Seth parked one unit down from the lab, cracked the window, and left the engine running for Cooper.
An empty Pitkin County SUV was in front of the door. Yellow police tape was across the door frame. Seth walked up and put his hands on the glass and looked in.
The lab had been violently turned over. The desk drawers were pulled out and equipment had fallen off a rack that was pulled off the wall. He could see crap strewn all over the floor. He wondered if Samantha’s machine was still in one piece. He took a photo through the glass.
Other than the SUV, the parking lot was empty so he got back in his car and patted Cooper on the head.
When he’d driven past Marcus’s house yesterday afternoon, there had been two cars in front of it that he didn’t recognize. Instead of stopping, he kept going, drove to Aspen, and got a room at The Jerome. He had a pizza and a glass of Hibiki Harmony at Acquolina and then spent the rest of the evening catching up on email. He took Cooper for a late night walk down to the Rio Grande Trail, went to bed later than usual, and had a hard time falling asleep. He was worried about Marcus, Samantha, and Vlad.
After a restless night, he called the FBI field office in Denver. After getting through to an agent, he gave his name, said he had known Marcus Reed for a decade, had put the first money into Basalt Labs, and wanted to help if he could. He spelled his last name twice and was told that somebody would call him back. So far, nobody had.
He guessed that either someone had taken them or they had left on their own. He knew Samantha could handle herself in the mountains for a long time. He assumed Vlad could. Marcus, on the other hand, would be way out of his league.
Marcus’s house was ten minutes from the lab, on a street that ended in a turnaround and a ditch. He went and did another drive-by. The cars he had seen yesterday were gone so he parked on the next block over and with Cooper in tow, walked casually to Marcus’s house. He thought to himself, I’m just a guy on a beautiful day in Basalt walking his dog.
When he got to the house, Samantha’s truck was at the bottom of the driveway with three days of dust on it. He looked around, and still not seeing anyone, walked over to the front door. Cooper paused, lay down on the edge of the driveway, and started rolling around in the grass.
Three business cards were wedged into the frame of the front door. A special agent out of Denver named Pittman, with a cell number written on the back. A producer at a Denver television station. A real estate agent.
Seth put the realtor’s card in his pocket without thinking too hard about it. He knocked, waited, and then knocked harder. While he waited, he pocketed the agent’s card.
Seth knew that Marcus never locked the sliding door in the back of the house. He discovered this after a late night with Marcus at The Brick Pony when they’d both stumbled home after too much to drink. That night, Marcus didn’t even try to go in the front door. Instead, he just walked to the back, with Seth following, and opened the sliding door. Seth crashed on Marcus’s couch that night and was thankful for the massive portions and endless coffee the next morning at the Two Rivers Cafe.
He opened the sliding door, said hello twice, waited fifteen seconds, and went in. He stopped at the kitchen counter, which was surprisingly tidy. He’d eaten in this kitchen a dozen times and had always had to clear a space because Marcus kept everything scattered around. Mail, keys, chargers, multiple pairs of sunglasses, and an inexplicable bowl of ketchup packets.
The counter was mostly empty. The mail was at the end of it, stacked in a pile, with the edges squared. The normal detritus was nowhere to be found.
Seth was suddenly uncomfortable being in the house. He knew he hadn’t been the first person here since Marcus had left.
The door to the garage was in the hall past the pantry. He opened it and turned on the light.
The Jeep was gone. Three rows of cheap gray plastic shelving ran the length of the back wall. Even though Marcus could be a slob, he organized all the crap in his garage in clear plastic tubs. Four of the tubs were empty.
Seth stood in front of the shelves and stared at the empty tubs.
They had loaded the Jeep with something.
Seth got out his phone and called Marcus. Once again, it went straight to voicemail. He listened to the whole greeting anyway and then hung up.
As he looked around, he noticed all the tubs, other than the four empty ones, were labeled. No, that wasn’t it, they were turned around. He took out each tub and looked at the back of each of them. WINTER, CAMPING, RIVER, CLIMBING.
Marcus camped a little. Seth doubted he did much of the rest, but because he was a thirty-something living in Colorado, he had all the gear. Seth looked around and saw a kayak up on a rack above the bins with a paddle across it. He couldn’t picture Marcus in it.
A truck door in the street slammed, making Seth jump. He went to the small window at the side of the garage and carefully looked out at the road from the side of it. Two guys were pulling a mower off a landscaping trailer three houses down.
He turned back to the shelf and took a photo of it. Then he walked back to the kitchen and opened a few drawers until he found a pen. There was a notepad from a Westin hotel in the drawer. He tore off the top sheet, closed the drawer, and wrote MARCUS — SETH WAS HERE. CALL ME. ANY HOUR. on it.
He put the note in the middle of the counter, looked around the kitchen one more time, and went back out the sliding door and around to the front of the house.
Cooper looked up at him, panting. He’d taken a giant shit on the grass.
Seth went through his pockets. He did not have a bag.
“Marcus is going to be so mad,” he said. He opened the Rover door and Cooper jumped in.