Deadly Connections Read online

  “About guns, or times for the range.”

  “Ah, I see.” He was lying to me. “You don’t talk about anything else? Has Gary said anything about trouble with his ex, or issues with Logan?”

  “No.”

  My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number, and it took me a second before I recognized who it was. Heather Neville. I’d have to call her back. “Have you heard of Colorado Citizens Militia?” I continued with Merrick.

  He took a moment, again gauging his words carefully. “I’ve heard of them. You hang around a gun shop, you hear things like that.”

  “Things like what?”

  Now he crossed his arms, defensive. “Nothing much. I guess those groups want to protect their rights.”

  “Is Gary part of that group?”

  “You’d have to ask him that.”

  “So no rumors about that?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not something he would share.”

  “Are you a part of Colorado Citizens Militia?”

  “No.”

  “Huh,” I repeated. “I thought I heard you were.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “I must have.” I returned to Gary. “What types of guns is Gary interested in?”

  “A variety of them.”

  “Did he buy a lot of guns from you?”

  “A few, here and there.” He’d now told me that Gary had bought guns here. He realized his mistake and tried to cover it. “He likes to use the range, keep his skills sharp. No crime in that.”

  “That’s true. Did Logan ever come here with Gary?”

  “He was here a time or two for target practice. The kid wasn’t any good, and Gary would get frustrated. Logan was scared of guns.”

  “Frustrated how?”

  He ignored that. “I don’t know what you’re going to find. Gary’s a good guy, and he’s real upset about his kid.”

  “So you’ve talked to Gary since Saturday night?”

  “I don’t remember when it was.”

  “What about last night?”

  “Yeah, we talked for a minute.”

  “What about?”

  “The ballgame, okay?” He glared at me. “As far as I know, private conversations are still private.”

  I nodded. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to his son.”

  “Yeah, that’s too bad. But I can’t help you.”

  He didn’t sound too broken up about Logan. “Were you here last night?”

  “Yeah, for a while. Then I went to get something to eat and I went home.”

  I kept him talking. “You’re sure you can’t tell me anything about Logan’s murder?”

  “I don’t talk about my customers.”

  “I get the impression Gary’s more than a customer.”

  “Maybe. And I don’t know anything about his kid.”

  “Might anyone else here be able to tell me more about Gary?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  I didn’t think he’d say yes, which was why I waited until now to push him about his association with Gary. Merrick continued to stare at me, and it was clear he wasn’t going to say more.

  As if he’d heard that, he said, “I need to get back to the store.”

  He pointed toward the door, and we walked back into the main room. The customer was gone, and Merrick’s employee gave me a long look as I headed for the exit. Then I stopped.

  “Oh, one more thing.” I locked eyes with Merrick. “Where were you Saturday night?”

  “I was here until about five, then I went bowling. Ask for Bill. He knows me, and he’ll tell you I was there until after ten.”

  “What bowling alley?”

  “Brunswick. On Kipling.” Merrick then glanced at his employee, who shrugged.

  “Yeah,” the other man said. “He said he went bowling after he left here.”

  Merrick smiled triumphantly. “See?”

  He was lying, I was sure of it. “That’s great,” I said. “I’ll check it out.”

  “You do that,” he dared me.

  “And last night?”

  “I was here.” He looked to his employee again.

  “Yeah, he was here,” the man said.

  “And after that?”

  “I went home.”

  “Who was there?”

  “Just me. I watched TV and went to bed. I need to help other customers now.” He glared at me. “I’m not in any trouble.”

  Not yet, I thought. What are you and Gary covering up?

  I looked carefully around the store. No one was around. I didn’t take offense at the dismissal, though. “Thanks for your time,” I said pleasantly as I opened the door. Merrick didn’t reply.

  As I walked to my car, I puzzled over Merrick. People who have nothing to hide cooperate, and based on my conversation with Merrick, he definitely had something to hide. I’d stirred the pot a bit, and he was smart enough to know I’d caught him lying.

  The question was, what would he do next?

  Chapter Nineteen

  I stood near the doorway to Gold Creek Gun Range for a moment. I can’t say that I was entirely surprised that Merrick had lied to me, but I had been hoping against hope that he might help more than he did. What was he hiding? I stepped aside to let a man in jeans and a leather jacket walk through the door. Merrick’s angry voice drifted outside.

  “This wasn’t what I was expecting. I…”

  I couldn’t hear the rest. I grabbed the door handle and let the door ease closed until it was just cracked. Then I listened. Merrick was furious.

  “Yeah, you need to think better.”

  I heard other voices, and some of what Merrick said was drowned out. Had he said something about meeting “him” somewhere? I let the door close as quietly as possible and hurried back to my car. I drove down the road, parked behind a sedan, rolled down the window, and watched the front of the store.

  What would Merrick do next? I glanced at my phone, then got on Facebook. I went through Merrick’s posts again, but didn’t find anything that helped my investigation. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I sensed movement. I looked up and saw Merrick coming out the front door of Gold Creek, his phone plastered to his ear. Even at this distance, I could see anger etched on his face. He stomped to a big black Ram truck at the far end of the lot, got in, and peeled out of the parking lot. He drove north, and I followed.

  He got on Sixth Avenue and drove east, and I was easily able to see his big monstrosity of a truck up ahead while keeping cars between us. He was speeding, and I hoped neither he nor I would get pulled over before I could find out where he was going.

  We crossed over Interstate 25 and stopped at the light at Kalamath Street. When the light turned green, I quickly switched lanes, wary that the next light might change before I could get through it. I kept the truck in sight, and barely made it through yet another light. Then my luck ran out. The truck blasted through a yellow light that was red by the time I got to the intersection. I swore. Then my luck returned when the truck had to slow as it approached Broadway, a one-way street. Merrick turned right, and I sped up and weaved around another car in order to make the light myself. The truck was farther ahead, and it turned left into a Thai restaurant parking lot. I cut across two lanes of traffic and pulled into a parking place on Broadway where I could see Merrick’s truck. He got out but didn’t go into the restaurant. Instead, he leaned against the side of the truck and lit a cigarette, then smoked and looked around. I didn’t think he could see me. After a minute, a silver Toyota Tacoma pulled in and parked across from him. I thought I had seen it before, and then knew I had when Gary Pickett got out. I’d seen the Tacoma in his driveway.

  Gary crossed the lot and stopped by Merrick’s truck. Then he and Merrick got into an animated conversation, both pointing and yelling. This didn’t seem to be just something about guns. The two knew each other, which was contrary to what Merrick had told me.

  I thought they would stop arguing when a white
SUV pulled into the lot, but to my surprise, a big man with dark hair and a handlebar mustache got out of the SUV and approached Gary and Merrick. The three of them resumed the conversation in earnest. Whatever they were discussing, none of them was happy. Gary kept pointing at Merrick, and Merrick threw his cigarette on the ground in frustration. The new man pointed at Gary. Shifting blame?

  Finally, the big man gestured as if telling the others to calm down, and he put a hand on Gary’s shoulder. They seemed to make some kind of peace, and then the big man shook Gary’s hand, said something to Merrick, and got back in his car. He drove out of the parking lot in the opposite direction from me. I was too far away to get his license plate number. I shifted my attention back to Gary and Merrick. They seemed to be calmer, and with a shrug, Gary pointed at the restaurant. Merrick nodded, and they both went inside. It was after six, and I was starting to get hungry myself. Thai food sounded good just then. While I waited for the two to come out of the restaurant, I called Spats, a good distraction from my hunger.

  “Hey,” I said without preamble when he answered. “In your investigation, have you come across anyone driving a white SUV?”

  “Not anybody that I talked to.” I heard papers shuffling. “I can look through all this stuff. You need an answer right now?”

  “No, but if you hear of anyone who does, make sure to let me know.”

  “Sure thing. What’s this about?”

  “I talked to Merrick.” I gave him the rundown of my conversation at the gun range. “Both he and Gary have been lying to me, and I’m trying to figure out what they’re up to.”

  “I’ll see what else I can find on Merrick.”

  I ended the call and watched the restaurant. Then I remembered Heather Neville had called me back. I tried her, and got voice mail again. I swore under my breath, and left another message asking her to return my call. I pocketed my phone and turned my attention back to the restaurant.

  Half an hour later, Gary and Merrick came back out. Whatever tension had been there before, it was gone. Gary gave Merrick a friendly wave, hopped in his truck, and drove away. I had a choice to make: follow him, or continue to tail Merrick. I decided I could follow up with Gary later. I watched Merrick get in his truck and turn onto Broadway. I let several cars get between us, and then pulled out.

  Merrick circled around the block, got onto Lincoln Avenue, which led him back to Eighth Avenue. He was heading back west. If he knew I was tailing him, he didn’t act like it. He drove fast, but not with an intent to lose a tail. He went to a storage facility on Wadsworth Boulevard in Lakewood, was in a unit for a few minutes, then headed south. He turned east on Mississippi Avenue and soon stopped at a farm supply store. I parked in a large gas station lot and watched. Merrick went into the store, then emerged a bit later and backed his truck up to a large garage door. A store employee helped Merrick load several white bags into the truck. As he did so, I spotted yellow markers on the bags. I was pretty sure it was fertilizer. When they finished, Merrick shook the guy’s hand, then got in the truck and drove back to the gun range. He parked his truck in the same spot as before and disappeared inside the shop. I parked down the road and watched. He didn’t come back out.

  I didn’t know what Merrick and Gary had talked about at the restaurant, or who the other man was, but one thing I did know. Both Gary Pickett and John Merrick were lying to me, and they were hiding something. What, if anything, did their lies have to do with Logan?

  Chapter Twenty

  John Merrick had said that he was at Brunswick Bowling on Saturday, that he had left there after working at the gun range. I had doubt that Merrick’s employee was telling the truth when he’d agreed that Merrick had gone to the bowling alley Saturday after work. All that proved was that Merrick might’ve lied to his employee. I could still check the bowling alley. Brunswick Zone was on Kipling, a few miles south of Sixth Avenue. I pulled into the road and headed toward Sixth. As I was driving there, I called Spats.

  “How did it go with Merrick?” he asked.

  “He’s dirty,” I said, then gave him a rundown of what I’d been doing since I left the office. “I’m not sure what he’s covering up, but he’s lying to me. He told me that he barely knows Gary Pickett. That’s a lie. I want to know what’s up with him. Do me a favor. Get twenty-four hour surveillance on Merrick, so we can keeps tabs on him. I’m going now to check his alibi for Saturday night.”

  “I’ll get a team on it right away.”

  I disconnected, and as I put my phone away, I saw the time. After seven. I groaned, not realizing how late it had gotten. By now Harry was at the benefit, without me. I hoped he was having a good time, and that he wasn’t too disappointed I hadn’t made it. He’d been understanding with me, and I needed to make it up to him. Sometimes, as much as I love the job, it gets in the way.

  Brunswick Zone is in a large building on Kentucky Avenue, next to a Mexican restaurant that I used to enjoy going to. I hadn’t been in the area in a while, and it had since closed, replaced with what seemed to be an identical Mexican restaurant with a slightly different name. I parked and went inside Brunswick.

  There’s something about bowling alleys that I love, the sounds of the balls hitting the floor, the pins clattering loudly as they’re knocked down, the noisy sounds of people reveling as they play. Bowling alleys these days don’t allow smoking, but I remembered going with my parents. When I was a kid, my dad used to smoke, and he’d sit back on the bench and give us kids tips while he smoked and talked to my mother. I’m a good bowler, and it is one thing that I do better than my sister Diane. Uncle Brad would sometimes join us, and he was our coach as well. No matter how much Uncle Brad tried to give her pointers, Diane just never learned how to bowl well. Thinking about that, I laughed, just a little smugly.

  Brunswick Zone has several lanes, and at the moment most of them were full, probably bowling league night. I walked past the lanes, listening to people laughing as they bowled. For an instant, I wished I were at a lane myself, waiting my turn while Harry bowled. Then my focus returned to the task at hand. I approached a counter where a man in a blue shirt was helping a woman with shoe rental. “Bill” was stitched onto his left pocket. Perfect. The man I wanted. I waited until he finished with the woman, then approached.

  “What size?” he asked in a hurried tone. It was busy, and he was keeping things moving, grabbing another pair of returned shoes and spraying the insides. I took out my badge and showed it to him. He raised his eyebrows and made eye contact. “What do you need?” he asked. “I’m not in any trouble?” There was no humor in his joke. He smiled as he put the shoes into a cubicle behind him, then turned back to me.

  “Not at all. I’m hoping you can help me out, though.”

  He waved to a teenager standing nearby to help with the rentals, then jerked his head as he moved farther down the counter, away from listening ears. His eyes were wary. “What’s up?”

  I didn’t waste any time. “I had a conversation with a man named John Merrick, and he said you could confirm he was here last Saturday night, around six or so.”

  “John, yes.” He was quick to answer. “He was here then. He’s in a bowling league, and they’re here most Saturday nights.”

  “That’s a definite yes for last Saturday?” I pressed.

  The teenager–his shirt read “Chris”–was grabbing a pair of shoes, and he glanced back and forth between Bill and me. Then he shook his head. “No, don’t you remember? John wasn’t here last Saturday.”

  Bill licked his lower lip and glared at Chris. “No, John was here last Saturday.” His words were firm and pointed.

  Chris didn’t get it. “No, Bill, I remember. Freddie,” he said to me, “he’s one of John’s friends, he was talking about how he’d had a really good game, bowled nine strikes, and John wasn’t here to see it.” He looked at Bill for confirmation.

  “No that’s not right,” Bill said. “That happened a week ago, not this last Saturday.”

  Chri
s saw something in Bill’s face and hesitated. “Oh, yeah.” He was cautious now. “That’s right. It wasn’t last Saturday. It must’ve been a week ago.” To me, “Sorry, my mistake.” He quickly moved away to help somebody with a shoe rental.

  Bill turned back to me. He pasted a smile on his face. “Yes, it was a week ago that John wasn’t here. He was here this last Saturday. He got here about six, and he left after ten.”

  I gave him a long look and shrugged. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “I do.” He gave me another unfriendly smile. “While you’re here, would you like to bowl? On the house?”

  I returned an icy grin. “No thanks. I might be back, and I hope you’ll be just as helpful.”

  He didn’t say anything to that. We locked eyes for a moment, both of us knowing he was lying. But I couldn’t prove a thing.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” He joined Chris, who seemed nervous.

  With that, I returned to my car and sat for a minute. Bill was lying to me. His answers were too quick, almost rehearsed, as if Merrick had called him right before I showed up to tell him what to say. I was stuck, though. I couldn’t force anything with him right now. If it came down to it, and Bill had to testify in a court of law, we’d see whether he would lie then.

  I was hungry, so I stopped at the Mexican restaurant for a quick bite. It wasn’t as good as the old place, but at that moment, it hit the spot. As I was walking back to my car, my cell phone rang, and I answered with a terse “Hello.”

  “I’ve got a little more information on Merrick for you,” Spats said.

  “What’s that?”

  “He rented an SUV last Saturday morning. He had it for twenty-four hours and returned it Sunday morning. And he rented a different SUV Tuesday evening and returned it the next morning.”

  “What color was it?” I asked.

  He consulted his notes. “Blue.”

  “It fits the time frame of the kidnapping and Logan’s murder.” I thought about that. “The big man he met at the restaurant drove a white SUV.” I snapped my fingers. “Mr. Blankenship thought he might have seen an SUV in the alley the night Logan’s body was dropped in the dumpster.”