Fifteen

The gambler is like the fisherman, both have beginner’s luck.

—CHINESE FORTUNE COOKIE

When Mandy walked into Detective Quintana’s office Friday morning, he put down his coffee cup. “I heard about the fight outside the SteamPlant yesterday. How’s Rob?”

Mandy slid into his visitor’s chair with a sigh. “He was not a happy camper last night. I thought I’d let him sleep in this morning, so I haven’t checked on him yet.”

“I’m sure it hurts like hell,” Quintana said. “I remember when mine was broken in a wrestling match in high school. The worst part is not being able to breathe except out of your mouth until the swelling goes down.”

“Hopefully he’ll sleep a lot today,” Mandy answered. “Gonzo’s working the front desk for us. What concerns me, though, is how mad Jesse Lopez got. He was so blind with anger that he didn’t realize he was punching one of his friends. Made me wonder if he could have axed Howie in a rage, too.”

Quintana nodded. “Maybe, but we’ve contacted quite a few of his gas station customers from the Sunday when Howie was killed. Most of them remember Jesse being there.”

“But not all of them, huh. Is there a time window when he could have gotten to the campground and back?”

“It takes about twenty-five minutes to get there from his station, so I figure he would have needed over an hour to make the round trip and kill Howie in between. Some of the customers’ memories were hazy as to when they went to the station, but I haven’t found a gap that long in their sightings. Jesse’s alibi seems pretty solid.”

Damn, Mandy thought. With the other suspects falling by the wayside, the noose around Cynthia’s neck is getting tighter. “What about those saboteurs? Did you guys find out why they were pulling up beat stakes? Could they have killed Howie as part of their plan to derail the tournament?”

Quintana leaned back in his chair, making it squeak. “Funny how a murder accusation will loosen tongues. As soon as we asked Mutt and Jeff what they were doing the day Howie was killed, and they realized they were suspects in his murder, too, the sorry asses fell all over one another to explain themselves. Turns out one of the North Carolina teams had gotten into a shouting match with them at a convenience store last week over which state, Colorado or North Carolina, produced the best fly fishermen.”

“But why would they take out their anger on the tournament instead of directly on the team?”

“Because their brains are the size of these nuts.” Quintana pulled a jar of dry-roasted peanuts out of a desk drawer, poured some in his hand, and offered the jar to Mandy.

When she shook her head, he continued. “The North Carolina guys outnumbered and outweighed them, so Mutt and Jeff didn’t take them on that night. That was one thing they were smart about. But they weren’t competitive fishermen themselves, so they knew they wouldn’t be able to beat the other guys in the Rocky Mountain Cup. They wanted to defend the glory of our fair state, though, so they kept scheming—over lots of beers—about how they were going to ruin the Southerners’ trip to Colorado. Finally they hit on the idea of sabotaging the tournament so the North Carolina guys wouldn’t have a chance to take home a prize.”

“Which shows their lack of faith in the Colorado teams! Do you believe their story? Did they have an alibi for the Sunday Howie was killed?”

Quintana finished munching on his handful of peanuts. “We’re checking their alibis, but I expect they’ll hold water. These two were ready to piss in their pants when they thought they were going to be booked for murder instead of just vandalism.”

Mandy exhaled. “Darn. Any other news on the case?”

“CBI confirmed the gardening glove was Newt’s, found some of his hair and skin cells inside. But they didn’t find anything of Howie’s on the outside. And after three visits to his campsite, I finally caught one of his buddies, who confirmed Newt was there both Saturday and Sunday evenings.”

“Could the buddy have been lying for him?”

“Possibly, but remember, Howie’s time of death is Sunday afternoon. A tourist staying at Hecla Junction recognized Newt’s photo, too, and said that he was there Sunday afternoon. She remembers seeing him still sorting through trash when they sat down to supper, because it disgusted her.”

“So he’s no longer a suspect either.” Mandy sank lower in her chair. This was not going well. Then she remembered her conversation the day before with Emma Crawford. She straightened. “You know, I talked to Arnold Crawford’s wife yesterday morning, and she has no memory of him going fishing with Lee and Craig Ellis on the Sunday Howie was killed. And with Arnold still not turning up, I’m wondering if he might be a victim, too.”

Quintana smoothed his mustache. “How do you mean?”

“Well, what if Lee or Craig killed Howie then picked out Arnold to be their alibi? Suppose Arnold refused to lie for them and maybe even threatened to go to the police. Could one of the Ellis men have killed him, too? If Lee or Craig could kill a brother-in-law or uncle, why not a friend who was going to snitch?”

“Interesting theory,” Quintana said, but before he could continue, someone knocked on his office door frame and walked in. When he saw who it was, Quintana’s eyes widened.

Mandy turned, and her jaw dropped.

The man held out a hand to Quintana. “Heard you were looking for me. I’m Arnold Crawford.”

When Quintana didn’t respond immediately, Arnold looked from him to Mandy. “What’s up with you two? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Quintana recovered first and shook Arnold’s hand. “In a way, we have. We were just discussing whether or not you were dead. Where the hell have you been, man?”

Mandy blinked. Yep, Arnold Crawford was still there. Same glasses, bit of a beer gut, and thinning black hair as in his photo on the Missing Person fliers. She realized he was staring at her. She clamped her jaw shut and licked her lips. “Sorry, I’m Mandy Tanner, river ranger. I was one of those who searched the river for your body.”

They shook hands while a flush crept up Arnold’s face. “I owe you all a huge apology. I was gambling in Cripple Creek.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. “With my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?” Quintana repeated, then raised a brow at Mandy.

Mandy found it hard to believe that Arnold could attract a mistress, but she hadn’t seen the woman yet either.

“Could we talk in private?” Arnold asked Quintana, with a nervous, sidelong glance at Mandy. “Man-to-man?”

“Mandy’s a member of our investigative team, so she needs to hear this, too,” Quintana replied. “But you can close the door before you tell us about your trip.”

Looking even unhappier, Arnold shut the door and eased his back against it. After hemming and hawing some, he said, “My girlfriend picked me up at Ruby Mountain and drove us to Cripple Creek. The plan was to spend a few days there, with Emma thinking I was camping and fishing. Then I’d go home with no one the wiser.” He looked down and dragged a shoe across the floor. “Didn’t quite work out that way, though. And now I don’t have a home to go to. Emma kicked me out.”

Good for her, Mandy thought. “But it’s been more than a few days. What happened?”

“During what was supposed to be our last night there, I hit a winning streak, and it went to my head. The casino comp’ed us a room, and we were living high, drinking a lot, too. I forgot about everything except chasing the next big win. Over the next few days I lost all the money, and more. I woke up this morning hung over and broke and realized I was supposed to be home ages ago.”

He scratched a hand across the stubble on his unshaven cheeks. “Boy, the shit hit the fan once Emma got over her surprise at seeing me. In between her crying and shouting and cussing, she told me how you river rangers and the fire department had searched the river for me.”

He nodded at Mandy. “I was trying to avoid the doghouse at home, and I didn’t realize all the other trouble I was causing until I got back. I’m sorry about that.”

Mandy was so aghast at Arnold’s tale that she had no answer for him.

“Anyway,” he continued after an awkward pause, “when she said the sheriff’s office was looking for me, too, I figured I should get over here and straighten things out. Why were you looking for me?”

Quintana stood and folded his arms across his chest. “For one thing, we thought you had died in Brown’s Canyon. A very expensive search was conducted for your body.”

Arnold raised his hands out then let them fall to his sides. “As I said, I’m real, real sorry about that. But I heard that during the search you found a young woman’s body.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t let you off the hook. I hope you’re also planning to go by the fire station and ranger’s offices and apologize.”

“Sure. You think bringing some donuts would help?”

Mandy snorted. “Maybe if you brought them every day for two weeks!”

“Another reason we were looking for you,” Quintana said, “is that we need to know what you were doing Sunday before last.”

Arnold frowned. “The day Howie Abbott was killed? Why?”

“So you heard about that.” Quintana put his hands on his hips. “Just tell me what you were doing.”

“I went fishing with Lee and Craig Ellis.”

“Where and for how long?”

“All day. In the Department of Wildlife day-use area north of Granite. We were wading up the river all day, except when we stopped for lunch.”

“Catch much?” Mandy asked

“Quite a few brookies,” Arnold replied, “a rainbow, and Lee caught a good-sized brownie. Didn’t keep any of them, though. It was all catch-and-release.”

To Mandy’s eye, the man didn’t seem to have anything to hide. “How come your wife didn’t know who you were with?”

“You know, that’s all part of our problem. She has no interest in fishing or my fishing friends, so I gave up long ago telling her anything about my trips. I just tried to tell her when I’d be home.”

“I suppose your girlfriend fishes,” Quintana said.

Arnold sighed. “No, she doesn’t. Gambling’s her thing, and I’m beginning to think that woman’s passion is too expensive for me, in more ways than one. I’ve made quite a mess of things.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” Mandy said.

“Yeah, well, is that all you need me for?” Arnold asked.

Quintana gave a curt nod. “Let me know if and when you plan to leave town next, though, in case I need to follow-up.”

Arnold gave a sad smile. “Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for awhile. I’m broke, and behind on my plumbing jobs, so I’ll be working every day for a long time.”

“Maybe you should look into some counseling, too,” Quintana said. “About the gambling. Before it becomes an addiction.”

“I hear ya.” Arnold turned and walked out.

“Well, how about that?” Quintana said to Mandy while he resettled back into his chair.

“Quite a surprise,” Mandy answered, worried about the way Quintana was studying her.

“And now the only one in the Ellis family without any sort of alibi is Cynthia,” Quintana said. “And no one outside the family is a valid suspect anymore either.”

Mandy’s stomach dropped into her shoes. “You can’t think Cynthia actually killed her uncle.”

Quintana held up three fingers. “She had means, with access to the murder weapon and the strength to use it.” He pushed down one finger.

“She had motive, with Howie’s abuse of her and the probable discovery that he was abusing Faith.” He pushed down the second finger.

“And she had opportunity, with owning a car and having access to Vallie Bridge. With no alibi for the Sunday Howie was killed, she could have been there.” He pushed down the last finger and leaned forward.

“Her thumbprint on the hatchet is the clincher, Mandy. I can’t build a case for any other suspect, and I’ve got physical evidence pointing to her. I’ve got no choice but to bring Cynthia in and arrest her for the murder of Howie Abbott.”

_____

Like a caged tiger, Mandy paced a circular path in her backyard later that afternoon, waiting for Cynthia to be processed into the Chaffee County Detention Facility. Lucky had long ago given up on begging Mandy to play with him. He lay in the shade with his head on his paws and watched his mistress go round and round.

Mandy clenched her cell phone in her hand, anxious for Quintana to call. He had told her that he’d put her on the list of Cynthia’s official visitors. That way, she wouldn’t have to wait to see her until Saturday afternoon, when friends and relatives could visit. And he promised to call once she could get in to talk to Cynthia.

Thank God for small favors. Mandy kicked a stick out of her way and circled again while thoughts flitted in and out of her brain. How had it gotten this far? How soon could she get Cynthia out of jail? Would the bail be something she could afford? Would Cynthia’s mom or the Ellis family help pay it? And how could she prove Cynthia’s innocence?

There was one question Mandy refused to ask herself. Did Cynthia do it?

The phone in her hand rang, causing her to stumble over a stick as she halted her pacing. She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hello Mandy, this is Bridget Murphy.”

Shit, not now. But Bridget didn’t give Mandy a chance to speak.

“I’ve got some wonderful news,” Bridget said, her voice high with excitement. “The couple who are interested in buying your uncle’s place have countered with a bid that’s ten thousand more than their first offer. That’s only five thousand less than your counter and the appraisal.”

“I need some time to think it over,” Mandy began. “I’ve got a lot going on, and—”

“This couple is looking at other properties, Mandy. I don’t think we have the luxury of waiting. This is a good offer, and I urge you to accept it.”

“Look.” Mandy tried to keep testiness from creeping into her voice. “A friend of mine was just arrested—for murder. That’s all I can think about right now. Send a copy of the offer letter to my email, and I’ll get back to you Monday with an answer.”

“Oh my, yes, I guess you do have a lot going on. I’ll try to stall the other agent. Can I say what the reason is, or should I just say you need the weekend to think it over?”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care what you say.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll give the reason,” Bridget said almost to herself. “Shouldn’t mention the word ‘murder’ to potential buyers. That wouldn’t be seemly. I’ll just say you’re really busy. You’re involved in that fishing tournament, right? Yes, that’ll be a good excuse.”

“Fine. I’ve gotta go now.”

“Wait, wait,” Bridget said quickly. “Please look the offer over carefully sometime this weekend. I’ll call you first thing Monday morning. And I’m keeping my fingers crossed that your answer will be yes! Good luck with your friend.”

“Thanks. And goodbye.” Mandy swooped down, picked up the stick that she had reached again in her circuit, and hurled it over the fence. “God damn it!” she shouted.

Dealing with a counteroffer on her uncle’s place was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. But before she could vent anymore, her phone rang again. This time it was Quintana.

“Cynthia’s been processed in,” he said. “You can visit her now.”

“How did she seem?”

“Subdued, almost as if she expected it,” he replied.

What Quintana didn’t say, but that Mandy heard in his voice, was that Cynthia’s reaction only made him more certain he had the right person pegged as Howie Abbott’s killer. Cynthia was just digging a bigger hole for herself.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.”

_____

An hour later, Mandy sat on one side of a gray metal table in a small private visitor’s room at the jail, used primarily by inmates to talk to their lawyers. She drummed her fingers on the table while waiting for a guard to bring Cynthia in. A noise at the door made her stop.

A female guard swung the door wide, and Cynthia walked in, clothed in a bright orange jumpsuit. “Sit there,” the guard said, while pointing to the chair on the other side of the table.

Cynthia sat.

“Don’t move from that chair.” The guard turned to Mandy. “I’ll be watching right outside this door. Just shout if you need anything.” She closed the door, and her face appeared in the small glass window embedded in the door.

“So much for privacy,” Mandy said, in an attempt to cut the thick tension in the air.

Cynthia huffed. “You should see the open toilets in the cells. And some guard got the privilege of watching me get undressed and poking her gloved fingers where they didn’t belong. Privacy doesn’t exist inside these walls.”

Mandy peered at Cynthia, who refused to meet her gaze directly. “You okay? Really?” Visions of jail assault made Mandy shudder. She leaned forward. “Any signs that anyone’s going to, you know, come after you?”

“It’s not like I haven’t been raped before.”

“Cynthia! C’mon, if anyone’s harassing you, guard or prisoner, I can tell Quintana. Get him to protect you.”

“Don’t bust a gut. I’m okay. For now.” Cynthia rested her chin on one hand and drew circles on the table with the other. “They put me in a cell by myself, since I’ve been arrested for murder. That’s the one saving grace from the charge.”

“Okay, that’s a small relief. When’s your arraignment? I want to find out how much bail the judge sets and get you bailed out of here.”

Cynthia sighed. “By the time they finished processing me, the judge had taken off for the weekend. Gone fishing, they said. He won’t be back until Monday, so my arraignment’s scheduled for Monday morning.”

“Damn! You have to spend the weekend here? I’ll contact Quintana, see if anyone knows how to contact the judge.” Mandy pushed off from the table and rose.

“Don’t bother,” Cynthia covered Mandy’s hand on the table with one of her own. “Sit, as the guard out there so eloquently put it. Spending the weekend here won’t be so bad, and I don’t want you making waves because of me.”

Mandy lowered herself back to her seat. “But you’ll miss work, and—”

“I called my boss already. He’s cool. Even offered to help with bail.”

“That’s another thing I want to talk about. Who can help pay. I’ll organize a group to chip in the money. So there’s your boss, and me, and I’ll call the Ellis family and your mom.”

Cynthia’s eyes went wide and she sat up straight. “No, don’t call my mom.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be beholden to her. And I need to explain this mess to her. If she hears it from someone else, she’ll go ballistic. I’ll call her after I get out, though I’m sure not looking forward to it.”

“Okay,” Mandy said warily, “if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, that’s what I want.” She paused. “Thanks. For understanding about my mom. For being willing to chip in for bail and organize the others. For everything.” Cynthia’s eyes reddened. She turned her gaze toward the ceiling and swallowed a few times.

It was Mandy’s turn to cover Cynthia’s hand on the table. “That’s what friends are for, Cynthia. I just wish I’d been able to convince Detective Quintana he was arresting the wrong person.”

“Who’s the right person?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I just know it can’t be you.”

“But it could have been me.” Cynthia withdrew her hand from under Mandy’s and dropped both of her hands into her lap.

Aghast, Mandy asked, “What do you mean?”

Cynthia leveled a steady gaze at her. “If I’d known that good ole Uncle Howie had already raped Faith, I would have killed him, no question. I couldn’t kill him to save myself, but I know I would have done it to save her. The man was a predator, evil incarnate. He deserved to die for what he did to her.” She looked down. “For what he did to me.”

“But you didn’t, did you?”

Cynthia searched Mandy’s face. “You aren’t sure, are you?”

“Of course I’m sure. You’re my friend. I know you. There’s no way you’d kill someone.” Despite her words, Mandy could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks.

“But I just told you I could. In fact, I should have killed Uncle Howie before he got to Faith.” Cynthia raised her balled-up fists from her lap to pound them on the table. “I knew he was sniffing around her like a hound dog after a bitch in heat. Do you know how many times I’ve regretted NOT killing him?”

Mandy’s mouth hung open as she watched rage consume Cynthia’s face, hardening her features, blackening her eyes. Then she had a horrible thought. “Oh God, you shouldn’t be saying things like this to me. What if I’m subpoenaed to testify at your trial?”

“Don’t worry about it. I probably do deserve to be in here,” Cynthia continued. “You know, it’s a pretty sobering thing to find out about yourself—that you’re capable of murder, murder of a relative, even.”

“Maybe, under the right circumstances, anyone is capable of murder,” Mandy said, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. She just hated to see Cynthia beating herself up. “But with a hatchet, with all that blood? Could you have done that?”

Cynthia’s gaze focused on the wall behind Mandy, as if she was visualizing the scene. “I can imagine getting a lot of satisfaction out of watching the bastard bleed to death. I hope it hurt. A lot. Someone else did it for me, but not soon enough. Not before Faith was scarred, before she threw herself in the river.”

“You really think she committed suicide?”

Cynthia nodded. “Remember, he abused me, too, when I was about Faith’s age. I know what she was feeling. He was a master at making it seem like it was all my fault, making me think I was evil, that I was the one who seduced him.”

She held up a thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I came that close to throwing myself into the Arkansas. That’s why I eventually ran away. To put some distance between me and the river and that man before I did do it.”

Cynthia flattened her palms on the table. “I was too afraid to kill him back then, just as Faith was too afraid, I’m sure. If only I was strong enough, then, or fast enough, now, Faith might still be alive.”

A pregnant silence grew and filled the room as Mandy tried to process the venom that Cynthia had just poured out against her uncle. An uncle who seemed to be the evil opposite of Mandy’s own caring Uncle Bill. “God, Cynthia, what you’ve been through. I wish, I wish—”

“What?” Cynthia cocked her head to one side.

“That I’d been able to help you somehow back then, but I didn’t even know you.”

“Well, you can help now, by getting bail together, once we find out how much it is.”

“And I won’t stop looking for the real killer,” Mandy added. Though she had severe, gut-wrenching doubts that she would be able to find anything that Quintana had overlooked.

Cynthia pushed off from the table and stood, prompting the guard to open the door. “You’d have to find someone who wanted Uncle Howie dead as much as me, Mandy.”

As the guard came in and put a hand around her arm, Cynthia said, “You know, I can’t blame Detective Quintana for fingering me, not at all. The man’s a good cop.” With that, she turned and walked out with the guard, leaving Mandy shaken to her core.

Was what she had just heard the convoluted confession of a killer? Was Cynthia telling her that no one wanted Howie Abbott dead as much as she did? But she kept saying she “should have” and “could have” killed her uncle, not “did.” Did only innocent people talk like that, or did killers do it, too, trying to distance themselves from their crime?

What if Detective Quintana was indeed a good cop and had found his murderer after all?