“You the call I’m looking for?” she asked.
“That’s me.”
She studied him up and down, and then said, “You got quite the body going there. I might have to give you a discount.”
She wasn’t his type, but he smiled, not wanting to piss her off.
“Thanks for coming so fast.”
She focused on his scar but didn’t say anything about it. Instead she motioned to her body. “It’s all muscle under these clothes,” she said.
“You look good,” Draven said.
She smiled.
“Of course it doesn’t just fall out of the sky and land on me,” she said. “I work my ass off in the gym. Monday I squatted four ninety-five. A personal best.”
Draven nodded, actually impressed.
“Five plates on each side,” he said.
“Very good.”
It took her only a few minutes to hook up the Granada, and then they headed down the canyon.
The radio played a country-western song that Draven had never heard before. He tapped his hand to it, feeling good and watching the scenery roll by.
“We used to tube here quite a bit,” he said, referring to Clear Creek. “A good ten of the times I’ve come the closest to death were right there in that water.”
She shook her head with disapproval.
“You got to be nuts to mess with that river,” she said. “You’d never catch me on it in a million years. I’d rather be on a Harley any day of the week.”
Draven smiled.
“Statistically the river’s safer. Every other driver’s an asshole.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But I don’t know too many people who have drowned on a Harley. I don’t know how I’m going, but it isn’t going to be by drowning. That’s one thing for sure.”
At the bottom of the canyon they took Highway 93 north toward Boulder, running through the rolling plains at 50 mph, parallel to the foothills. Clouds were building over the mountains.
In another ten minutes they’d be at the farmhouse.
He’d be home free.
Then the woman repeatedly looked in the rearview mirror, so many times that Draven turned around to see what had her attention all of a sudden. He saw normal traffic, nothing unusual, and most importantly no cops.
“What?” he asked.
“I thought I saw something move inside your car.”
His mind scrambled, needing a story, fast. But nothing good came to the surface.
“Yes!” she said. “I just saw movement. I’m sure of it. There’s someone in your car.”
She looked at him for an explanation.
He stared back and then put on a face as if he just realized what the situation was all about. “Oh, that,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. That’s just my girlfriend. She’s major drunk, sleeping it off.” He smiled. “She probably got a little freaked out with the car tilted up and me not in it. She’ll be fine.”
The woman didn’t seem satisfied.
“I can’t have a passenger in a car under tow,” she said. “It’s against the law.”
Draven pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and held it out towards her.
“For your inconvenience,” he said. “We’re almost there anyway.”
She looked at the bill but didn’t take it.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “If I get busted I lose my license.”
“We won’t get busted. We’ll be at my place in five minutes. If we get stopped I’ll just say you knew nothing about it.”
She looked in the rearview mirror again and started to slow down.
“We need to move her up here in the cab,” she said.
Draven shook his head with disapproval.
“She’s been throwing up for two hours. You sure you want that in here?”
She grimaced.
“Unfortunately we got no choice. I’m down to the last few points on my license.”
They continued to decelerate.
Then pulled onto the shoulder and stopped.
Draven surveyed the traffic and found it moderate, flying by at sixty or more. Even if someone did think they needed assistance, no one would want to slow down from that speed and stop.
He knew what he had to do but tried to think of another way out.
Nothing good came to mind.
He opened the door and stepped out. “She’s pretty heavy,” he said. “I’m going to need your help.”
She hopped out and met him at the passenger door of the Granada, on the side of the vehicle facing away from the traffic. He opened the door and said, “Can you pull her out? I strained my back a couple of days ago.”
The woman bent inside and said, “It looks like her hands are tied.”
That’s when Draven drove the knife into her spine.
59
DAY TEN-SEPTEMBER 14
WEDNESDAY MORNING
Wednesday morning, instead of heading to the office, Tef-finger drove straight to the railroad spur where the four bodies had been dumped. By the time he got there, the first thermos of coffee started to run through him and he made a quick detour behind the 55-gallon drum.
This time, though, he didn’t uncover a body.
Under a warm cerulean sky, he pulled down the tailgate of the truck and set a map of Denver on it, looking for an industrial area that had passed its prime.
Sydney called and asked where he was.
He told her, and she said to wait there.
Ten minutes later, she showed up.
“Here’s my theory,” he said. “No one drives too far with four bodies in the car, meaning the building’s around here somewhere. So I’m going to drive around until I find it.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re just going to drive around aimlessly and try to bump into it?”
He nodded.
“That’s my plan.”
“I’m glad I didn’t come up with it,” she said. “You’d fire me.”
He agreed but added, “Sometimes you just have to turn yourself into a monkey and peck at the keypad. Then hope you get lucky enough to spell a word.”
“I better come with you,” she said. “Otherwise you’re going to get yourself into trouble today. I can already tell.”
As they poked and prodded the never-ending industrial areas north of the railroad spur, occasionally stopping to piss behind a dumpster-Teffinger, not Sydney-he got a call from Katie Baxter.
“I have a list of all the BMW owners,” she said. “By the end of the day I should have background checks on all of them. But get this. Eight of them are registered to Hogan, Slate amp; Dover, where Rachel Ringer worked.”
“Interesting.”
