“Sometimes. There’s the Walleye Bar. He’d go there. Most visits he’d have dinner with my momma at her house. I was there for a few of them. Once he brought some fancy French wine.” Bender shook his head. “Just give me a good old American beer.”
“Did he visit your mother this time?” asked Reel.
“Not that I know of.”
“We’ll have to confirm that,” said Reel.
“Did you see him this trip?” asked Robie.
Bender nodded. “He was staying at the same place he usually did. Little cabin up on the north face of Kiowa Butte. One road up and down. About a half mile from the cabin is the river he’d fish in. A trib runs off the North Platte. It’s tailwater fishing.”
When they looked at him quizzically he said, “Meaning downriver from a dam. In this case the Jedediah Smith Dam. Water releases from the bottom of the dam so it keeps the temperature stable. Good for fishing. You can catch brown and rainbow trout, some perch, walleye, smallmouth. Now, the South Platte over near Denver is better fishing. Lots of tourists go there to fish. But we get some here, too.” He paused. “The Platte’s where we get most of our water. We don’t get too much rain here. Only way we can farm is to irrigate the crops. The North and South Platte Rivers hook up to form the Platte River in Nebraska. Then it connects with the Missouri and the Missouri to the Mississippi, and that sucker flows all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Quite something when you think about it.”
Reel and Robie exchanged a puzzled glance at this long tangent, then Reel said, “Did you talk to Walton this time?”
Bender waggled his head. “No, I sure didn’t.”
“When was the last time anyone actually saw him?” asked Robie.
Malloy opened her file. “Three days ago. He came into town to get some more fishing line. He ate at the restaurant across the street. I’ve spoken to the waitress and she said he seemed perfectly normal. Same for the fishing gear shop. Then he drove back up to his cabin and that’s the last anyone saw of him.”
Robie said, “Any signs of something unusual at the cabin? Our notes say his rental car was still there.”
“No signs of a break-in or a struggle, if that’s what you mean,” replied Malloy. She closed the file. “Now maybe we should head up there and look around. Might find something that strikes you. After all, I assume you knew the man.”
Did we? thought Robie as they headed out.
CHAPTER
9
The dirt road to Blue Man’s cabin snaked upward, with switchbacks and narrow straightaways intersected with hairpin curves making up most of the journey. Though the elevation wasn’t that great, the sun seemed more intense and the air thin enough to be noticeable to your lungs.
They finally pulled to a stop in front of a rustic cabin about nine hundred square feet in total. It had weathered cedar siding, a planked front porch with an overhang, a shingled roof, a stone chimney, one front door, one rear door, and four windows all on one floor.
A dark blue Chevy Colorado pickup truck was parked in front.
Robie and Reel had followed Malloy’s Mustang. Bender had ridden shotgun with his superior.
They all got out and congregated in front of the cabin.
Reel and Robie took in the surroundings, each gazing at angles and flanks from where trouble could have come. There weren’t many of them. As Malloy had said, this was the only road up here.
“Any other people living around here?” asked Robie.
Malloy shook her head. “Just this cabin.”
“Who owns it?” asked Reel.
“Roark Lambert. He lives in Denver. He owns about a dozen cabins and houses around here. Rents ’em out to tourists.”
“All fishing?” asked Reel.
Bender answered. “No. Some are here to photograph wildlife. Others to hunt wildlife. Some come to just get away. Go hiking, camping. Smoke pot without being hassled.”
“I take it the house and truck have been searched?” said Robie.
Malloy nodded. “Didn’t find much of anything. But we can take another look. You might notice something we missed.”
Reel looked at the truck. “Colorado? Seems appropriate.”
“Nice set of wheels,” said Bender. “You got rear seats plus the truck bed. Pretty popular here. Can handle the terrain real well.”
Malloy pulled out the truck keys. “We found these in the cabin.” She popped the locks and opened the driver’s-side door. “We swept it for prints and other forensic residue. Came up empty. State police did, too.”
It didn’t take long to search the truck. It was pretty much empty of anything.
There was a Georgetown Hoyas ball cap on the rear seat.
Bender said, “I thought he went off to Stanford. That’s what my mom told me.”
“He had multiple degrees,” said Reel, picking up the cap. “Georgetown was where he got his master’s.”
“Good school,” said Malloy. “In Washington, DC. You never did mention what Mr. Walton did for a living.”
Bender stared at his boss for a second before looking at Robie.
“No, I never did,” said Robie. “Ready to hit the house?”
Malloy lifted the yellow police tape stretched across the front door and unlocked a police padlock that had been installed there.
“We don’t have the manpower to station someone here twenty-four seven,” explained Malloy. “We do the best we can.”
“Who reported him missing?” asked Reel.
“He’d hired JC Parry, a local guide,” said Malloy. “JC said they were supposed to meet here at six in the morning. JC drove here to pick up Walton. The Colorado was here but no Walton. The front door was unlocked. JC went in, and when there was no sign of Walton, he called us in.”
“I thought you had to wait for a certain period of time before someone could call in a missing persons report,” said Robie.
“That’s true under normal circumstances. But the man’s truck was still here. He couldn’t walk down to town. The truck started up just fine, so there were no problems with it. The cabin was empty, and Walton wasn’t here for his appointment with JC. We searched all around the cabin and even went down to the stream where he fished, even though his pole and tackle and the rest of his fishing gear were in the cabin. We found zip. We looked at all the places he might have fallen or gotten into trouble. There aren’t too many of them. Nothing.”
“Any animals up here that could be the cause?” asked Reel. “Bear, mountain lions?”
Bender said, “Mountain lions very rarely go after an adult. Same for coyotes, lynx, and bobcats. Now, we got bears. Black bears. But unless you get between a momma and its cubs or surprise it, you ain’t going to have problems with them. Now some people claim we still got grizzlies in Colorado, but I ain’t never seen one. And I don’t know anybody who has.”
Malloy added, “And an animal attack would have left traces. There were none.”
Reel pointed to the cabin. “Then let’s see what we can find inside here.”
The cabin had only three rooms. An open front space that held the kitchen and a sitting area in front of the stone fireplace, a bathroom, and a single bedroom. They found Blue Man’s luggage, clothes on hangers in the bedroom closet, a toiletry bag in the bathroom, and some food and drinks in the fridge. His fishing gear was neatly stacked on a side table in the front room.
“Bed was slept in,” said Malloy, pointing to the covers in disarray. “Don’t know if he went off in his pajamas or some other clothes. We did find a gun. Glock ten-mil. It hadn’t been fired. It was in the nightstand next to the bed. We bagged and tagged it as evidence. It’s back at the station.” She looked at both Robie and Reel to see if they wanted to comment on this news.
Robie said, “How about his phone? Laptop?”
“We didn’t find either. And we couldn’t find his phone number, so we couldn’t check to see if the phone is on. We can trace it that way, unless someone’s taken out the chip.”
“It’s not on,” answered Reel.
“So you already checked on that?” said Malloy. Her voice held a bit of an accusatory tone.
“Yes,” said Reel, as she glanced around the room. “So the state police were called in?”