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But did Arnold Draper knowhim?
What other reason would the detectives have had for flagging Draper out of so many? Or had they picked that name at random to use as a ploy, to give him a vengeful enemy to worry about after he’d defied their authority and left the crime scene at the safe house?
Almost as soon as that possibility crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Playing mind games seemed unprofessional and out of character with the two investigators who were committed to capturing the Fairground shooter, even more so now after last night’s deadly occurrences.
It was their sworn duty to capture the guy. Calder’s commitment to catching him was more personal but no less unshakable. If Compton and Perkins thought that this Arnold Draper was a lead, then he wanted to follow it himself, if only to disprove their speculation that Draper was someone seeking retaliation against him.
He desperately wanted to prove them wrong. It didn’t bear thinking about that the shooting had been an act of retribution against him.
He felt a pang of guilt for not sharing this with Elle. If something enlightening turned up, he would let her know about Draper immediately. But if this exploration led nowhere, why cause her additional worry?
Within the file where he’d found Draper’s name, he knew there would be paperwork pertaining to him. In a few keystrokes, he’d accessed the man’s profile.
Four years ago, Draper had been living in Des Moines, Iowa. Marital status, married. Religious preference, none. Level of education, two years of community college but no degree. According to his date of birth, he would now be sixty-eight years old.
Sixty-eight? Could an average sixty-eight-year-old who was even moderately fit have been running so full-out that he’d nearly upset Charlie’s sizable, bottom-heavy stroller? There were men in that general age group who ran marathons and climbed mountains, but that degree of fitness was atypical.
A gray ponytail would coincide with a man that age, but the relevant one was fake. The man in the baseball cap could have had red hair, or ebony-black hair, or no hair.
“Dammit.” Frustrated, Calder leaned back in his chair and stared into the monitor, thinking.
Something about this Draper had stood out to Compton and Perkins, which had caused them to mention his name, and not in passing, but at the height of a crisis situation. But what was thatsomething?
He went through the entire file he had compiled for that particular contract. He studied it page by page, scanning notes he’d made, emails he’d sent and received. He drew no direct connection between him and Draper.
“Maybe Compton and Perkins are blowing smoke,” he said under his breath.
He got out of his own files and went to an online person-finder. He narrowed down the various fields by city, state, and age group. No Arnold Milton Draper was presently living in Des Moines. Or in the whole state of Iowa.
There was, however, a link to other states where Draper, at some point in his life, had resided.
Calder’s heart picked up speed.Leave it alone. Leave. It. Alone.
But of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. He clicked on the link.
Texas.
Chapter 30
To Calder’s supreme frustration, he couldn’t go to the next level of information on Draper without having to pay for the service. Cursing, he clicked on the icon for one of the online payment options. When it opened, he typed in his user name and password.
No soap. Since he was using an unrecognized device, he was being sent a temporary security code by text.Shit!He would have to turn on his phone. The alternative was to use a credit card, but as Glenda had noted last night, credit card usage would be the first thing Compton and Perkins would look for.
He didn’t want the detectives to know that he was running a search for the name they’d dropped. They would interpret that to mean that Arnold Draper was a valid concern.
Although, if he was being honest with himself, he was concerned. He was afraid that Compton and Perkins were already privy to something terrible, that they had uncovered a link between him and the Fairground shooting.
The thought of that made him queasy, but if proof of a connection was going to be sprung on him, he needed to know what he was up against and be somewhat prepared.
He went into the utility room where his jacket was still drying and got his cell phone out of a pocket. Back in the kitchen, he’d almost reached the desk nook when a shrill sound froze him in his tracks.
It was a rude awakening, to say the least.
Elle sat bolt upright. The landline extension on the nightstand had an uncommonly loud and obnoxious ring. She grabbed it before her eardrums burst. “Hello?”
“Thank God it’s you who answered,” Glenda said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. If I don’t sound fine, it’s because you woke me up. What’s your excuse? You sound out of breath.”
