CHAPTER
61
AS THEY WERE DRIVING back through Drake, Cole slowed her cruiser and pulled to the curb. Puller looked where she was staring.
“Roger Trent is back in town,” he said.
A black Cadillac Escalade with gold trim sat idling at the curb, a man he’d never seen before at the wheel. Puller eyed the driver closely, his gaze taking in all relevant details and his mind crunching through those observations and arriving at certain conclusions.
Interesting.
Next to the vehicle stood Roger Trent. He was dressed in a suit. Puller noted that it looked baggy and wrinkled, as though the man had slept in it. He had opened the door of the vehicle and was about to step inside.
“Looks like he just walked off the plane,” he noted. “Let’s have a chat with him.”
She pulled to a stop next to the Escalade and Puller rolled his window down. “Hey, Roger, got time for a cup of coffee in the Crib?”
Trent scowled at Puller and then glanced at Cole. “I just had a cup of coffee there.”
“Got some things to talk to you about. Won’t take long.”
“Is it about those death threats?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll give you ten minutes.” He turned and walked into the restaurant.
A minute later Puller and Cole were seated across from him. They ordered their coffees. The place was about three-quarters full and everyone there kept shooting nervous glances at the trio.
Puller noted this and said, “You come here often? I understand you own it.”
“I own just about everything in Drake. So what?”
Puller ran his gaze down the man’s wrinkled suit. “You just get back into town?”
“Yeah, again, so what?” He glanced sharply at Cole. “I thought you wanted to talk to me about those death threats.”
“We’re working on it, Roger.”
“Right. Well, you might want to look a little close to home. Just like last time.”
“I have. And I don’t think that’s the source. I wanted to let you know that.”
“I’m not sure you’re the most objective person to make that decision.”
“We think Molly Bitner’s murder had something to do with her working at your office, Roger,” said Puller.
This comment drew a sharp glance from Cole, but Trent didn’t catch it. He was staring at Puller.
“And why do you think that?”
“Soil reports.”
“I don’t know what that means. What sort of soil reports?”
“You know, the environmental kind.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Eric Treadwell and Dickie Strauss were friends, did you know that?”
“Not really, no.”
“They have the same tat sleeve. Dickie said he copied it from Eric’s.”
“What does any of that have to do with me?”
“I’m not sure, Roger,” said Puller. He took a sip of coffee and studied the man. “How’d the trip to New York go?”
Trent looked startled. “How did you know that’s where I went?”
“Bill Strauss told us. He wouldn’t tell us why, but he did say that your company was very profitable and investment opportunities were everywhere.”
Trent glanced away and Puller saw a small tremor start up in the man’s left hand.
“Everybody needs energy,” added Puller.
“Right,” said Trent curtly. “Are we done here? Because you clearly have nothing to tell me that is helpful.”
Cole glanced at Puller. He said, “I guess so. You should probably go home and get some sleep. You look beat.”
“Thanks for your concern,” snapped Trent.
As the other man rose, Puller did too. He stepped closer and said in a low voice, “I would take those death threats seriously, Roger. But maybe not for the reason you think.”
Trent grew a shade paler, turned, and left. A few moments later the Escalade roared off.
As Cole and Puller walked outside, she said, “What exactly was that about?”
“That man is scared. For a lot of reasons. Personal. Business. Why do you think that is? He owns the whole town. Big fish in a little pond.”
“I don’t know,” said Cole.
“Big fish in a little pond,” repeated Puller.
Cole got it. “There’s a bigger fish in town.”
“Could be.”
“Who?”
“We find baldy.”
“How? You said you had an idea.”
“Let me put it another way. We find Dickie Strauss.”
“You think he’s the guy Dougett saw running from the house?”
“Fits the physical description. Burns on the arm? Try a tat sleeve. And if it wasn’t Dickie, it might have been one of his tat sleeve crew.”
“There aren’t any gangs in Drake, Puller.”
“None that you’re aware of,” he corrected.
“Why would Dickie Strauss have been in that house? And if he was, then that means he killed Larry Wellman. Why would he do that?”
“That’s not necessarily so.”
“What do you mean? They were both in the house and Larry ended up dead. Somebody had to kill him. He didn’t hang himself.”
“Agreed.”
“So what’s your point?”
“Let’s just find Dickie instead of arguing. Any idea where he might be?”
She slid the cruiser into drive. “Yeah.”
“Where?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. I can play things close to the vest too.”