Cold Case at Cobra Creek

Chapter Four

“Did Lewis always stay in this same room?” Dugan asked.

“Yes.”

“How long was he here?”

Sage rubbed her temple. “The first time he came, he stayed a couple of weeks. Then he left for a month. When he returned, he stayed about six months.”

“Where did he go when he left?”

“He was traveling around Texas. Said he worked with this company that looked for property across the state, small towns that were in need of rebuilding. Part of his job was to scout out the country and make suggestions to them.”

“Where was his home?”

Sage straightened a pillow on top of the homemade quilt, which had imprints of horses on the squares. “He said he was from South Texas, I think. That he grew up in a little town not too far from Laredo.”

Dugan made a mental note to check out his story. Maybe someone in that town knew more about Lewis.

He walked through the room again, the boards creaking beneath his boots as he stepped inside the closet. His toe caught on something and when he looked down, he realized a plank was loose.

He knelt and ran his finger along the wooden slat, his senses prickling. Was something beneath the board?

He yanked at it several times, and it finally gave way. He pulled it free, laid it to the side and felt the one next to it. It was loose, too, so he tugged it free, as well.

His curiosity spiking, he peered beneath the flooring. Something yellow caught his eye. He slid his hand below and felt inside the hole. His fingers connected with a small manila envelope.

“What are you doing?” Sage asked over his shoulder.

“Something’s under here.” He wiggled his fingers until he snagged the envelope, then removed it from the hole.

“What is that?” Sage asked.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” Dugan felt again just to make sure there wasn’t anything else lodged beneath the floor, but the space was empty. Standing, he walked back to the corner desk, opened the envelope and dumped it upside down.

Sage gasped as the contents spilled out. “What in the world?”

Dugan picked up a driver’s license and flipped it open. A picture of Ron Lewis stared back at him.

But the name on the license read Mike Martin.

“That’s a fake driver’s license,” Sage said.

Dugan raked his hand over the lot of them, spreading a half dozen different licenses across the bed. “Each one of these has a different name.”

“My God, Dugan,” Sage whispered. “Ron Lewis wasn’t his real name.”

“No.” Dugan met her gaze. Aliases indicated the man might have been a professional con man. “And if he lied about who he was, no telling what else he lied about.”

* * *

SAGE SANK ONTO the bed, in shock. “I can’t believe he lied to me, that he had all these other identities.” She felt like such a fool. “Why would he do that, Dugan? Why come here and make me think he was someone else? Just to make me fall for him?”

Dugan’s mouth flattened. “Do you have a lot of money, Sage?”

“No.” She gestured around the room. “I put everything into remodeling this house as a bed and breakfast.”

“You don’t have a trust fund somewhere?”

“God, no,” Sage said, embarrassed to admit the truth, “I’m in debt up to my eyeballs.”

“Then he didn’t fabricate his lies to swindle you out of money,” Dugan said. “My guess is that this business of a land development was some kind of sham. You just happened to get caught in the middle.”

“So, he never really cared for me,” Sage said. She’d asked herself that a thousand times the past two years, but facing the truth was humiliating. It also meant she’d endangered her son by falling for Ron Lewis’s lies.

Dugan’s apologetic look made her feel even more like an idiot.

“Even if he was running a con, maybe he really did fall in love with you and Benji,” Dugan suggested.

“Yeah,” Sage said wryly. “Maybe he was going to change for me.” She picked up one of the fake IDs, read the name, then threw it against the wall. “More like, he took me for a moron and used me.” She studied another name, her mind racing. “But why take Benji that day?”

“I don’t know.” Dugan shrugged. “Did he know about your debt?”

Sage nodded. “He told me not to worry, that when this deal came through, my B and B would be overflowing with business and we’d make a fortune.”

“Maybe he meant that,” Dugan said. “Maybe he really wanted to make things better for you and your son.”

Sage made a sound of disgust. “Like you said before, Dugan, he lied about his name. What else was he lying about?” She scattered the IDs around, trying to recall if he’d mentioned any of the other names he’d used. “I can’t believe I fell for everything he said.” Because she’d been lonely. Vulnerable.

Had liked the idea of having a father for her son.

Never again would she let down her guard.

Not for any man, no matter what.

* * *

DUGAN GATHERED THE fake IDs to investigate them. As much as he wanted to assure her that Lewis had been sincere about his intentions with her, the phony IDs said otherwise.

A liar was a liar, and Dugan hadn’t found just one alias. The man had a string of them.

Meaning he probably had a rap sheet, as well, and maybe had committed numerous crimes.

It also opened up a Pandora’s box. Any one of the persons he’d conned or lied to might have wanted revenge against him.

The fact that he’d lied to Sage suggested he might have lied to other women. Hell, he might have a slew of girlfriends or wives scattered across Texas. Maybe one in each city where he’d worked or visited.

All with motive, as well.

“Do you know who Lewis met with in town about the new development?”

“George Bates, from the bank,” Sage said. “He also met with the town council and talked to several landowners, but I’m not certain which ones or how far he got with them.”

“I’ll start with Bates.” Dugan stuck the envelope of IDs inside his rawhide jacket.

Sage followed him to the door. “Are you going to the sheriff with this?”

Dugan shook his head. “I don’t think he’d like me nosing into this, and I don’t trust him to find the truth.”

“I agree.” Sage rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if to warm herself. The temptation to comfort her pulled at Dugan.

God, she was beautiful. He’d admired her from afar ever since the first time he laid eyes on her. But he’d known then that she was too good for a jaded man like him. She and her little boy deserved a good man who’d take care of them.

And that man wasn’t him.

But just because he couldn’t have her for himself didn’t mean that he wouldn’t do right by her. He would take this case.

Because there was the possibility that Benji was alive.

Dugan wouldn’t rest until he found him and Sage knew the truth about what had happened two years ago.

Sage caught his arm as he started to leave the room. “Dugan, promise me one thing.”

He studied her solemn face. Hated the pain in her eyes. “What?”

“That you won’t keep things from me. No matter what you find, I want—I need—to know the truth. I’ve been lied to too many times already.”

He cradled her hand in his and squeezed it, ignoring the heat that shot through him at her touch. “I promise, Sage.”

Hell, he wanted to promise more.

But he hurried down the steps to keep himself from becoming like Lewis and telling her what she wanted to hear instead of the truth.

Because the truth was that he had no idea what answers he would find.

* * *

SAGE WATCHED DUGAN LEAVE, a sense of trepidation filling her.

At least he was willing to help her look for the answers. But the phony drivers’ licenses had shocked her to the core.

How could she have been so gullible when Ron was obviously a professional liar? And now that she knew Ron Lewis wasn’t his real name, who was he?

Had he planned to marry her and take care of her and Benji?

No...everything about the man was probably false. He’d obviously fabricated a story to fit his agenda.

But why use her? To worm his way into the town and make residents believe he cared about them, that he was part of them?

Devious. But it made sense in a twisted kind of way.

She straightened the flooring in the closet, then went to Benji’s room. Benji had loved jungle animals, so she’d painted a mural of a jungle scene on one wall and painted the other walls a bright blue. She walked over to the shelf above his bed and ran her finger over each of his stuffed animals. His friends, he’d called them.

At night he’d pile them all in bed around him, so she could barely find him when she went to tuck him in. His blankie, the one she’d crocheted before he was born, was folded neatly on his pillow, still waiting for his return.

Where was her son? If he’d survived, was he being taken care of? Had someone given him a blanket to sleep with at night and animal friends to comfort him in bed?

She thought she’d cried all her tears, but more slipped down her cheeks, her emotions as raw as they were the day she’d discovered that Benji was gone.

The news usually ran stories about missing children. For a few weeks after the car crash, they carried the story about Ron and her son. Although the implication was that both had died in the fire, a request had been made for any information regarding the accident. They’d hoped to find a witness who’d seen the wreck, someone who could tell them if another car had been involved.

But no word had come and eventually other stories had replaced Benji’s on the front page. With this new development, maybe she could arouse the media’s interest again.

She hurried downstairs to the kitchen and retrieved the scrapbook with clippings she’d morbidly kept of the crash and the coverage afterward. Why she’d kept them, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d hoped one day she’d find something in them that might explain what had happened to Benji.

The small town of Cobra Creek wasn’t big enough for a newspaper, but a reporter from Laredo had interviewed her and covered the investigation. At least, what little investigation Sheriff Gandt had instigated.

She noted the reporter’s name on the story. Ashlynn Fontaine.

Hoping that the reporter might revive the story and the public’s interest, now that Ron’s body had been found and that his death was considered a homicide, she decided to call the paper the next morning and speak to Ashlynn.

* * *

DUGAN DROVE TO the bank the next day to speak with George Bates, the president. One woman sat at a desk to the left, and a teller was perched behind her station, at a computer.

He paused by the first woman and asked for Bates, and she escorted him to an office down a hallway. A tall, middle-aged man with wiry hair and a suit that looked ten years old shook his hand. “George Bates. You here to open an account?”

Dugan shook his head. “No, sir, I need to ask you some questions about Ron Lewis.”

Bates’s pudgy face broke into a scowl. “What about him? He’s been dead for two years.”

“True,” Dugan said. “I don’t know if you heard, but his body was discovered this morning at Cobra Creek. It turns out he didn’t die in that car crash or fire. He was murdered.”

Bates’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yes, he was shot.”

Bates rolled his shoulders back in a defensive gesture. “You think I know something about that?”

“That’s not what I meant to imply,” Dugan said, using a low voice to calm the man. “But the fact that Ms. Freeport’s little boy wasn’t with him raises questions about where he is. Ms. Freeport asked me to look into his disappearance. Learning who killed Lewis might lead us to that innocent little boy.” Dugan paused. “You do want to help find that child, don’t you?”

His comment seemed to steal the wind out of Bates’s sails. “Well, yes, of course.”

“Then tell me everything you can about Ron Lewis.”

Bates tugged at his suit jacket, then motioned for Dugan to take a seat.

“Lewis came in here with all kinds of plans for the town,” Bates said. “He had sketches of how he wanted to renovate the downtown area, parks that would be added, housing developments, a giant equestrian center and a dude ranch, along with an outlet mall and new storefronts for the downtown area.”

“Did he have backing?” Dugan asked.

Bates scratched his chin. “Well, that was the sketchy part. At first he said he did. Then, when it got down to it, he approached me to invest. I think he may have hit on some others around town. Especially Lloyd Riley and Ken Canter. They own a lot of land in the prime spots for the equestrian center and dude ranch.”

“He made them offers?”

“You’d have to talk to them about it,” Bates said. “Neither one wanted to tell me any specifics. But I think Riley signed something with him and so did Canter.”

So, what had happened to those deals?

“Were most of the people in town in favor of the project?”

“A few of the store owners thought it would be good for business. But some old-timers didn’t want that dude ranch or the mall.”

“When he asked you to invest, did you check out Lewis’s financial background?”

Bates frowned. “I was going to, but then he had that crash and I figured there wasn’t no need.”

“Was he working with a partner? Another contact to deal with on the project?”

“If he was, he didn’t tell me.”

Probably because he was running a scam. Lewis had never had backing and was going to swindle the locals into investing, then run off with their money.

Had one of them discovered Lewis’s plans to cheat him and killed Lewis because of it?

Chapter Five

Dugan stopped by his ranch before heading out to talk to the ranchers Lewis had approached.

He’d worked hard as a kid and teen on other spreads, doing odd jobs and then learning to ride and train horses, and had vowed years ago that he would one day own his own land.

Growing up on the reservation had been tough. His mother was Native American and had barely been able to put food on the table. Like little Benji’s, his father had skipped out. He had no idea where the man was now and couldn’t care less if he ever met him.

Any man who abandoned his family wasn’t worth spit.

Then he’d lost his mother when he was five and had been tossed around for years afterward, in foster care, never really wanted by anyone, never belonging anywhere. It was the one reason he’d wanted his own land, his own place. A home.

He’d hired a young man, Hiram, to help him on the ranch in exchange for a place to live. Hiram was another orphan on the rez who needed a break. He also employed three other teens to help groom and exercise the horses and clean the stalls. Keeping the boys busy and teaching them the satisfaction of hard work would hopefully help them stay out of trouble. He’d also set up college scholarships if they decided to further their education.

Everything at the ranch looked in order, and he spotted Hiram at the stables. He showered and changed into a clean shirt and jeans, then retreated to his home office.

He booted up his computer and researched Trace Lanier. Seconds after he entered the man’s name, dozens of articles appeared, all showcasing Lanier’s rise in success in the rodeo. Other photos revealed a line of beautiful rodeo groupies on his arm. For the past two years, he’d been traveling the rodeo circuit, enjoying fame and success.

He had no motive for trying to get his son back. He had plenty of money. And now fame. And judging from the pictures of him at honky-tonks, parties and casinos, he enjoyed his single life.

At the time of Benji’s disappearance, he was actually competing in Tucson.

Dugan struck Lanier off the suspect list, then phoned his buddy Jaxon and explained about finding Lewis’s corpse and the phony identities.

“Sounds like a professional con artist,” Jaxon said. “Send me a list of all his IDs and I’ll run them.”

Dugan typed in the list and emailed it to Jaxon. He could use all the help he could get.

“I’m plugging them in, along with his picture,” Jaxon said. “Now, tell me what you know about this man.”

“He came to Cobra Creek on the pretense of saving the town. Said he had a developer wanting to rebuild the downtown, and expand with an equestrian center, dude ranch, shopping mall and new storefronts. The banker in town said he approached him to invest and that he solicited locals to, as well. I’m going to question them next. But I’m anxious to learn more about his background. Does he have an arrest record?”

“Jeez. He was a pro.”

“What did you find?”

“He stole the name Lewis from a dead man in Corpus Christi.”

“A murder victim?”

“No, he was eighty and died of cancer.”

“So he stole his identity because it was easy.”

“Yeah, Lewis was an outstanding citizen, had no priors. His son died in Afghanistan.”

“What else?”

“Three of the names—Joel Bremmer, Mike Martin and Seth Handleman—have rap sheets.”

“What for?”

“Bremmer for theft, Martin for fraud and embezzlement and Handleman for similar charges.”

“Did he do time for any of the crimes?”

“Not a day. Managed to avoid a trial by jumping bail.”

“Then he took on a new identity,” Dugan filled in.

“Like I said, he’s a pro.”

“Who bailed him out?”

“Hang on. Let me see if I can access those records.”

“While you’re at it, see if you can get a hold of Sheriff Gandt’s police report on Lewis’s car accident. I want to know if Lewis was shot before the accident or afterward.”

“The sheriff doesn’t know?”

“According to Gandt, he thought the man died in the car fire. Now we have a body, the M.E. pointed out the gunshot wound. When I asked Gandt if he saw a bullethole in the car, he sidestepped the question, and said the car was burned pretty badly. But all that tells me is that he didn’t examine it.”

“Shoddy work.”

“You could say that.”

Dugan drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited. Seconds later, Jaxon returned.

“Each time, a woman bailed him out. The first time, the lady claimed to be his wife. The second, his girlfriend.”

“Their names?”

“Eloise Bremmer,” Jaxon said. “After Bremmer disappeared, the police went to question her, but she was gone, too. Same thing with Martin’s girlfriend, Carol Sue Tinsley.”

“Hmm, wonder if they’re one and the same.”

“That’s possible.”

“How about the other names?”

“One more popped. Seth Handleman. He was charged with fraud, but the charges were dropped. Says here his wife, Maude, lives in Laredo.”

“Give me that address,” Dugan said. “Maybe she’s still there.”

She also might be the same woman who’d bailed out Bremmer and Martin.

* * *

SAGE RUBBED HER FINGER over the locket she wore as she parked at the coffee shop where Ashlynn Fontaine had agreed to meet her. After Benji had disappeared, she’d placed his picture inside the necklace and sworn she wouldn’t take it off until she found her son.

It was a constant reminder that he was close to her heart even if she had no idea if he was alive or...gone forever.

Clinging to hope, she hurried inside, ordered a latte and found a small corner table to wait. Five minutes later, Ashlynn entered, finding Sage and offering her a small smile. Ashlynn ordered coffee, then joined her, shook off her jacket and dropped a pad and pen on the table.

“Hi, Ms. Freeport. I’m glad you called.”

“Call me Sage.”

“All right, Sage. You said there’s been a new development in the case.”

Sage nodded. “I take it you haven’t heard about Ron Lewis’s body being found.”

The reporter’s eyes flickered with surprise. “No, but that is news. Who found him?”

“Dugan Graystone, a local tracker, was searching for some missing hikers and discovered his body at Cobra Creek.”

“I see. And the sheriff was called?”

Sage nodded. “Sheriff Gandt said he would investigate, but he didn’t do much the first go-around.”

“How did Lewis die?” Ashlynn asked.

“He was shot.”

“Murdered?” Another flicker of surprise. “So he didn’t die from an accident?”

“No.” Sage ran a hand through her hair. “He died of a gunshot wound. At this point it’s unclear if he was shot before the accident, causing him to crash, or after it, when he tried to escape the burning vehicle.”

“Interesting.”

“The important thing is that they found Lewis’s body but not my son’s. So Benji might be alive.”

Ashlynn gave her a sympathetic look. “Did they find any evidence that he survived?”

“No,” Sage admitted. “But they also didn’t find any proof that he didn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Think about it,” Sage said. “The shooter may have wanted to kill Ron. But maybe he didn’t realize Ron had Benji with him. When he killed Ron and discovered Benji, he may have taken my son.”

A tense heartbeat passed between them, fraught with questions.

“That’s possible,” Ashlynn said. “But it’s also possible that he didn’t.”

Sage’s stomach revolted. “You mean that he got rid of Benji.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashlynn said. “I don’t want to believe that, but if he murdered Lewis, he might not have wanted any witnesses left behind.”

Sage desperately clung to hope that Ron’s killer hadn’t been that inhumane. Killing a grown man for revenge, if that was the case, was a far cry from killing an innocent child.

Ashlynn traced a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “I hate to suggest this, but did the police search the area for a grave, in case the killer buried your son?”

Sage’s throat closed. She clutched her purse, ready to leave. “I didn’t call you so you’d convince me that Benji is dead. I hoped you’d run another story, this time focus on the fact that Lewis’s body was found but that Benji might still be out there.”

She pulled a picture of her son from her shoulder bag. “Please print his picture and remind people that he’s still missing. That I’m still looking for him.” Desperation tinged her voice. “Maybe someone’s seen him and will call in.”

Ashlynn reached over and squeezed her hand. “Of course I can do that, Sage. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get closure.”

Sage heard the doubt in the reporter’s voice. She didn’t think Benji would be found.

But Sage didn’t care what she thought. “I know you have your doubts about him being alive, but I’m his mother.” Sage stroked the locket where it lay against her heart. “I can’t give up until I know for sure.”

Ashlynn nodded and took the picture. “Did Benji have any defining characteristics? A birthmark, scar or mole? Anything that might stand out?”

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Sage said. “He was born with an extra piece of cartilage in his right ear. It’s not very noticeable, but if you look closely, it almost looks like he has two eardrums.”

“Do you have a photo where it’s visible?”

Sage had actually avoided photographing it. But it was obvious in his first baby picture. She removed it from her wallet and showed it to Ashlynn.

“This might help,” the reporter told her. “I’ll enhance it for the news story. And I’ll run the story today.” Ashlynn finished her coffee. “As a matter of fact, I have a friend who works for the local TV station. I’ll give her a heads-up and have her add it to their broadcast. The more people looking for Benji, the better.”

Sage thanked her, although Ashlynn’s comment about searching for a grave troubled her.

As much as she didn’t want to face that possibility, she’d have to ask Dugan about it.

* * *

DUGAN ENTERED THE ADDRESS for Maude Handleman into the note section on his phone, then drove toward Lloyd Riley’s farm, a few miles outside town.

He’d heard about the tough times some of the landowners had fallen upon in the past few years. Weather affected farming and crops, the organic craze had caused some to rethink their methods and make costly changes, and the beef industry had suffered.