THE MISSINGS (Aspen Falls Thrillers Book 2) Page 8

  Daniel had never been so aware of a neighborhood. Still, he wanted out of this place. He wanted to exist in a place less specific. Less ethnic. Less asking to be condemned. Less condemning of him. Wherever that nebulous place existed, it wasn’t here. This place, where the sound of Spanish fractured the air, heavy with the scent of grease and beans, made him angry. These people made his life more difficult simply because of their existence. They embarrassed him. Their struggles south of the border impacted his struggle north of the border. He was legal while they were not.

  But few seemed able to tell the difference.

  They walked and walked, sometimes talking, mostly not. Any talking that was done was between Elizabeth and the locals. The park was packed with families—kids, parents, grandparents. Daniel hadn’t known there were so many Hispanics in Aspen Falls. About one-thirty, Elizabeth pointed to a picnic table in a small park. A family packing away the remains of their picnic lunch waved Elizabeth and Daniel over. “We’re finished. You’re welcome to our table.”

  “Thank you.”

  Elizabeth motioned for Daniel to hand her the insulated tote and she opened it on the table. Elizabeth Benavides, whose murdered sister’s body she had found the day before, had packed a lunch for two. She pulled out an embroidered table cloth, two large cloth napkins, real plates—not paper—and utensils, followed by homemade tamales, a garden salad, and two cold beers.

  “This way we don’t really have to stop for lunch. We can stay in the neighborhood and see if we can learn something.”

  “We’re not learning anything fast, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “You give up too easy,” Elizabeth said.

  They ate their lunch in silence, except for when Elizabeth spoke to other young women as they walked passed. Mostly in English, but occasionally in Spanish. Daniel pretended not to notice the curious glances the passersby slid in his direction as they hugged Elizabeth and expressed their condolences, promising to let her know if they heard anything that might help.

  Afterward, Elizabeth repacked the tote, and Daniel hoisted it on his shoulder once again—noticeably lighter—and the pair began their slow tour of the community. Whether it was the beer or the woman—he couldn’t tell which—Daniel also felt lighter. More relaxed. Well, more relaxed than he imagined he would ever feel in this part of Aspen Falls.

  Daniel marveled at the casual way Elizabeth meandered down the streets, speaking to this person and nodding at that one. Saying just the right thing and gesturing in exactly the right way.

  She belonged.

  Daniel, aware that men and women who lived in this neighborhood watched him and inspected him, grew more uncomfortable. These people held him in suspicion, and he bristled. He’d felt these prying eyes before—from the world he had worked so hard to be a part of.

  And he knew he belonged in neither.

  He waited on a corner while Elizabeth walked a short distance down a side street to where a group of women stood and chatted. It would be untrue to say that he felt embarrassed by his Mexican heritage. Far from it. He considered himself a proud American with the strong and uplifting background of a Mexican family who had found a huge amount of success in overcoming loss. What embarrassed him was the attitude—and the brass balls—this current generation of Mexicans had in assuming that the border didn’t exist. That his country defaulted to them and could be taken. That the laws of his country were just so much shit.

  It pissed him off that he had to pay the price for their arrogance. Every single day.

  “I may have found something,” Elizabeth said. “Well, someone really.”

  A young woman stood a few steps behind Elizabeth. Shy. Pretty.

  The girl in the photograph found in the wallet of a dead man discovered on a hiking trail.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Aspen Falls Police Department

  Saturday, September 22

  Chase tipped his coffee cup to his mouth and got nothing but air. Dang. He pushed his chair back and stood to get more caffeine. Bad caffeine. Publicly funded, station-house caffeine. But still, caffeine. He didn’t want to take the time to go get some good stuff from The Coffee Pod.

  The quiet station allowed him to get a lot of work done. Transplant and organ donation research both inspired and depressed him. So much need and too few options. He poured the gray-hued liquid into his favorite cup. Bond had gotten it for him when he made Senior Detective a couple years ago. On the side of the cup people could see, it said HEAD DICK, and on the side that faced him when he drank, it said DICK HEAD. It kept him humble.

  “Hey, Waters, dump that sludge. I’ve got a couple of things you want.” Terri stepped into the room, the exact right color of coffee cups in her hands, and some bagels in a bag.

  All right! Chase poured the liquid in a nearby plant that continued to thrive despite its deprived and depraved environment.

  “Your timing is perfect,” he said. “Get that warrant?”

  “Better. Got the warrant last night and just spent the last hour in the ER while they printed out their records. They gave us the last ten months. More than that and they’ll need to go into their archives.”

  “You are truly an angel of mercy, Terri.”

  “It’s what they pay me for.”

  Terri pulled out hundreds of pages of hospital records and his good mood slipped a notch—or ten.

  He leafed through them. “These are just orders for blood tests?”

  “Yep.”

  “There must be five thousand names here.”

  “Six thousand three hundred and thirty-one. Dates, names, reason for visit, and findings.”

  Chase took the pile, divided it into two equal stacks and said, “Call The Pod. See if they’ll make a delivery in about an hour.”

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Terri asked.

  “Wish I could tell you. Look for anything odd. Something that jumps out at you,” Chase said. “Look for a pattern.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Possible site for Cobalt Mountain Antiques

  Saturday, September 22

  The GPS took Bond into an area just outside of downtown Aspen Falls. Beautiful, but way outside of the busy commercial area she had in mind. There would be no walk-in traffic here. Which meant it would take that much longer for her business to get in the black. A giant waste of time.

  She passed by something called the Preston Clinic, surrounded by a long stone wall. The impressive masonry was about six feet high and had continued for at least the last half mile as she’d driven past. Bond had never heard of the place. Must be some kind of rehab for the rich and famous. Somehow she didn’t think they’d be in the market for antiques.

  “Are we there yet?” What parent hadn’t heard this refrain from their offspring? An image flashed in Bond’s mind of a family in a covered wagon with a child in the rear asking the same question.

  “Lizzie says less than two minutes.” Lizzie was the name the family had given the GPS in her Navigator. Chase’s had been christened Waldo, as in “Where’s Waldo?” She had no clue why Lizzie had received her moniker. But Lizzie she was.

  Angela piped up. “Can we go to Goodfellows for lunch?” Both girls loved making their own pizzas at the restaurant in Snowmass Village.

  “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, best behavior, okay?”

  Bond pulled the Navigator up in front of one of the cutest Victorians she’d seen in Aspen Falls. Three different colors displayed in perfect harmony. But here? How in the world could she make a go of a new business here?

  Less than a minute later her Realtor, Blake Adams, pulled her Beamer X5 to a stop. Nothing but top-of-the-line for Blake.

  “Hey, Bond.” The Realtor nodded in an abstract way toward Angela and Stephanie. “Easy to find, right?”

  “With the help of my GPS.”

  “What do you think of the neighborhood?”

  “It’s gorgeous and upscale and who wouldn’t like this?” Bond asked. “B
ut where am I going to get any walk-in traffic way out here? Other than Hollywood rehabbers from the clinic?”

  “I’d love to be able to tell you they were all rehabbers there—you could make a fortune. But the truth is, you won’t find many Hollywood elite hanging out at the Preston Clinic.”

  “Well, who then?”

  “All I can tell you is that whoever uses that clinic, for whatever reasons, must have more money and pull than anyone I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Wow. Not even you, Realtor to the Stars, have the scoop?”

  “All I know is we’re talking serious money. Sure, some of our normal Hollywood crowd probably goes there, but this clinic goes beyond that money.”

  Bond turned to her girls. “If you want to check this out with me, come now. Otherwise stay put until I get back.” Each girl pushed her door open.

  “Fine. Stay close and be ready to go the minute I call you.” Bond had no illusion they’d be interested in seeing the layout of the house. She barely registered a black Mustang heading down the street. It didn’t slow down so she brushed any uneasiness aside.

  Blake adjusted her jeans inside her Sorrell boots before starting for the door. “You are about to see all of the reasons why this place can kick butt. Being out of the way will make it that much more desirable to people with big bank accounts.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Aspen Falls Police Department

  Saturday, September 22

  Chase and Terri had been sitting at the table going over records from Aspen Falls Memorial’s Emergency Room for hours. They’d raced down one blind alley after another, still no closer to finding a pattern.

  The names and dates on the hospital records had become blurred. Who knew there were this many sick people in such a small community?

  Chase stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders, and arched his back. Detective work often bordered on the mundane. Of course they never showed this part of the job on television.

  Chase had sent Terri out a few minutes ago for fresh air—and more coffee. If they didn’t catch a break in a couple of hours—

  Wait. Chase looked again at the page in front of him. Flipped back a few more. Then a few more. Bingo. He grabbed a fresh legal pad and began to write, faster and faster. He stood up with the pages and paced the room, back to the table to write again.

  “Yes!”

  Terri walked in, tired and sagging with the weight of tall cups of coffee.

  “Terri, order some pizza, then help me go through this list from the beginning. We’ve found a crack and it could be a very, very important crack. As in cracking this case.”

  “From the beginning? Chase, are you—”

  “Not kidding. Remember when we found a few patients here and there who came in with flu symptoms and blood tests were ordered? We thought we had something then but it went nowhere. Mistakes happen. That’s what we thought. Now, we’re going to go through each name again and check for all of the uninsured Hispanic patients, regardless of why they were in the ER. Make a note on each one whether or not blood tests were ordered. My bet is they were—almost every single time.”

  Terri handed him his coffee and went back to her stack of records. She set her cup down and grabbed her pile. Squinted at Chase.

  “And that tells us what exactly?”

  “Think about it. If the killings are to harvest organs for the black market, what group could be targeted without risk that police would be called in right away?”

  Terri’s tired face remained blank. They were all tired.

  Chase tried again. “What group is among the least likely to report missing persons?”

  Terri’s face split into a grin. “Illegal immigrants.”

  “Exactly.” Chase tossed her a fresh legal pad. “We’ll compile a new list and go from there. Not all of the people on the list will be illegal, but my bet is a majority of them will fall into that group.”

  “This feels a little like racial profiling.”

  “I call it solving murders.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Aspen Falls' Hispanic Neighborhood

  Saturday, September 22

  Elizabeth made the introductions and Daniel knew she’d found someone connected to the case. It turned out the casual conversations Elizabeth had engaged in earlier in the day had actually led her to where she might find the woman in the photograph of the unidentified man in the morgue. Daniel’s estimation of Elizabeth continued to climb.

  “Maria Sanchez may have information useful in the investigation of not only my sister’s murder, but her husband’s disappearance. She has agreed to talk with you, and only you, as long as I am also present.”

  In Spanish, Daniel said, “I appreciate your willingness to talk with us, Mrs. Sanchez. My car is about four blocks from here and we can be at the station in about twenty minutes.”

  Daniel watched as panic seized the young woman. She backed up, eyes wide, her head shook from side to side. “No!”

  Rapid Spanish followed between the two women and Daniel had a hard time following the conversation. Elizabeth turned to him, a hand on Sanchez’s shoulder.

  “We need to talk somewhere less official. She will not go to the police station.”

  “Ask her to wait a moment while I make a call. Tell her it’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

  Daniel walked away and punched Chase’s number into his cell. “Hey, it’s Daniel. We found the woman in the photograph the dead hiker had in his wallet. She won’t come in. Probably an illegal. What do you want me to do?”

  Chase answered, “We’re on to something from the records and I don’t want to leave. Plus, I would need you there anyway to help translate. You handle this. Get her to agree to have it recorded. You’ve got your recorder, right?”

  Daniel ended the call.

  “Is there a café near here?”

  “There’s a bar but it doesn’t open for another hour or two.”

  “See if she’ll go with us to The Coffee Pod. It should be quiet there.” Daniel would present the recorder when they were seated somewhere. One step at a time.

  Elizabeth spoke softly to Maria Sanchez. At first she shook her head and tried to pull away but Elizabeth held her firm. They exchanged a few more words, then Maria’s shoulders caved in and she nodded. Elizabeth loosened her grip and turned to Daniel.

  “She’ll come with us. She wants to find out what happened to her husband.”

  They walked to Daniel’s car, the two women a few steps behind him. He hoped they wouldn’t decide to take off. Chase would be less than pleased.

  Three people rode in silence to The Coffee Pod, but the energy inside the closed doors of the car buzzed with the thoughts and fears and determination of at least two strong personalities. Daniel, outgunned, needed to take control to assure that if this case ever went to court, they had all the bases covered.

  “Ms. Benavides, I will be handling the questions for Mrs. Sanchez once we get to The Coffee Pod. I expect you to remain quiet unless I ask you to say something. Do you understand?”

  “Ms. Benavides? After spending an entire day together, it’s Ms. Benavides? You need to get a handle on what it means to have a partner, because I—”

  “Whoa. Let’s get this straight. You and I are not partners. At the most, you’re assisting this investigation. At the least, you’re a loose cannon who could bring everything down unless someone babysits you.”

  “Babysit? You are acting like a culo, Great Detective Murillo. If I didn’t need the information, if I could trust you for one moment to find my sister’s murderer, I would tell you to let me out now. And you know exactly how far you would get with our new friend.”

  Elizabeth Benavides’s face glowed a deep umber. Her eyes flashed between him and Maria Sanchez. When they landed back on Daniel he could not meet her hostile glare. He worked a swallow down his throat while he eased into a parking space in front of the coffee shop.

  “Please, Ms. Benavides… Elizabeth. I appreci
ate everything you bring to this interview. I apologize for being so abrupt. But my job is to make sure the right questions get asked in the right way in the event we end up in court, and to ask the questions that will most likely lead us to whoever murdered your sister, and possibly Maria Sanchez’s husband.”

  She gave a slight jerk of her head but seemed to calm down a little. Daniel sighed.

  Settled in a private corner of the coffee shop with two Cuban coffees and a French roast, Daniel began by asking Maria about her husband. His name, where they lived, all the details they didn’t have. He asked if she had a picture of José, and she removed one from a well-worn billfold. A young man smiled into the camera. Daniel turned it over. 7/11. They didn’t need much more confirmation. He slid the photograph across the table to Maria.

  “I’m so sorry,” Daniel said.

  Tears filled the young woman’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away and sat silently for a moment. A small nod of her head.

  In Spanish she said, “I knew my José would not leave me. I knew it. You will find his murderer, yes?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Aspen Falls Police Department

  Sunday, September 23

  The next morning, Chase felt an almost palpable current run through the meeting room. The murder board finally reflected a few more answers than questions.

  He shared what he and Terri had found, a distinct pattern of uninsured Hispanic patients in the ER receiving unnecessary blood tests, including Rachelle Benavides. He’d also scheduled an interview with the transplant coordinator at Memorial for Monday.

  Daniel told them about Maria and José Sanchez. His hand flew over the murder board while he spoke.