Chapter 13

13

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

J ack hustles Owen Marcus out of the bar and away from the crowds gathered at the entry until we're standing in front of the cannabis dispensary next door and it seems fitting.

The air is biting cold and the smell of cigarettes infiltrates the area.

"What the hell?" Owen lifts his hands as he takes a few steps back before looking over at Nikki and me. "I'm sorry, ladies, but you should probably head back in. Don't worry. I'll make sure to get both of your numbers before the night is through."

Nikki and I flash our badges at him and his face loses all color.

" Geez , you, too?" He looks from Nikki to me and we nod. "What is this, an ambush?"

"More like a meet and greet," Jack tells him. "Just like we had inside, except we have all the time in the world. We're going to ask a few questions, and you're going to give us straight answers because if we find out you're not telling the truth, I'll make sure they ratchet up the prison term with no hope of parole."

Owen lifts his chin as if Jack had struck him. And judging by the way Jack is vibrating with anger, I'm getting the feeling it's still on the table.

"All right, what's going on?" Owen quickly resigns to the fact this little meet and greet isn't going away. And I'm glad about it, too. Less friction equals more answers. Whether or not they'll be truthful is another story.

"What do you know about Damien and Lydia Cole?" Jack starts with a prelude rather than the beginning.

Owen's countenance softens a notch. "Oh yeah, that was sick. I came home from the grocery store this afternoon and he told me all about it."

"Damien told you?" Nikki looks perplexed at the thought.

"That's right," he says. "He came charging at me, demanding that I admit what I did." He shakes his head dismissively. "The guy accused me of slaughtering a couple of his friends. Says Lydia is gone. I don't know what happened. I went inside and it was all over the internet. Before I took off to come here, a few news crews set up shop in the neighborhood."

"What was your relationship like with the Coles?" Jack asks, getting one step closer to home.

"Tenuous. They're lousy neighbors. No sooner did I move in than Lydia complimented me on my bright red curtains. The very next day I had the HOA riding my hump because they didn't like the color. It didn't take long to connect the dots. Things only escalated from there.

"I planted a row of trees to act as a boundary between us and they accused me of putting them on their property a good two feet. I let them know I hired the people from the nursery to do the job. It wasn't anything malicious on my part. Then I rehired another set of gardeners to move the trees, and this time they burst one of the pipes from the Coles' sprinkler system. So I had a plumber come out and fix it. And did I get a thank you? No. I got a bill for two hundred and thirty bucks to replace a border garden I supposedly dug up in the process. It never existed. But I paid up—in a pile of nickels I left on his driveway."

"Nice work," Nikki mutters and I shoot her a look.

She would think so.

"Owen," I start. "Have you ever heard the Coles arguing with one another before? How did their relationship seem to you?"

"I don't know." He blows out a breath and it crystallizes—it's that cold out. "I never heard them arguing, but I did see something a few weeks back that made me look twice. I was about to head to my truck when I realized I had forgot something in the house. By the time I came back, the two of them were in their driveway. I have a clear shot of it from mine. We had just had another tussle, so I thought I'd hang back until they got in their cars, but they were having a conversation. It looked tense. They were talking fast and pressured, but their voices were low. I heard Lydia say, ‘That's the last time you'll do that to me' and started to take off for her car, and that's when I saw him grab her."

"Grab her?" There's a rough edge to Jack's voice. "How did he grab her?"

"By the elbow. He plucked her back, and I'm not talking about a simple, hey, don't go . The guy jerked her back pretty violently. Lydia almost toppled over. Then he grabbed her and he shook her, real hard. It was over just as fast it as it began, but still. Believe me, I thought about interceding. And if it got any worse, I would have. But she said something else to him. I'm not sure what, and then they went their separate ways."

Nikki leans in. "Did you know the Becks? Cornwall and Cynthia? They were their friends. They're the couple that was killed."

"No," he says. "The Coles and I weren't on friendly terms. And they rarely had people at the house except for that blonde woman. She came around like clockwork just about every single day. Julie, I think her name is." He closes his eyes. "Or Jewels, something like that. I met her once. She said she did some work for them. She was friendly enough. But too friendly if you ask me. It's as if she was trying to overcompensate because her bosses were a couple of jerks. Anyway, she was always there."

"Was anyone else coming around?" I ask. "Did you ever notice any suspicious cars? Any fans? Any other friends?"

His chest expands as he thinks about it. "Lydia walks in the morning with another neighbor, Nora Archer. She lives four doors down. They seemed pretty close. The two of them were always chatting from the minute they took off until the second they came back. But that's it."

Nora Archer. I make a mental note of it.

"All right," Jack says. "One last thing. There was an incident about a week and a half ago. You verbally threatened to harm Damien. I read the police report, but I'd like to hear it from you. What happened?"

Owen's face contorts in something this side of rage. "That row of trees I told you about?" His jaw redefines itself. "They torched it. They freaking dumped kerosene on the ground and the entire row went up like Roman candles. He could have burned my house down. I know it was him. He kept saying they were getting too tall and blocking his view of the lake. I told him I'd get a tree trimmer out when I could. A couple of months went by and the guy took care of it himself. The man is violent. And judging by the way he manhandled his wife, he's got a temper, too. The guy's a nutjob. And the funny thing is, he's got the entire neighborhood believing that the nutjob is me." His phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. "Are we done here? I've got a product to promote inside, and I paid a lot of money to do it."

"What about the night of the incident?" Jack presses on. "Where were you?"

Owen shakes his head with a look of disbelief in his eyes. "I was at a charity event sponsored by High Spirits. Wagon Wheel Bar and Grill. I have dozens of witnesses. I stayed late."

It doesn't mean much, considering we have no clear time yet on when the shootings took place, but Owen seems confident his alibi will pan out.

"You got any properties other than your home?" I go on, uninterested in how much money he may be losing.

"I've got a warehouse in Elmwood. I share the space with a few other liquor startups on the corner of Grand and Livingston. You're welcome to check the place out any time, no warrant needed. Just show up. I'm never there, but someone always is."

That dovetails with what we discovered last night when we put his name in the database. Property records indicate as much, but we still can't rule out that he's holing Lydia away somewhere.

Jack nods as he hands him a card. "Call me if you think of anything else."

Owen takes it reluctantly and shoots Nikki and me a forlorn smile. "So does that mean we're off the table?"

I give him a nod and Nikki shrugs.

"It all depends on whether or not I arrest you," she tells him and both Jack and I groan.

Owen takes off and Nikki looks at the two of us.

"What?" she says. "I was just telling the truth."

My phone pings and I glance at the screen. "Good grief."

"What is it?" Jack looks as if he's already angry about whatever has cropped up, and he should be.

"It's Riley. She and Jet are at the Velvet Lounge Gentlemen's Club right here in Denver."

"That's a strip club," Jack says as if he has firsthand knowledge of the place, and I have no doubt he does. "What the heck are they doing there?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Nikki scoffs. "They're looking at strippers."

"They're not there for the strippers," I say with a sigh. "They tracked down Marco Rossi."