Rob Thy Neighbor

by David Thurlo

  “Who knows? Let’s put it back in the refrigerator, then Google for advice on the way to the ER,” Gina suggested. “But hurry. I told Margaret I’d stick with her at the hospital, and you two will need to get back here ASAP to talk to the detectives. They can get my statement later.” Gina, as an attorney, was very familiar with law enforcement requirements during an investigation.

  Charlie looked over at the EMTs, who’d already checked Margaret’s vitals and applied more bandages and were waiting for an ambulance to transport their patient.

  “Gordon, you got into action first and had already disarmed one of the bad guys by the time I arrived,” Charlie suggested. “Why don’t you stay here with Nancy and Sam and get the ball rolling with the cops? I’ll take Gina to the hospital, then return to give my statement.”

  “Okay, guys, now that we have a plan, let’s get this stuff inside before it starts to draw more than just flies,” Gina said. “Oh, and Gordon, make sure to sign over my handgun to the crime scene techs. They’ll probably need to keep it for a while. I’ll leave it on the breakfast counter.”

  Five minutes later, Charlie and Gina were in his purple Dodge Charger, driving southwest from Albuquerque’s east side toward Saint Mark’s Hospital, which was located downtown. The ambulance was already on the way, but there was no real emergency, so Charlie didn’t push the speed.

  After more than one experience as an armed civilian involved in a shooting, Charlie knew the procedure by now and was glad that it was Gina’s pistol changing hands and not his own. Gina had fired her weapon, so the crime team would need to examine and process the handgun. Fortunately, he had his concealed carry permit and the Beretta 92 9 mm in the car at the moment. There was no reason to suspect he or Gina was in any danger, except for the fact that he and Margaret were the only witnesses who’d actually gotten a look at the shooter’s face, and the bad guys were still on the loose.

  “Hey, Gina, does Saint Mark’s security know that Margaret can probably identify her shooter? He wasn’t wearing his ski mask when he fired those shots,” Charlie said as they stopped at a red light. “She should have protection.”

  “You’re right. Margaret mentioned yanking away his cap. She also thinks she scratched his face, so they might be able to get DNA from beneath her nails. I passed that info along to Nancy over the phone, and she promised to give them a call. Did you hear if Sam also got a look at the perp?” Gina responded.

  “No, but I sure did,” Charlie said. “Dark-haired Anglo male in his late twenties, brown eyes, and a scar or mark above his left eyebrow. Maybe from that scratch. I could pick him out of a lineup.”

  “Well, two witnesses are better than one. You think that’ll make you a target too?” Gina ventured.

  “It depends on how worried this shooter is about getting busted. If this wasn’t his first crime, he might have a record,” he answered. “And they were trying to hide their faces…”

  “I hope whoever gets the case can track down these felons before they strike again. There have been several home invasion incidents the past few months. On the phone just now, Nancy said some have involved three perps, like today,” Gina pointed out.

  “Does she know who’s working these cases?” Charlie asked, slowing to take the next corner. He could see the hospital now, standing fifteen stories high just off Central Avenue and nearly alongside the interstate just east of Albuquerque’s Downtown district.

  “Didn’t have time to ask. You hoping it’s Detective DuPree? He is a good cop, and he knows all of us.”

  Charlie shrugged. “That’s for sure, but…”

  “He might not be so happy to see you or Gordon again so soon. That what you’re saying?” Gina couldn’t help but smile as she looked over at him.

  “Something like that. No, exactly like that.” Charlie nodded. “We’ve got a history with that guy. Now, before we get to the ER, what else was Margaret able to tell you about the break-in before the medics took over?”

  Chapter Two

  Gina was used to cutting to the chase. “Margaret was in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch, while Sam was putting a movie into the home theater system. Someone knocked at the front door, and Sam opened it up automatically. Margaret heard a scuffle and stepped into the hall to see what was going on. Three armed men with masks were manhandling Sam, and when they saw her, one of them pointed a gun and motioned for her to join them in the living room. Another turned up the TV sound, grabbed her purse off the bench in the entryway, and put it into one of those canvas grocery bags. Then he pushed her toward the bedroom, ordering her to fill the bag with her watch and jewelry.”

  “They were already wearing gloves, right?”

  Gina nodded. “Yes, I asked her about that. She emptied her costume jewelry from one of those standing jewelry cabinets and put it in the bag. The robber then pushed her back into the living room, where one of the others grabbed the bag and added Sam’s cell phone, wallet, and watch.”

  “What about their wedding rings? I noticed Margaret still had a big diamond on her ring finger,” Charlie pointed out.

  “Don’t know. Maybe they didn’t notice that or her earrings, which she was also still wearing. I’m sure the detectives will ask.”

  “So what about Sam?”

  “They’d taped his wrists together by the time Margaret was led back into the living room. One of the robbers who’d been with Sam ordered the other two to take Sam to the van. Then he grabbed Margaret by the arm. When he started to push her into the bedroom again, Sam yelled and broke free for a second. Margaret screamed and grabbed at the guy’s ski mask, scratching and trying to poke him in the eyes. The mask came off, apparently. She kicked him in the groin and ran through the kitchen and out the back door, heading for the back gate and the alley.”

  “That’s when he started shooting,” Charlie concluded.

  Gina nodded. “Any more details than that, we’ll find out later, I guess,” she said, looking out the window toward the emergency room entrance as Charlie maneuvered the Dodge into the visitor lot. It was Sunday afternoon, and there were a few empty slots.

  “I’ll stay here so I can keep watch over Margaret. I doubt she’ll be needing surgery, but I’m not a doctor, so I’ll have to wait and see what they say. You have to go back to the crime scene to be interviewed by the investigating officers,” Gina reminded Charlie, stepping up and out of the low-slung Charger.

  “I’ll walk you in,” Charlie said, joining up with her as she came around to the front of the car. “How will you get home? Nancy?”

  “Yeah, unless she’s immediately assigned to the case. Right now she’s working burglary out of downtown and is supposed to be off today, but that can change depending on department needs,” Gina said, picking up the pace as they reached the wide sidewalk leading to the emergency entrance.

  Saint Mark’s was a massive dark red, almost purple brick and stone structure built in the late forties or early fifties. Charlie remembered it from his childhood, when his grandparents had been patients at the diabetes treatment center. An impressive structure to someone who’d never stood next to a building more than a few stories high while growing up on the Rez, Saint Mark’s still looked the same in his eyes, at least from the outside.

  A half hour later, Charlie walked up the sidewalk to the Randals’ home, having parked at Nancy and Gina’s and come around the end of the block. The street now had orange traffic cones restricting access. The RV-sized Albuquerque Police Department Crime Lab unit was parked at the curb along with three APD police cruisers and an unmarked detective vehicle with a code number Charlie recognized. He’d already learned, via a phone call from Nancy while en route, that Detective DuPree was the investigating officer.

  He’d reached the yellow crime scene tape that further defined the area of focus when a familiar-looking uniformed officer came over to greet him.

  “Mr. Henry, glad you’re here. Looks like you’ve walked into another one.” Officer Roseberg greeted him with a smile. “
You fire any weapons this time?” The young, slender officer, who’d met Charlie during an investigation last year, held out his hand hesitantly.

  “No such luck,” Charlie replied, shaking his hand. Unlike many traditionalists in the tribe who didn’t like touching strangers, Charlie now was a merchant, half owner of FOB Pawn, and every greeting or transaction began or ended with a handshake.

  “Detective DuPree inside?” Charlie nodded toward the front door.

  “He said to send you right in,” Roseberg replied, holding up the yellow tape so Charlie could duck under.

  “Thanks, I think,” Charlie said, then strode up the narrow walkway. He recognized DuPree’s monotone voice immediately, an affectation that Charlie suspected was meant to disarm his subjects, suggesting he was just going through the motions and not really paying attention.

  Actually, DuPree was quite good at getting answers from the lower-IQ criminals who’d managed to get caught. Charlie’s dad, Al senior, was a retired lawyer and tribal judge, and had advised his children many times in their youth not to be stupid enough to commit a crime.

  “About time you showed up, Henry,” came a familiar voice. The sandy-haired detective, about Charlie’s height and weight but with a lower center of gravity, stepped out onto the covered porch, this time wearing a wrinkled cotton shirt and blue APD windbreaker instead of his checkered tan sports jacket. It was a hot summer.

  “How’s Mrs. Randal doing?” DuPree asked, holding out his hand for a quick shake.

  “She got lucky with the bullet scratch and should recover completely, according to what I heard, except for a nice scar. The doctors want to keep her overnight,” Charlie replied, following the detective into the living room and directing his last sentence to Sam Randal, who was seated on the sofa.

  “Thank God!” Sam replied. “Gina was going to call and let me know.”

  “Gina thought she should wait until the interviews here were completed,” Charlie explained, looking over at DuPree, who nodded, then at Gordon, who winked. His longtime friend and business partner was standing in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, watching two of the crime scene team at work.

  “I’ll be going to Saint Mark’s when I’m done here to get Mrs. Randal’s statement, but right now I need to talk to you, Charlie, and Mr. Sweeney.” DuPree paused, then turned to Sam. “Mr. Randal, I’m done with you for a moment, so I need you to step into the bedroom or maybe out back while I interview these witnesses. Just don’t go off the property or talk to anyone other than my people. That includes using your phone. Once we’re done here, you can go join your wife.”

  “I understand,” Sam said, rising to his feet but wavering slightly.

  DuPree reached out and steadied the man with a hand on his shoulder. “You sure you don’t need to see a doctor, Mr. Randal?”

  “Oh no! I’m still a little shaken up, that’s all,” the man said. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me for anything.”

  Gordon came over, passing by Sam and giving him a nod.

  DuPree motioned toward the sofa with a wave of his left hand. “Normally I’d separate you two, but you seem to feed on each other in a positive way, and by now I know I can trust you both. Take a seat and tell me what you heard, saw, and basically what happened this afternoon, starting with you, Sweeney. You were the first person to come upon the scene here, right?” DuPree asked, choosing the empty armchair for himself.

  “Right, DuPree,” Gordon answered, coffee cup in hand. “But Charlie was actually the first to get involved. How about we go back and forth with the sequence of events so it’ll make sense, then you get into the specifics?”

  “Whatever, but I’m going to write it up separately. You guys are pains in the ass, but at least you get the facts straight and pay attention to details,” DuPree said, shaking his head. “You first, then, Charlie.”

  It took almost an hour before the interview concluded and Detective DuPree left for the hospital to speak to Margaret Randal. By then, Charlie had learned how Gordon had disarmed the perp who’d fired the shot that hit the woman, and his buddy’s evaluation of the man’s martial arts skills, which were, in Gordon’s words, pretty damned good but not derived from military training. The implication was that the guy was probably their leader, and also a serious student of the discipline with at least a few years of experience in a martial arts program.

  DuPree appeared to take that evaluation seriously and hoped it would lead to the narrowing of suspects. Another piece of good news was that Gordon heard a snap and moan when he first disarmed the shooter. There was a good chance that the man now had a broken or injured index finger on his right hand. If there was also DNA from the scratch, and it was on file, they might get enough evidence to make an arrest.

  Important right away was the description Charlie was able to give from his quick look at the man after Margaret had pulled away his mask. Gordon, an excellent artist, quickly drew a pencil sketch based upon Charlie’s observations, and DuPree took the drawing with him.

  Just as DuPree was climbing into his unit, even better news arrived. One of the APD officers canvassing the neighborhood had discovered that the residents of the home where the bandits had parked the van had a security camera mounted on their porch. DuPree now had potential video surveillance to add to Charlie’s description. For once, the detective drove away with a smile on his face.

  “Hope the surveillance images and Charlie’s description lead to a suspect,” Gordon said, standing in the kitchen with Charlie and Sam as the crime scene team packed up their gear, “and that DNA evidence will result in a conviction.”

  “The bastard needs to spend the rest of his life in prison,” Sam declared. “He tried to kill my wife.”

  “Well, now that the cops have a better idea who to look for, that’ll definitely speed up the process,” Charlie replied, sipping from a bottle of water Sam had offered. “And that sketch you made was nearly perfect, Gordon.”

  “Nearly?”

  “Too bad the crew already had their masks on when they showed up at your door, Sam. Your own camera collected really good images, but…”

  “I never should have opened the door without checking through the peephole. But it’s Sunday. Who invades someone’s home on the weekend around lunchtime? I thought it was one of my neighbors,” Sam responded. “We could have been killed.”

  “Sometimes, when you’re supposed to be safe, at home, that’s when you’re most vulnerable,” Gordon mumbled, now staring out the kitchen window.

  Charlie looked over at his pal, shrugged, then turned back to Sam. “Well, Nancy’s left for the hospital, and the crime scene people are probably close to done now, so I think it’s time for me and Gordon to leave. You heading for the hospital too, Sam?”

  “Yeah, but first I want to discuss something with you and Gordon—once the police are finished.” Sam nodded toward the living room.

  Gordon turned to face Sam, then glanced over at Charlie, who shrugged. “Okay with me.”

  “Yeah,” Gordon added. Then his stomach growled.

  “In the meantime, how about I order us a pizza?” Sam suggested, smiling for the first time in hours. “Your cookout didn’t exactly fill you up, did it?”

  By the time the pizza arrived, the crime scene team was gone, along with the yellow tape that had blocked off the front of the house and a portion of the street. Sam hung up the phone, after calling to check on his wife, and sat down at the table where Charlie and Gordon were already helping themselves to the early dinner.

  “How’s she doing?” Charlie asked after taking a swallow of iced tea.

  “She’s asleep, according to Gina. She’s been given something for the pain, along with antibiotics. When we’re done here, I’ll go see her,” Sam added, his tired expression showing his age, which Charlie judged to be late fifties. Margaret was easily fifteen years younger and, according to Gina, had been Sam’s office manager at his construction company when they’d married. Judging from the expensive furnishi
ngs, Sam’s business was prospering.

  “So, why did you want us to stick around, Sam?” Gordon asked. “If you wanted to thank us for helping out today, the pizza is enough.”

  Sam smiled, then sat back and thought about it a moment. “I can’t help but wonder what they planned to do with me and Margaret. From what I’ve seen on the local news, at least with one of the most recent home invasions, the victim was kidnapped and dumped out in the desert to find his way back.”

  “That would give the remaining home invaders plenty of time to ransack the place,” Charlie responded with a nod. “I’ve also seen those news reports, but if I recall, the victims have usually been elderly men or women living alone in upscale neighborhoods. I think this is the first time they’ve targeted a couple. Did you have any sense of their motives?”

  “Well, when the screaming and shooting started, their plan, if they had one, quickly went to hell. I’m guessing they somehow found out where I lived and intended to hold me for ransom. My company has done very well—commercial construction and remodeling exclusively. There was a big article on me and the company in the business section of the local paper a few weeks ago.”

  “So why aren’t you living in one of those McMansions along Rio Grande, or one of those gated communities up in the foothills?” Gordon asked.

  “I’ve never been that image conscious. I prefer a low profile, if you know what I mean, where you won’t set yourself up as a target. Our house, from the outside at least, is very middle-class, in a middle-class neighborhood. Until recently I drove a ten-year-old Chevy pickup. I have a two-year-old Camry now, and Margaret has a Honda Accord. We’re not flashy people. Besides, living next to a police sergeant has made us feel very safe. Well, until now,” Sam confessed.

  “That proximity paid off today. You’re here, and Margaret is safe and should recover completely, according to Gina,” Charlie pointed out.

  “Okay, let’s get back to the issue. I’m guessing you want our advice on better ways of protecting you and your wife,” Gordon said.