Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Leanne studied the two pictures. It was hard to believe they were the same person.
“Is that her?”
She turned around as Will walked over and leaned down to look at her computer screen.
“Valeria Reyes, age nineteen,” Leanne said. “She’s from Albuquerque. At least, that’s what her driver’s license says.”
“Wow.”
There was a lot loaded into that one little word.
The driver’s license photo showed a smiling eighteen-year-old with shiny dark hair and a sparkle in her eyes.
The mug shot of Reyes had been taken less than a year later.
In the photo her cheeks looked hollow, and her peroxide-blond hair was limp and dull.
But it was her eyes that really marked the change. They looked empty. And seeing them put an ache in Leanne’s chest.
Will shook his head. “Damn. Shows you what drugs can do. I assume that’s what’s on her rap sheet?”
“No. Just the prostitution charge.”
Valeria Reyes had been arrested outside a Fort Stockton truck stop six months ago, one week shy of her nineteenth birthday. Which meant Dr. Korbin had been correct with his age estimate.
Leanne studied the mug shot, then shifted her focus to the driver’s license picture.
“Wonder what happened to her,” Will murmured.
Leanne didn’t know yet, but she could guess. She might have been a runaway. Or maybe her parents kicked her out. Or maybe she’d become homeless after her family hit a rough patch.
He stepped back. “Nothing else on her sheet besides prostitution?”
“That was it.”
“Guess we got lucky, then.”
“How’s that?”
“If not for the arrest, she wouldn’t be in the system.”
“Well, having an ID is definitely a step forward.”
Leanne looked at the mug shot again, hoping Ben never reached a point like that.
His last DWI arrest had felt like rock bottom.
But at least he’d gone to rehab and gotten a chance to change.
Things could have been worse. They could still get worse, especially given the people he was spending time with now.
Every time her phone lit up at night, Leanne worried it was going to be some horrible news about Ben, that he’d done something to himself or someone else that could never be undone.
Leanne hit print on the two pictures and crossed the bullpen to grab them off the printer.
Izzy walked in and waved her down.
“Glad I caught you.” She held out a manila folder. “I got something on that shoe impression.”
“From the railroad tracks?”
“Yeah. And I heard we got an ID finally?”
“Valeria Reyes,” Leanne told her, taking the file. “Nineteen years old.”
Izzy shook her head.
“What about the shoe impression?” Leanne asked.
“According to my research, it’s a man’s shoe, either a thirteen or a thirteen and a half, depending on the brand.”
“He sounds tall,” Leanne said.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Leanne opened the folder and studied the herringbone-patterned shoeprint. Even though the shoe impression was faint, so far it was the only evidence they had that hinted at a physical description of the killer.
If it even belonged to the killer. As evidence went, this was extremely circumstantial. But it was better than nothing. Who knew what might happen? Maybe they’d find a suspect with a pair of these shoes sitting in his closet.
“This is helpful.” She looked at Izzy. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I thought you’d want it right away, especially since we have the victim’s ID in now. That’s two leads in one day. Progress, right?”
“Still more to go.”
Leanne reached over to grab the photos off the printer, and Izzy stepped closer.
“Is that the victim?” Izzy asked.
“Yeah. You recognize her?”
“I don’t think so.” Her tone sounded sad. “She looks so young.”
Izzy seemed to be dressed for work, with a zipper pouch clipped at her waist and her Nikon camera looped around her neck.
“You going out on a job?” Leanne asked.
“Just shooting some nature photos.”
“Are you going by yourself?”
“Yes, but I’m just going to Town Park and the water tower.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Leanne wasn’t used to worrying about safety around here, but the events of the past week had her questioning her assumptions about Madrone. Her hometown was changing in every way imaginable.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got my pepper spray.” Izzy patted her bag. “And my phone’s charged this time.”
“That’s good, but pay attention,” Leanne said, echoing what her father always told her. “It’s all about situational awareness.”
“I know.”
“Intuition is your friend.”
· · ·
Leanne stretched her quads as the Jeep Cherokee pulled into the lot. Max Scott slid out and slammed the door.
“What’s with the boots?” she asked, looking at his feet. “I said sneakers.”
“You were serious about that?”
“Absolutely.”
He stopped beside her and put his hands on his hips.
Besides chunky leather work boots, the reporter had on jeans and a Texas Rangers baseball cap—which she assumed he wore to cover his balding head.
As part of her research, Leanne had looked up Max Scott’s bio on his newspaper’s website.
Among other things, she’d learned that he was part of an investigative reporting team that had won numerous awards.
Max himself had won none, which told her that he was hungry.
“Guess you’re running in boots, then.” She zipped her car key into the pocket of her fleece and strode toward the trail. She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“You coming?”
“Hang on.”
He opened the cargo hatch and quickly traded his boots for a pair of checkered Vans. He joined her at the trailhead, and she set off jogging at an annoyingly slow pace.
“Why did you want to meet way out here?” he asked.
“It’s the most scenic place around. Since you’re a tourist, I thought you’d want to see it.”
Plus, she didn’t want to be spotted in town talking to a reporter. The gossip mill would be on fire.
She glanced back at him. He didn’t look happy to be called a tourist. Or maybe it was the steep trail that was putting a scowl on his face.
Leanne pounded up the path with him close on her heels. They passed the big ledge where people liked to take selfies, and by the time they reached the third switchback, he was flush-faced and winded.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” she told him.
That seemed to put some spring in his step. “Oh yeah?” he huffed. “I figured it was something like that.”
“I’m interested in a trade. But not the one you’re thinking.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t want to be interviewed.”
He halted in his tracks. She stopped and turned around.
“That was the deal, though.”
“We didn’t have a deal. I’m proposing one now.” She turned and continued up the trail, race-walking now so he could keep up.
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“I have some questions about this exposé you mentioned.” She looked back at him. “You were right—I’m curious about it. In exchange, I’ll give you a scoop on something else.”
“What?”
“A case that hasn’t hit the news yet.”
“You mean the dead hiker from last night? I already heard about that.”
“That’s not the scoop.”
They reached an overlook, and the valley stretched out before them.
She hadn’t been lying about the scenery.
This truly was the most beautiful view in the area, especially with the sky clear and the late-day sun giving everything a golden glow.
Swaths of yellow stipa grass rippled in the breeze, and a red-tailed hawk swooped over their heads, soaring out over the canyon like a hang glider.
To her right was a madrone tree with twisty limbs and peeling orange bark.
Leanne had hiked up here with her dad when she was a kid.
The tree had been shorter then, and he’d pointed out the nearby juniper, explaining how it acted as a nurse tree, protecting the smaller tree until it could get established.
The memory put a lump in her throat, and she stepped away to compose herself. For years, she’d noticed how some people would hike to this ledge and tearfully stare out at the setting sun. Grief. She’d never recognized it for what it was before her dad died, but now she knew it in a heartbeat.
She glanced at Max. Despite the cold, sweat dripped down his face, and his cheeks were splotchy. But he seemed to be hanging in there. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought this guy up here. It was a sacred place to her, and she wasn’t sure why she’d decided to share it with a reporter.
“So, I offered you a trade,” she said, getting back to the point. “Are you interested or not?”
“I’ll need to check with my editor. I can’t promise anything.”
“Wrong answer. This is an exploding offer. Take it or leave it.”
“How do I know you actually have a scoop and you’re not stringing me along?”
“You’re going to have to trust me. Good thing for you, I’m trustworthy.”
He stared at her, seeming to weigh this assertion. Then he turned and muttered something she couldn’t hear.
“Make up your mind.”
“Fine. All right. Let’s hear your scoop.”
“I go first,” she said. “I want to know the name of your inside source.”
“What inside source?”
“The source who tipped you off about this story you’re investigating in Chisos County involving prominent county officials.”
“I’m not going to tell you that. What kind of journalist do you think I am?”
“The practical kind,” she said. “I’ll figure it out eventually, anyway. And if you tell me now, that gives you a chance to get a jump on your competition on something else.”
“How do I know the ‘something else’ is worth risking my reputation?”
The fact that he was willing to risk it at all told her that her hunch about him had been right. Whatever ethics he had he was willing to bend if it gave him an edge.
“Again, you’ll have to trust me.”
His frown deepened.
“But look at it this way,” she said. “I have something to lose, too, if I were to mislead you.”
“What’s that?”