by David Thurlo
“Mr. Sweeney speculated that the man who almost ran you down might have been Frank Geiger. Can you confirm that?” Johnson asked.
“Not visually, but based upon the timing and the fact that he knew who and where I was, it’s likely. This was a deliberate hit, not a random attack, and he and his son are the only two people I know of who might want to kill me—at the moment.”
“I appreciate your honesty, but what about the friends and relatives of Anthony Lorenzo, the man you shot last night in the hospital area during the carjacking attempt?” Johnson inquired. “Or maybe the third perp? Could it have been someone else following you around who’s not associated with previous events, or maybe a proprietor from the bar? The perp wasn’t in a silver pickup, it was a faded silver-gray sedan, probably a VW or Toyota, and the license plate was yellow, in-state tags. Is that correct?”
“Where is all this going?” DuPree asked the detective. “Frank Geiger is at the top of my list.”
“Then you’d better get out your eraser, DuPree. I just got word that until a few minutes ago, Frank Geiger was at the Rio Rancho Department of Public Safety, about a mile up the street. According to the duty officer and staff at that location, Geiger has been there for almost an hour, filling out forms and requests for copies of arrest records and transfer papers on Ray. There are surveillance cameras that will back that up. Geiger’s Chevy pickup is in their lot.”
“Then Frank Geiger couldn’t have been the driver,” Charlie acknowledged. He turned to DuPree. “You know what that means?”
“Yeah, Charlie. Geiger must have set up the hit on his way to the station. He has an airtight alibi for that time interval.”
“You certain that Frank Geiger was the man who came out of the bar and bumped into Mr. Sweeney?” Johnson asked.
“I’m sure, limp and everything. Like the detective said, Geiger must have headed straight to the station. It would have been tight, but certainly possible, assuming the guy in the car was already in this area or within a half hour. He probably lives in Rio Rancho or in Corrales, or maybe north Albuquerque, even.”
“Rio Rancho makes sense. The dead carjacker was from this community, so my theory is the guy who tried to run you down was the third perp, the one that got away. He couldn’t have been Ray Geiger, who’s already locked up,” Johnson surmised. “And now, Detective DuPree, it looks like we’re still working a case that overlaps. Just when you thought it was all yours.”
“So we team up. There is a joint agency procedure already in place, thankfully,” DuPree responded. “Agreed?” he added, holding out his hand.
“Agreed,” Johnson replied with a firm shake. Then he turned to Charlie. “What were you and your friend Sweeney doing at the Outpost Bar?”
Charlie suspected the detective already knew, or had an idea, as did DuPree. “Mr. Sweeney broke, or at least badly injured, the trigger finger of the person who shot Mrs. Randal on Sunday afternoon during the home invasion. That person is Ray Geiger, who claimed earlier today to have injured that finger outside this bar while breaking up a fight between two women.”
“So you decided to check up on his story?” Johnson responded, looking over at DuPree.
“I’d asked Detective Larranaga to follow up on that, but apparently he hasn’t got around to it yet,” DuPree said.
“All of our detectives are carrying a heavy load, but I can’t speak to the issue,” Johnson replied. “I’ll handle it from here.”
“Charlie, tell me what you and Sweeney learned in the bar. It won’t be admissible in court, but it might save us some time,” DuPree insisted. “And after you fill us in, I want you and Sweeney to leave the criminal investigation to law enforcement professionals.”
“Of course, Detective DuPree,” Charlie lied. As always, when he was committed to someone, in this case protecting the Randals, his friends, and himself, he was going to be on the offense. The concept of defense was a tactic he only employed after forcing his enemies to attack. He would, of course, try to avoid breaking any major laws.
By then, Gordon had come over and heard DuPree’s warning. Trying to look sincere, he listened while Charlie described their visit to the bar and what Donnie, the bartender, had told them. Gordon confirmed the narrative.
Johnson promised to follow up checking the alibi and agreed to search the surveillance cameras outside some of the businesses for any evidence that might prove useful. He told them to remain on the scene, then excused himself and walked over to talk to the bartender.
While they were waiting for permission to leave, Charlie got a call from Sam Randal, who was waiting with Margaret while her release papers were being prepared. Nancy, off duty, had joined them at Saint Mark’s, then followed Sam and Margaret home. Nancy had agreed to watch their house the rest of the evening.
Finally, around eleven, Charlie and Gordon pulled up at the curb across the street from the Randal home. They chose to split up the rest of the night, one of them watching the house while the other slept next door, on Nancy and Gina’s sofa.
Charlie, too hyped up to sleep, took the first watch, remaining in Gordon’s pickup. He hadn’t wanted to take the extra time needed to get his own vehicle, which was still at his house. Selecting a spot along the curb a few houses down the street from the Randal property, he was in position to watch the front entrance without being obvious.
Charlie adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his six-foot-plus frame, tilted the back just a little, and adjusted the mirrors in order to spot anyone coming up from behind. Then he used a wet sponge, bottled water, and paper towels he’d gotten from Gina to clean the leather upholstery on the passenger side where he’d left blood earlier. It didn’t take long because most of the blood had soaked into his pants leg, which had been cut away by the EMT. He felt kind of odd still wearing half shorts, half pants, but it wasn’t cold at all, and the bandages on the gouges and scrapes would have rubbed his pant leg—if he’d still had one.
Once he was settled, his Beretta resting on the console beside the stick shift, Charlie checked his e-mail. There was nothing but spam. The Doppler radar on his KOB weather app showed nothing but clear skies ahead, so it was going to be a cloudless night. The closest streetlight was at the end of the block, but the moon was up and bright, and once in a while he’d spot a small bat flashing through the glow, snagging an insect. Used to being awake and alert at night after so many years deployed or in training, he was at ease. Gordon was going to relieve him at 2:30 AM.
Around midnight, a car full of teenagers approached, the sound system of their low-slung Nissan shaking the truck with the boom-boom of profanity-enhanced rap. Charlie nodded to the driver, who, surprisingly, nodded back. After the kids tossed a few beer bottles out onto the lawn on Charlie’s side of the street a few houses down, the car continued around the corner. Anyone sleeping along the block was probably awake now.
Sure enough, Charlie saw movement around the living room window of the Randal house. He and Gordon had already warned the Randals to stay away from anywhere they could be seen from outside, especially when their lights were on. At least Sam, or whoever it was, hadn’t turned on the lights.
Ten seconds later, his phone rang. “Everything okay?” Sam asked in a sleepy voice.
“Just teenagers out partying, Sam. Get some rest,” Charlie responded.
His watch continued, and only one marginally suspicious vehicle came by, a van with tinted windows. There was no way Charlie could see the driver, but he was on the same side of the street as the Randal house, and noted that no windows were rolled down in the passing vehicle. No one but a complete idiot would try shooting through a closed window that close to their face. If it was a recon, it was a one-time event, and for all he knew, it was just a burglar sizing up the neighborhood for tomorrow morning’s break-ins. He couldn’t get a good look at the license plate; it was either worn thin or coated with dried mud—an old tactic among criminals, he’d heard.
Most burglaries in this part of the coun
try took place during daylight hours when people were at work. However, recently, in this area burglars had begun to encounter armed homeowners, and at least two perps had been shot. So many burglaries were committed by drug addicts that Charlie doubted this would slow the crime rate by much. At least the home invaders that had hit the Randals hadn’t been high enough to go completely psycho on them.
After a couple of hours, he thought about playing some music, then decided it was better to listen to the night. Although he mostly heard crickets, it was important not to miss the sound of a kicked-in door, breaking glass, or even a scream. He was on a mission, after all, even if there were no insurgents or terrorists sneaking through the neighborhood. He had to stay smart.
* * *
Hours later, lying on the comfortable leather sofa in Nancy and Gina’s open-space living area, he looked through the windows of the French doors that led to the patio and beyond. They’d decided not to close the curtains so it would be easier to watch the back of the Randal residence in case someone tried to sneak in through the alley. Nancy or Gina had placed clear packing tape over the eye-level bullet hole. At least it was safety glass and hadn’t really shattered or splintered. A glazier was supposed to be coming by sometime in the afternoon to replace the pane. Gina had already patched the hole in the wall after the crime tech had removed the bullet.
Charlie didn’t know if he wanted to sleep or not, with the nightmares likely again, but he was bone tired. He closed his eyes just for a moment, then awoke in broad daylight.
“Morning,” Nancy whispered from her stool beside the breakfast bar. She was wearing her dark blue APD uniform, working days with DuPree, so her shift would be coming up before too long.
Checking the clock above the sink, Charlie noted it was nearly seven.
“Care for some oatmeal and blueberries? I made enough for four,” Nancy offered. “There’s also coffee. K-cups, pick your favorite.”
“Where’s Gordon?” Charlie said, swinging his legs around and sitting up.
“He’s out on the patio, finishing his brew while watching the Randal house. He ate a half hour ago when he came in.”
“I’ll pass on the oatmeal, but can I grab a cup of coffee? I need to hurry home, take a shower, then put on some decent clothes.”
She looked him over, then grinned. “You remind me of a kid who got into the first aid kit on Halloween.”
“Hey, my sister did something like that once. She wasted a whole box of Band-Aids, playing nurse to me after I’d gone into Mom’s roses trying to retrieve a baseball. Damned thorns are lethal. But first, let me see if Gordon is willing to loan me his truck for an hour.”
“Why? That no-right-pant-leg style makes you look … well, maybe it makes other people look. Stare, actually,” Nancy joked. “Is there such a thing as a half-flasher?”
Gina, who didn’t have to be at her law office until nine, gave Charlie a ride to his home. Later, he met Gordon, who’d gone by his own apartment, just before eight. Jake had come in a bit earlier and was eating a breakfast burrito out front by the register.
They sat silently at their desks, half asleep as they drank coffee. Then Charlie’s cell phone rang.
“That’s early,” Gordon said, standing to get a good look at Charlie over the desk computer monitor.
“It’s Nancy,” Charlie muttered, touching the display. “Can I put you on speaker?” he asked, touching the symbol anyway.
“Who’s with you?” Nancy responded, her words clipped.
“Just Gordon.”
“Okay. I’ve got some news you two need to hear. Ray Geiger made bail.”
“That’s not good. Where are you?” Gordon asked, stepping around beside Charlie.
“Watching the street and the Randal house from my APD unit,” Nancy responded. “I’m on duty, and I’m going to visit the Randals and give them the news. Apparently, DuPree wasn’t told that Ray had been released until an hour ago.”
“So Ray could be anywhere right now?” Charlie asked.
“Not really. Despite Ray’s clean record in NM and his martial arts for youth program, the DA managed to talk the judge into requiring an ankle monitor due to the violent nature of the charges, the joint agencies involved, and other factors. Ray is allowed to move freely within the community but is required to notify the station if he wants to leave Rio Rancho city limits. He’s at his father’s house right now.”
“So he and Frank are basically free to come and go?” Charlie concluded.
“Yeah, but there’s some good news. Although the tracker has unlimited range, RRPD is going to put a tail on Ray, plus keep Frank Geiger’s residence under surveillance 24/7. If either Geiger gets a visitor, the surveillance team will know,” Nancy added. “Supposedly.”
“What about phone calls?” Gordon asked. “Internet?”
“Not in the terms of release. Unless there is probable cause that either of the Geigers is communicating with that third suspect and an additional warrant is issued, we won’t know. Nobody is listening in.”
“Until it’s too late,” Charlie grumbled. “Where is NSA when you need them? You think Frank might try to do something else? I don’t think he’s the third guy because of the limp, but…”
“Maybe he’s the fourth, the planner, the guy behind the scenes,” Gordon ventured. “Or he was waiting in the back of the van during the home invasion and was never seen.”
“Which is why DuPree wants me to help protect the Randals until we get a better handle on exactly what’s going on. He can’t rule out this crew’s participation in the other home invasions. There’s also the likelihood that the hospital attack was an indirect attempt to get rid of one eyewitness,” Nancy said.
“Snag Sam in order to silence Margaret?” Gordon asked.
“Hoping that my quick look wouldn’t be enough on its own—if she refused to make an ID while her husband was held hostage. That seems a bit too complicated from a group of thugs just strong-arming people in their homes,” Charlie pointed out. “And at the time, they didn’t know Margaret wasn’t going to identify Ray. Do they know that now? I’m not clear on police procedures. Nancy?”
“If this goes beyond a grand jury, the defense will be told. Until then, the Randals are still considered witnesses that might be targeted.”
“So what are Ray’s options on this?” Gordon asked.
“If the DNA trace from beneath Margaret’s fingernails from the scratch on Ray’s face isn’t conclusive in itself, juries tend to go with eyewitness testimony and whatever other strong evidence is presented. Geiger’s attorney may argue that the dead perp, Anthony Lorenzo, was the shooter at the Randals’ house, not Ray. You’re the only solid eyewitness, Charlie,” Nancy explained. “It may all hinge on you, especially if no other evidence, like the gun, is produced.”
Charlie nodded. “That establishes a motive for the attempt on my life yesterday. My money is still on Ray’s associates or someone Frank called in to do the deed. Ex-cops might know the names of criminals they crossed paths with who are willing to earn a little extra money.”
“Frank could still contact the guy who tried to run you down and request a do-over. The guy has to be someone who lives or hangs out within fifteen or so minutes of that location,” Gordon said.
“Or even closer. It took a few minutes to hook up the distraction under your truck,” Charlie reminded him. “Unless Frank did that himself.”
“Okay, guys, it sounds like Frank might be the key to this,” Nancy interrupted. “Rio Rancho cops agreed to notify us if Frank leaves his house, but don’t have enough officers to follow him, so—”
“Don’t say it,” Gordon responded quickly, nodding to Charlie. “Just keep an eye on the Randals.”
“Nancy. Tell Gina to watch her back,” Charlie added. “She’s part of this too, and if the men think they might be able to get some leverage that’ll help sour the case…”
“Already done. I’ve gotta go now. There’s a man here to replace the windows an
d I want to make sure he’s legit. You guys be careful,” Nancy added. “Oh, and for what it’s worth, Detective DuPree asked me to remind you two not to do anything that might hurt the prosecution when this goes to trial. Neither one of you is a cop.”
“No problem. You know us, Sergeant Medina,” Gordon replied indignantly.
Nancy mumbled something, then ended the call.
“What did she call us? Smart assets?” Gordon grinned, looking up as Ruth came in the back door from the alley.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Ruth announced with a smile. “What’s new?”
Chapter Eight
Charlie and Gordon sat at a Starbucks in the same shopping center as a Lowe’s Home Center and Albertsons grocery in Rio Rancho, having arrived there about fifteen minutes after three. It wasn’t likely that Ray would have wanted a police car parked outside his dojo during business hours, so they’d assumed that he wouldn’t be present when his martial arts school opened at three thirty for afternoon and evening classes. An ankle monitor would have also raised some hard-to-explain questions, or maybe not, depending on how many troubled teens were in a particular class. It might have even upped his street cred.
Frank Geiger, however, could show up to continue managing operations, though, according to the Web site, he wasn’t a regular instructor except for a personal defense class he sometimes offered to seniors. Charlie had guessed that Frank might be there today, and if he was, it might be a good way for Geiger to make contact with the remaining member of the criminal trio without undue suspicion.
Nancy promised to notify them any time Frank left his residence, with or without his son, via the Rio Rancho officers watching the senior Geiger’s home, where Ray was staying at the moment.
Charlie was reading an article on ankle bracelets on his smartphone when the text tone sounded. Gordon, drinking a double espresso while staring out the window, turned his head. “Nancy?”
Charlie nodded, reading the text. “Frank just drove off, alone, in his silver pickup headed toward Southern.”
