“Did he have backing?” Dugan asked.
Bates scratched his chin. “Well, that was the sketchy part. At first he said he did. Then, when it got down to it, he approached me to invest. I think he may have hit on some others around town. Especially Lloyd Riley and Ken Canter. They own a lot of land in the prime spots for the equestrian center and dude ranch.”
“He made them offers?”
“You’d have to talk to them about it,” Bates said. “Neither one wanted to tell me any specifics. But I think Riley signed something with him and so did Canter.”
So, what had happened to those deals?
“Were most of the people in town in favor of the project?”
“A few of the store owners thought it would be good for business. But some old-timers didn’t want that dude ranch or the mall.”
“When he asked you to invest, did you check out Lewis’s financial background?”
Bates frowned. “I was going to, but then he had that crash and I figured there wasn’t no need.”
“Was he working with a partner? Another contact to deal with on the project?”
“If he was, he didn’t tell me.”
Probably because he was running a scam. Lewis had never had backing and was going to swindle the locals into investing, then run off with their money.
Had one of them discovered Lewis’s plans to cheat him and killed Lewis because of it?
Dugan stopped by his ranch before heading out to talk to the ranchers Lewis had approached.
He’d worked hard as a kid and teen on other spreads, doing odd jobs and then learning to ride and train horses, and had vowed years ago that he would one day own his own land.
Growing up on the reservation had been tough. His mother was Native American and had barely been able to put food on the table. Like little Benji’s, his father had skipped out. He had no idea where the man was now and couldn’t care less if he ever met him.
Any man who abandoned his family wasn’t worth spit.
Then he’d lost his mother when he was five and had been tossed around for years afterward, in foster care, never really wanted by anyone, never belonging anywhere. It was the one reason he’d wanted his own land, his own place. A home.
He’d hired a young man, Hiram, to help him on the ranch in exchange for a place to live. Hiram was another orphan on the rez who needed a break. He also employed three other teens to help groom and exercise the horses and clean the stalls. Keeping the boys busy and teaching them the satisfaction of hard work would hopefully help them stay out of trouble. He’d also set up college scholarships if they decided to further their education.
Everything at the ranch looked in order, and he spotted Hiram at the stables. He showered and changed into a clean shirt and jeans, then retreated to his home office.
He booted up his computer and researched Trace Lanier. Seconds after he entered the man’s name, dozens of articles appeared, all showcasing Lanier’s rise in success in the rodeo. Other photos revealed a line of beautiful rodeo groupies on his arm. For the past two years, he’d been traveling the rodeo circuit, enjoying fame and success.
He had no motive for trying to get his son back. He had plenty of money. And now fame. And judging from the pictures of him at honky-tonks, parties and casinos, he enjoyed his single life.
At the time of Benji’s disappearance, he was actually competing in Tucson.
Dugan struck Lanier off the suspect list, then phoned his buddy Jaxon and explained about finding Lewis’s corpse and the phony identities.
“Sounds like a professional con artist,” Jaxon said. “Send me a list of all his IDs and I’ll run them.”
Dugan typed in the list and emailed it to Jaxon. He could use all the help he could get.
“I’m plugging them in, along with his picture,” Jaxon said. “Now, tell me what you know about this man.”
“He came to Cobra Creek on the pretense of saving the town. Said he had a developer wanting to rebuild the downtown, and expand with an equestrian center, dude ranch, shopping mall and new storefronts. The banker in town said he approached him to invest and that he solicited locals to, as well. I’m going to question them next. But I’m anxious to learn more about his background. Does he have an arrest record?”
“Jeez. He was a pro.”
“What did you find?”
“He stole the name Lewis from a dead man in Corpus Christi.”
“A murder victim?”
“No, he was eighty and died of cancer.”
“So he stole his identity because it was easy.”
“Yeah, Lewis was an outstanding citizen, had no priors. His son died in Afghanistan.”
“What else?”
“Three of the names—Joel Bremmer, Mike Martin and Seth Handleman—have rap sheets.”
“What for?”
“Bremmer for theft, Martin for fraud and embezzlement and Handleman for similar charges.”
“Did he do time for any of the crimes?”
“Not a day. Managed to avoid a trial by jumping bail.”
“Then he took on a new identity,” Dugan filled in.
“Like I said, he’s a pro.”
“Who bailed him out?”
“Hang on. Let me see if I can access those records.”
“While you’re at it, see if you can get a hold of Sheriff Gandt’s police report on Lewis’s car accident. I want to know if Lewis was shot before the accident or afterward.”
“The sheriff doesn’t know?”
“According to Gandt, he thought the man died in the car fire. Now we have a body, the M.E. pointed out the gunshot wound. When I asked Gandt if he saw a bullethole in the car, he sidestepped the question, and said the car was burned pretty badly. But all that tells me is that he didn’t examine it.”
“Shoddy work.”
“You could say that.”
Dugan drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited. Seconds later, Jaxon returned.
“Each time, a woman bailed him out. The first time, the lady claimed to be his wife. The second, his girlfriend.”
