Free Blanco County 04 - Guilt Trip by Ben Rehder Page B

and there might be somebody else with copies now. Maybe some curious kid down at the one-hour shop made copies for his secret stash, loose ends we’d have to run down. The envelope, too, with the cancellation mark. Tells me where he mailed it from. Did he buy stamps at the counter? Maybe someone at the post office can help us out, for a price. Might even get a look at some video, if they’ve got cameras. That’s why I want to see the photos, Senator. Not for my own personal jollies, but to keep your dick out of a sling.”
    Little Joe let loose with a mean little giggle, and Buford could see the look in Herzog’s eyes changing as he revised his opinion of the both of them. Surprise. Maybe things are not what they seem.
    “You gotta realize,” Buford said, “I’m gonna see ‘em eventually anyway, right? I can’t get the negatives from this guy without seeing what they are, can I?”
    After a pause, Herzog dug into a desk drawer and came out with a manila envelope. “Please look at these later. I don’t want to see them again. And for God’s sake, don’t lose them.”
    Buford tucked the envelope into his jacket. “I understand your caller ID didn’t work out so well.”
    “If it did, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”
    The man was still a tad feisty. Pissed off because of Buford’s little speech. Buford wanted to turn Little Joe loose, let him bitchslap the man right across his capped teeth.
    Instead he said, “That’s ‘cause we’re dealing with a clever boy. What he did was, before he dialed your number, he dialed a code that blocks out caller ID.”
    Herzog didn’t looked particularly impressed, but he did ask, “How do you know that?”
    Buford grinned and retrieved some papers from his other coat pocket. “Trade secret.” He was tired of trying to impress this asshole. It had all been fairly simple anyway. He’d made a few calls, dangled the right amount of money in front of the right person, and just like that—phone records.
    Buford said, “The call came in at ten-oh-seven. That sound about right?”
    “Yes, that is correct.” The senator sounded like he was testifying in front of some damn committee.
    “Then answer me this,” Buford said, glancing up from the papers. “You know a man in Blanco County by the name of Phil Colby?”
    Herzog didn’t answer, because right then the good-looking gal came in with the coffee.

7
     
    BUFORD WASNT MUCH for gadgets, but a few years back he’d forced himself to learn how to operate a computer. He knew, in his line of work, it was a necessary evil. A person can find out all kinds of great shit on the computer. Most of it’s just right there in front of you, free for the taking. Tax rolls. Phone directories. Marriage and divorce records. Hell, even criminal records for a small fee. Poke around long enough, you can dig up dirt on just about anybody.
    Probably even a man named Phil Colby.
    Herzog had said the name sounded familiar but wasn’t able to place it. Not much help. So what Buford and Little Joe did, before they left Herzog’s office, they asked the secretary where the nearest quick-print shop was. A place where they could use a computer. She sent them down Lamar.
    Heading south, the top down, Buford was checking addresses, knowing they were getting close, while Little Joe opened the manila envelope. He gave a low whistle as he thumbed through the photographs. “Aw, man, you ain’t gonna believe this,” he said. Then he started laughing, excited as hell. “It’s her! Damn, take a look!”
    “Who?” Buford said, trying to sneak a peek without hitting some asshole on a bicycle.
    “The secretary!” Little Joe held one of the photographs out at arm’s length, studying it. “And check out this getup she’s wearing. My oh my.”
    But Buford saw the sign for the quick-copy and had to hit the brakes and pull in quick, someone honking behind him, Buford flipping the bird.
    Buford whipped it into a parking spot, killed the engine, and