Colcord glanced again at Cash, raising his eyebrows. He had had enough of this. This entire line of questioning was a waste of police resources and time. He just needed to get rid of Castillo. Get him out of Colorado. The man probably wasn’t a threat to society—at least when he wasn’t wrecking crime scenes—and prosecuting him would just occupy space on a judge’s busy docket. Space that was needed to prosecute real criminals. “Mr. Castillo, you are wasting our time.”
Castillo shifted in his chair, face unreadable.
“We can forget all about this,” said Colcord, “and decline to forward charges to the DA’s office if you’ll just go back to San Francisco and leave our investigation alone. How about that?”
Castillo didn’t respond immediately. Randall said quickly, “I advise you to accept the offer, Mr. Castillo.”
“Shut up, Randall,” Castillo said.
Randall’s face morphed into a mask of anger mixed with embarrassment.
Colcord sighed, holding up his fingers. “Choice one: Felony charges, bail, grand jury proceedings, hearings, trial, conviction, appeals, big-time legal fees. Choice two: Drive your rental car straight to the airport, get on a plane, and get the hell out of Colorado.”
There was a long silence. Castillo finally said, “All right. Fine. I’ll go back to San Francisco. Do I… have to sign anything?”
“Nope. Just leave.” Colcord turned to Cash. He could see she was irritated with him—but to hell with it; it had needed to be done. “Any objections?”
Cash drilled him with her eyes but did not respond.
“Very good.” Colcord turned to a deputy. “Please escort Mr. Castillo out—and do him the courtesy of driving him back to the location of his rental vehicle.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
Cash waited until they had left before clenching her fists in frustration and approaching Colcord, who had gotten up and was busy making some coffee. “So that’s it? Just give him the bum’s rush out of town? That guy was lying. He knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Maybe so, Cash,” he said, “but like I said from the beginning, he’s crazy. Aliens? Aliens don’t torture people with Spanish Inquisition contraptions. Aliens don’t feed their victims holy wafers and wine. Aliens don’t embalm people. We already know that four actual real human beings dressed in camo went up there and killed him. Their footprints were all over the crime scene.”
“Right, but there’s another possibility—that Grooms was killed by some alien conspiracy theorists looking for that artifact he supposedly found.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“No, it isn’t. There’s a whole movement out there of people and organizations investigating UFOs and extraterrestrial contact, and some are very serious and have deep pockets. I did some digging into the foundation he runs—Paradox. The one that Margie was transferring money to. It’s a legitimate, registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit with a board and an endowment, all aboveboard. Castillo’s the chair. These aren’t just a bunch of nutjobs. And the guy wrecked our crime scene. You’re gonna let him get away with that?”
“The scene was processed. Sure, we could have charged him, but to what end? And yeah, I hear you about the alien conspiracy angle, but we know where Castillo is and can always question him again.”
Cash shook her head.
Colcord gave her a conciliatory smile—she was a good agent, but sometimes she got sidetracked. “Cash, I respect your judgment. I appreciate your leadership in this case. I promise you, if something additional turns up to implicate him, we can always drag him back here and charge him.”
He busied himself with his espresso machine again, trying to hide his vexation. Cash’s insistence on following these dead ends was going to put them in the hot seat—he just knew it.
