Дэвид Балдаччи - End Game

Robie slipped a picture of Blue Man out of his pocket and held it up. “We’re looking for this man. He rented a cabin up on Kiowa Butte. He’s gone missing. Have you seen him? Did you ever talk to him?”

The men shuffled their feet and eyed one another. The woman stepped forward.

“That’s Roger Walton.”

“That’s right, it is.”

“He was engaged to my mother way back till she broke it off.”

“And you are...?” asked Reel, her eyes widening at this piece of information.

“Patti Bender.”

“Are you related—”

“Derrick’s my brother,” she interjected.

“We just met with him and Sheriff Malloy,” said Robie.

“Why do you want to find Walton?” asked Patti.

“Because he’s missing and he shouldn’t be,” replied Reel.

“I hear you’re from Washington, DC.”

“And who did you hear that from?” asked Robie.

“Everybody, basically.”

The men all nodded.

“News travels fast here, I take it,” noted Reel.

Patti said, “It doesn’t have far to go.”

Reel nodded. “Still, it’s nice to know you folks are observant. With your help we should be able to find Mr. Walton in no time.”

“He works for the government, doesn’t he?” asked Patti. “Something high up?”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” asked Robie, ignoring her query.

She shook her head. “I didn’t see him this trip.”

“I understand from Derrick that he had dinner with your mother when he came to visit.”

“He did sometimes. They were still good friends, even after all these years.” She paused. “And even after what happened.”

“Her breaking up with him,” said Robie.

“That’s right.”

“Can you give us her address?”

“Drive out of town to the west. Second road take a right. Go about three miles and she’s the only one down there.”

Reel ran her gaze over their weapons. “You look loaded for bear.”

One of the men laughed. “Actually, we’re going light today.”

“And what is it that you do?”

He said, “People come here to hunt and fish, and we act as guides. Or they want to do some rafting, or bird watching or rock climbing or hiking. Pays pretty well, though it’s not regular work. Lots of stuff to do out here. But you can’t be no couch potato.”

Reel eyed the two men with guts. “Yeah, I can see that.” She settled her gaze on Patti. “And is that what you do as well?”

“I do what I need to do to get by.”

“You live with your mom?” asked Robie.

“Not for a long time.”

“So why do you think she broke off the engagement with Walton?” asked Robie.

Patti considered this for a moment. “I think he didn’t want to stay here but she did. It was her home. But he apparently didn’t think of it as his home anymore.”

Robie looked around the area. “I can see why that might be a problem.”

Reel looked at the men. “Any of you see Walton on this trip?”

They all shook their heads. One of Patti’s friends said, “He was here to fish. He knew where to fish, and he knew what he was doing. Didn’t need us to show him.”

“But he came into town from time to time,” pointed out Reel.

“Yeah, but we didn’t see him.”

Patti said, “I hope you find him.”

“We will,” said Reel.

On the drive to Bender’s house, Robie read through the copy of the file that Malloy had provided them.

“Not much in here,” he said.

“Not much out here,” replied Reel as she turned down the road that Patti Bender had indicated.

“People like their privacy around here, I guess,” noted Robie.

“Well, I think you’re going to get privacy out here whether you want it or not.”

They rounded a bend. The house that appeared in front of them was large and modern looking, and surrounded by landscaping that mostly involved rock and pebble gravel.

“You don’t have to water rock,” observed Reel.

There were two stone pillars with a gate blocking the entrance into the property.

“I didn’t expect this,” said Reel. “I was thinking a shack on cinderblock.”

She pulled the truck up to the gate and punched a button on the black box mounted on a pole set in the ground.

“Hello?” said the female voice. “Are you Roger’s people?”

Reel glanced at Robie. “Well, there goes our cover for sure.” She said to the box, “Yes, we are.”

The gates opened and she pulled the Yukon toward the front of the house.

As they climbed out of the truck one of the wooden double doors to the house opened and revealed a woman standing there. She was in her sixties, tall and lean, with long, silvery blonde hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. She had on jeans, black boots, a white shirt, and turquoise jewelry on her wrists and around her neck.

“Come on in,” she said pleasantly.

They trooped up onto the porch. Robie held out his hand. “I’m Will Robie, this is Jessica Reel.”

“And I’m Claire Bender. You thirsty?”

“Some water, maybe?” said Robie.

“Coming up.”

They followed her into a large foyer with timbers soaring overhead and forming a cathedral-like dome. The floors were slate; the walls were a combination of wood, stone, and brick. The furnishings were large, looked custom-made, were colorful, and appeared to be relatively new. Original artwork hung on the walls along with some framed family photos.

They trooped to a spacious kitchen with granite counters, stainless steel Viking appliances, and walls of windows giving a view of the rear of her property, which was fenced.

“Beautiful place,” said Reel.

“Thank you. I had it all redone about eighteen months ago. Before that, it didn’t look like this, trust me. It was basically a knockdown.”

She poured them out glasses of water from a freestanding dispenser, then they settled in chairs next to a gas fireplace off the kitchen area.

“We met your daughter and your son,” began Robie.

“Patti already called me. Said you’d be coming by.”

Up close her features were finely wrought, the nose slender and straight, the cheekbones high and hard, the jaw square, and the chin shapely. The eyes were a delicate blue. Based on her being a contemporary of Blue Man, Robie pegged her age at closer to seventy than sixty, yet she could pass for being in her early fifties. She looked like she would be equally at home in a boardroom or astride a horse.

“I guess news of any strangers in town gets around fast,” noted Reel.

She smiled. “Well, it doesn’t have far to go.”

Robie smiled. “Your daughter said pretty much the same thing.”

Claire replied, “I guess I taught her well.”

“And what is it that you do?” asked Reel, looking around the interior.

“I used to do some farming: chickens, turkeys, and crops like soybean, wheat, and oats. But that just kept me out of the poor house, really. No, it was only later on that I hit the mother lode.”

“The lottery?” asked Robie.

“No, medical marijuana. I have six dispensaries across the state and two more opening next year.”

“I take it that’s pretty lucrative?” said Robie.

“It paid for this place. Now, the business is competitive, but it’s not insane like on the recreational side. Prices per pound on the rec side are plunging because of a glut of supply. You can grow as much as you want. And we can’t export from Colorado, of course, and there aren’t enough marijuana users here to make up the difference. Now, on the medical side the law requires that you have to own a dispensary and you have to grow seventy percent of what the dispensary sells. It keeps the production supply side from getting out of whack. And the growth in farmers is on the rec side, not the medical side. So because of that, prices per pound on the medical side are holding up well. And our output is really premium, so we can command about $2,400 per pound, pretty top of the market.”