by David Thurlo
“We have coverage at night, and the Randals usually sleep at Gina and Nancy’s place,” Charlie replied. “Sam hired extra security at work, and today Margaret is with him at the company location. We’ve been working to identify whoever else is still involved with what’s been going on—starting from the first incident. The Geigers, I believe, are the key to all this, but the motive still isn’t clear.”
“We got copies of camera surveillance from the dry cleaners near the dojo, and from viewing the feed I’ve already spotted the two dead guys entering or leaving the school,” Gordon explained, bringing Charlie up to date. “If the Rio Rancho cops working the case still haven’t obtained the video assets yet, you might want to make that suggestion.”
Charlie looked over at Gordon. “Let’s get together and see if Ted McConnell shows up in the images, partner, now that we know to look for him.”
“Or anyone else within the age group not suited out for martial arts,” Nancy added. “And will you send copies of the images to my private e-mail address? It won’t be admissible at this stage, not until it comes directly from the business owner, but that can come later. That okay, Detective?” she asked DuPree.
“Whatever it takes. Let’s just make sure we don’t do anything that will hurt this case when it goes to court,” DuPree replied.
Charlie looked at Gordon, then at Nancy, who nodded imperceptibly.
“Sure,” he answered, nudging Gordon.
“Gotcha,” Gordon said hastily.
“Yeah, right. Just stay out of trouble, guys,” DuPree said.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Charlie and Gordon arrived at a motel that was easy walking distance from a tribal casino outside Bernalillo, a small town several miles north of Rio Rancho. Gordon pulled up and parked beside the motel office next to an older-model blue van with tinted windows.
“That’ll be your ride for a while, Charlie,” Gordon announced, handing him a set of keys. “The rental papers are in the glove box.”
“What about my Charger?” Charlie asked, not wanting his car to become a target.
“Jake will keep it in his garage,” Gordon answered. “This place is enough out of the way that you should be able to keep a low profile but still be within twenty minutes or so of the shop. And you have three routes going back and forth from the city.”
“Good choice. And with so many Indians, who’s going to notice one more hanging around here, even a taller, less chesty Navajo? I guess I’ll have to go sign in and show a credit card to get my room key.”
“Yeah. I’ll stop by your house and pick up a suitcase of clothes and toiletries so you can get out of that grimy suit. Well, what’s left of it.”
“Good. And thanks for bringing this sweatshirt. If the person at the motel desk saw me in my bloody shirt and jacket, they’d call the cops for sure.”
“How’s the finger?”
“EMT did a great job. She said it didn’t need any stitches.”
“Did she kiss it and make it better?” Gordon teased.
“Of course. Now let’s get moving. Going over those surveillance DVDs together will take some time. If it’s okay with you, once I get to my room, I can start viewing them while you go get my stuff.”
Gordon nodded, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s get you set up with the player and disks in your motel room. Then I’ll be on my way.”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie decided to clean up and take a nap instead of viewing the surveillance disks. When Gordon returned, he was refreshed and ready to get to work. Gordon had already been through the disks on his own, so he handled the controls, fast-forwarding through the hours when there were few or no human images to examine.
Charlie took notes, recording dates and times when someone who didn’t seem to fit the look of a student entered or left the dojo. They ignored, for the present, anyone who was clearly an adult accompanying a child. When they came upon BJ or Tony, they stopped and viewed the scene again.
Soon Charlie spotted Ted McConnell. His image had jumped out because of his characteristic cap and hoodie. He’d come to the dojo twice, both times within a few days of the first home invasion and while Tony was also there, though they hadn’t arrived together. Immediately, Charlie and Gordon had additional, coincidental evidence that connected Tony and Ted to Ray.
“That pretty much nails it for Ted’s involvement in one or more of the incidents,” Gordon pointed out. “Any chance he could have been the one who tried to run you down outside the bar?”
“Don’t think so. Ted has a smaller build than the guy in the Passat. At least, that’s my impression, though I only caught a quick glance of the upper body. I suppose he could have been the guy who shot up Sam Randal’s crane, though I can’t see a knife guy using that much firepower, or even having access and training to use it. As for the drive-by last night, he could have been the one in the back of the pickup blasting away with BJ’s carbine.”
“Or maybe it was someone involved in one of the earlier home invasions. It looks to me like there were more than three in that crew, and they took turns doing the crimes. Harder to arrest them when they traded off. It would give each one an alibi once in a while,” Gordon pointed out.
“I’d like to get more damning evidence against the guy. When he was arrested downtown, McConnell claimed that he was just defending himself, that it was me who jumped him. In a way, he could make that case,” Charlie said, “though Gina could press stalking charges—which also might be hard to prove.”
“Well, he violated his probation with that weapons charge, so for now he’s in jail. I bet that the Geigers are going to avoid any contact with McConnell now. Ted visited the dojo, but they can’t know for sure we’ve got visual evidence to prove it,” Gordon said.
“Okay. But once we pass on what we’ve spotted to DuPree, it’ll be something for the Rio Rancho detectives to look over,” Charlie replied.
“We’re almost done with the images from the parking-lot cameras. Next up, those from the camera mounted out back of the cleaners. That won’t take long because there are very few images that show anyone except dojo employees, mostly Ray. None of the sensei are smokers who’d duck out back for a cigarette, so they are rarely seen. But I recall a few pictures with Frank, and at least one with someone I thought at the time was an old friend of his stopping by after hours. I wrote that one down because it took place the day after Ray’s arrest and I was looking for that third member of his crew. Want me to call that date and time up first?”
“Why did you think it was an old friend?”
“We assumed that Ray was hanging around people his own age, but this guy came across as older, maybe in his fifties. I got that impression because of his bulkier build, middle-aged belly, and the way he moved—less attitude. I didn’t get a look at his face, however. It was in the shadows and some distance away. And the guy was wearing a Yankees cap—with the bill facing forward. That’s something you usually see among older guys who actually know what the bill on a cap is for.”
“I see your point. That suggests a New Yorker like Frank, and Rio Rancho has a boatload of people who moved there from back east. Could be one of Frank’s pals from his old days on the NYPD, or maybe a local cop off duty, unofficially keeping Frank up to speed on Ray’s situation.”
“Yeah. Their detectives have been pretty laid-back about the whole thing now that Ray’s out on bail,” Gordon responded. “Let’s take another look at this guy.”
It didn’t take long to find the right data disk and call up the date and time. Gordon ran the images at normal speed first.
“When the guy knocked, Frank let him in immediately,” Charlie observed. “He was expecting him. Probably called once he was within a minute or two of the dojo. Run through it frame by frame now.”
After three sequences, Charlie shook his head. “You’re right about the ball cap and general impression of him, but there’s no way to get an ID on the guy. Too far away and too dark to catch a
ny facial features.”
Gordon nodded. “The camera image isn’t good enough to clean up with software, I’m guessing.”
“How about when the guy left?”
“I didn’t write the time down, but we can scan ahead.”
They watched the Yankee fan step out quickly, then walk into the darkness, this time in the opposite direction. “Whoa, the guy definitely knew there was a camera aimed in his direction,” Gordon pointed out.
“Yeah. He arrived with his back to the camera and left the same way. So, how did he get to Bojo? Where did he park?”
“I hadn’t followed up on that. Let me switch to the CD showing the parking lot on the same evening. Though I doubt he’d have parked his vehicle around front, in clear view, then walked around back, hoping to hide his face.”
“He probably left his car nearby and walked over.”
“But we still need to rule that out,” Gordon replied, reaching for the disks from the parking-lot cameras. “Let me find the ones for the time period.”
There were no vehicles that they could link to Old Yankee, as they nicknamed the man, so they decided to go over all the earlier surveillance to see if he’d come to visit during the daytime, before the Geigers had become suspects. After about a half hour they found someone in the parking lot who fit the description, including the distinctive cap.
“Bingo!” Gordon announced. “We don’t know which vehicle he came in, but we know what he looks like now. Now all we have to do is add a name to that face.”
“Screenshot that image, send it to our cell phones and the office computer, and also e-mail a copy to DuPree. We can show the image around here, but maybe, with the databases available to APD, we should try to trace the guy back east. If he was a cop or has a military record, or both, we should be able to get a hit,” Charlie said.
“Of course, he may not have anything to do with the crimes at all, at least the ones we’re worried about, Charlie.”
“Agreed. But at least it’s something new to rule out.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better get ready to join up with the Randals. It’s my turn to provide cover.”
“You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, bro. I’ll stick with them tonight so you can get some sleep,” Gordon offered. “Nobody but DuPree and the girls know where you’re hiding out. Not even the Randals.”
“Naw, I had a nap while you were gone, and I’m too pumped right now for any more sleep. You know it doesn’t take much to wake me up anyway. Mortar fire, no; a window opening, yes. Besides, you and the girls need a break from the routine,” Charlie reminded him.
“Okay, but if you change your mind, give me a call. I’m going now. I need to return Jake’s SUV so he can go home.”
* * *
It was 9:00 PM. Charlie was half asleep on the sofa in the living area of the Randals’ home, absent-mindedly watching a baseball game, and Margaret was seated in an easy chair across the room, crocheting some afghan project. Sam, at the other end of the sofa, was messing with his tablet when his cell phone rang.
Sam grumbled, picked up the phone from where it was resting atop the end table, and looked at the display. “Private caller,” he announced. He hesitated for a moment, then put the phone to his ear. “This is Sam.”
Charlie was instantly alert, looking toward the back door automatically and feeling for his handgun, still at his waist. Sam had forwarded the home number to his new cell and, at least to the caller, had just created the impression that he was at home. Margaret had stopped crocheting and was now looking back and forth between him and Sam.
Sam listened for several seconds, then hung up without speaking.
“Who was it?” Margaret asked immediately.
Sam shook his head. “Some crank. He said I should watch my back, and that he wasn’t done with me yet.”
Charlie reached for the remote and turned off the game. “You two stay where you are for a minute,” he ordered. “Margaret, turn off your lamp, please.”
As she did, Charlie reached over and switched off the lamp beside him. There was a small light underneath the counter in the kitchen, so he walked in and turned that off as well. The interior of the house was now much darker, illuminated only by lights from the front porch and back patio.
He slipped over and took a look out back toward the alley, then into the bedrooms, one at a time, verifying the windows were still closed. Finally he returned to the front room, walked over beside the curtains, and looked out into the street. There was no sign of anyone in the street or along the sidewalk, and the only cars were those in the driveways, belonging to neighbors.
“Go ahead and turn the lights back on. I’m just being careful. Nancy told me that sometimes burglars will call to see if anyone’s home. I know you forwarded it to your cell, Sam, but who has your home number?”
“All my employees. It’s also listed in the phone directory. Whoever invaded our home and struck at my business knows my name by now from the news reports, even if they didn’t before,” Sam pointed out. “They could just look it up.”
“Maybe we should change the number,” Margaret suggested hopefully.
“They still know where we live, but maybe that’ll help with the trolls. I’ll set that up tomorrow,” Sam replied, then turned to Charlie. “Do you think the caller was really someone connected to the home invasion and the rest? I thought that the ones who did that are … no longer a problem.”
“Somebody has been trying to kill Charlie, Sam,” Margaret reminded him. “But why would they call us?”
“Because this is where it all started, maybe?” Charlie suggested. “Other than revenge for the deaths of their friends and the arrest of Ray Geiger, what motive could there be at this point?” he added, still not convinced that they knew the real reason for the original attack.
He decided to bring that up again. “I can’t figure out who was after you, Sam, not only here but at the hospital that first night. Are you sure it’s not someone from your business operations or your past? Those thieves, maybe, or the electrical contractor.”
Margaret looked down at her crocheting, her expression revealing anxiety—or was it fear?
“People who find themselves in trouble tend to blame those who caught them instead of accepting the responsibility, but I just don’t see those people striking out at me now,” Sam replied. “I’ve been racking my brain, wondering who else I may have offended. I know people have been stalked and killed because of some road rage incident, or even from some Internet chat room argument. But I haven’t experienced anything like that. I just have no idea. I’m sorry.”
Charlie noted that Sam had looked in his direction but avoided eye contact, a sign of possible deception for an otherwise honest person. Both he and his wife had lied about something in the past few days. But what, and why?
“And you didn’t recognize the caller?”
Sam shook his head. “No, only that it was a male, probably younger than thirty. A normal voice, not deep or high, and if there was an accent, it was more cowboy or southern than anything else. He didn’t sound distinctively ethnic. Just a local gringo-type voice.”
“Okay, but if you can think of anything else, let me know,” Charlie replied. “I’m going to call Nancy and tell her about this in case someone tries to sneak over here through the alley between the houses.”
“Are we still safe?” Margaret asked, finally looking up.
“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you or Sam. Go ahead with your normal routine, remembering what we’ve already talked about. Don’t stand in front of any windows, and don’t go outside alone,” Charlie said. “If I have to get up during the night or make any noise, I’ll let you know it’s me.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” Margaret said. This time she looked him in the eyes and smiled before she started to crochet again.
An hour later, Sam and Margaret turned in for the evening. Charlie watched the baseball game with the sound off, which was no problem because the play-by-play was sometim
es more annoying than helpful. They couldn’t even call a home run a home run anymore. It went into extra innings, the D-backs won with a sacrifice fly in the bottom of the twelfth, and Charlie finally turned off the set and went to sleep. For the first time in days, he woke up the next morning not remembering if he’d dreamed during the night.
* * *
When he’d gone to the Randals’, Charlie had parked his blue rental van down the street in front of a house with a FOR SALE sign at the curb. This morning Sam was clearly worried, so Charlie offered to escort him to work, taking Margaret along. When Charlie pulled up across the street, Sam, with Margaret beside him, backed his car out of the garage. He’d follow the couple until they reached Firm Foundation, then leave Sam under the protection of his company security for the day and take Margaret with him to FOB Pawn, just to break up the routine.
Charlie had noted that Sam was distracted at breakfast and kept his handgun with him everywhere he went in the house. Once Sam was at his business, Charlie could begin what was hopefully going to be a routine workday.
A half hour later, Margaret seated beside him in the van, Charlie drove south, heading into Albuquerque’s north valley, where FOB Pawn was located. They were barely a mile away from Firm Foundation when he noticed that Margaret was fidgeting nervously.
“Something wrong, Margaret?” he asked softly, at the same time checking the rearview mirror, wondering if she’d noticed someone following them.
She nodded. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from Sam, you, and basically everyone. It may be nothing, but it’s getting so dangerous now I need to tell someone.”
He looked over and saw her hands shaking. “Does it have something to do with those two men who stole from the company, or that electrician, Jim Eldon?”
“Yes. Jim Eldon. How did you know?” she responded, looking at him, a relieved look in her eyes.
“Every time his name came up, your face changed expression and you looked away, like you were keeping a secret. Is there something going on between you and Eldon? Do you think he could be behind all this?”
