Page 37 of Concrete Evidence
“Are you suggesting Senator Elliott’s son and wife might be responsible for the disappearances?”
“I have no idea. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“What about Avery?”
Holcombe pressed his lips together. “I care about her like family. She’s smart, caring, and knows the ranch and construction business inside and out. Her faith is strong.”
“Do you know any of her close friends?”
He nodded. “She’s a private person but close to Leanne Archer. Would you like her number?”
Roden typed the contact into his phone. “Give me a moment here.” He finished his water and eased back on the sofa. “What about Avery’s weak areas?”
Marc wanted to ask more about the Archer woman, but Roden was headed somewhere in his questioning.
“Weaknesses? I’ve never heard her say anything against the senator or argue with his decisions. Now she may disagree with him one-on-one, but not that I’ve heard.” He picked up a pen on his desk, glanced at it, and laid it back down. “Perhaps her nonconfrontational personality isn’t a flaw but a sign of strength. If she and the senatorare to offer a united front, then their differences would need to be handled privately.”
Roden thanked him. “Why do you think Senator Elliott is unavailable?”
“With what you’ve told me, I believe he’s hiding out for a reason. Maybe he’s in danger. Maybe Avery too. Maybe Buddy has roped himself into trouble, and the senator has to stay clear of him?”
“You’re a wise man, Mr. Holcombe. Agent Wilkins and I have learned more from you than our other sources. Is there anything you can tell us that we haven’t covered?”
“Call me Craig, please. Only the motorcycle tracks found by the cemetery on Monday. One of the hands saw the bike on the road but only from a distance. Could be connected or the rider was trespassing and nothing else.” He startled. “Is this connected to Liam’s murder?”
“We hope not.”
“True. Agent Wilkins and I would like to see the Elliott family cemetery. We’ve heard a lot about it. Then we’ll be on our way.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to take a few pics of those motorcycle tracks,” Marc said.
Craig stood. “Let’s do it. The tracks were most likely washed away in last night’s rain.”
23
CRAIG DROVE MARC AND RODENto the family cemetery in Craig’s truck, a Ford F-450 Limited in sleek black. Custom interior and rich leather seats that propelled air-conditioning to Marc’s sweat-laden pants as soon as the engine fired to life. They took the main exit from the ranch and swung a left onto Oak Valley Road.
“How long have you worked for Senator Elliott?” Roden said.
“Since I was seventeen, coming up on eighteen years.”
“Long time.”
“The senator has been good to me. Helped me get a college education.”
“What’s your degree?”
“Ranch management and accounting. Thinking about becoming a vet.”
“I thought about that too,” Roden said. “One of my girls is headed in the same direction. Loves animals.”
“Horses are my thing.” Craig drove about a mile, then pointed to a grove of live oaks on the left. “A hidden gate and a dirt path leads to the Elliott family cemetery. Here on Oak Valley Road is where one of the hands saw a motorcycle.”
“Any identifying markers?”
“I asked him, but he heard the engine and saw it from a distance. I rode my horse over here on Monday evening, but I couldn’t find anything but tracks.” Craig shrugged. “Sometimes if a ranch hand forgets to lock the gate, trespassers will leave beer cans, cigarette butts, or signs of drug use, but not a trace this time.”
Craig stopped the truck and stepped out to clear brush and vines off an iron gate. He pulled through onto ranch property, closed the gate, and covered it with the thick brush before he climbed back into the truck.
