by Lukens, Mark
“Yessss …” he whispered. “Daddy’s home.”
CHAPTER 19
Destin, Colorado
George Joekel was the snowplow driver for the town of Destin, Colorado. He’d been very busy these last two nights plowing the streets of the city and the roads of the suburban neighborhoods. He was a private contractor and he used a heavy-duty plow hooked up to the front of his massive Ford F350, which was equipped with giant snow tires. He was nowhere near done with the work of plowing the streets of Destin, and he’d only managed to catch about six hours of sleep in the last two days, but Sheriff Hadley had called him and told him to stop what he was doing and get on up to Route 217; he wanted him to start plowing south from Destin to an address he’d given to him—the address of a man named Tom Gordon. The sheriff also wanted George to plow the man’s driveway so emergency vehicles could get to a house fire.
George was on it.
He turned his F350 around and headed east towards Route 217, a county road that led down to the town of Cody’s Pass—the same town where the bank robbery had taken place. People had stayed indoors because of these massive storms, but also because of the news that these criminals were still on the run. And with how severe the weather had been in the last few days, it wasn’t that far-fetched to think that those criminals might still be here in the area, maybe holed up inside someone’s home and holding them hostage.
Maybe they were even at this Tom Gordon fella’s place that Sheriff Hadley wanted plowed so suddenly.
Route 217 was a winding pass through mountainous terrain—a strip of two lane road that stretched through the never-ending forest, and now it was completely covered with two and a half feet of snow. George hadn’t seen a snowstorm like this in decades.
It’s all because of this damn global warming, George liked to grumble to the other patrons at the bar, but his worn-out joke didn’t seem to amuse anyone anymore.
George made his living as a landscaper (among many other odd jobs) through the spring and summer, and he had a small crew of helpers. But when the first snows hit, his guys took unemployment from the state for the next few months and George went to work with his truck and plow. He was a one-man operation and he worked very hard to keep it that way. Keeping up with the demand always worried him; he felt sure that the county would eventually elect to hire a plow service from one of the neighboring counties, but he would try to hold on to this gig for as long as possible.
So that meant when Sheriff Hadley wanted a particular job done, George was on it. He still had three quarters of a tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, a thermos of black coffee, and the radio was blasting heavy metal rock n’ roll.
By the time he had plowed a decent path down the winding, remote road, he saw flashing lights in the misty white distance behind him. The cop cars and emergency vehicles planned on following him right to the source of this emergency.
And now he could see the spiral of smoke rising up above the trees ahead of him. George was betting the fire had started from either a Christmas tree or a space heater. He muttered a quick prayer that no one had been caught in the fire.
He slowed down as his older Garmin GPS unit that was stuck to his windshield with a suction cup told him he was approaching Tom Gordon’s driveway.
The driveway was much narrower than the county road. Tree branches scraped at the sides of his truck in some places as he pushed the snow to the sides of the driveway with his plow. The powerful motor in his truck growled and smoke poured out of the dual exhaust, clouding up behind him.
The driveway plowed just as easily as the road … no rocks or large tree branches in the way, thank God. Fallen tree branches snapping off from the wind or weight of the snow were pretty common in his line of work. He emerged out of the woods into a field that had to be at least ten acres … and there was the cabin in the middle of the field. It was still on fire. The front porch was partially collapsed and part of the roof was caved in near the back of the cabin. A free-standing garage with a pickup truck parked in front of it was far enough away to have escaped the flames, but much of the snow on the garage and nearly all of the snow on the pickup truck had melted away from the heat of the fire.
George hadn’t expected to see a young man sitting on a snowmobile in front of the garage waiting for them. But what surprised him even more were the burnt bodies on the front porch—two on the floorboards, and one in the doorway to the home.
But he kept on with his job; he kept plowing a path for the sheriff’s car and the fire truck and the ambulance, creating a large area so the vehicles could park, even getting as close to the front of the cabin as he could so the fire truck could pull right up in front of it.
The emergency vehicles pulled up in front of the cabin as George continued making pass after pass, creating an impromptu parking lot for them in the front field.
When he was done, he pulled up near the sheriff’s car. The sheriff was already rolling down his window.
“You need me to plow some more here?” George asked him.
“No, I think that’s good for now, George.”
“You want me to keep on plowing down Route 217 to Cody’s Pass? I mean I can do that, but I still got a lot of neighborhoods in town to do.”
“I know. Don’t worry about the rest of 217. Freddie’s got some guys plowing the streets in Cody’s Pass. I’m sure they’ll get on up here eventually. Go ahead and get back to town. Make sure you make the pass wider on the way back so these vehicles have an easier time getting back to town.”
“You got it, Sheriff.”
The sheriff got out of his car, but George hadn’t pulled away just yet, hesitating for a moment. He was still leaning out of his truck window, the motor of his truck rumbling. “Are those bodies on the front porch?” he asked. “I thought I saw—”
“I haven’t had a chance to look at things yet,” the sheriff said. “I’m sure you got a lot of work to do.”
George knew when he was being brushed off. He rolled up his window and turned his truck around, heading back for the driveway.
CHAPTER 20
Tom Gordon’s Cabin
Sheriff Hadley watched George leave. He was sure the man would be spinning some yarns at the bar tonight for sure.
The firefighters already had their hoses out and they were blasting the flames with water. The sheriff decided to stay out of their way for now. He headed over to the kid who waited patiently on his snowmobile by the open door of the garage. The walking was pretty smooth across the “parking area” that George had created for them, but he had to step over mounds of snow at the edge of the cleared area and then trudge through the knee-high snow to get to the kid, who had gotten off his snowmobile to meet him halfway.
“Travis Conrad,” the kid said like he could see the sheriff was struggling to recall his name. “I played football with your son in high school.”
The sheriff nodded. “You called this in?”
“My mom did. She saw the smoke in the sky and I came down here to check it out in case someone needed help.”
“I appreciate that,” the sheriff said as he glanced over at the firefighters blasting the burning logs with the fire hoses. It already looked like they were getting a lot of the fire under control.
Deputy Ann Burnette, who had followed the sheriff up here, walked up to them from her squad car. She stood a few feet behind the sheriff, just listening.
“There are some dead bodies on the front porch,” Travis said, turning the sheriff’s attention back to him.
“I saw them when I drove in,” the sheriff said.
Travis nodded. “It was easier to see them before more of that porch roof collapsed. I saw three bodies. Maybe even four.”
While you were trampling around the crime scene, Sheriff Hadley thought as he looked at the obvious foot traffic through the snow in front of the garage and down the side of the house through the snow.
Travis followed the sheriff’s eyes. “I wanted to make sure nobody was around,�
� he explained. “I checked the garage. Checked the back of the cabin. There’s a vehicle back there. It was on fire, but I …” He hesitated like he didn’t want to incriminate himself.
“It’s okay, son. Tell me what you did.”
“I found a fire extinguisher in the garage and I put the fire out. Shoveled some snow on it, too. But I tried to stay clear of the cabin. I didn’t want to mess up any of the other tracks.”
“There were other tracks in the snow when you got here?”
“Oh yeah. All over the place.”
The sheriff looked back at the massive parking lot George had created and was now regretting that he had okayed it. He and Deputy Burnette glanced at each other for a moment.
“There were all kinds of footprints all around the house,” Travis continued. “Like someone had walked all the way around it. And someone drove a snowmobile out of here.”
This snapped the sheriff’s attention back to Travis.
“I checked the garage,” Travis continued. “You could tell there was a snowmobile in there. There’s a tarp on the floor.”
“You saw the tracks the snowmobile made?” Sheriff Hadley asked. The tracks in the driveway would be wiped out now from the plow and all of their vehicles.
“Yes, sir,” Travis answered.
“You saw them beyond the driveway?”
“Yes, sir. They go south.”
The sheriff thought about that for a moment.
“And that vehicle around back, I don’t think it’s Mr. Gordon’s truck. If it is, he must’ve just bought it. It’s an SUV. A Chevy Suburban. White. I can tell because the front of it didn’t get burnt yet. There’s a New Mexico plate on the front.”
The sheriff turned to his deputy. “I need you to get on the horn. Get Ronnie up here with a truck and his snowmobile.”
“Right away, Sheriff,” she said and hurried back to her car.
The road down to Cody’s Pass was too bad to follow the snowmobile tracks in his car. He thought about turning George Joekel around, but he would wipe out the snowmobile tracks with his plow. No, he would wait for Ronnie to get up here with the snowmobile so he could follow the tracks down to Cody’s Pass. When she came back, he would tell Deputy Burnette to call Freddie down in Cody’s Pass and make sure he and his men kept an eye out for possible suspects on a snowmobile.
The sheriff turned back to Travis. “The snowmobile tracks on 217 … you didn’t drive over them on your way here, did you?”
“No, of course not.” Travis managed to look a little offended at the sheriff’s question and possible assumption.
Sheriff Hadley sighed. “Okay. Let’s go see this truck around back that you’re talking about.”
They walked along the same beaten-down path through the snow that Travis had made in his several trips back and forth from the back of the cabin to the garage. The walking was a little easier now that there was a path and their boots crunched along the packed-down snow. A few moments later Sheriff Hadley saw the half-burnt Chevy Suburban.
“I’m sorry, sheriff, if I did something wrong,” Travis said.
“No, you did okay, Travis. You might’ve actually saved some evidence by putting that fire out.”
Travis couldn’t help beaming with pride.
Deputy Ann Burnette hurried up to them through the snow. “Ronnie’s on his way.”
“Good. I need you to get some photos of this vehicle.”
Deputy Burnette pulled out her digital camera from a coat pocket and started snapping pictures.
The sheriff walked several yards out in front of the burnt Suburban to keep out of the overspray of water from the firefighters. Travis followed him.
“I think it’s the bank robbers’ vehicle,” Travis said in an excited voice.
The sheriff could tell Travis had been busy working on his theory while waiting for him and the firefighters to arrive. The boy seemed like he couldn’t wait to tell someone all about it.
“I think they ditched their getaway car here,” Travis continued on. “Then I think they stole Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile and headed south. I think one or two of them killed the others, took all the money and ran.”
The sheriff didn’t answer Travis.
“Deputy,” the sheriff said to Ann Burnette. “Run these plates on the truck. Then get on the horn again and alert Freddie down in Cody’s Pass to be on the lookout for these guys.”
As the deputy hurried back to her car, the sheriff wondered why these bank robbers would head right back to the same town where they’d committed their crime.
CHAPTER 21
Iron Springs, New Mexico
Palmer slept in a little later than he usually did; daylight was already filtering in around through the drapes over the windows. He jumped up and grabbed his cell phone to see what time it was. After putting on his pants, he slid his shoes on and laced them up quickly. He opened the bedroom door and listened for a moment.
The house was dark and quiet.
He slipped out into the hall and used the bathroom out there.
Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and had his duffel bag with him. This time when he stepped out into the hallway the smell of coffee hit him right away and he saw the glow of light coming from down the hall.
He walked down the hall, crossed the living room and stepped into the kitchen. Captain Begay and his wife Angie sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee. Begay was already dressed in his “uniform,” which consisted of faded blue jeans and a thick flannel shirt.
“I made some toast,” Angie told Palmer. “There’s butter on the table. We have peanut butter and jelly if you want some.”
“Thank you.”
“I can fry up a few eggs if you’d like,” she offered.
“No, please … don’t go to all that trouble. Toast and coffee will be just fine.”
Palmer sat down at the table and ate two pieces of toast topped with what seemed like some kind of homemade jam and butter. He washed it down with two cups of strong black coffee.
After Palmer finished eating, Angie filled his thermos with coffee for the road.
“Thank you,” he told her.
She smiled at him and nodded.
Palmer looked at Begay. “I should get going.”
A moment later Palmer grabbed his duffel bag and thermos, and then he went outside. He walked across the driveway and opened the passenger door of his rental car and set his bag and thermos inside, then he took his cell phone out of his pocket and walked down the driveway a little. He dialed Alonzo Johnson’s number, the lead forensics investigator at the dig site. Alonzo had nothing new to report. He gave Palmer Susan Dorsett’s number—she was still working at the crime scene in town.
He dialed Susan’s number and told her he would be there soon to meet with her.
“We’ve found some … some very puzzling things,” she told him.
“What kind of things?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” she said. “It would be easier to show you.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Probably within the hour.”
Palmer hung up and turned around. Captain Begay was standing right behind him. Palmer hadn’t even heard the big man sneak up behind him. Begay had a stoic expression on his face, but Palmer could’ve sworn he saw some kind of vindication on the man’s face, like he already knew that more strange facts about this case were going to surface soon.
“I’d like to go with you to John and Deena’s house,” Begay told him. It didn’t sound like a request.
Palmer was going to tell him no, but he hesitated.
“I know we had to ask you guys here for the bodies in the cave, but John and Deena were our people. They were my responsibility.”
“I think their case is going to fall under the same one as the cave,” Palmer told him. “It seems like it might be the same killers.”
Begay didn’t say anything—he just stared at Palmer, waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” Palmer said. “
Just you. None of your other men right now.”
Begay nodded like that was good enough for him.
“I’ll follow you to the house,” Palmer told him.
CHAPTER 22
John and Deena’s house
Palmer pulled his black rental car in behind the captain’s Bronco at the side of the road across the street from John and Deena’s house, just like he had done yesterday. A Navajo Tribal Police vehicle was parked on the side of the road in front of the house, not too far from the driveway, and a forensics van was parked in the driveway.
Palmer got out of his car into the cold morning air. The sun was peeking up over the mesas in the east, providing light but not much warmth. Palmer shrugged into his coat and slipped his hands into a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Begay, seemingly impervious to the cold, walked up to him. They walked to the house together; one of Begay’s officers waited for them by the front door. The officer nodded at them as they entered the house.
“Ms. Dorsett?” Palmer called out when he stepped into the living room.
“Back here,” the woman replied. “In the bedroom.”
Palmer and Begay started to walk towards the hallway that led back to the bedrooms, but Susan was already hurrying down the hall. She met them at the end of it. She was a small, thin woman with straight hair dyed bleach-blond. She wore a pair of thin-framed glasses on her angular face. She looked stern, her thin lips pressed together in a line. She looked like someone who might run triathlons, Palmer thought. She seemed like she was disciplined, all business, not much of a sense of humor. But then again, the line of work she and he were in could sap a person’s sense of humor after a while.
“Special Agent Palmer,” he introduced himself to Susan Dorsett. “And this is Captain Begay of the Navajo Tribal Police.”
She nodded at them. “Please, call me Susan.” She didn’t offer them a hand in greeting, and neither did they.
