“Why are you interested in Clément?”
“He told Holly something that we need to follow up on.”
“Can you tell me?”
“I’m afraid not,” answered Reel. “What’s his background? Where did he come from?”
Fishbaugh swung the monitor back around and scrolled through more screens. “FYI, he was a voluntary admission here, meaning he checked himself in. It wasn’t because of any court-imposed order. He was born in Quebec and emigrated to America and became a citizen. He came to Colorado five years ago. He had family here.”
“Where did he work?”
Fishbaugh hit another key. “He worked on an oil rig for two years. And then when the bottom dropped out of the industry, he became an assistant manager at a convenience store about forty miles from here. That’s where he was working when he got hooked on meth and came here.”
“What’s the name of the store?” asked Reel.
Fishbaugh told her and Reel made a note of it on her phone.
“Where did he live?” asked Reel.
“When he came to us he gave no address. I believed that he was homeless.”
Robie said, “But you mentioned that he had family in the area?”
Fishbaugh nodded. “His sister and her family live in Boulder.”
“Did she ever visit him here?” asked Robie.
“Yes, twice. I think after he left here she thought he was going to move in with her until he got back on his feet.”
“Do you have her contact info?” asked Reel.
Fishbaugh provided this. “What will you do now?” she asked.
Robie and Reel stood. “Keep digging,” he said.
Outside Robie’s phone buzzed. The woman on the other end told him to access his laptop in two minutes.
Robie and Reel climbed into their truck and Robie popped open his computer, placing it on the dashboard so they both could see.
A few moments later the screen came to life, and DCI Rachel Cassidy appeared there.
“Report,” she tersely instructed them.
Robie and Reel took turns filling her in on what had happened. Cassidy did not look pleased.
“Your job is not to screw around with local issues and start a war with a bunch of psychopaths,” she admonished them. “You’re no closer to finding Blue Man than when you got there.”
“We haven’t been here all that long,” Robie reminded her.
She did not take this comment well, either. “You both know how much is riding on this. Blue Man is indispensable to the operation of this Agency. The world is more full of threats right now than I’ve ever seen it. And every day we get new threats coming in. There is something building that I don’t like. And if enemies of this country have him and are trying to extract information from him, well, I don’t have to tell you how catastrophic that could be.”
Robie said, “We think his disappearance is tied to something local, not some grand plan by the Russians or Iranians to kidnap him. So I’m not sure we have to worry about someone interrogating him for secrets.”
“I don’t have the luxury of assuming that, and neither do you,” the DCI snapped back.
“We’re trying to approach this logically,” pointed out Reel. “And if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck. So what we have is Blue Man found out about some prisoners, started asking questions, and then he disappeared. I’m not an experienced investigator, but it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see a possible connection there.”
“Just find him,” ordered Cassidy. The screen went dead.
Robie looked at Reel. “You’re right.”
“About what?”
“It’s a lot easier just killing people.” He put the truck in gear.
“Where to now?” asked Reel.
“Clément Lamarre’s last place of employment.”
“Do you think that’s where he might have seen the things he described to Holly?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Not even close.”
The drive took nearly an hour with nary a highway in sight. Their travel was over a two-lane road that oftentimes, when over-the-road semis were blowing past the other way, seemed more like the eye of a needle.
On the way, Reel called Lamarre’s sister and explained who she was and what she was interested in. The woman quickly told Reel that her brother had never spoken to her about anything other than their family and his treatment at the rehab facility. She confirmed that Clément was supposed to come and live with her and her family in Boulder. She had volunteered to come and get him or send him bus fare, but he said he would get there on his own. At the last minute he had called and said his plans had changed.
“That really pissed me off. And I’ve got four kids under the age of ten so, frankly, brother or not, I didn’t have the time or energy to follow up on him. I tried to help him, but Clément made his bed and he has to lie in it,” she told Reel.
“So that leaves the convenience store as our last shot,” said Reel, after putting her phone away.
“Well, let’s hope they can tell us something. The DCI is not going to like it if we have nothing to report next time.”
“What do you think happened to Blue Man, Robie, really?”
“I think he was being very typically Blue Man.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he was trying to help people who needed it and that got him into danger.”
“If he was taken, do you think they know who he is? I mean, really know who he is?”
“Doubtful, or they might not have kidnapped him. Now they’re caught between a rock and a hard place, especially if they’ve since found out who he is.”
“So we’re sort of like Blue Man then.”
“How do you mean?’
“Well, we played the good Samaritans, helped Holly and Luke, and look where it got us. A bunch of neo-Nazis gunning for us.”
“I see your point.”
“They’re going to come at us, Robie.”
“They absolutely are.”
“There are a lot more of them than us.”
“There clearly are.”
“And yet I sort of feel sorry for them,” she said sardonically.
“You’ll get over it.”
They drove on.
CHAPTER
29
“Clyde’s Stop-In,” said Reel, reading the sign as they drove into the parking lot in front of the convenience store. It had gas pumps out front, a pay phone against one wall with the phone receiver missing, a freezer box with ice inside and a padlock on the door, and dirty windows, along with a general air of a place barely staying alive. There were no other cars in the parking lot, and the store was off a winding road with the nearest town ten miles away.
“I wonder how you wake up one day and decide to build a store in the middle of nowhere,” said Reel.
“This whole place is the middle of nowhere,” noted Robie. “I’ve seen more population density in an Iraqi desert.”
They climbed out of the Yukon and pushed open the door, causing a bell to tinkle. The interior of the space was as dilapidated as the outside. The shelves were only half full, and what was on them looked like it had been there since the seventies. An ATM machine was set against one wall with an OUT OF ORDER sign taped across its front. A door marked RESTROOM was on the back wall next to a refrigerated unit full of beer. A rack of newspapers was against another wall; a modern-looking soda dispenser stood against the far wall, and a shelf with automotive products, condoms, and packaged foodstuffs was next to it. On the front counter was a warming machine containing rows of hot dogs and slices of pepperoni pizza; the commingled smells permeated the place. The cash register was fronted by bulletproof glass, and entry was gained via a thick door with a deadbolt lock on it. Like in a bank, one had to slip the cash or credit card into a slot under the glass.