Ultimate Thriller Box Set - Crouch Blake (лучшие книги без регистрации txt) 📗

She retraced her steps back to the road, looking for any sign where the killer might have come in, and nearly walked right over a couple of divots in the sand north of where she thought he would have gone in.

She squatted on her heels and examined the shallow impressions. They could be drag marks—the divots could be a sign of heels digging in. She followed the trajectory of the marks down into the trees, feeling more excited the more she saw. The leaves on the ground were scuffed, a broken line running in roughly an east-west direction. Not, she noticed, in the direction of the hang-out. Plenty of broken limbs and branches—the kid had been dragged by a whirlwind. And swipes and spatters and smears of blood.

Eventually the scuffmarks led to where she thought they would: the cabin on the hill.

She was now sure he did not meet Cary and Jessica at the first cabin.

Laura absorbed the warm stillness of the canyon, thinking. Cary had been dragged down from the road. That meant he had met the killer up there, or at least gone to his car. But where was Jessica during all this?

A raven flew over and settled in a tree farther up the hill, chortling at her.

She returned to the 4Runner for latex gloves and evidence envelopes and retraced the killer’s steps up the hill. She was nearly to the cabin on the hill when she spotted something red on the ground—a rectangular plastic tab. She recognized it as one of those savings cards people used at grocery stores—a Safeway Club Card. It fit on a key ring; the hole punch looked as if it had given out from use.

These cards had a bar code and a number, one reason Laura had never signed up for one despite the savings. She didn’t like the idea that her purchases could be tracked by someone she didn’t know.

She bagged the card. At the edge of the road where Cary had been dragged into the woods, she took several soil samples and marked them as evidence.

Some of the soil looked dark, almost black. It could have been oil spots from a car.

Or it could have been blood.

Back at the Bisbee Police Department, Laura photocopied both sides of the Safeway Club Card, then looked up Safeway in the phone book. There was one in Bisbee. She took the photocopy and drove out to the strip mall where the Safeway was located.

She asked to speak to the manager. A sallow young man with a few thin hairs on his upper lip came to meet her and they walked back to a dingy, fluorescent-lit office at the back of the store. She guessed he was a manager, not the manager.

“Is it possible to get a name and address from this card?” she asked, handing him the photocopy.

The young man, whose nametag said “Gerald,” looked dubious. “I don’t know … that information is confidential.”

Sure it was. Laura knew these cards were used to track shoppers’ purchases, and that they shared this information with other companies.

Laura had to be careful here. She wanted Gerald to give her the cardholder’s name without tipping him off that it involved a homicide. She didn’t want it getting out what kind of evidence had been left at the scene—information like that would make a defense attorney’s day. She cleared her throat.

“I could really use your help. The person who dropped this is an important witness to a serious crime—“

The boy leaned forward. “What kind of crime?”

“A missing person’s case." Technically, that was true.

“Do you think it’s connected with those murders?”

“This concerns someone we just need to talk to. You’d really be helping me out.”

She could see the wheels going around in his head. “I think it’s against regulations, you know, unless you had a search warrant or something like that." He drummed a pencil on the desk blotter and looked tortured. “Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with that girl getting killed?”

“We haven’t ruled that out—tangentially.”

“I thought so.” Pleased with himself. “So you really need to talk to whoever owns this card because he might have witnessed the killing?”

“Gerald, I can’t really say.”

“Damn, that’s scary. Two people getting killed like that. I saw it on the news.” His eyes turned regretful. “I wish I could help …”

Laura glanced at her watch. “Damn.”

“Ma’am?”

“I’m just thinking, I’ve never run into this kind of situation before. I can get a warrant, no problem—I just hope nobody gets hurt because we took the extra time to hammer this out.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” She stood up. “I hope I can find a judge at this time of day. If this turns bad, I sure don’t want this on my conscience.”

Gerald squirmed in his chair. “Maybe I should look it up, just in case. I can’t remember if there’s a hard and fast rule.”

“That would be a big help.”

Five minutes later, she emerged from the Safeway into the parking lot with the name and address. She didn’t need the address, though. She already knew where Charles Edward Lehman lived.

17

Victor Celaya showed up at the Jonquil hours after their dinner at the Copper Queen Hotel. He leaned against the doorjamb, gamma-rayed by the fluorescent light above the door to her room, waggling a six-pack of Bohemia.

Well, almost a six-pack. One was missing.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. Just let me wake up.”

“You were in bed already? I’m sorry.” He walked past her and put the six-pack on the table.

“Want one?”

She glanced dubiously at the sixpack.

“They’re cold. Just got it from Circle K. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I had to tell you my idea.”

Laura sat on the bed, trying to focus. She’d just made it into deep sleep when he pulled her out of it. “What idea is that?”

“Kind of stuffy in here. You want to go outside?”

“Sure." Why not? She wasn’t going to go back to sleep now.

Laura went into the bathroom and changed out of the long shirt she wore to bed. Back into today’s clothes, wrinkled as they were. She could hear Victor whistling a familiar-sounding corrida, pure and sweet. Wondered what his idea was and why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Whatever he’d come up with, he was excited about it.

They crossed a bridge over the narrow channel that ran through Tombstone Canyon and sat down at one of the outdoor tables. Laura was almost glad he’d awakened her; it was a beautiful night. Cool compared to Tucson. The sky full of stars. Runoff from the rains tumbled through the canal, catching the glow of the streetlights.

He quickly spoiled the mood. “I thought of a way to get in Lehman’s house. We go through his probation officer.”

“We could do that,” she said slowly. As a probationer, Chuck Lehman did not have the rights regular citizens had. Probation was a substitute for prison, and there were a number of restrictions on him—what he could do and not do, who he could associate with. If his probation officer suspected he was violating his probation, his house could be searched. Usually it required concurrence by the chief of probation, but essentially, Lehman’s house could be searched without a warrant.

Laura didn’t like this for a couple of reasons. One, Chuck Lehman’s link to the crime scene was tenuous. He lived right near the vacant land. He had a dog and probably walked around in there often. The key tab could have come off any time. She’d bagged it because she was thorough, because if their investigation pointed to Lehman, she’d have other evidence to back it up.

And two, going through the probation officer could cause problems down the line. She could just hear the defense attorney: overeager cops, abusing the privilege—using a probation officer to gain access to a house when they couldn’t get a search warrant through regular channels.

That could cause problems if this ever went to trial.