Chapter Nine
“Is this the owner of the…um…” the woman on the phone sounded nervous. “The owner of the IndieStarters website about Devin’s murder?”
Lincoln sat up quickly. His stomach churned as he tried to get his bearings. He was in his apartment, in bed, with another hangover. Someone had once told him that alcoholics didn’t get hangovers, but that was a load of bullshit. He burped, and the taste of gin and vomit snuck up through his nostrils. He shook it off, and focused on the call.
“Who’s this?” asked Lincoln, ruder than he’d intended.
“My name’s Angel Harcourt.” She sounded so meek, like a mouse pleading for her life. “I’m…uh. I’m Devin’s mother.”
“Ms. Harcourt,” said Lincoln with new reverence. “Hi. Wow, I’m… I’m glad you called.”
“So I’ve got the right person then? You’re the one doing the investigation?”
“I am, yes. Hold on just a second.” Lincoln got up and rushed around in search of his clipboard, but he wasn’t sure where he’d left it. He finally found some of the papers Bentley had given him and sat down at his kitchen table to take notes.
“I think I’d like to talk with you.”
“I’d like that too,” said Lincoln. “Do you mind if I ask how you heard about our investigation?”
“A friend from church called,” said Angel. “There are a lot of people looking out for me. They know this sort of thing…” She sighed, and then continued. “They know it hurts. Having someone dredge all this up again can be hard to deal with. My friends like to try and protect me.”
“We’re not trying to hurt anyone,” said Lincoln. “I promise.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. I’m sure my ex-husband wouldn’t feel the same way about it, but the way I see it, the best thing is to deal with you head on instead of trying to hide. There’s been a lot of people like you over the years, and they all end up coming to the same conclusion every time. No one can find out anything that the police haven’t dug up already. The sooner I can convince you of that, the sooner I can try and forget about what happened.”
Lincoln didn’t want to take the chance of upsetting her. He’d worked with enough salespeople over the years to know that once the deal was done, the best thing to do is hang up. “When can we meet?”
“Are you available today?”
“I’ve got a lunch meeting, but maybe I could meet you tonight. Would that work for you?”
“That’s fine.”
He got her address, agreed to pick her up at six, and thanked her for calling. He texted Bentley to tell him that he got a call from Angel Harcourt, and then he headed into the shower. By the time he was ready, Bentley had responded. He had everything ready for their lunch meeting with Grant, and asked if Lincoln would be meeting them at the restaurant instead of coming to the office first.
Lincoln looked over at the clock for the first time since waking up and saw that it was already nearing eleven. He cursed himself for not waking up sooner. He let Bentley know that he would head to the restaurant now. Bentley said he would meet him there, and that they could review their notes at the restaurant before Grant arrived.
He was almost out the door when he checked his breath again. He decided to head back to the bathroom for a second round of brushing his teeth. He took a liberal swig of mouthwash, swallowed some, and then headed out the door.
They were meeting Grant at a Thai restaurant on the outskirts of town. It was his pick, and one that he said he frequented regularly. He explained that the owners knew him, and that he’d done business with them in the past. Lincoln didn’t bother asking what sort of business.
“Hey there kid,” said Lincoln when he saw Bentley walk in the door.
Bentley got right to the point, eager for details, “So Angel Harcourt called you?”
Lincoln told him about their conversation, and Bentley was just as shocked as he was. Then Lincoln asked Bentley if he’d be able to come out for dinner, but the young man had plans that night. When Lincoln pressed, Bentley explained that he was going to a concert with some friends, and that he couldn’t get out of it.
“After we meet with Grant, we can head back to the office and work on a list of questions for you to ask her. I think this is the first time she’s done an interview with an investigator.”
“I don’t think so,” said Lincoln. “She mentioned that she thought the best way to deal with investigators was to cooperate. I think some of the private detectives the Klines sent out must’ve gotten to her.”
“Maybe,” said Bentley. “There’s no information out there about the people the Klines hired. Hector and I tried to dig stuff up, but we couldn’t find anything. I think we should consider calling the Klines for an interview as soon as possible. But for now, let’s focus on what we’ve got here.” He passed Lincoln a piece of paper to review. “These are the questions I was hoping to ask Grant.”
Lincoln read through the questions and then made a few notes. Bentley explained that their main goal should be to get Grant’s version of the facts, as best as he could recall, and to avoid any discussion of the crime until the interview was almost over. He also brought along a digital recorder that he set on the table.
“Legally we don’t have to tell him he’s being recorded,” said Bentley. “But we’re not going to get very good sound quality from this if it’s not out on the table.”
“That’s going to make him nervous. I think we’re better off keeping it out of sight.”
Bentley picked the recorder back up and then looked at the other side of the table. He got up, moved the fourth chair away, and then sat back down so that the only empty seat was beside him. “Grant can sit to my right. I’ll keep the recorder in my pocket and point it in his direction. Hopefully that’ll help.” Then he pivoted in his seat, saw the sign for the restroom, and said, “I’m going to go pee real quick.”
“Thanks for the update,” said Lincoln. “I’ll make a note of it.”
“Order me one of those Thai iced teas, the sweet ones,” said Bentley as he headed for the bathroom.
Bentley was only gone for a few seconds when the bells above the entrance jangled, announcing another customer. Lincoln was seated facing the door, and he saw a man in his late-twenties enter. He was short and thin, with a coat that was thicker and heavier than the weather warranted, and a set of earphones around his neck. His walk gave the impression that he was injured, but Lincoln assumed it was a purposeful gait.
“Yo Leah, I’m here to meet with someone,” said the young man to the hostess before he glanced over into the dining area and saw Lincoln. He pointed over at him and asked, “You the guy?”
Lincoln stood and nodded, “I’m the guy. Come have a seat.” He motioned to the chair directly across from him. “I take it you’re Mr. Hedland.”
“The one and only.”
Lincoln extended his hand, but Grant didn’t see the gesture. He sat down fast and started to pull at his coat as if trying to get comfortable but unwilling to take the cumbersome apparel off.
“It’s a little warm for a coat like that.” Lincoln rescinded his extended hand before sitting down across from Grant.
“Yeah,” said Grant, disinterested in Lincoln’s opinion of his fashion. “Prob’ly.” He took out his cell and looked at it before saying, “I’ve got to go soon. You got my money?”
“I do,” said Lincoln, “but I’ll pay you after the interview.”
“Yeah, a’ight. You lucky you called when you did, man. I’ve been thinking of going to Santa Fe, and I might never come back. I got a nice little thing down there,” he used his hands to draw the vague outline of a female shape, accentuating the bottom. “Tight as hell. Seriously. And a fucking ho like you wouldn’t believe. I’m going down there, and I might never come back. Not after dipping into that sweet sugar.” He gave two, sharp laughs and leaned forward as if about to reach across the table to slap Lincoln’s hand, but then he just tapped the table a few times
with a sloppy beat.
“I’ve got a friend in the restroom at the moment,” said Lincoln. “We’ll wait for him before starting the interview.”
“Fine, whatevs. I guess you’ve got all sorts of questions ‘bout Trent, right? ‘Bout that day. What was it? Ten years ago, right? Jesus fucking Christ, time, man. Know what I’m saying?”
Lincoln glanced over at the bathroom, curious what was taking Bentley so long.
“Guess you’re going to want to know if Trent bought drugs from me. Right? You wanna know if I lied. That’s what the ones before you wanted to know. You want me to admit I lied?”
“You’re already well past the statute of limitations on that,” said Lincoln. “If you did lie, it wouldn’t do you any harm to admit it.”
“See, motherfucker,” said Grant as he leaned back and tilted the chair. He was relaxed and unintimidated. “You’re just as dumb as the rest. Fuck, the cops and them lawyers… They ain’t the ones I was scared of.”
“No?”
Grant shook his head and moved aside as the waitress showed up with a couple glasses of water. She asked them if they wanted anything else to drink, but Lincoln explained that they didn’t want anything yet, and that they would call her over when they were ready.
Lincoln glanced over at the bathroom again, and this time he caught sight of Bentley. The young man was hiding, peering out from behind a six foot decorative room divider. Lincoln locked eyes with him, and Bentley brought his finger to his lips to hush him as he shook his head. Lincoln was confused, but did his best not to react.
“Where’s the other dude?” asked Grant as he turned to look in the direction of the bathroom. Bentley ducked behind the screen, and Grant didn’t see him. “Is he pinching a loaf?”
“I guess,” said Lincoln nonchalantly. “We can start without him.”
“Here, let me make it easy for you,” said Grant. “I’ll tell you something I never told none of those other guys, ‘cause I don’t give a shit no more. As of this weekend, I’m outta here. I’m not covering no one’s ass but my own from here on out.”
Lincoln sat up straighter and got ready to start writing down what Grant said. Bentley snuck closer, the digital recorder in his hand. He gently set it on the table behind Grant, the microphone pointed at the dealer, and then retreated back behind the decorative screen.
“Go ahead,” said Lincoln, prompting the garrulous dealer to continue.
“I used to deal at the mall. Trent was telling the truth about that. But, I mean, you know that shit already. I got busted, right? Ain’t no secret. I used to deal to Trent back in the day. I had a good thing worked out with the security guard at the mall. I cut him in on what I sold in the lot, and he’d shut off the camera for me.”
“Was Trent telling the truth about buying from you on the day of the murders?”
“Here’s the thing, man.” Grant held up his right hand and looked as if about to set his left on a bible. “I don’t fucking remember. Hell, I don’t even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. And it’s not like the cops were banging on my door the day after them kids went missing. They came at me, like, two or three weeks later, after they found Trent’s journal and all that shit started to make it onto the evening news. And you know what’s fucked up? The first people to show up weren’t even the cops. I had a couple heavies at my door, telling me what’s what and shit. I’ll never forget it. There were two big, mean looking dudes and a lawyer with them, I think he was from the DA’s office or something, and they sat me down and went through exactly what was going to happen. They had evidence that Trent was guilty, man. And they sold me, for real. Lock, stock and shit. But I don’t know. After a while, some of what they said started to get fuzzy. Like, they needed me to lie, and they said it wouldn’t hurt nobody because Trent was guilty, and he deserved to go to jail. If I admitted to selling dope at the mall, all it would do is hurt the people I worked with. And, bro, those aren’t the sort of folks you wanna fuck with. You feel me?”
Lincoln assumed Grant was mistaken about the lawyer being with the District Attorney. That wasn’t likely. It must’ve been Clyde Pettigrew’s lawyer and some of his enforcers. “They told you to lie?”
“Of course they did, man. And they made it real clear what’d happen if I didn’t. Thing is, I never knew I was involved in any sort of major drug ring. I never had a fucking clue. I was the low man on a really goddamn big totem pole. These aren’t the sort of guys you mess around with.”
“Why the change of heart?” asked Lincoln.
“Like I told you, I’ve been thinking about getting the fuck out of town anyways. And the last private detective that came snooping around had some pretty good evidence about that one kid’s dad.”
“Mr. Harcourt.”
“Yeah, him.”
“What sort of evidence?” asked Lincoln.
“That dude was a freak. He got arrested once for beating the shit out of his girlfriend. And he was involved in some pretty nasty sex stuff. Leather and whips, bondage, you know what I mean. On the outside, the guy pretended to be this upstanding, churchy dude. But on the real, he was straight up fucked.”
“Being into kinky sex doesn’t mean you’re a killer.”
“No, I feel ya there, bro.” Grant grinned wide, causing his eyes to squint. He’d mistaken Lincoln’s comment for a joke. “But that guy lied to the police too. I don’t remember the specifics, but the last detective I talked to, the one the Klines hired, he had proof that dude was in Boulder earlier than he said.”
“What sort of proof?”
Grant shrugged and then rubbed his nose as if about to sneeze as he spoke, “I don’t remember. Something about his work logs getting faked. I don’t know. Point is, that guy lied to the police.” Grant leaned in, and the synthetic material of his coat’s sleeve made a zipping sound across the edge of the table. He spoke quietly, as if sharing a secret, “My bet is he killed his son to get revenge on his ex, and that other girl got in the way.” He leaned back again, smiling as if pleased with himself as he nodded.
“Could be,” said Lincoln. “But you said that Trent knew that the camera would be shut off sometimes. So it’s possible that he went back there when the camera was off, and then ran to the crime scene to kill those kids.”
“Man, I don’t think so. Trent was a fucked up kid, no doubt, but I don’t think he had it in him to kill anyone. He was a dork. The only reason he got into all that devil shit was to keep the other fools from picking on him. He wanted them to think he might be the next kid to show up at school with a shotgun. Pretty morbid, but high school can be hard on some kids. Trent used to get jumped on the regular. He had to ditch his gym class all the time to keep from getting his ass kicked.” Grant snapped his fingers and pointed over at Lincoln as if something had just occurred to him. “The cops used that against him too. Gym was his last class of the day, and they said he ditched so he could get to his sister’s school when they let out. But that’s bullshit. Trent used to ditch gym all the damn time. I know ‘cause he used to come by the mall and hang out.”
Grant took a drink of water, and then shook his head in remorse. “Trent getting busted for killing those kids always bugged me. Someone got away with murder, and he got the rap for it. That’s rough. And the way he went out.” He slashed a finger across his throat. “Brutal, man. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. It was like his worst damn nightmare come true.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hated high school ‘cause he was always getting picked on, and then he goes to prison for killing two kids. Imagine what his life was like in there. No wonder he offed himself. He wasn’t built for jail, man.” Grant sighed and looked down at his hands as he fiddled with a sugar packet. “I probably should’ve come forward and told the truth a long time ago, but it wouldn’t of done no good. The cops had their man, and they shut that case up good and tight. Plus, the last thing I need is some cartel heavies on my case, making sure I keep my mouth shut for good.
Am I right? But fuck it. I’m picking up roots. That sweet ass honey’s waiting for me in the Fe, begging me to come lay some of this pipe. Know what I’m saying? And if I’m hitting the road, I might as well do what I can to help clear Trent’s name ‘fore I go.”
Lincoln glanced up, past Grant, to see if Bentley was still hiding behind the divider. The waitress saw him looking, and mistakenly assumed he was summoning her.
“Hi, are you ready to order?” asked the waitress as she returned. She walked hurriedly across the dining room and paused while taking out her order pad. She saw the digital recorder on the table beside her. She looked queerly at Lincoln, and then picked it up. “Is this yours?”
Grant turned, saw the recorder, and then looked back over at Lincoln. “You’re recording me?” He stood up, angered, and stepped back from the table. He moved towards the entrance, and his new position afforded him a view behind the decorative divider where Bentley was hiding.
Grant’s demeanor changed the moment he saw Bentley. His expression went from angry to terrified, as if a horrific realization had just forced his brain to choose between fight and flight, like a threatened animal facing a predator. He chose to run.
“Wait, wait!” Bentley screamed out as he ran after Grant.
The escaping dealer yelled out, “Fuck off! I didn’t say nothing.” He slammed into the glass door, forcing it open so hard that it rattled the wall. The vibration caused a brass sconce to fall and smash on the floor beside Bentley as he chased after Grant.
Lincoln saw Bentley pull out a gun.
“Stop or I’ll shoot.”