Page 77 of Lie for a Million

He started the engine. “Damn it, Boss, the horses don’t matter. The Run for a Million doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, I can’t lose you.”

* * *

It was midmorning when Sam made the drive to Willow Bend. His briefcase lay in the seat beside him, containing a prepared statement for Crystal to sign and a recorder to take her testimony. He would also be delivering the news that Judd Proctor was dead. Rowdy McKenna had identified the burned body from the custom belt buckle and the handmade gold earring in the shape of a devil’s head. There were no usable fingerprints, but a dental match, if one could be found, would no doubt confirm that identity.

As Sam passed the seedy Blue Rose motel on the way into town, he remembered the partial night he’d spent in that place, with the noisy couple bumping the bed in the next room. When Jasmine had confessed that she’d been one of the pair, along with a cowboy she never wanted to see again, Sam had fallen in love with her honesty—swiftly followed by her playfulness, her warmth, her intelligence, and her stunning beauty.

Damn it, but he missed her!

Maybe now that Crystal had named Judd as Frank Culhane’s killer, the case could be put to rest. Sam could return to Abilene, free Nick to start his cancer treatments, and reunite with Jasmine. Judd’s death had removed the need for a trial. All Sam needed was Crystal’s testimony, signed, witnessed, and recorded, for the inquest.

At the clinic, he noticed Roper’s truck in the parking lot. But Sam had other things on his mind. He walked up to the front desk and asked for Miss Carter.

“She’s not here,” the young male receptionist told him. “She asked for her personal things, got dressed, and checked herself out. Somebody she’d called was there to drive her home.”

“Nobody stopped her?” Sam displayed his badge.

“I’m sorry, sir, but she made the decision to go, even though the nurse on duty advised against it. We can’t hold a patient against their will.”

“Was she all right? Her head—”

“She was still wearing the bandage. But she was lucid and able to walk by herself.”

“I’ll need her address,” Sam said.

“It’s on her registration. But we’re not supposed to—”

“I’m a federal officer. Miss Carter is a witness to a serious crime, committed by the man who attacked her. I need her address. Now.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll write it down for you.”

Address in hand, Sam drove to a quiet street on the edge of town. The house that matched the number was a plain red-brick tract home with basement windows and an outside entrance down a flight of cement steps. There were no vehicles, either in the driveway or at the curb.

An elderly man and woman sat on the covered porch of the house next door. Sam assumed they were the neighbors who’d found Crystal unconscious and called for help.

“She lit out,” the old man called to Sam as he approached the house. “Loaded up her car and drove off a couple of hours ago. She didn’t tell us where she was headed. I think she was afraid that mean-lookin’ hombre who beat her up might come back.”

“Has anybody else been by looking for her?” Sam asked.

“Nope. A teenage kid in a Jeep brought her home, let her off, and drove away. She left in her own car about twenty minutes later. That’s all we know.”

“The apartment’s unlocked,” the woman said. “We went down and looked. She left the key on the table. The place is a mess. The landlord upstairs won’t be too happy, but I guess that’s the way of young people these days. Not like in our time.”

Sam thanked the pair and went downstairs to the apartment. The place appeared to be much the way the crime scene team would have left it—the bloodstained carpet, the food left in the fridge, the open cupboards and empty drawers. Crystal’s clothes were gone from the closet, her makeup and toiletries cleared from the bathroom. The key to the apartment lay on the kitchen table. There was no sign of her missing phone. The police may have collected it, or she may have found it and taken it with her.

After a careful inspection revealed nothing new, Sam left the apartment and drove back to the ranch. Rotten luck. He’d been counting on Crystal’s sworn and signed testimony to close the murder case against Judd. Now, as things stood, the case would depend on circumstantial evidence and his own secondhand account.

She’d seemed so willing to cooperate. What had caused her to change her mind, load her car, and disappear without a trace? She wouldn’t have known that Judd was dead. Maybe she was afraid that he would come back. Whatever her reason, unless she contacted Sam, he was out of luck. It was time to call Nick.

He made the call from the bungalow, sitting at the kitchen table with a tall glass of ice water. When Nick answered, Sam sensed the weariness in his voice. Guilt and urgency gnawed at Sam’s conscience. He need to wrap up this case and get back to Abilene.

“How are you, Nick?” he asked, truly concerned.

“I’m hanging on. You know how it is. Tell me what’s happening.”

“I’ve got good news and bad news.” Sam recounted Judd’s story—his jealousy as a motive for killing Frank, his lack of an alibi and his easy access to the drug. “He could’ve called Frank, told him he wanted to talk about Crystal, and met him in the stables. Motive, means, and opportunity.”

“Others had the same,” Nick reminded him.

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