Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Read online

  I followed at a safe distance, aware that Shane was now suspicious. Rain poured on us for a few minutes, and then subsided as we drove west, where the storm had already passed through. The ground and streets were wet, and the sky had turned an inky black as darkness fell.

  While I kept pace with Shane, I called Cal.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’ve got Shane in my sights. He just loaded up a bunch of rebar from the Vanguard job site and now he’s taking it out west.”

  “So they’re stealing stuff and selling it.”

  “Sure looks that way. I saw him sell some wiring to an electrical company yesterday.”

  “And you’ve got Gary selling stuff on eBay,” Cal said.

  “You found ads?”

  “Yep. He’s been selling wiring, copper piping and more.”

  “How much do you think he made?”

  “It’s hard to say, but a good bit if he’s been doing this for a while. I looked up half-inch up to one-inch pipes. Ones that are ten feet long go from about twenty-five bucks to sixty per pipe.”

  I thought about the stack of pipes on Gary’s back porch. “He’s making good money then,” I said, “because he had a stack of pipes on his back porch, along with other materials. You combine that with selling to other companies, who knows how much they’re pulling in.”

  “Not bad.”

  I sighed. “I just can’t believe Deuce is involved in all this.”

  “It’s not like him,” Cal said. “Or maybe he found out what was going on and was going to tell.”

  “And somebody stopped him from doing so,” I said. “That sounds more like him.”

  “Think one of these guys will lead you to him?”

  “I hope so.”

  “When I find out where Shane’s headed, I’ll know more.”

  I soon knew Shane’s destination: McClellan Concrete Construction. It was tucked into a residential neighborhood off of Colfax and Sheridan, in Lakewood. Shane turned south into the parking lot and I continued on west, past an area full of machinery and supplies. An eight-foot high chain-link fence surrounded the property, which extended almost to the end of a long block. I went halfway down the next block, parked, grabbed a small flashlight, and ran back through the darkness. A small field backed up to the west side of the property, and as I approached the fence, Shane’s truck was pulling into a space between two cement trucks and stacks of bricks.

  The streetlight across the road did little to illuminate the field, and I crawled slowly along the fence through high, wet weeds. Shane had left his headlights on and they shone on an area where he was unloading the rebar. I stopped twenty feet away, near the cement trucks, and watched, wondering why I was out in the cold and wet instead of in my car.

  “Hurry up.”

  Matt’s voice made me jump.

  Shane cursed. Apparently he’d been surprised, too. “Why don’t you help?”

  “All right.”

  Matt appeared in the headlights as he moved around the truck. “What took you so long?”

  “This stuff’s heavy!” Shane grunted. “And besides, I think someone was watching me.”

  “Would you relax! Everything’s fine.”

  “I don’t know. I’m telling you, man, I want out.”

  “I’m getting tired of your whining, Shane.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Forget it. Let’s get this finished.”

  They worked in silence. Matt climbed into the truck bed and shoved rebar out onto the ground while Shane worked to stack it up beside some other materials.

  “Okay, I’ve kept some back,” Matt said as he jumped off the back of the truck.

  Shane stopped and nodded.

  “You’ll get your cut from this after I sell it later this week,” Matt said as he pointed to the stacks that they’d unloaded. “You sell the stuff in the truck and keep the money.”

  “Okay,” Shane agreed.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Matt said. “You’re double-dipping and making some nice extra change.”

  “Uh huh.” Shane didn’t sound convinced.

  They’re stealing from Criss Cross Construction, and then stealing from the stealings, I thought.

  “I’ve got some work to do in the office before I lock up. Get that stuff stacked and then get out of here.”

  “Don’t forget the alarm,” Shane laughed.

  “I’ve got a night guard, what do I need an alarm for?”

  “It was a joke. I know about the night guard,” Shane said sarcastically.

  “Oh.” Matt shrugged, the joke obviously flying over his head. He shook his head at Shane and then strode off.

  As Shane finished stacking the rebar, I could hear him talking to himself.

  “I gotta get out of this, man. It ain’t worth the money.”

  The crisp night air filled with his cursing. A few minutes later, he finished. He kicked the last of the rebar, got in his truck and drove off.

  I stayed crouched down, my fingers intertwined in the fence. I now knew they were stealing from Criss Cross Construction, but how could I prove it? It was too dark to take pictures, and even so, that would only show them unloading materials. It wouldn’t prove they stole anything. And where was Deuce? I wondered if I could find some paperwork in the office that would incriminate Matt and his buddies. Regardless, I couldn’t do anything more where I was. I stood up, stretched my stiff legs, and walked back through the field and down the street to the 4Rrunner. I got in, started it, and drove slowly with my headlights off. As I neared the entrance to McClellan Concrete Construction, I pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. I could follow Matt, but I wasn’t sure what that would get me. I could take a chance that the building didn’t have an alarm, as Matt alluded to, and break in and see what I could find inside the offices, avoiding the night guard. Not an easy task, but possible. Or I could go home now.

  I tapped the steering wheel, thinking it over. Then I hunkered down and waited for Matt to leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  A little before nine, the front door to McClellan Concrete Construction opened. A rectangular patch of soft yellow light cut into the darkness, and a second later Matt emerged. He drove out of the lot, stopping long enough to secure a large swinging metal gate with a lock and chain.

  I waited a minute, and when all stayed quiet, grabbed my set of lock picks and got out of the 4Rrunner. I quietly closed the door, went to the fence, and listened. Satisfied no one was around, I climbed the fence, balanced at the top for a second, then lowered myself on the other side. I ran across the empty parking lot and up a short flight of steps to the front door. I gazed inside a narrow window to the left of double doors to see if I could spot an alarm system. It was logical that it would be near the door so that whoever entered could quickly turn it off before the alarm sounded. Not seeing anything, I decided to move ahead. I took out my lock picks and set to work on the door.

  On a previous case, I’d had to have Cal break into a house using a set of lock picks. He hadn’t been thrilled when things took a dangerous turn, and after that particular case, he’d shown me how to pick locks so he wouldn’t have to help with that task again.

  After a minute or two of fiddling, I was about to give up, wondering how Cal made it look so easy. Then the lock gave and I opened the door. I stepped inside, bracing myself for a screeching alarm. Nothing. I didn’t see a system anywhere around, nor did I hear the telltale beeping many alarms make when the door opens. Unless there was some kind of hidden, silent alarm, I was safe.

  I took out my flashlight and switched it on. I was on a landing with half-flights of stairs that led up and down. I chose up, tiptoeing as I climbed the stairs. To my right was a reception area, with a desk and chair, a short couch and a coffee table with magazines on it, and beyond it, a long hallway. A couple of recessed ceiling lights were on, leaving the hall dimly lit.

  I walked past the reception area and noticed
a short hallway to my left with a door to an office, and down another set of stairs, a door that led outside. I glanced in the office. The name on the door read “Matt McClellan”. Hmm. He was important enough to have a nameplate on the door. Very important person? I wondered. I stepped inside, closed the door and shone the light around the room.

  Along the wall to my right were three metal file cabinets. On the opposite wall sat a desk that faced the room. Pictures of construction sites hung along the third wall, and on the other, a large window looked out at a chain-link fence. Past that was a ravine and then a ranch-style house. I shielded the flashlight with my hand, hoping no one outside would notice it. I went to the desk. It had the usual accoutrements: computer, phone, ‘In’ and ‘Out’ trays, and piles of paper, files, and legal notepads. A little model truck held business cards. I picked up one and read it. Turns out Matt McClellan was the president of McClellan Concrete Construction. And he was stealing from Criss Cross Construction. Interesting. Now I needed to find proof of it.

  I stuffed a card in my pocket, then rummaged around the papers, not sure what I was looking for. I sat down and began reading the papers but came up with nothing. I went over to the file cabinets and opened the left one. Inside were files for various jobs. I found a file for Criss Cross Construction, opened it, and scanned the documents. There was an invoice for rebar, but the numbers meant nothing, other than the bill was thousands of dollars. I thumbed through more, then stopped and listened. Did I hear something? Must be my imagination. Regardless, I needed to hurry. I pulled out the invoice for the rebar, shined the flashlight on it, and snapped a picture with my phone. I put the file back and then paused again. I stood still for a second, then went to the door. I put my ear against it, my hand on the doorknob. I swear I was hearing something.

  I flicked off the flashlight, turned the knob and carefully opened the door, half expecting Matt to be there. I was wrong.

  Instead, a big black Rottweiler stood ten feet down the hallway, panting at me. One eye was glazed over and his snout was flecked with gray.

  “Ha ha, the night guard,” I muttered. A huge drooling guard dog. What a cliché.

  Then the cliché growled at me, baring a number of large teeth at me.

  “Nice doggy,” I said, my mind racing through options.

  Jump back into the office and close the door? That would make for an interesting conversation when the receptionist arrived. I was taking pictures of your invoices when I ran into your very impressive guard dog, so I thought I’d relax here until morning. No, that wouldn’t do.

  Try and take him out – but how? Throw my flashlight or lock picks at him? He’d probably think they were snacks. No again.

  Run past him to the front door? The Rottweiler growled again and lowered his head. No, I’d never make it that far. That left the back door.

  I glanced over. It had a deadbolt that I’d have to unlock. Precious seconds to do that. A noise interrupted my thoughts. The front door had opened.

  “It’s time to get rid of Shane. He’s a loose cannon and I don’t like it.”

  Matt had come back! I had no idea who he was talking to, and right at that moment I didn’t care. The Rottweiler jerked his head toward the voice and I acted. I leaped down the stairs and slammed into the door. I flipped the deadbolt, wrenched open the door and stumbled outside, the Rottweiler snarling as he bounded after me.

  Matt yelled, his voice cut off by the slamming door. The Rottweiler barked furiously as he hit the closing door, then bounded out. I jumped halfway up the fence and clawed my way to the top just as the dog hurtled himself toward me. His jaws clamped down on my calf. I swore, shook my leg violently and he let go, taking a piece of my jeans with him. Adrenaline surged through me as I hoisted my body up, then swung myself over the fence. I dropped, landing in a heap on the other side, tumbling head over heels down the ravine.

  Behind me, I heard Matt hollering at the dog. I scrambled to my feet and tore down the ravine, stumbling in the dark until I reached a clump of underbrush still wet from the earlier rain. I pitched myself behind it, crouched down and wheezed, trying to catch my breath. I stared back at the building. Up the slope, Matt stood on the other side of the fence, silhouetted by a light over the door, the dog panting beside him.

  “Who’s out there?” Matt said.

  I gasped for breath, a stitch in my side. Then I became aware of pain in my leg. It throbbed and burned. I winced, gritting my teeth.

  “Your bad luck I came back,” Matt said, brandishing a metal rod. He started down the fence, his arm outstretched, the rod clicking on the fence. The dog followed, snarling. Matt stopped about twenty feet from me, at the limit of the light’s illumination. He stood for a long time, staring into the gloom, head cocked, listening. The dog wandered closer to my hiding place. Matt whacked the fence and the dog stopped a few feet from me, glaring through the fence.

  “Can’t see shit,” Matt finally muttered. He whistled but the dog stayed put. “Hey!” he hollered. “Damn deaf dog. I swear, you’re old and useless.”

  The dog trudged back to Matt, and they walked back to the building, pausing at the door. Matt wrenched it open angrily, held the door for the dog, and disappeared inside. A moment later, the light winked out.

  I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it out slowly while I waited to see if Matt would come back out. I was tempted to stay put until I heard Matt’s truck leave, but I couldn’t take the chance that he’d call the police or come hunting for me. So I stood up and limped up the other side of the ravine and onto the street. I limp-trotted to the end of the block, then on around the back perimeter of McClellan Concrete Construction, careful to avoid the streetlights. Less than five minutes later, I came around the front side of the property. I kept my eye on the front door of the building. Matt’s truck was parked in the space right by the front door, but he was nowhere to be seen. I hurried to the 4Runner, got in, and drove away.

  I wish I could say I breathed easier, but the throbbing in my leg had turned into a fiery ache, and I was noticing other aches and pains. A few blocks from McClellan Concrete Construction, I pulled over, rolled up my pant leg, and looked at my calf. Bite marks where the Rottweiler had sunk his teeth into my leg were angry red and blood oozed from puncture wounds. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, probably because the dog was old and lacking some teeth. But it still needed to be checked. I knew where to go, but I knew one person there who wouldn’t be thrilled to see me in my present condition.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “This isn’t the way to win my heart,” Willie said as she pushed aside the flimsy curtain and stared at me. I was lying on an emergency room bed, trying hard not to fall asleep. It had been a long day, and I was dirty, wet, and tired. A doctor had already been in and out, saying someone would be back to treat me. That had been a while ago, and I was surprised to see Willie. Even though she was frowning at me, she was still awfully cute in light blue scrubs, a clipboard in her hands, her short blond hair tucked behind her ears.

  “Believe me,” I said. “I don’t want to see you right now either.”

  “You don’t want to see me?” She stared at me, confused.

  “No! I just meant,” I fumbled for the words. “Not like this. I’d rather be taking you to the movies or something, not coming into the hospital because I’m hurt.”

  On another occasion I’d been brought to Denver Health for treatment, and Willie had been working that night. It was not a highlight of my career, and it had done little to allay Willie’s fears about the dangers of my profession.

  As if to confirm that, she said, “I’d rather not see you here either.”

  “I thought you were off today,” I said. I sat up and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain in my leg.

  “The shift opened up, so I took it. Better than sitting around worrying about you.”

  The sarcasm was clearly evident. I shrugged my shoulders. “I wasn’t planning on getting
hurt.” I grimaced. “Believe me, I wasn’t.”

  “No one ever does,” she snapped.

  I stared at her, surprised by her tone. “What does that mean?”

  She frowned. “My dad would say that. ‘I don’t plan on getting hurt.’ But it doesn’t help you from worrying. And he had some close calls.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Like what?”

  “When I was eight years old, he stopped an armed robbery in progress. The robber shot at my dad. The bullet…it just missed his head.”

  “That must’ve been horrible.”

  “It was,” she said. “That was the first close call. After that, I could never stop worrying about him. And now I can’t stop worrying about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sighed. “But nothing ever happened to your dad, right? And nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  She nodded, then her face softened. “Dog bite, huh?” She set the clipboard on the bed, sat down on a rolling chair, and gestured with her hand at me. I lifted my leg, resting my foot on her thigh, and she examined the dog bite.

  “What happened?”

  “The building I was in wasn’t supposed to have an alarm system,” I said, grimacing again as she touched the area around the wound. “Turns out it did.” I told her about breaking into McClellan Concrete Construction and running into the Rottweiler.

  “They’re stealing from Criss Cross Construction?” Willie asked.

  “It sure looks that way. Shane works at Criss Cross, so he can get onto the property after hours. And Gary was in on it, too. Matt seems to be the brains behind the operation. He gets the guys to steal stuff, and they store it at McClellan. Then they sell it off whenever and wherever they can. As an incentive to keep the scheme going, Matt lets Shane and Gary keep some aside. They sell that and make a little more.”

  “And no one’s caught them?”

  I shook my head. “It’s seems too easy, though. I can’t believe no one at Criss Cross knows. Maybe they’re dealing with so much material, they can’t keep track of all this happening under the table.” I rubbed a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I must be missing something.”