Chapter 15
Cash had met Colcord on one end of Main Street in Burns that morning, with the idea of making a quick canvass through the tiny town to see if anyone knew Grooms or remembered any strangers passing through nine days earlier.
A June rain shower hit just as they arrived, busting out a flurry of raincoats and bobbing umbrellas.
The two of them had wound their way down the street, making pit stops to interview a florist, a cheese shop owner, and a wine bar proprietor.
All had said pretty much the same thing: They knew or had heard of Grooms, thought he was harmless and mentally ill, and had no idea why someone would want him killed.
While there had been the usual backpackers and hikers stopping or passing through—-many fewer since the Neander disaster—-nobody had seen anything out of the ordinary in terms of equipment or demeanor.
No recollection of four backpackers in camo.
Cash and Colcord now stood, shivering and dejected, in front of their last stop: the gas station at the end of Main Street.
Cash eyed the shabby station, which looked empty. “Should we call it a day?” She flicked away a lock of brown hair stuck to her cheek from the rain. She was wet, cold, and feeling especially irritable.
“But, Cash,” Colcord said in a teasing voice, “we haven’t got a lead yet on the intergalactic murderers.”
“You shut your face,” Cash said. “You know I had to check those phone calls out.”
A drop of water dripped from the tip of Cash’s nose, and she wiped it away with her sleeve.
“You know what the problem is?” he asked.
“What?”
“You left your tinfoil hat back in the office.”
“Fuck off,” Cash responded, but the side of her mouth twitched upward into an involuntary smile. Colcord had been razzing her ever since hearing about her interview with Castillo. “Let’s get this over with.”
They stepped inside. Cash unzipped her raincoat and shook it on the straw entrance mat that said Live, Laugh, Leave.
A woman with bleached--blond hair and black roots was seated behind the cash register.
Her thumbs moved across her phone with lightning speed to the sound of musical pings and beeps—-playing some game, Cash supposed.
“Good afternoon,” Cash said. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“What do you want?” the woman said in a smoke--cured voice, without looking up from her phone.
“Do you have a moment for a few questions?”
The woman sighed heavily and put down her phone. She stared at Cash with open hostility, but her demeanor changed completely when her eyes fell on Colcord in his uniform.
“Well, good afternoon, Sheriff,” she said, her voice higher--pitched now and more feminine.
“Afternoon, miss.”
The lady smiled coquettishly at the last word. She shifted herself forward, bringing her arms together in front of her so that her breasts were almost falling out of her low--cut blouse. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the murder of Willy Grooms.”
Now the woman was really interested. “Of course. Anything I can do to help. Just terrible, what happened to that old man up in the mountains, right? My name is Sassy. Short for Sassafras. Have you found who did it?”
“We’re still investigating. May I have your last name?”
“Newton.” The woman’s eyes glittered. “I heard the killers dressed him up as an angel. Is that true?”
“I’m afraid we can’t talk about the details.”
Cash placed her phone on the counter to record.
“How long you been in Burns?” she asked Colcord, her eyelashes fluttering.
“A couple of days,” Colcord said briskly. “Now, ah, Ms. Newton—-did you know Mr. Grooms?”
“I only heard of him, never met him. I’m very busy these days. I’m an entrepreneur, you see.” Sassy leaned forward even farther in her chair toward Colcord, her breasts clinging to fabric for dear life.
Cash tried to keep her eyes on Sassy’s face.
“I only work here part--time,” she went on, making a disparaging gesture at the surroundings. “I run my own business. Maquillage.”
Cash did not know what that was and was disinclined to ask. “Were you working here Wednesday or Thursday, June 4 or 5?” she asked.
The woman thought for a moment. “Yes, I was. Both days.”
“Did you happen to see four or more people, wearing camo, passing through town around that date? Perhaps with an unusual amount of equipment?”
Sassy cocked her head to one side to think. “I haven’t seen anyone new at all, except for you two, of course. What kinda equipment?”
“Something possibly in backpacks, duffel bags, boxes, carrying cases,” Colcord replied.
“Nothing like that. I’m sorry, Sheriff. I wish I could help you.” Her voice deepened as she leaned toward Colcord. “Say, it’s quitting time for me—-you ever been to the Wet Whistle? They serve a killer margarita.”
Cash glanced over at Colcord with an amused look. She was gratified to see Colcord shifting uncomfortably and blushing furiously. He spoke faster. “Nothing out of the norm, then, at all this past week or so?”
“Well … there was one thing. I was taking an important business call out back. I saw something in the mountains.”
“Something in the mountains?”
“Lights up by Dome Peak. Probably someone’s campfire.”
“How long were the lights visible?”
“A while. Just some flickering. Off and on.”
“When was this exactly?”
“Right when my shift was over—-ten o’clock.”
“And the date?”
She twisted her lips to one side in thought. “Maybe around that time you mentioned, first week in June. Don’t remember exactly.”
“Would you be willing to check your cell phone history and give us an exact time?”
“Sure thing.” She fiddled with her phone. “Okay, it was June 5, at ten thirty.”
“That’s helpful. Anything else?”
“Not that I recollect.”
“Okay, thanks for your help. Have a good evening.” He turned as Cash grabbed her phone and they walked toward the door.
“Oh, Sheriff?” Sassy called out.
Colcord paused in the doorway, not turning around.
“I’ll be at the Wet Whistle at eight—-just sayin’.”
“Thank you,” said Colcord, hastening his pace.
Out on the wet street, walking back toward their vehicle, Cash imitated Sassy in an undertone, “Oh, Sherrrifff !”
“Please.”
“But Sherrrifff, you aren’t going to wet your whistle with me at the Whistle?”
“Can it, Cash.”
She gave a low laugh. “Lights up by Dome Peak? What do you think?”
“That’s nowhere near Willy’s cabin,” Colcord said grumpily.
“Maybe we should get a list of people who applied for wilderness camping permits up there during that time period,” Cash said.
“I don’t think the killers would have been stupid enough to get permits.”
“No shit. But the permit holders might have seen something.”
Colcord grunted. “Okay, not a bad idea.” He turned suddenly—-out of nowhere, the fuzzy head of a microphone was thrust into their faces. A contralto voice rang out. “Our viewers want to know: Are the Neanders back and killing again?”
They both halted as the person who had just ambushed them—-a reporter—-blocked their way forward.
Behind the reporter, a man crab--walked with a television camera plastered with KBFR, the logo of a local television station, on his shoulder.
Shit, thought Cash, we’re on camera.
“Do you mind?” Colcord asked.
“Robin Twen, KBFR Investigative Beat. Can we have a moment of your time?”
The press had been instrumental in screwing up the Erebus investigation, and Cash was none too keen on repeating the experience here in Burns.
At any hint of the Neanders, they seemed to froth at their collective mouths.
At the same time, it was never a good idea to snub the press, and people did have a right to know.
Cash regarded Twen. The reporter was in their mid--twenties, wearing black dress pants, suspenders, and a pastel--blue bow tie. She—-or he, Cash wasn’t sure—-was tall and skinny, wearing tinted lip gloss and sporting an inky pixie cut that stuck out every which way in spikes.
Cash coolly stepped forward to the mic. “The Neander case has been taken over by the FBI,” she said. “We’re no longer heading that investigation.”
“You must be Frankie Cash,” said the reporter, “of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. I’m Robin Twen. They/them. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My pronouns.”
“Oh … right, of course.” Cash shifted. “I use she and her. Sheriff Colcord here is he and him.”
She glanced at the sheriff, who looked bewildered. Cash had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at his confusion. The old cowpoke had been living in Colorado long enough to know about this pronoun stuff—-he needed to get it together.
Twen continued, “I understand the murder of Willy Grooms had certain bizarre ritualistic aspects to it. Could you elaborate?”
Cash needed to cut this interview short. “Unfortunately, there isn’t any information we can disclose at this point.”
“The folks in Burns and the surrounding area are looking for reassurance,” said Twen. “What can you tell us about the state of the investigation? Are there any suspects? Are people safe?”
Colcord interjected quickly, Twen swinging the mic over to him, “Although there are no suspects at this time, we’re following up a number of leads and making good progress. We believe this to be an isolated incident and that there’s no danger to the general public.”
Twen swung the mic back to Cash. “I understand, Agent Cash, that CBI took charge of the investigation and that you’re pursuing a possible UFO angle?”
Jesus Christ, Cash thought, how does Twen know that? “CBI is in charge,” she said, “but there’s absolutely no ‘UFO angle.’ ”
“It is also my understanding that you interviewed Father Timothy Moore, the local priest at Saint Mary’s. How do you respond to his allegation that you were aggressive in your questioning and disparaged his Catholic faith?”
Cash took a step backward, feeling really ambushed now. “I did no such thing. He was being uncooperative.”
“He also claims you called him an obscenity that I cannot repeat on air. What do you have to say to these allegations?”
Cash’s mouth dropped open, and all she could do was stammer.
Colcord hastily stepped in front, putting himself between her, and the cameraman and Twen.
“I can assure you, it was a routine and respectful questioning according to long--established procedures. Naturally, we’re sorry Father Moore feels there was a misunderstanding, but nothing improper occurred. ”
“Are you sure, Sheriff? According to Father Moore, Agent Cash specifically said—-”
“I’m so sorry,” Colcord interrupted, “but we’ve got urgent matters to attend to. I can assure you that the situation with Father Moore was a misunderstanding, nothing more.”
He ushered Cash away and toward his patrol vehicle. Twen didn’t follow.
“What the hell, Cash?” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Calling him uncooperative on camera? Not to mention your stammering—-you look all sorts of guilty.”
Cash thumped down in the passenger seat, breathing hard. “Just lay off a second and let me think, all right? Damn it to hell.” She banged the side of the car door with a fist in frustration.
“She seems to know a whole lot more than—-”
“They, Colcord. Don’t you know about pronouns yet?”
“For chrissake. All right. They are no dumb reporter, and they already know a whole lot more about the investigation than they should. And you, Cash—-you botched that question.”
“I was ambushed,” Cash said weakly.
“This is gonna be on the evening news,” Colcord said, rubbing his temples. “We need to be prepared for fallout.”