“I’m actually looking for stolen property taken recently from a home in Kanab.”
“Never known feds to have any interest in monitoring pawn shops.”
“Usually we don’t, but this one’s a bit complicated.”
Books opened a file folder and showed her photographs of the missing artifacts and jewelry. “Have you seen any of these items in the past day or two?”
She glanced at the photos. “Matter of fact, I have. And just this morning, too.”
“What time?”
“I open at nine o’clock. I’d say the kid came in around nine-ten, nine-fifteen, maybe.”
Books glanced at his watch. “Do you know who he was?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Never seen him before.”
“Which items was he trying to sell?”
She pointed to a turquoise squash-blossom necklace and a pair of matching turquoise earrings.
“Describe him for me, would you?”
“Sure. Navajo kid—early twenties, I’d say, dark brown hair, medium height and build.”
“Was there anything unusual about him such as scars, tattoos, or body piercings?”
“Nothing I recall.”
“I take it you didn’t buy,” said Books. “How come?”
“Frankly, the kid didn’t look like he had a pot to piss in. I been at this a long time, Ranger Books, and, after a while, you develop a sixth sense about this kind of stuff. When I started asking him questions about the origin of the pieces, he picked them up pronto and headed out the door.”
“You didn’t happen to see a vehicle or get a name, did you?”
“Nothin’ on the car. I asked him his name and he said it was Sammy Yazzie, but I wouldn’t take that to the bank.”
Books gave her his business card, and she promised to call if the suspect returned. From the Tahoe, Books ran the name Sammy Yazzie through NCIC and came up empty. When he accessed DMV records in New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah, he found five individuals with the name Sammy Yazzie. Three had driver’s licenses in the state of New Mexico. The other two were licensed in Arizona. Unfortunately, none of the subjects had a birth date that put them into the age group May Flagg had described.
Chapter Eight
The Page Community Bank was located in another strip mall on the other end of town. Books hoped the bank’s surveillance tape would provide a good look at whoever had made the ATM withdrawals. He discovered the ATM in a vestibule at the front entrance to the bank. The area was well lit, good for the quality of the tape. He feared he was going to hear the dreaded subpoena word, a potential glitch that would cost him precious time he could ill afford to lose.
Books was ushered into a small, cramped office and introduced to Jennifer DiJulio, the bank manager. DiJulio barely glanced up from a stack of documents she was busily signing and wasted little time on small talk.
“My secretary tells me you’re interested in viewing surveillance tape of our ATM transactions. I have privacy concerns about that. Did you happen to bring a subpoena with you?” She continued signing documents as she spoke.
“I only learned about the existence of the tape this morning,” said Books, “and time, I’m afraid, is something I have very little of.”
“I’m sorry officer, but bank policy…”
Books interrupted. “Lives are at stake here, Jennifer, and the time it would take me to obtain the subpoena you require might mean people are going to die. I really need your help. Can’t you dispense, just this once, with bank policy? A bank manager in Kanab just did.”
Now he had her full attention. She set her pen down and sat up straighter in her chair. “Do you mind telling me what this is about and why you want to see the tape?”
DeJulio listened attentively as Books filled her in. When he finished, she excused herself and huddled with her secretary. Moments later, she returned.
“Ranger Books, given what you’ve just told me, I think we have an obligation to cooperate with you. Brenda, my secretary, will arrange for you to view the tape. You can use our conference room. Understand that I won’t be able to turn the tape over to you until you get me a subpoena. Would that be satisfactory?”
Books felt relieved. “Absolutely. Thank you very much.”
The surveillance tape showed the same individual, a rail-thin, white male, dressed in camouflage military fatigues, making both withdrawals minutes apart. It was impossible to see his face because he wore sunglasses and a round, floppy hat.
Books was disappointed not to see Rolly or Abby Rogers at either the ATM machine or with unknown Navajo male from the pawn shop. He wasn’t sure what to make of this new development, but he didn’t like it. The investigation had taken a new and worrisome turn. They now had a second suspect and nothing to substantiate whether the Rogerses were still alive.
***
Books hurried back to Kanab, stopping for a late lunch at the Ranch Inn & Café. The owners, Rusty and Dixie Steed, were fourth-generation Kanab residents who had always treated Books well, despite their general disdain for the federal government. Books had learned that the restaurant, because of its predominant local clientele, was a good place to troll for information.
He took his usual seat at the front counter, nodding a greeting to Rusty, who stood nearby folding paper napkins around silverware. The lunch hour was long over and the restaurant was nearly empty. “Coffee, J.D.?”
“I think just water today, Rusty. I’m dehydrated, and I’ve already had enough caffeine to float a battleship.”
Steed set the glass of water on the counter. “Know what you want to eat?”
“The usual.”
“One turkey, bacon, and avocado sandwich coming up.”
When Steed returned with his sandwich, Books ate while the two men talked.
“What’s the scuttlebutt about the Rogers case?” Books asked.
Steed stopped what he was doing, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the stool next to Books. “It’s what you might expect—shock, anger, sorrow—the full gambit of emotions. And while nobody is saying anything out loud, there’s probably a healthy dose of fear among the collectors that maybe they’ll be next.”
“You think that’ll put a damper on the digging?”
“Maybe temporarily, until you guys find out what happened. But in the long run, I doubt it. The serious hunters will probably take more precautions and become increasingly suspicious of anybody approaching them at dig sites.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“I’d expect them to become more aggressive, making sure everybody in their party is armed, start posting lookouts so they’re not caught by surprise when people approach. It’s bound to become more dangerous for folks like you who are out to stop them.”
“That’s not terribly comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Just watch your ass out there.”
Good advice, Books thought.
“Collectors can be jealous, competitive types. Did Rolly have anyone he didn’t get along with—somebody who might want to do him harm?”
Steed didn’t hesitate. “Naw, you’re barking up the wrong tree on that one, J.D. Everybody liked Abby and Rolly.”
“Well, somebody apparently didn’t.”
“Trust me. Once this gets sorted out, you’ll find that the people responsible were complete strangers to the Rogers.”
Books wasn’t so sure. “Time will tell. Will you keep me posted if you hear anything?”
“You can count on it. And you know, J.D., you ought to talk to Ned about all this. He’s the resident expert on artifacts collecting and grave diggers.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Rusty.”
***
Books hooked up with Beth Tanner at the sheriff’s off
ice. Tanner had been busy interviewing friends, family, and coworkers of the missing couple and was up to her neck writing reports.
“Hey, deputy, you’re looking a little busy there.”
Tanner glanced up from the computer screen and managed a grunt. “They don’t tell you about all this report-writing crap in the academy. Each time I interview somebody, I have to document it. It’s really boring.”
“Welcome to the real world of law enforcement. What have you found out?”
“I spoke with all four of the victim’s children as well as two of Rolly’s three siblings. Basically, the family seems solid and they all seemed genuinely distraught. The only note of discord I could find concerned a daughter and son-in-law in Salt Lake City who are constantly in financial trouble.”
“What’s the problem there?”
“They borrow money from Mom and Dad at every turn. There’s no way to tell whether the parents are upset, but the other siblings are seriously pissed at what they see as greedy, irresponsible behavior.”
“It doesn’t seem like we’re going to find any family members with motive.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about the family estate? Is there a will or maybe a trust?”
“There is. The eldest son, who’s a bank executive in Provo, is the executor of the family estate. He referred me to a local attorney who prepared both a will and trust. His name is Ed Rollins. I’ve called him, but so far he hasn’t returned my call.”
“It sounds like the family angle will turn out to be a bust, but we need to speak to Mr. Rollins anyway. It never hurts to find out which family members stand to gain financially in the event of a death.”
“I don’t think it will get us anywhere, either, but I’ll stay with it.”
Books reported on his trip to Page. He told Tanner about the surveillance video from the bank and shared the information about the unknown Navajo man who had attempted to sell the jewelry at the Page pawn shop.
“What do you make of all this, J.D.?”
“I wish I knew. We don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet. What I do know is that we need to find this Navajo guy, whoever he is. In fact, I think it would be a good idea to get a sketch artist to sit down with the pawn shop proprietor so that we can get something visual into circulation. I’m just not sure where we find a sketch artist in these parts.”
“I’ll ask Charley. He’ll know.”
“Okay. In the meantime, there are a couple of more things you can do. First, get a hold of the DA, Virgil Bell, and tell him we’re going to need a subpoena for the surveillance tape held by the Page Community Bank. Then check with the local LDS Church bishop and find out if anyone matching the description of our Navajo suspect happens to attend the ward. Also make the same inquiry with the town market where Abby works.”
“You’re thinking the Navajo man might have been acquainted with the Rogers.”
“It’s possible.”
“Alright. And while I’m at it, I’ll get back in touch with Melissa Esplin and see if she knows anything about this Navajo kid.”
“Good idea. Now you’re thinking like an experienced cop.” said Books.
She smiled.
“First thing in the morning, I’ll be headed to St. George with a stop at the crime scene for another look around. It turns out Page is a one horse town when it comes to pawn shops. That won’t be the case in St. George. I’ll catch up with you later in the day.”
“What about the guy in the camouflage fatigues. How does he fit into all this?”
“Not sure. It’s possible the Navajo and this guy are working together as a team. What really worries me is that the Rogers may have run across a group of militia types—outdoor survivalists who poach and have become adept at living off the land. Some of those boys can be downright dangerous.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“Me, too, Beth, me, too.”
Chapter Nine
Books saw Charley Sutter in the parking lot as he left the sheriff’s office. The sheriff was not a happy camper.
“What’s up, Charley?”
“The Rogers family is out there running all over hell’s creation looking for their folks, the damn fools. They’re disorganized, ill-equipped, and mostly without leadership. If they keep at it, I’m sure one of the dumb bastards will end up lost and Mohave County will have to mount a search and rescue operation of their own.”
“The good news is that if it happens, it won’t be your headache. Did you happen to talk with them about staying away from the crime scene? I plan to be out there again early tomorrow morning.”
“I did, but there’s really not much I can do. It’s not my jurisdiction, and they know it. Unfortunately, local sentiment seems to be laying the blame on my department for not finding Rolly and Abby. It’s very frustrating.”
Books gave him an update on the investigation and complimented the work of his newest deputy.
“I sensed when we hired her that she’d be a real go-getter,” said Sutter. “Glad to hear she’s pulling her weight. I’ll see what I can do to find you a sketch artist who might be willing to travel to Page and work something up with the pawn store operator.”
Books hopped in the Tahoe. “Appreciate that, Charley. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Please do.”
Since his return to Kanab the previous summer, Books had managed to forge a workable, if at times, uneasy relationship with Charley Sutter. This occurred despite the sheriff’s constantly having to pay homage to the local political establishment, a constituency so anti-federal government and so far removed from the political mainstream that they made Sarah Palin look like a left-wing liberal. Books was surprised that he and Sutter were able to set their differences aside and focus on getting a job done. But they’d managed it, and Books had developed a grudging admiration for the old sheriff.
It was getting dark by the time Books eased the Tahoe down a gravel road past a sign that read Case Cattle Company. The Triple C brand was well known in the area, because it remained one of the few viable cattle operations in the county and because Doug Case owned it. Case happened to be his sister Maggie’s father-in-law. He also owned the local John Deere franchise and chaired the powerful Kane County Commission.
Maggie had invited him and his girlfriend, Rebecca Eddins, to dinner. He had arrived ahead of Becky. From what he could tell, Becky’s solo law practice was doing quite well. It was a general practice and she focused primarily on family law—juvenile court, divorce, child custody, that sort of thing. He parked the Tahoe in the gravel circular driveway next to the main ranch house and invited himself in.
“That you, Bobby?” he heard Maggie shout from the kitchen.
“It’s me, sis. Where is that lazy brother-in-law of mine, anyway?”
Maggie walked over and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “Who knows? Lately, it seems like he disappears off the planet and I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s doing or who he’s with.”
“Well, Mags, you know how boys are. Sometimes we just have to retreat to our caves for a while.”
“I guess so. I’m running a little behind. Would you mind setting the table for me?”
“Glad to. Are we eating inside or out?”
Before Maggie could answer, Becky Eddins shouted from the front door. “Outside, I hope. It’s going to be a beautiful spring evening.”
“Outside it shall be,” said Books, “if that’s okay with you, sis.”
“Absolutely,” Maggie answered.
A half-hour later, Books and Maggie sipped cold Miller MGDs outside under the portico while Becky enjoyed a chilled glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. They still hadn’t heard anything from Bobby, not so much as a phone call, and Maggie had grown irritated with him. Dinner was almost ready and Bo
oks’ two young nephews, Chad and Jeff, prowled the kitchen like vultures circling a dead carcass.
“I’m going to go ahead and feed the boys. They’ll be happy to eat at the kitchen counter,” said Maggie. “We can finish our drinks and then bring our food out here.”
“Great,” Books said. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“Nothing fancy. I’ve had a pork roast cooking in the crock pot, and Becky brought a loaf of French bread and a scrumptious looking salad.”
“Um,” said Books. “Beef, it’s what’s for dinner.”
The two women glanced at each other smiling, “You do a poor Sam Elliott impression,” said Maggie. “Besides, he’s a lot better looking than you are.”
“What do you mean? He’s an old geezer,” protested Books.
“All old geezers should look that good,” said Becky.
“I’ll drink to that.” Maggie raised her glass in a mock salute.
The dinner conversation focused on the status of the ongoing Rogers investigation as well as the revelation that Bernie had been diagnosed with colon cancer. That news shocked Becky, who expressed her sympathy and asked if there was anything she could do. Maggie thanked her but explained that there was little anyone could do for the time being.
After dinner they sat quietly enjoying the last minutes of daylight as the sun disappeared over the western horizon, casting the mountains peaks below in jagged, black shadows. The women had donned sweaters as the gathering darkness brought an evening chill. Becky continued drinking the Chardonnay while Maggie and Books sipped shots of Crown Royal Reserve. The bourbon warmed them. When it was time to leave, Becky wrapped herself around Books in a full body press and whispered in his ear. He returned the hug and told her he’d come by as soon as he had a chance to talk with Maggie. Becky thanked Maggie and left to pick up her young son, Cody, at the home of her parents.
“I don’t mean to pry, sis, but I can tell you’re upset with Bobby. Can I help with anything?”
“Probably not, but thanks for asking. Frankly, I’m not sure what to think. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. He’s become increasingly aloof, disappears at times without explanation. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s having an affair.”
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