Reports from therapists and his former high school guidance counsellor indicated a bright student who, if it weren’t for the rage he felt because of his condition, could have gone on to a promising career in engineering or computer science. He got his high school equivalency diploma and at times flirted with the idea of getting a degree in computer programming.
But what was Savran’s motive for killing the families?
It took all the weight of the FBI to find out that the state of Colorado had approached a good number of Red Hill families, secretly and individually, to sell their properties for what pretty much amounted to pennies on the dollar. The state had them over a barrel: sell or don’t sell, the state could afford to wait. Their town was dying; there were no jobs or social services. Some families took the state’s offer. Others had the financial means to play hardball, but the state wouldn’t buckle. The families who had been murdered were holdouts.
The people with meagre jobs who were barely hanging on were the lucky ones. The vast majority were poor and scared and mostly uneducated. They were praying to God there’d be an influx of state aid, jobs and other relief measures once the incorporation went through – and the killer was paving the road for this. Why should they tell the police what they might have suspected about the Red Hill Ripper, when the state had offered these families good money for their properties? What had happened to them was their own fault.
The other factor at work was Red Hill’s small-town mentality. The people operated in the same way as the blue-collar Irish Catholics who lived in Charlestown when he was a kid: you didn’t volunteer information to the police. If you did, you’d wake up one day and find your car missing or, worse, you’d come home from work to discover your house had been burned down. And then there was always a chance that a group of people would take it upon themselves to corner you in a bar or on the street, or grab you and drive you somewhere where they would make their feelings known with baseball bats.
‘Agent Cooper.’
Coop looked up from his papers and saw Denver SAC Harold Scott. He got up and shook the man’s hand.
‘I need to have a word with you,’ Scott said. He had a deep baritone Barry White voice that immediately made him the centre of attention. ‘In private.’
77
Coop followed him to Robinson’s office, where it was safe to talk. The entire station had been swept for bugs. The USB device Darby had discovered inside Williams’s office was the only one that had been found.
‘Couple of things,’ Scott said as he shut the door. He had dark skin and dark brown eyes; he was bald on top, with the hair on the sides of his head as white as snow. ‘First is Hubbard’s fingerprint. The DD assured me it’s still locked down, so, thankfully, no one on the outside knows we found it.’
The DD was FBI Deputy Director Lou LaRoca – Scott’s boss. The two men had decided to keep the information about Hubbard’s fingerprint secret until Savran was in custody. If word about her print got out, Red Hill would turn into a free-fire zone.
‘Second is Savran’s Bronco,’ Scott said. ‘There’s an abandoned coal-burning power plant in a town fifty or so miles from here, place called Leadville. They found the Bronco parked inside. We’ve got the rifle with a thermal scope and tracer ammo – and a backpack stuffed with duct tape and zip ties. Forensics is over there working on it right now. They’ve found plenty of blood samples.’
‘You want me to head over?’
‘No, we’ve got it covered.’
Coop sensed a shift in the man’s tone that reminded him of the way the temperature suddenly drops before a thunderstorm. ‘I’ve been looking through Savran’s background info,’ he said, and filled Scott in on the man’s bank and credit card record.
Harold Scott listened attentively. He remained standing and did not ask Coop to sit.
‘Hoder’s profile said this guy was a planner,’ Scott said, after Coop had finished. ‘Speaking of Hoder, he’s out of the woods. He woke up from his coma, but he’s still having problems breathing on his own.’
‘Good. That’s good. Sir, if Savran was so meticulous, why would he leave all that cash parked in his bank account?’
‘Because these jerkoffs never think they’re gonna get bagged, that’s why. What about the background on the murdered families? Anything new?’
‘Lancaster went to school with both Eli Savran and David Downes.’
Scott nodded and stole a glance at the wall clock. ‘Anything else?’
‘Did you read my report on the burglary?’ Coop asked.
Scott straightened a little, his starched shirt tightening against his chest, a tired look washing across his features.
After Teddy Lancaster was killed, it was discovered that his keys were missing. Coop had searched the man’s pockets, his car and Kelly’s house, but he couldn’t find them. He believed Savran had taken Lancaster’s keys.
Scott scratched the corner of his lip. ‘We talked about this. You don’t have any proof or evidence Savran was inside Lancaster’s house.’
‘You’re right, sir, I don’t. But I went through Lancaster’s home, and I didn’t find a single computer anywhere. And why would Savran take Lancaster’s keys?’
‘You’re assuming Lancaster had a computer in his house. My father’s eighty-two, and he doesn’t have a computer or a cell phone. No interest. Some people are like that. Besides, Lancaster didn’t need one. He had an iPhone, which is pretty much a portable computer.’
Coop didn’t know about the iPhone. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. Lancaster got a bill from AT & T in yesterday’s mail.’ Scott saw the suspicion lingering in Coop’s gaze and added, ‘When you searched Lancaster’s house, did you find any computer equipment? CDs, disk keys, backup drives, books, anything like that?’
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘Now, next item. Anything new on Savran?’
‘During the summer of ’83, he was sixteen and living with his father in New Orleans. He was working at the Dairy Queen the day Hubbard was abducted – his time sheet for that week was faxed this morning.’
‘I read the fax,’ Scott said, and stole a glance at the wall clock. ‘It was probably a mistake, you know. It happens. The manager at the time was, what, nineteen?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘High school kids aren’t exactly what you’d call responsible.’
‘True,’ Coop conceded, ‘but the timing of the Hubbard kidnapping doesn’t jibe with me. Driving from New Orleans to Wichita would take roughly five and a half hours. Then, to go from Wichita to Red Hill, you’re talking nine hours.’
‘Again, we’re talking about a high school kid – one who was a budding psychopath. It might not have been thoroughly thought out, especially if Hubbard was an impulse kidnapping. If it was, he probably wanted to bring her someplace where he felt safe, like his home turf.’
‘I’m looking to see if Savran had any relatives in Wichita. I’m also still going through that list of contractors and painters who worked on the Downes house the summer before they moved in.’ Coop turned to the door.
‘Hold up.’ Scott’s lips were pursed tight, and his tone changed when he said, ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
78
‘Everyone here appreciates your dedication and hard work,’ Scott said.
Coop stared at him stupidly. ‘Are you giving me the bounce?’
Scott looked uncomfortable. ‘The place where we found the satellite phone,’ he said. ‘That river is a class-three rapid. It merges with another one about a quarter of a mile away.’
‘The Wild Straits,’ Coop said distantly. He had an idea where Scott was leading him.
‘And that one’s a class-five rapid, nasty as hell.’
Coop had searched the areas well into the night. It had been an excruciatingly perilous affair for everyone involved. Not only was the bumpy and uneven terrain strewn with hidden rocks, boulders and downed tree limbs – most of which were obscured underneath at least a good six inches of crusted snow – but the ground was covered in ice. Despite his caution, every step had proved to be a roll of the dice; he had slipped and tripped more than once. One uniform had taken the worst spill, falling ass over elbow and almost rolling straight into the rapids. Fortunately, he walked away with only a sprained ankle and a couple of nasty bruises.