“Let’s take a hike somewhere,” he said.
She beamed.
“I know the perfect place.”
They ended up at the Pueblo Reservoir, which looked like a mini Lake Powell. Gretchen knew a trail that descended into the back of a canyon. They hiked down-well over a mile from the car-found the place deserted and went skinny-dipping.
The rocks baked the water and kept it surprisingly warm, especially in the shallow spots.
Draven felt the need to show off and swam across the canyon, about a hundred yards, as fast as his overhand stroke would take him.
When he got back Gretchen was impressed.
“You look like Tarzan,” she said.
He beat his chest and did his best Tarzan yell.
A lizard darted by and Draven chased it. It took a full three or four minutes, but he finally caught it. Holding it by the tail, he walked toward Gretchen swinging it back and forth.
“Got a friend for you,” he said.
She screamed and jumped in the water.
“Don’t you dare!”
He tossed the lizard on a bush and jumped in after her.
Then it was time to make love. Right there in the water. They both knew it.
Neither hesitated.
This time, unlike Monday night, she kissed him.
Long and deep.
He kissed her back.
Afterwards they dressed and sat in the sun. Draven’s thoughts returned to the bikers.
“I have some scumbags after me,” he said. Then he told her the story of what had happened in the bar Monday night and how his apartment had been trashed yesterday.
“I heard about the bar,” she said.
“You did?”
She nodded.
“The word’s out that one of them got beat up in the bathroom.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“I know that jerk,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yep. They call him Two-Bits, but his real name’s John Sinclair. I know his three friends, too. They’re all first-degree assholes. They gang-raped me one night, the little pricks. One of them paid money for it, but the other three jumped in and took me for free. To me, that’s rape, not to mention that my ass bled for a week.”
Draven felt his jaw muscles tighten.
“Do you know where they live?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, why?”
16
DAY THREE-SEPTEMBER 7
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Teffinger wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it up in the air, trying to get it to land in the middle of the snake plant. It hit one of the outer edges and bounced onto the floor. Then his cell phone rang. He couldn’t find it at first but followed the sound to his left pants pocket.
He answered just as Sydney pulled up a seat in front of his desk, wearing a nice pants outfit with a matching jacket, one he had never seen before. She looked exceptionally good, and he glanced at her as if to say, “Just give me a second.”
“Teffinger,” he said.
“Mr. Teffinger?” The voice belonged to a woman, a crying woman. He sat up and concentrated.
“Yes, this is me.”
“Mr. Teffinger, this is Marilyn Black.”
Marilyn Black.
He didn’t recognize the name.
“You gave me your card once,” the woman said. “You said you’d help me.”
Still no memory.
“Calm down,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I met you down on Colfax,” she said, “when you were asking us questions about Paradise. You gave me your card and said I could call you if I ever needed help.”
Still nothing.
Then he suddenly remembered.
She was one of the hookers from the Rainbird Bar, a young woman, probably no more than twenty or twenty-one, with needle marks in her arm. Teffinger had interviewed her in connection with the murder of Paradise-a hooker who ended up with a six-inch knife in her eye. He told her to get off the drugs and get off the street and get her life back on track. He said he’d help, if she ever needed it.
He gave her his card and even wrote his home phone number on the back.
“I remember you now,” he said. “How can I help?”
She cried. “Can you come and get me?”
He got directions.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Just hold on.”
Standing up, he looked at Sydney. “I have to run,” he said. “But here’s what I need you to do. First, get a cadaver dog down at the railroad tracks. If there are any more bodies buried around there, I want to know about it now rather than later. Do that ASAP. It’s starting to cloud up and I’m afraid it’s going to rain.”
She nodded.
“I was thinking the same thing,” she said.
“You’re always a step ahead of me,” he said. “Then, in your spare time…”
She laughed.
“… we need to start getting as much background information as we can on Angela Pfeiffer and Tonya Obenchain. Somehow they’re both connected to the person who killed them, and we need to find out what that connection is. Let’s start by getting lists of their friends, work, schools, clubs, vacations, hobbies and whatever else you can think of where they might have overlapped, either with each other or with the same man.”
Ten seconds later, he trotted past the elevators, ran down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage, and squealed out in his truck. He found Marilyn Black on Colfax, sitting on the sidewalk under a payphone, shaking and disoriented.
He double-parked the Tundra in the street and ran over.
Then he picked her up and put her in the vehicle.
“I’m taking you to the emergency room,” he said.
She looked at him vaguely, then closed her eyes and slumped over.
He stepped on the gas.
A half block later, a man stood in the street, waiting to cross. Teffinger recognized him as one of the local drug pushers. Maybe even the one who’d been supplying Marilyn Black. He pointed the truck at him and stepped on the gas even harder.
