“Alexander Colton, the man outside, the man you’ve seen in the tapes, he’s February Owens’s boyfriend. They have a history, Lieutenant Colton and Ms. Owens, a long one. They were born to be together, if you believe that kind of thing,” Nowakowski told her.
She started shaking, her arms crossing on her chest, her hands rubbing her upper biceps. “Why –”
“I’m sorry, Cheryl, but he used you to spy on the objects of his fascination. The man he wants to be, Lieutenant Colton, and the woman he wants to have, February Owens,” Nowakowski informed her.
“Why would he do that?” she asked but the pitch of her voice said not only didn’t she want to know, any answer Nowakowski gave her she wouldn’t believe.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why someone would do that,” Nowakowski told her.
She kept rubbing her arms. “I have a kid, a son, he’s good to him. Was teaching him football. Said he was All-State, he played for Purdue.”
“Yes, that’s true. Lieutenant Colton was All-State and he played for Purdue.”
She shook her head, rubbing her arms up and down, her eyes filling with tears, spilling over, the wet tracking down her cheeks.
She looked at the photo and asked, “He’s married?”
Layering of betrayals. Nowakowski didn’t cool it she was going to get crushed underneath.
“He was, Cheryl,” Nowakowski said and Warren turned to look at him, Nowakowski shook his head to Warren before he said to Cheryl, “Now, Cheryl, when was the last time you saw this man?” he tapped the photo, “Mr. Lowe.”
She looked away then back. “Wednesday, not yesterday, last Wednesday.”
Fucking hell, the day he murdered Angie.
“It was my day off,” she continued, “He took me and Ethan to dinner. Said he wouldn’t be back for awhile. Had to go undercover on something. Asked if he could use my car, gave me his Audi. Even had it cleaned for me all the way through. The inside was still wet.”
“Fucking hell. She drove here in his f**king car,” Rodman murmured.
“What kind of car do you drive, Cheryl?” Warren asked.
“Toyota.”
“Model, color?” Warren asked.
“Blue. Ethan likes blue. Um… Corolla.”
“Year?” Warren kept at her and her eyes focused on him.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because we need to find him.”
“Why? Because he impersonated a cop?” She flipped her hand out, her betrayal had settled, the anger was sweeping in after it. “He’s obviously a dick but what’s the big deal?”
“Please, Cheryl, just tell us the year of your car.”
“Two thousand five, I think.”
“Is it registered to you?”
“Yeah. Sure. Who else?”
Rodman turned and left the room.
“Has he had any contact with you since dinner that Wednesday?” Warren asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course, he calls me every day.” Her voice was clipped now, her hands no longer rubbing her arms but grasping them. Protective. Anger was now settled and, quicker than Colt would have expected, bitter was moving in. She’d been f**ked over before. A lot.
“The DVDs you were giving him, the ones from Ryan?” Warren asked and she stopped gripping her arms, her hands fell into her lap and she stared at him. “Are you still giving them to him?”
She shook her head, this time the shakes came short and fast. “Ryan’s a good kid. He’s a good kid.”
“We’ve talked to Ryan, Cheryl. We know he’s a good kid,” Warren assured her. “Now, have you been sending the DVDs to Mr. Lowe?”
“Yes, yes. Fed Ex. He’d give me the addresses when he called and I’d send them. One a day since the one I handed him on Wednesday.”
“Do you have those addresses?” Warren asked.
“Yes, the receipts, those little slips they tear off one for you. They’re at home.”
“Can we go to your home, Cheryl, get the receipts?”
She nodded. “Sure, but why? Who cares?”
“He’s surveilling a police officer and his girlfriend. Unlawful entry to set up the cameras and –” Warrens started but she cut him off.
“Whatever,” she said, pulling her purse to her she dug in it and yanked out her keys. She was over it, done with Denny Lowe, ready to scrape him off and move on with her life, alone, without help, stripping to keep her kid fed. She tossed the keys on the table and she asked, “Am I gonna get my car back?”
“We’ll do what we can, Cheryl,” Warren said as Nowakowski nabbed the keys and exited the room. “Where was the last package you sent going to?”
Colt expected her to say Sturgis or Rapid City.
Instead she said, “Taos it’s someplace in New Mexico.”
“Fuck,” Colt hissed, reaching for his phone, he yanked it out and called Feb.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Baby, who do you know in Taos, New Mexico?”
“What?”
“Who do you know in Taos, New Mexico?”
Her voice went guarded and she asked, “From the list?”
“Anyone, Feb. Do you know anyone in Taos or around there?”
“Yeah,” she told him, “Reece is there.”
Fucking shit.
Colt turned to the table behind him, pulling his pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket, he asked, “Reece his first name or his last?”
“Last.”
“First name?”
“Graham.”
“Got a number? An address?”
“Colt –”
“Number, Feb. Hurry, baby.”
“Hang on…” she went away, probably checking her phonebook on her cell, and Colt flipped up the leather cover to his pad, put it on the table and bent over it, pen ready when she came back. “Five seven five, triple five, two zero zero two.”
Colt took the numbers down and repeated them then asked, “Would he have one? An address? A place he gets mail?”
“Sure, he rents a place. Don’t have his address on me, it’s at home.”
“Thanks honey, see you at six.”
“Colt, is Reece in –?”
“At six, Feb, I have to go. Right now.”
She hesitated then said, “Right. Six.”
“Later, baby.”
Her voice was shaking when she said, “Later, Colt.”
Two days ago her shaking voice would scare the piss out of him. Now he knew she’d pull it together.