. Keller and I just interviewed Scott Lennox and the woman that hit our hunter out on 46. Do you have a few minutes for an update?”

“Actually, no—I’m off to a meeting with the sheriff. And it could run ‘til six.”