“Yeah.” Darius pointed to a few of the posts. “On more than one occasion, he threatened her with sexual violence.”
Head shaking, Marcs read through his texts and online comments. “I’m having a hard time feeling bad about his being dead right now.”
“Oh, just wait.” He took the pages and turned to the relevant printout. “Shortly after Riggs lost his sponsorships, Watts began having conversations with someone using a VPN to conceal their location. The person, who calls himself Tiger889, openly talks about harming Sasha.”
“Are we sure that’s not just Riggs using a burner or something?”
Darius nodded. “They talk about Riggs in the third person. Watts calls him his ‘bro-man’ and ‘bruh’ and shit like that. He really talks Riggs up. It’s clear that Watts thought Riggs was some kind of a hero.”
“Can you track down this Tiger bastard?”
“I’m working on it, but my guess is that this is the man we’re looking for—the one who was in the driver’s seat.”
“Oh, look, they’re trying to speak in code.”
“Yes, cute, isn’t it? They started referring to ‘the project’ over and over again. That’s climber slang, but I’m also certain it refers to the attack on Sasha. Here, Tiger tells Watts that he’ll arrive that weekend. Then, the Saturday before the attack, he tells Watts he’s in Denver. They set up an in-person meeting, and that’s the last message.”
“So, they meet in person to work out the details, and the following Wednesday, they steal the SUV, wait for Sasha to take her bike ride, and strike.”
“That’s my guess.”
“But how did they know Sasha would be going for a bike ride at that time?”
“Social media.” Darius called up Sasha’s accounts on his laptop, pointed to the screen. “She told them herself.”
Darius would have to talk with Sasha about that.
“Shit.” Marcs handed the printouts back to Darius. “It’s clear Watts was guilty. He was in the truck. We have a trail of messages to this Tiger guy. We’re still looking for him. What do we know about him?”
“He’s more tech-savvy than Watts. He’s smarter. He doesn’t live around here. He must have driven or flown in from elsewhere. And we have a photo of him, taken from Taylor’s dashcam.”
“What about Riggs?”
“There’s a possibility he might not have known about their plans. Unfortunately, he complicated his situation when he sent that text message, warning Watts. I’m going to have a little chat with him now. Want to sit in?”
They walked together to the guard station, turned over their firearms, and asked for Riggs to be brought to one of the secure interview rooms.
Riggs shuffled in, wearing four-piece restraints and an orange jail uniform.
“You look like hell.” Darius wasn’t kidding.
Riggs clearly hadn’t slept worth a damn, his hair rumpled, his jaw dark with stubble. He was probably going through some kind of withdrawal, too, judging from the sweat on his forehead, the chemical scent emanating from his skin, and his pallor.
He glared at Darius. “You again. I thought you’d been shot.”
“Me again.” Darius sat across from him. “Iwasshot, but I was wearing body armor, so the rounds didn’t penetrate. Unfortunately, Kyle Watts didn’t make it. He died at the scene from gunshot wounds.”
Riggs was clearly shaken by this news, his eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t know he was going to shoot at people, or I wouldn’t have texted him. I just wanted him to come bail me out. I didn’t even know you wanted to arrest him.”
Darius wasn’t here to talk about that. He started with a welfare check. “Have you been getting meals?”
“If you can call the shit they serve here food.”
Darius wouldn’t argue. “Do you feel safe? Has anyone harassed you?”
“I’m fine. Why do you care?”
“He cares. Isn’t that enough?” Marcs interjected.
