Page 135 of Long Gone

Shaking his head, he took another drink and finished off the glass, then set it on the table next to the decanter. “I’ve never heard of a Pinky, which is a memorable name, and Mike…” He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“I’ve already done a little sleuthing.” I told him about going to the dealership and the service guy saying there was no one there by either name.

“That was foolish,” he grunted. “If it’s Martin, you tipped your hand.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, “but Skip Martin gave me some valuable information.” I told him about his concerns about Brett Colter having something to do with Hugo’s disappearance and the revelation that Colter had a construction crew that could have provided his muscle.

“Also,” I said, prepared for him to be pissed. “I asked Detective Jones and Carter to look into who Pinky might be.”

“You involved Jones?” he asked with a foreboding look. “Did you tell him everything else too? Like where to find Burton’s body?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said, overcome with exhaustion. “I only asked about Pinky and didn’t tell him why.” Then, to help make amends, I added, “There was a money transfer after Hugo’s disappearance. Around nine p.m. that night to an unmarked account, probably offshore.’’

If he was upset I’d withheld that from him, he didn’t let on. “You think Colter forced Burton to transfer the money, then killed him?”

“And had some help to do it,” I said. “I tried to make another appointment to talk to Colter, but his receptionist said he had nothing else to tell me.”

“So maybe he’s running scared.”

“Could be. Also, we already suspected Colter was after Hugo’s land,” I said.

His frown deepened. “But it was bought by the corporation.”

“What if Colter is behind the corporation? We both admitted it would be smart to own the land where you bury a body. Only he didn’t want to make it so obvious. He’s probably planning to wait a few years, then ‘buy’ the land for whatever he originally intended it.”

He rested both hands on the arm of his chair. “Brett Colter?” The way he said his name suggested he’d never considered him to be Simmons’s replacement.

“I didn’t say he did it himself. If he’s behind it, then he likely used his goons. Think about the sloppy way Hugo was buried. Colter would have been more careful.” I made a face. “Not that I see him getting dirt under his manicured fingernails.”

He was silent for a long moment. “He does seem ambitious.”

“So the person who took over the area would be ambitious?”

He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Simmons liked his underlings to be ambitious, but not too ambitious.”

“He didn’t want them taking over,” I suggested.

“Exactly.” He drummed his fingers on the chair. “We need to have a chat with Colter.” His eyes darkened. “We’ll do it tonight. I’ll see if he has any events on his schedule. We can ambush him when he gets home before he goes into his house.”

“He might call the police when we arrive or after we leave,” I said.

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we’ll be polite. They can’t arrest us for asking questions.”

It wasn’t how I would have handled it as a detective on the LRPD, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea. “How will you get his schedule?”

His grin looked foreboding. “Leave that up to me.”

My reaction was disquieting. A month ago, I would have been horrified, and now…I was willing to do what was needed to find the truth.

Chapter 31

I spent the rest of the afternoon in Malcolm’s office, mostly because I didn’t want to go back to my apartment or my mother’s house. I was beginning to suspect he was right, and those men had been after me. Besides, the intruders had taken my laptop, so I couldn’t do any research there.

My injury must have sapped more energy out of me than I’d realized, because I was soon overcome with exhaustion and ended up taking a three-hour nap.

When I woke up, I was still alone in the office, but I had a blanket spread over me. Although my wound throbbed, the pain and discomfort were bearable. I grabbed my purse and dry swallowed some ibuprofen before taking out my phone. I was surprised to see it was not only 6:10, but I’d missed a slew of calls. Five were from my father, one from Clarice, and one from a number I didn’t recognize. My father had left messages; the first four were him begging me to call him so he could explain, pleading with me to keep his involvement with J.R. Simmons to myself. His last message simply said to call him, that it was important. Clarice called asking if I had an update, and the unknown number turned out to be Mason Deveraux.

This is Mason Deveraux returning Harper Adams’s call. Feel free to call me on my personal cell phone.

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