“Feb know all this?”
“Just got back from the bar.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Not good but I learned I got waffles and omelets to look forward to, though I gotta earn ‘em so it ended on a high note.”
Sully smiled and it wasn’t with humor but something else. He didn’t make Colt wait long to find out what that something else was.
“You remember that time we were in Winter Park, Lorraine went to bed and you and I decided to see a Colorado sunrise so we stayed up all night drinkin’ and talkin’?” he asked then quickly added something that would give Colt an out if he didn’t want to enter the conversation. “You were pretty hammered.”
He was hammered. Enough to tell Sully everything about Feb, why he loved her and why it cut through the bone when he lost her. Not enough to forget he did it. It was after Melanie left, during the time he was pissed at her for giving up at the same time wondering if he unintentionally gave her some signal that she should.
“I remember.”
“What you said, what Lorraine told me, I still didn’t get it about February. Cold as ice to you. Everyone else, warm and sweet. All that mattered to me, she left and it scarred you.” Sully was still smiling that smile when he said, “Waffles, omelets, a second chance in the middle of a shit storm and a girl who can stand strong through this crazy mess and go to work every day?” He shook his head. “Now, I think I’m gettin’ it.” His smile finally filled with humor. “Better thing though, now you’re gettin’ it.”
Colt shook his head but he did it grinning. “Don’t be rude, Sul.”
“Gotta get you drunk, find out if she wears those chokers to bed,” Sully joked.
“Now you’re pissin’ me off.”
“Man, I’m just sayin’, beware. Everyone wants to know that.”
Before Colt could answer, he heard Nowakowski call, “Lieutenant Colton?”
He automatically looked to the right and saw Cheryl Sheckle glancing around hope in her face or expectation. Happy expectation. She thought her lover was close.
Colt hated to do it but Nowakowski wouldn’t have called his name unless he wanted to make his point so he called back, “Yeah?”
Cheryl’s body locked but her eyes sliced to him. Then the color fled from her face.
“Would you like to assist with this interview?” Nowakowski asked, tipping his head to Cheryl and Cheryl looked at Nowakowski then at Colt, face still white, now her hands were clenched.
What that fucking guy was playing at, Colt had no clue and he wished the asshole would have cued him.
“I’m thinkin’ you got it,” Colt answered wondering how this was, exactly, “taking care of Candy” as he promised Ryan he would do.
“Your call,” Nowakowski lied, it wasn’t Colt’s call at all and he wondered what the bastard would have done if Colt had answered, “Yeah, sure.”
Then Nowakowski motioned toward the hall that led to the interrogation rooms. “Ms. Sheckle, if you would?”
Her movements showed she was forcing them. She’d come in of her own accord thinking this was about the investigation of a dirty cop she was supposedly a part of. Now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be there. Still, she moved and Nowakowski and Warren followed her down the hall.
“Rodman says we’re not allowed to eat popcorn during the interview. Might interfere with the equipment,” Sully whispered as he and Sully followed Rodman into the hall.
Marty had brought in strombolis from Reggie’s for lunch. Colt’s was sitting like a weight in his gut. Popcorn would take him over the edge.
He didn’t answer Sully as they walked into the room next to interrogation two. Cheryl was already seated, her purse on the table by her side. Nowakowski had decided to sit across from her. Warren, younger and far better looking than Nowakowski, was completely different than he was in the interview with Ryan. He was sitting at the side of the table. His pose was relaxed, the tutor there to help with prompts and provide support. Nowakowski was the professor who’d ask difficult questions on a test that, if she failed, she’d be fucked.
Nowakowski opened a folder and pulled out Denny and Marie’s wedding photo, flipped it around and set it down in front of Cheryl. Already pale and visibly uncertain, the wedding photo was an act of cruelty. With one look at her face when she saw the photo, Colt knew she had no idea Denny was married, now or ever.
“Ms. Sheckle, do you know this man?”
Eyes glued to the photo, she swallowed then nodded.
“Who is he?”
“Lieutenant Alec Colton,” she answered then went on hurriedly, her eyes lifting, “I mean, Alexander. His name is –”
“Lieutenant Alexander Colton was standing outside, Ms. Sheckle,” Nowakowski interrupted her. “The tall man with the dark hair. Did you see him?”
She shook her head and looked at Warren then she leaned forward. “Okay,” she started, her voice a loud whisper, “I don’t know what you guys think but that man out there is no good. Okay? Alec told me he’s dirty. You need to find Alec. Something’s wrong.”
“Alec was standing outside, Ms. Sheckle, would you like me to ask him to come in, show you his credentials?” Nowakowski asked.
“No!” she cried, leaning back but putting her hands, palms down, flat on the table. “No, you have to listen to me. Alec told me he’s –”
Nowakowski leaned forward and tapped Denny’s photo, his tone had changed. It was quiet, even gentle when he said, “Cheryl, can I call you Cheryl or would you prefer Candy?”
“Cheryl,” she said swiftly.
“Cheryl, the man in this photo is a Mr. Dennis Lowe. He worked for a computer software company and he was married. He was impersonating a police officer, a real one by the name of Alexander Colton. He was doing this because he’s obsessed with a woman named February –”
Nowakowski stopped talking because Cheryl Sheckle’s body jerked violently and she let out a muted cry.
“Fuck, he called her February,” Sully muttered.
“No,” Cheryl whispered.
“He called you that didn’t he?” Nowakowski asked.
She shook her head and whispered again, “No.”
“He didn’t call you that?”
She kept shaking her head. “He said it was because he met me in February. He said it was a nickname.”
Warren shook his head then, “It isn’t a nickname, Cheryl. It’s a real person, her name is February Owens and he’s been obsessed with her since they went to high school together.” Nowakowski didn’t give her a break, didn’t let it settle in, before he added, “She looks like you, Cheryl. You’ve seen her in the tapes, haven’t you?” Nowakowski asked, pushing but still being gentle. “Have you seen her in the tapes? Doesn’t she look like you?”
“He said he was a cop. He said –”
Warren leaned close. “He lied to you, Cheryl.”
She closed her eyes tight, still shaking her head. “He was nice to me. He was nice. Men aren’t…” she opened her eyes and whispered, “He was gentle with me. He said he loved me. He said we were born to be together.”
“Alexander Colton, the man outside, the man you’ve seen in the tapes, he’s February Owens’s boyfriend. They have a history, Lieutenant Colton and Ms. Owens, a long one. They were born to be together, if you believe that kind of thing,” Nowakowski told her.
She started shaking, her arms crossing on her chest, her hands rubbing her upper biceps. “Why –”
“I’m sorry, Cheryl, but he used you to spy on the objects of his fascination. The man he wants to be, Lieutenant Colton, and the woman he wants to have, February Owens,” Nowakowski informed her.
“Why would he do that?” she asked but the pitch of her voice said not only didn’t she want to know, any answer Nowakowski gave her she wouldn’t believe.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why someone would do that,” Nowakowski told her.
She kept rubbing her arms. “I have a kid, a son, he’s good t
o him. Was teaching him football. Said he was All-State, he played for Purdue.”
“Yes, that’s true. Lieutenant Colton was All-State and he played for Purdue.”
She shook her head, rubbing her arms up and down, her eyes filling with tears, spilling over, the wet tracking down her cheeks.
She looked at the photo and asked, “He’s married?”
Layering of betrayals. Nowakowski didn’t cool it she was going to get crushed underneath.
“He was, Cheryl,” Nowakowski said and Warren turned to look at him, Nowakowski shook his head to Warren before he said to Cheryl, “Now, Cheryl, when was the last time you saw this man?” he tapped the photo, “Mr. Lowe.”
She looked away then back. “Wednesday, not yesterday, last Wednesday.”
Fucking hell, the day he murdered Angie.
“It was my day off,” she continued, “He took me and Ethan to dinner. Said he wouldn’t be back for awhile. Had to go undercover on something. Asked if he could use my car, gave me his Audi. Even had it cleaned for me all the way through. The inside was still wet.”
“Fucking hell. She drove here in his fucking car,” Rodman murmured.
“What kind of car do you drive, Cheryl?” Warren asked.
“Toyota.”
“Model, color?” Warren asked.
“Blue. Ethan likes blue. Um… Corolla.”
“Year?” Warren kept at her and her eyes focused on him.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because we need to find him.”
“Why? Because he impersonated a cop?” She flipped her hand out, her betrayal had settled, the anger was sweeping in after it. “He’s obviously a dick but what’s the big deal?”
“Please, Cheryl, just tell us the year of your car.”
“Two thousand five, I think.”
“Is it registered to you?”
“Yeah. Sure. Who else?”
Rodman turned and left the room.
“Has he had any contact with you since dinner that Wednesday?” Warren asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course, he calls me every day.” Her voice was clipped now, her hands no longer rubbing her arms but grasping them. Protective. Anger was now settled and, quicker than Colt would have expected, bitter was moving in. She’d been fucked over before. A lot.
“The DVDs you were giving him, the ones from Ryan?” Warren asked and she stopped gripping her arms, her hands fell into her lap and she stared at him. “Are you still giving them to him?”
She shook her head, this time the shakes came short and fast. “Ryan’s a good kid. He’s a good kid.”
“We’ve talked to Ryan, Cheryl. We know he’s a good kid,” Warren assured her. “Now, have you been sending the DVDs to Mr. Lowe?”
“Yes, yes. Fed Ex. He’d give me the addresses when he called and I’d send them. One a day since the one I handed him on Wednesday.”
“Do you have those addresses?” Warren asked.
“Yes, the receipts, those little slips they tear off one for you. They’re at home.”
“Can we go to your home, Cheryl, get the receipts?”
She nodded. “Sure, but why? Who cares?”
“He’s surveilling a police officer and his girlfriend. Unlawful entry to set up the cameras and –” Warrens started but she cut him off.
“Whatever,” she said, pulling her purse to her she dug in it and yanked out her keys. She was over it, done with Denny Lowe, ready to scrape him off and move on with her life, alone, without help, stripping to keep her kid fed. She tossed the keys on the table and she asked, “Am I gonna get my car back?”
“We’ll do what we can, Cheryl,” Warren said as Nowakowski nabbed the keys and exited the room. “Where was the last package you sent going to?”
Colt expected her to say Sturgis or Rapid City.
Instead she said, “Taos it’s someplace in New Mexico.”
“Fuck,” Colt hissed, reaching for his phone, he yanked it out and called Feb.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Baby, who do you know in Taos, New Mexico?”
“What?”
“Who do you know in Taos, New Mexico?”
Her voice went guarded and she asked, “From the list?”
“Anyone, Feb. Do you know anyone in Taos or around there?”
“Yeah,” she told him, “Reece is there.”
Fucking shit.
Colt turned to the table behind him, pulling his pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket, he asked, “Reece his first name or his last?”
“Last.”
“First name?”
“Graham.”
“Got a number? An address?”
“Colt –”
“Number, Feb. Hurry, baby.”
“Hang on…” she went away, probably checking her phonebook on her cell, and Colt flipped up the leather cover to his pad, put it on the table and bent over it, pen ready when she came back. “Five seven five, triple five, two zero zero two.”
Colt took the numbers down and repeated them then asked, “Would he have one? An address? A place he gets mail?”
“Sure, he rents a place. Don’t have his address on me, it’s at home.”
“Thanks honey, see you at six.”
“Colt, is Reece in –?”
“At six, Feb, I have to go. Right now.”
She hesitated then said, “Right. Six.”
“Later, baby.”
Her voice was shaking when she said, “Later, Colt.”
Two days ago her shaking voice would scare the piss out of him. Now he knew she’d pull it together.
Colt flipped his phone closed and looked at Sully.
“Victimology is wrong,” he said to Sully, pushing his phone in his pocket and tearing the paper off the pad. “He’s not going after Grant because Grant never fucked her. He’s going after anyone who fucked her.”
“This Reece guy?”
“Was he on the list?”
“Nope.”
Colt headed to the door, Sully trailing. “That’s because he’s an ex-lover and he never did anything to her.”
“But he’s wreaking vengeance for her,” Sully said as they hit the hall. “He told us himself.”
“He’s wreaking his vengeance, not vengeance for her. Angie never did her wrong, not really.”
“Why the fuck would he kill her then?” Sully asked.
“Who the fuck knows?” Colt answered and he stopped at Rodman who was hitting a button on his phone. “This is the next victim’s phone number,” he handed Rodman the paper. “Taos, New Mexico. Graham Reece. He’ll be renting, not a long term resident and likely workin’ a bar.”
“Sheckle’s been sending gift packages,” Rodman surmised, hitting buttons on the phone, the paper held up in front of him, his eyes scanning, multitasking.
“Only person Feb knows in New Mexico, they’re close.”
“He do her wrong?” Rodman asked.
“Nope, he just did her. Lowe wants to erase from the earth anyone who touched her,” Colt answered.
“She needs to make a new list,” Rodman said.
“She does, only name left on it would be mine.”
Rodman blinked at him then mouthed, “Voicemail.”
“I’ll run a check, see if I can pull up an address or employment records on Reece,” Sully said and hoofed it to his desk.
“Graham Reece,” Rodman said into the phone, turning and starting to walk away, “this is Special Agent Maurice Rodman of the FBI. You’re not in trouble and I need you to call this number the minute you get…”
Colt stood there alone in the bullpen which was filled with activity all around and he didn’t have a fucking thing to do but wait.
* * * * *
An hour later Cheryl Sheckle sat in a chair across the room, her purse in her lap, her arms wrapped around it, her head turned to the side, her face set in stone.
She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and she’d taken off all her jewelry
, every last piece. If she could, he knew, she’d change her clothes, erase the Feb Impersonation that’d been forced on her, start finding the way back to herself.
Colt saved the file on Amy Harris he was finishing, got up and walked over to Cheryl. She didn’t indicate in any way that she knew he was approaching except her body grew stiffer with his every step.
“Got a ride home?” he asked, standing over her. The Audi had been impounded.
“Mom’s comin’.” Short, precise, neither word she wanted to say.
“She gonna be awhile?”
“Probably.”
“Want coffee?”
She looked at him, tipping her head back, her eyes hitting his before she clipped, “No.”
“Get up, Cheryl. There’s a place a coupla blocks away from here. I’ll buy you a coffee and you’ll want a brownie from there. At least a cookie. You can call your Mom and tell her to pick you up there.”
“So, what? You’re Mr. Nice Guy?” she snapped.
Colt shook his head and said, “Same guy done us both wrong. I thought least we could do since we share something like that, somethin’ neither of us wanted to share and it was neither of our choice, we could share a great coffee and a fuckin’ good brownie. That would be our choice and, trust me, it’s worth the walk.”
He saw her jaw work as she clenched her teeth through making a decision.
“Better’n sittin’ around here,” she finally mumbled as she stood, hitching the purse on her shoulder.
“Place’s called Mimi’s Coffee House,” Colt said as he passed a Sully who had his brows raised and his eyes on Colt. “Call your Mom. Just a couple blocks up from the Station.”
Colt walked by her side as they made their way out of the Station and down the sidewalk. She called her mother as they went and he listened as she drew out the conversation with her Mom in order not to have to speak to him. She flipped the phone shut just as they hit the counter where a wide-eyed Mimi stood. Colt had already shaken his head to Meems in order to shut her up. He needed her ribbing him about February right then like he needed a hole in the head.
“Caramel latte, a large one, and one of those turtle brownies,” Cheryl ordered.
Mimi nodded and smiled then she looked at Colt. “Regular for you, Colt?”
“Right, Meems.”