Colorado Crime Scene

The others murmured agreement. Blessing sat, hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Let’s go over what we know so far. Agent Steadman?”

Travis referred to the tablet in front of him. “We know our suspect was going by the name Danny in the hotel kitchen, but we’re pretty confident that isn’t his real name. We spoke with the day labor organization that supplies temp workers to the hotel. The supervisor tells me that a Danny Robinson, a sometimes homeless man with a history of alcoholism, was the man who was supposed to report for work in the hotel kitchen that night.”

“His body was found wrapped in a tarp and stuffed in a culvert near Confluence Park, not far from downtown Denver.” Cameron picked up the story. “His throat was cut. We believe our suspect murdered him and took the hotel job in his stead, in order to get close to UCI officials.”

“The chicken that President Demetrie ate tested positive for potassium cyanide,” Jack said. “We should have the autopsy results later this morning, but it looks like that’s what did him in. There was enough potassium cyanide in the dish that only a few bites would result in death within minutes.”

“Did cyanide show up on any of the other plates?” Blessing asked.

Jack shook his head.

“So President Demetrie was definitely the target,” Gus said.

“We don’t think so,” Travis said. “The covered plates with the entrées were stacked on trays and sent out by table. So the poisoner had a reasonably good chance of knowing that this plate would go to one of the tables of dignitaries seated at the front of the room, nearest the dais. But without the cooperation of the server, there was no way to be certain who would get that particular plate.”

“So maybe the server helped him out,” Blessing said.

“I spoke to the man who served that table,” Travis said. “He’s a longtime employee at the hotel. He says he never met our suspect, and witnesses back up his story. We’re still investigating, but if our suspect had help, I don’t think it was the server.”

“What about the other guy in the kitchen—the dishwasher?” Cameron asked. “He and the suspect left together, right?”

Luke shifted and all eyes turned to him. “The dishwasher’s name is Scott Westfield,” he said. “He’s a former pro cyclist who had to retire due to a medical condition. Since then, he’s traveled around, taking a series of odd jobs. He sometimes photographs races.”

“What kind of medical condition?” Blessing asked.

“He was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”

“So, we’ve got a former racer, possibly upset at being made to retire, who’s mentally unstable.” Jack ticked the facts off on his fingers. “Sounds like the kind of guy who’d be happy to help our suspect. Maybe he’s even the one behind the bombings and our suspect is secondary.”

“I don’t think so.” Luke hadn’t meant to speak up in Scott’s defense. After all, the evidence pointing to his involvement in the bombings was pretty damning. But Morgan’s faith in her brother had swayed him. “I can’t find any connection between Westfield and our suspect. Westfield had been working in the hotel kitchen a couple of days before our suspect hired on, and the rest of the staff didn’t notice any particular friendship between them.”

“That kind of thing is easy enough to hide,” Wade said. “Westfield gets the job first to scope the place out, then our suspect joins him. The fact that they left together tells me they were working as a team.”

“Maybe,” Luke conceded. “We need to find Westfield and question him.”

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of questions for him,” Blessing said. He leaned forward. “But let’s not lose sight of the bigger picture here. We’ve got some intel pointing to a possible terrorist cell, possibly based here in Colorado.”

“What kind of intel?” Luke asked, relieved that the focus had shifted away from Morgan’s brother, at least for the moment.

“Some intercepted phone conversations that seem to point to a plan to sabotage transportation hubs in the region, and a report of suspicious activity at a private airport near Denver that was called in by a concerned citizen.” Blessing’s expression grew more grim. “Nothing concrete, but it’s worth paying attention to. We’ve got people working to follow these leads. For now, your job is to focus on finding our suspect and Scott Westfield. Don’t let them get away this time.” He stood, signaling the meeting was at an end, and the others rose, also. “Someone bring me the local papers. I want to see what the press is saying about all this.”

As Luke turned toward the door, Blessing stopped him. “Agent Renfro, stay and talk to me for a minute.”

Travis gave him a sympathetic look as he filed out with the others, leaving Luke alone with his commander. “Sit down.” Blessing indicated the chair to his right.

Luke sat. He could guess what this was about. Discharging his weapon in public was serious enough to warrant a private briefing if not disciplinary action. Filing a report about the incident was at the top of his to-do list today.

Blessing fixed him with a steady, calm gaze. “I know what others say happened in the kitchen last night, but I want to hear it from you. I expect your written report later, but tell me now, in your own words.”

Luke shifted, as if there was any way to get comfortable on the receiving end of a grilling from his boss. “After the president’s death, I went to the kitchen to question the staff,” he said.

“You weren’t alone.”

“No, sir.”

“Witnesses say you were with a woman. Who was that?”

“Her name is Morgan. Morgan Westfield. She’s a magazine writer.”

He could sense Blessing grow more alert, like a hound on the scent of a quarry. “Any relation to the dishwasher?”

“He’s her brother. Though I didn’t know that when I went into the kitchen.”

“How do you know Ms. Westfield?”

“We met in the lobby of her hotel the day before yesterday. I recognized her from some of the surveillance videos from the races and decided to follow her.”

“Do you think she’s involved in the bombings somehow? Perhaps she and her brother are part of this cell we’re looking for.”

Luke shook his head. “I followed her because I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. I just wanted to check her out.” Not the entire truth but close enough. “But now I’m convinced she was at the races for her job and nothing else.”

“And you know this how?”

“Everything she told me checked out. She’s at the races on assignment for Road Bike Magazine, and she’s blogging for a website, CyclingPro.com.” Though he hadn’t contacted anyone at the magazine to verify that. Was he letting his attraction to Morgan—his desire for her to be innocent—get in the way of doing his job?

“What was she doing with you last night?”

“We sat together at dinner. She followed me into the kitchen.”

Blessing’s face betrayed no emotion, but Luke could sense his skepticism. “Go on.”

“I recognized the man who was carrying out the garbage as one of our suspects. I spoke to him and he pulled a gun. I pulled my weapon and returned his fire. He fled out the door.”

“Is that all?”

“No, sir.” The truth was bound to come out sooner or later, if it hadn’t already. Half a dozen people had been working in the kitchen last night and team members had interviewed all of them. “As I pulled my weapon, Ms. Westfield shoved me out of the way. We both fell to the floor, which gave the suspect time to flee.”

“Why did she push you?”

“She didn’t understand why I was shooting. She saw my gun and panicked.”

“Or she knew exactly what you were doing and acted to stop you.”

“Yes, sir. That is a possibility.” One he couldn’t idly set aside. He was trained to be skeptical and suspicious. He couldn’t set that training aside because of his attraction to Morgan.

“You realize what you’ve done, Renfro?” Blessing’s voice held a sharp edge; Luke felt the cut. He said nothing but forced himself to look his boss in the eye.

“At worst, you’ve become involved with the very person you’re supposed to bring to justice. At best, you’ve endangered a civilian and jeopardized this investigation.”