Chapter 2

Lincoln Steele bounced the leather basketball inside his private gym. His eyes were locked on the iron hoop ten feet off the floor. The large exercise room separated his living quarters from the private investigator office. When he had built the house, the architect balked at wasting so much space. But it was not wasted space for Steele. He required the bare minimum for his private investigator office and living quarters. This was an essential room. Where he trained and played.

On the far end of the room, in front of one mirrored wall, free weights of all sizes were neatly arranged in metal racks. Padded benches and mats were nearby. Although Steele preferred free weights, several multi-purpose exercise machines were strategically placed. Along the side wall that led to the main part of the house, three different types of cardiovascular machines were lined up with a television and clock mounted on the wall in front of them. A telephone, next to the door, had land lines for both the private residence and business office. Each with a unique ring tone. The door to his office was on the opposite wall where various bags hung from the ceiling for punching and kicking. There was even an area set aside for knife throwing.

The room was assembled for staying in shape and keeping his skills sharp. That wasn’t what made it so large, though. It was the half-court basketball court on the end opposite the mirrored wall. Not that Steele played much anymore, but shooting the basketball relaxed him. And he believed improved his eye-hand coordination. Now was one of those times.

Having finished a dangerous and stressful assignment, he needed a little down time. If the union men hadn’t shown up, the Russians would surely have killed him. And since Officer Cherry Mulligan hadn’t made him turn in the money he found in the gang’s warehouse, plenty remained after giving money to the extorted store owners and women forced into prostitution. He now only had to work on cases he wanted to, and right now all he wanted was to make the three-point shot. He jumped off the balls of his feet with his wrist cocked next to his ear and the basketball sitting on his palm. That excitement he used to feel in high school with the clock ticking down swarmed his body.

Ring!

He flicked his wrist, sending the ball wide to the left, missing the hoop by a foot.

While the basketball bounced and rolled to a stop at the far end of the room, Steele shook his head. Even the military had given him R&R after a Special Ops mission. Civilian life should be easier. Who was calling him? Captain Wilks and Cherry knew he needed downtime. The call was to his business line. It must be a new client? He’d have to say no. He needed the rest.

Steele moseyed over to the telephone hanging on the wall. It rang twice more before he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Linc?”

The voice was female. Pleasant. But edgy.

“This is Lincoln Steele.”

“Linc, it’s Elena Bargas. You won’t remember—”

“Elena! It’s been ages. Of course I remember you.”

“Yeah, you and your photographic memory. You remember everything.”

“Well, I remember only good times with you.”

“Do you mean that? I wasn’t sure about calling you.”

“Of course. You were very special to me.”

“Am I still?”

Steele hesitated. His eyes flitted to the side and fell on the treadmill. “Elena, it’s been a while. Must be almost twenty years.”

The hesitation was now on the other end of the line. “I didn’t know who else to call. I—”

Her words were cut off with sobbing. Steele waited, but it didn’t stop.

“Elena, tell me what this is all about.”

A few words were uttered between sobs. Unintelligible words. A lot of sniffling. Steele waited. And then she got it under control.

“Did you hear about the school shooting here?” she said.

“Where’s here?”

“I live in Cactus Point now. It’s a small town in Arizona. Near the Mexican border.”

“No. What does it have to do with you?”

“They say my son did it.”

“What does he say?”

More sobbing. Louder this time. Again she struggled to control it. It took longer than before.

“He’s ... dead.” The two words were broken up by sobs. “They said he shot himself.”

“Tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know what happened. Someone went into the school and shot a lot of people and they found Pete— They found him dead. They said he had a gun in his hand and that he shot himself.”

“Pete is your son?”

“Yes. He’s only fifteen.”

“I’m so sorry. Are there witnesses?”

“Yes, some kids didn’t die.”

“What did they say?”

“They said it was Pete.”

“They recognized him?”

“All I know is the sheriff said they said it was Pete. And they found Pete’s body with the gun.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Find out who did it?”

“The witne—”

“They’re wrong!” Steele jerked the telephone away from his ear. “Pete wouldn’t do it. I know my son.”

“Was it your gun?”

“We don’t have a gun!”

“Then whose—?”

“Linc, I don’t know! I don’t understand any of it. I need your help.”

“To do what?”

“To find out what happened. Please help me.”

“Elena, people saw—”

“I don’t believe it!” The woman let out a long sigh. “Look, you once told me things aren’t always what they seem. Remember?”

“They aren’t.”

“Then help me prove it. I have no one else. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can pay you what I have.”

“Elena, I won’t take money from you.”

“Then you’ll do it! Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

Steele hadn’t meant he’d help. On the contrary, it seemed like Elena’s son had done it. But Elena was right. Things weren’t always what they seemed. He remembered telling her that. The situation at the time had nothing to do with them, but he had been thinking about what he had done for the government when he mentioned it. One thing Lincoln Steele knew was that the world was not black and white. It was many shades of gray. Muddy gray.

“Okay,” Steele said, “I’ll look into it. You said you live in a place called Cactus Point. In Arizona. Give me your address.”

“Thank you. Do you know where Cactus Point is?”

“I’ll find it.”

“It’s probably not on your map.”

“I’ll find it. What’s your address?”

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

“I don’t need to write it down. Give me your phone number and address.”

Elena provided the information and told him to fly into Tucson and rent a car there. It wasn’t the closest airport with a car rental, but it would be worth the extra drive.

He caught a flight to Tucson the next day. Elena had always been practical and, flying into the big airport, he was able to fly direct. No stops. No changing planes. Which was his preference for both comfort and minimizing Security checkpoints. He chuckled as he drove the roads through barren desert, hospitable only to rattlesnakes and the few cacti sticking out of the cracked, parched earth. Elena sure hadn’t been talking about the scenery when she had said the extra drive would be worth it. At least the winter rains had created spots of green here and there and some flowers on the cacti. Soon it would be nothing but brown. April showers brings May flowers did not apply to this part of the world.

Cactus Point wasn’t on the map. It wasn’t in the rental car’s GPS. But Lincoln Steele had done his homework and knew which roads to take. He drove east on I-10 and then south on AZ-90 toward Ft. Huachuca. But then he took lesser used roads. The closer he got to Cactus Point the more isolated the roads were, and the more radio stations were lost. The remaining stations were mostly Spanish speaking. Those in English were Christian or country and western. He chose a Spanish station even though he didn’t understand the language. The upbeat music kept him company as he whizzed down the empty road.

The first indication that he was getting close to his destination was the speed limit dropping to forty-five. He turned off the radio and cruised another mile to a sign riddled with bullet holes. “Welcome to Cactus Point,” it said. Some welcome.