The Bronco bounced and slipped. Warren put a palm on the ceiling to keep from banging around. When they got down to the restaurant parking lot there was no sign of the van. Ogden skidded to a stop on the gravel and ran into the restaurant.
“Did you see a white van?” he asked the teenager.
“No,” she said.
“Just now?”
“Didn’t see a van.”
Ogden walked back out. Warren was out and looking up and down the highway. Ogden kicked the truck on the front quarter-panel. “Piece of shit,” he said.
Warren ate some piñon nuts, looked up at the sky. “White van, no plate read. Only about a thousand white vans in this county.”
“Did you see anything special about it?”
“No. It was fast.”
“It wasn’t empty,” Ogden said. “It would have skidded out somewhere in that mud if it was empty.”
“That’s probably right. What now?”
“It’s time for me to call Fiona McDonough’s parents in Minnesota. I’m not simply helping a tourist anymore. Of course I only have the tourist’s word that the victim is not Fiona McDonough.”
“The messier things get,” Warren said.
“The messier things get,” Ogden finished.
“So are we driving back up to finish looking around?”
Ogden nodded. “No choice. The state guys will show at some points to take prints. Like that’s going to help anything.”
“You never know. Let’s do it so we can get it done,” Warren said.
Back at the cabin, Ogden left his rig parked across the road. No one would drive by this time. It was a bit of closing the barn door after the cow was out, but he had to do it. They sifted through the cabin again and found little sign that anyone was actually living there. The ashes in the stove were long cold and there were few of them. Dust was on most things, including the floor, but there had been traffic.
“A meeting place?” Warren asked.
“Could be.” Ogden went into the back room. He looked at the bed. “A nookie nest?”
“A bit out of the way. But I guess that’s the point. Married man? Girlfriend going to tell, bang.”
“Pretty disgusting. The mattress is clear of dust. Lots of traffic around the bed.”
“True.”
“Whose place is this? These magazines are six years old.”
“Like my bathroom,” Warren said.
“Newsweek, Time, Southwest Fly Fishing. What do you say we drive up to the lake? For the hell of it.”
“Why not?”
They drove the track all the way to the lake and as they expected with all the mud and mess there was no one there. Warren pointed out the fishing had been off for years, said the locals blamed it on the tailings from the Moly mine.
“Probably true,” Ogden said. “At least it’s closed now.”
“Too little too late.”
Ogden sat in the driver’s seat with the door open. He called in and got Felton on the radio. “You got any word on that woman?”
“She’s not dead, but she’d not good. That’s what they’re telling us. They wanted to move her to Santa Fe, but they didn’t think she’d make the helicopter ride.”
“Is Caitlin there?”
“Left a few minutes ago. Sheriff drove her to her motel.”
“Thanks. Out.”
“Very good. You remembered to say out,” Warren said.
“Crisis and all that.”
Ogden and Fragua drove back down the mountain. No other cars had found their way up to the cabin. Ogden wondered if the state police would send a crime scene team up as early as tomorrow. He didn’t think they would turn up anything useful, but it was a matter of principle and procedure. There had been a crime, a woman had been shot, maybe to death, and somebody ought to find it urgent enough to drive up from Santa Fe. It wasn’t far.
It was near dusk when Ogden parked in front of the sheriff’s station. Warren parked beside him. They walked inside and found Bucky there waiting.
“Well, it’s a murder investigation now,” Paz said. “She died fifteen minutes ago.”
“Any identification?” Ogden asked.
“None. Felton is going through all the missing persons reports from the state, Colorado, and Arizona.”
“I’ll call Texas,” Warren said.
“Do you know how many people go missing every day?” Felton said. “It’s a lot more than you’d think. I mean missing the official twenty-four hours.”
“I need to call Minnesota,” Ogden said. “Where’s Caitlin?”
“I drove her back to her motel,” Paz said.
“Bucky, did you ever get a look at her ID?”
Paz paused to look out the window. “Never thought to ask,” he said. “Funny about that. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. All I know is I need to call Fiona McDonough’s family and get some sense of what’s going on. That blue Bug is the car that Olivia Mendez saw Fiona driving.”
“Drive on over and get the numbers right now. And check her damn ID. I feel like a big fat fool. I really do hate this job.” Paz walked back into his office and shut the door.
Ogden drove directly to the motel. He stopped at the desk and asked for Caitlin’s room number.
“She was in unit seven,” the clerk said.
“What do you mean was?” he asked.
“I mean she was in unit seven and now she ain’t,” the short, balding man said. He stroked the tabby cat that slept on the counter. “She checked out.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
Ogden looked out the window at the street.
“Drove off with her boyfriend.”
“What boyfriend?”
“You’re not a very good detective, are you? She left with the guy she come with. Been here the whole time.”
“What does he look like?” Ogden asked.
“Normal enough looking fellow. About your height. White guy. Light brown hair. Blue eyes.”
“Did they leave in a car?”
“They did.”
“Can you describe it?” Ogden asked.
“Light blue Honda Civic. Tan interior.”
Ogden was writing everything down now. “Anything else?”
The clerk looked at his desk. “California plate, 5QTH769. I think it was a rental.”
“Thanks.” Ogden turned to leave.
“Did I mention he had only one hand?”
Ogden shook his head. “No, you failed to mention that. Which one did he have?”
“The left one.”
“Was the rest of him there?” Ogden asked.
“Far as I could see.”
“Did he have a prosthetic of any kind? A hook?”
“Nope. His nub was covered with a sock.”
“A sock.”
“A white tube sock,” the clerk said, nodding.
“Any other little details you want to share with me before I start out again?”
“That’s it.”
Bucky Paz couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head the whole time Ogden was speaking. Warren Fragua stood at the window and peered out at the night. His stomach growled.
“I’ll second that,” Paz said. The sheriff looked at Ogden. “Felton is out there checking the plate. It’s not your fault, Ogden. It’s mine. Never try to be a nice guy; that’s the lesson here.”
Felton came into office. “The motel man was right, the license plate was from a rental car,” he said. “The plate came from a place called Dave Delmonte’s Rent-a-Ride in San Juan Capistrano, California. Except that the car with that plate is suppose to be a yellow Ford Focus.”
Paz twirled around in his office chair. “Probably got a trunk full of plates. Okay, Felton, call Minnesota and see what you can dig up on Fiona McDonough.
“And,” Felton said, “the Volkswagen is registered to a Christopher Banks in Santa Fe.”
“The cabin?” Ogden asked.