As if he knew I was having this thought, he partially addressed it.

“I told myself, the next time the name came up, I’d follow the lead. Independently. You reported Decierdo for having involvement in a missing persons, so you’re interested in the same truth I am. And by making that report, you’ve knowingly put yourself in a compromised position, if he is who I think he is.”

“Who do you think he is?” I asked.

He finished his beer and raised two fingers. “A kingpin of some sort. Drugs, probably. Narcotics have been a problem up here since I can remember. Something about the isolation makes it fertile ground for addicts. When I was a kid, there was one big bust per season. Pills or smack. That was back when the cops gave a shit.”

It made me uneasy to hear him talk about it. But it was also exhilarating.

“But you can’t go after it,” I said, “because they won’t let you do real police work.”

“Pretty much,” he said. “They’d just stonewall me any chance they got. I don’t know what those old boys in the force are getting, but they got some sort of deal, I guarantee you. Half those fuckers are so crooked they can’t see straight.”

“What about Summit County? The cops over there?” It would have been their jurisdiction, anyway. Most everything Vince did happened somewhere within Summit County.

He shook his head. “They’re all bought. Summit too. Those guys are no better than the stiffs I work with.”

An old, bent over barkeep delivered two fresh beers without a word.

Raphino took a breath. He was done with his monologue. “So,” he said, “this is the part where you tell me what you know.”

I had thought about this constantly between the time I left the Eagle County Police station and 9:15 p.m. I had thought a lot about how much I would say, and how much I would leave out. I made a promise to myself to err on the side of caution, to give him enough to chew on, but not incriminate myself. I had not expected his lengthy explanation, however. I had not expected Officer Raphino to spill everything he knew about Vince to a near perfect stranger.

“First,” I said, “I need to know you won’t charge me with anything.”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I need to know that nothing I say to you will be recorded or used against me.”

“You have my word.”

“Is your word any good?” I asked.

“I’d say yes,” he said, “but that becomes a Catch-22.”

I took a drink and smacked my lips. “I suppose it does.” His explanation was enough, but then anything would have been enough. I was desperate for an ally. So I told him everything. I took him through the whole story chronologically, starting with when I met Suzanne in Boulder and ending with when I walked into the police station earlier that day. I told him all I remembered, but I left out the parts about me sleeping with Suzanne, and with Adeline. Those were nonessential, I decided, and they made me feel funny. It took ten minutes to tell, all in.

Raphino chewed on a cocktail straw. He stared off behind the bar as the wheels turned. He seemed reasonably bright. “So,” he said eventually, “this Suzanne. The missing girl. Were you ever intimate with her?”

Shit. I nodded. Omitting was one thing; no use lying.

“Was it serious?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. But someone else might.”

“Okay,” he said. “Anyone else?”

I paused. “Adeline,” I said, almost shamefully.

“Decierdo’s girl?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.”

His blank expression changed to a small smirk, then a headshake. “You certainly have balls.”

I said nothing.

Raphino paid for my drinks and clarified a few details. It excited him, obviously, to learn so much about Vince and validate his suspicions. For the first time in his career as a police officer, he was doing real police work. He trusted me completely.

“Hypothetically,” he said, “this drop point in the mountains. The old barn or pole shed or whatever. The place you dropped the cars each night. Could you take me there?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“And the pickup spot? In Grand Junction?”

I nodded.

He scratched his chin. “Okay. We’ll proceed slowly. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

The .45 was tucked in my belt—I could feel the steel through my boxers.

“We need to be careful,” he continued. “The problem is, there’s only so much I can do. I’m on a desk ten hours a day, tied up and neutered.” He produced a scrap piece of paper and scribbled a few words down. “Here’s the name of a guy I want you to call, from a public phone. No telling what they’ve done to yours. At this point, assume your phone, apartment, and car are bugged. Understand?”

I nodded.

“This guy’s an investigator. Former cop, I think, but works solo now. Operates in areas cops aren’t allowed, if you catch my drift. Know him through a guy in Chicago. He does work out here. He’s good.”

“Why do I need to make contact? Can’t you?”

He shook his head. “I start poking around with P.I.’s, someone’s going to hear about it. On the force, someone knows everyone. We need to keep this entirely separate from police work for now.”

I nodded again. It made sense. If the police were really in bed with Vince, and they caught wind of us investigating him, they’d shut the whole thing down.

“What am I supposed to say?” I asked.

“Just give him the names. Decierdo, Suzanne, and your friend Damien.”

“Damon,” I said.

“Right. Just give him the names and tell him what you know. Then wait for a call.”

Raphino slammed the last of his beer and set the glass down on the bar with a thud. He patted me on the shoulder and left.

The man cared; I gave him that. He legitimately cared about the safety and well being of his community. He wasn’t in it for a paycheck; he wanted to be a cop. They just weren’t letting him.

It was clear he trusted me; that blind and optimistic faith based partially in delusion that’s necessary to trust a complete stranger. And in the same way, I wanted to trust him, but I had taught myself not to. He was honest, from what I could tell, and there was an authenticity in the way he spoke. His hand movements were organic, somewhere between anxious and measured. I wanted to trust him. But blind faith was not something I could afford, so I would have to settle for cautious optimism.

The drive back was a slow one. It had just snowed a foot, and the roads were slick. I kept the speed reasonable and checked in the rearview mirror often.

45

The investigator’s name was Dallas Korman. His phone number had an unfamiliar area code. In our first conversation, he was what I expected, and in that way, what I hoped.

Finding a public phone in the twenty-first century is not easy, especially in a mountain town. Going off Raphino’s instructions, I was not to use my cell phone for the call, or a landline if my apartment had one. It did not. My best chance was finding an old pay phone. I put a handful of coins in my pocket and tried different gas stations in or near town. No luck. For half an hour I drove slowly past businesses and peered out at them, coming up empty each time. I began to wonder if this was even possible, but then I saw an unmistakable blue and white structure standing against the sidewall of a tobacco shop. I parked and hoped it was still working.

I picked up the receiver and entered coins until I heard a dial tone. I looked over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, but the parking lot was empty. My hand shook as I dialed.

It rang once and he answered.

“Korman,” came the voice from the other end. It was rough but clear.