by David Thurlo
“Good idea. Now that Sam’s in his office, there’s no need for me to stick around anyway. Let’s go.” He nodded toward Gordon’s pickup, parked alongside the road. “Your truck?”
“Yeah. You want to let DuPree know what we’re doing?”
“Later, if we get lucky. Meanwhile, he can give me a call if he needs something. Sam still has to be interrogated, and once the FBI is called to the scene, DuPree could be tied up for hours. Let me grab my weapon; then we can get out of here,” Charlie urged. “The longer we wait, the more lead time the kidnapper has.”
Charlie picked up his pistol and holster, then walked to the passenger side of Gordon’s truck and stepped up into the cab. Instantly he realized someone was lying on the floorboards behind the seat. He reached for his Beretta just as Gordon held up his hand.
“Stand down, bro, it’s Sam, and he’s not armed,” Gordon called out softly, his eyes shifting back to the activity in the company yard.
“I need your help in finding Margaret before she gets hurt, guys,” Sam whispered. “I’m not Sam Randal. My real name is Bill Woods. Get me out of here so we can find those bastards.”
“Okay with you?” Charlie asked Gordon.
“Yeah, but let’s take this one step at a time. Start talking, Bill, or we’re turning you over to the cops right now,” Gordon answered, turning his pickup around in the street, then heading west away from the business and the gathering crowd.
“I know who took Margaret, or at least who’s behind her kidnapping. It’s Frank Geiger, no surprise, and he’s been trying for days to force me to return the money he gave me to invest.”
“Which you stole from him?” Charlie said.
“Yeah, he was a crooked cop, and he received over a half million from under-the-table payoffs and bribes when he was on the force. I was an investor, and he was one of my clients. He paid me a bonus to hide the transactions and keep my mouth shut. Easy money. But then his department of internal affairs caught on to his activities and started to investigate. I found out and decided to change my identity and split with the money,” Sam explained. “I didn’t want any enemies in the mob, and besides, what could Frank do, accuse me of stealing his bribes? I thought I’d gotten away clean.”
“How’d he track you down, Sam … Bill?” Gordon asked.
“The guy is a bloodhound. Apparently he was able to find out that I’d come to Albuquerque, except he didn’t know my new identity. At some point he moved to this area, hoping to track me down. Unfortunately, a few weeks ago the damn local paper ran my name and photo. Frank must have seen it, then decided to hire some punks to do his dirty work. Sunday, when they tried to grab me, Ray said he was there for his dad, Frank, and unless I returned his money I was as good as dead. He said to keep the cops out of it. Those were his exact words,” Sam added, rising off the floorboards and sitting on the small jump seat in the extended cab. “Margaret never overheard—that took place after she’d escaped. She still has no idea who I really am.”
“So now you think Geiger wants to trade your wife for the money,” Charlie concluded.
Same nodded, brushing dust off his sleeves and pant legs. “Of course. I’ll do anything to get Margaret back unharmed. Once that’s over, you can turn me in to Nancy or DuPree. I’ll testify—do whatever they want—but first, help me find my wife.”
“We’ll try. But the next time we run into some cops you’re going with them,” Charlie replied, seeing Gordon nod.
Charlie thought about it a moment. “How did you get past me at the office, Sam? There’s no back entrance.”
“There’s a trapdoor in the heater closet leading down into the crawl space. I got out at ground level on the opposite side of the building through an access panel and just walked out the gate. I climbed in here because your van was locked,” Sam explained. “Now let’s find Frank Geiger. He’s got Margaret.”
“That might take some time. Whoever it was that took your wife isn’t going to take her to anyplace we know,” Charlie responded. “But Gordon has a plan worth looking into.”
* * *
It took a few minutes and a twenty-dollar bill to convince the day manager at the storage facility on the corner of August Avenue and East Frontage Road to let them look at the afternoon surveillance, but they were getting used to scanning these recordings and quickly reached today’s images. Gordon sat at the table running the equipment, and Charlie stood beside him, taking a position that made sure he was between Sam and the door. Though he doubted the man would try to get away, Charlie no longer trusted him.
“We missed something, or the guy went the opposite direction, across the field, like before,” Gordon said, stopping the feed. “There’s your van.”
“Run it back, Gordon, something didn’t look right,” Charlie asked.
They watched the blue van passing the camera. “Stop!” Charlie ordered as the vehicle was in full frame on the monitor.
“Yeah. I can’t see anyone but the driver, and either you’re low-riding or that’s not you behind the wheel. And you’re not wearing a ball cap.”
“The timing is off by a half hour, and I didn’t show up until after the cops. It’s not me, it’s someone shorter and bigger around, though the jacket looks like mine. So that’s not my van. The bastard was posing as me. That’s how he was able to get the guard to move in close,” Charlie observed, bitterness in his last words.
“Close enough to take her out,” Gordon said, muttering a curse. He ran the surveillance forward and caught the same van and driver coming back out onto the frontage road, past the storage facility.
“Hey, did you flash on that cap?” Charlie asked. “Run it back, and pause on the driver.”
“A Yankees ball cap. That couldn’t be the same guy,” Gordon responded.
“The sneaky guy at Bojo meeting with Frank? That’s one hell of a coincidence,” Charlie added, looking over at Sam, who just looked confused.
“Which we don’t believe in,” Gordon said. “And check this out. According to the time record, he went east on August Avenue at 4:03 PM and came back through this intersection just, what, nine minutes later?”
“Let’s get a better fix,” Sam suggested, stepping closer to the screen. “How much time went by before Pat and I returned to the compound?”
Gordon nodded and manipulated the controls. “There you are, and Pat. See the truck with the Firm Foundation sign? Now let’s take another look at the van leaving the area.”
“No sign of a passenger, guys,” Charlie observed as they viewed the images frame by frame. “Margaret was hidden in the back somewhere. It’s obvious that the kidnapper has been watching me—he knows what I’m driving now. He got hold of a nearly identical model and color van and was waiting for a chance to pull this off. I bet that vandalism at your work site was a diversion to get you and Pat out of the office so he could grab your wife.”
“Bastard. If he hurt her…,” Sam muttered.
“Don’t think about it, Sam. She’s no leverage if she’s … injured,” Charlie pointed out. “If he wanted to hurt her, he could have done that already, then left her behind as a final warning.”
“Who is this guy anyway? You suppose Nancy ever got a hit from the dry-cleaner image? There was a facial recognition effort going on down at the station, wasn’t there?” Gordon asked.
“She would have told us, right?” Charlie replied. He checked his watch, then glanced up from the monitor and saw the storage-lot attendant standing at the open door of the small office where they were gathered.
“Any luck?” the middle-aged man asked, walking over to the desk.
“I think so,” Charlie answered. “We have to leave now, but please, whatever you do, don’t erase this information or let anything happen to it. I’m going to call the investigating officer, and he’ll probably send someone down to make a copy.”
“It’s set to save everything until the boss manually overwrites the stored images. I’ll make sure to tell him not to do that. You
have a few days left. He overwrites on Fridays,” the man advised them. “I could make a copy, though, if an officer comes before my shift is over. I’m here until nine PM.” He handed Charlie a business card with a phone number.
“I’ll pass this along,” Charlie said.
“Oh, before you guys go, did you want to take a look at what the other camera picked up?”
“Other camera?”
A few minutes later they’d discovered that the second camera covered enough of the frontage road so that they could see the rear end of the van as it drove away—that, and the plate number. Charlie quickly wrote that down, then called Nancy as soon as he climbed into the passenger side of Gordon’s truck.
Nancy spoke first, her voice low and angry. “Is Sam with you? DuPree said you were supposed to keep an eye on him. Needless to say, Wayne is really pissed.”
“Yeah, Sam’s with us, and he’s come clean. His real name is Bill Woods, and he’s a former investor. He skimmed half a million of Frank Geiger’s illegal bribe money, which provides the motive we’ve been looking for. Sam, well, Bill, wants to cut a deal with Geiger in hopes of getting Margaret back,” Charlie explained.
“Don’t take me back to the police. Not now!” Sam whispered.
“Tell DuPree we won’t let Woods out of our sight, but we’ve got a lead on the blue van that was used to haul Margaret off,” Gordon yelled. “We need to run with that before the trail grows cold.”
“You hear that?” Charlie added, putting the phone on speaker.
“Yeah,” Nancy replied. “And here’s some more good news, Charlie. I have a positive ID on the guy wearing the Yankees cap, based on facial recognition. You didn’t happen to get the plate number on that van?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sam mumbled.
* * *
“Never been up this close to the mountains, at least on the west side,” Gordon commented as he drove into the Sandia foothills on a narrow street.
“That’s because you don’t have any rich friends,” Charlie replied. “Big lots, massive houses, high ceilings, tall windows facing west to overlook the entire valley. Ever notice the hundreds of windows flashing on this side of the city around sunset?”
“Yeah, I guess. At least the wealthy don’t tamper much with the natural look. Their homes are earth shades, built right into the mountainside, surrounded by big granite boulders, junipers, and tall sagebrush and drought-tolerant shrubs. No huge lawns or tall trees of non-native species. Organic, with strict neighborhood covenants, I’d guess,” Gordon said. “Like most of high-end Santa Fe.”
“So this Dennis Myers we’re looking for is from New York City. He has a history of arrests related to assault, attempted murder, and other violent behavior, not to mention reported mob affiliations. Doesn’t the term ‘affiliations’ sound kind of wimpy for a gangster?” Charlie asked.
“Politically correct label for ‘yeah, he’s a punk-ass mobster, but we can’t really get enough evidence to keep him in jail,’” Gordon joked. “So what’s he doing living in an upper-class New Mexico neighborhood?”
“Crime must have paid, for him at least. I’m thinking he’s retired, if any organized-crime soldier can actually leave the family,” Charlie responded. “Nancy said he hasn’t been arrested since he moved to Albuquerque ten years ago and has stayed off the radar. He’s not employed, probably living off ‘investments.’”
“Like a hedge fund manager or a bankster. Not hard to guess where that money came from.”
“Which leads right back to here. You sure you never heard of the guy, Sam?” Gordon asked. “You invested crooked cop money, and Myers must have some ties with Frank Geiger if he’s working with him now.”
“I don’t recall Myers, though I didn’t meet all of my clients face-to-face. If I’d have known any of them were actually involved with organized crime, I would have stayed clear,” Sam responded. “Dealing with a cop on the take was dangerous enough. I guess it’s possible, though. I just don’t recognize the name.”
“Well, we’re pretty sure Geiger took mob money, so he must have had contact with some of the players,” Charlie said.
“Big-city crooked cops, organized crime? Like we’ve never heard of that before,” Gordon added. He looked over at the GPS mounted on the dash. “Sunset Ridge is just ahead. Myers’s house is on the outside of the next curve.”
Charlie nodded. “The guy is supposed to be violent, but he’s never been accused of kidnapping, and managed somehow to avoid actual prison time. Still, if he’s involved with the Geigers, he might be the guy who tried to take me out at least once, beginning at the Outpost with that hopped-up Passat.”
“If that’s true, he’ll know this pickup on sight,” Gordon warned.
“Nancy suggested we do a quick drive-by unless we spot the van, which had stolen plates,” Charlie responded. “Then we sit tight until DuPree and more officers arrive.”
“I’m not waiting another minute, guys. If there’s a chance he still has my wife, I’m going right up to his door,” Sam said.
“And maybe get yourself shot? No, we’ve got to stay smart,” Gordon responded.
“Sam is right about making a move as soon as possible, though. If we get lucky and Myers is there, we need to get involved immediately. If we wait around for APD and SWAT, we could end up with a hostage situation. Once that happens, any chance of making a deal to get Margaret back without putting her life on the line goes right out the window.”
“Well, making a tactical entry into places and grabbing people is within our skill set. Let’s see what we’re facing, then do whatever makes sense,” Gordon suggested.
“I’m in,” Sam said. “Either of you have an extra pistol?”
“No way, Sam,” Charlie responded. “We’re the ones with the training and experience. You’re our client, and you’ll have to stay in the truck, out of sight.”
“Margaret is my wife, and I intend to do everything I can to get her back,” Sam argued.
“And you’re our bargaining chip, the one who’ll have to come up with the ransom money once we make contact with the kidnappers,” Gordon reminded him. “We need to hold you back until the right moment.”
“Here’s a plan,” Charlie said. “How about I hoof it in for a look, circling up among the rocks and staying in cover as much as possible? You two stay with the truck in case he decides to leave while I’m still out there.”
Sam shrugged. “Whatever. But let’s get to it.”
Gordon stopped the pickup as far to the side of the road as possible—there wasn’t much of a shoulder here—and Charlie climbed out.
“I may text instead of call,” Charlie said, looking up into the cab. “I’m going to hike up the hillside and take a look over the wall. I may need to climb, depending on the layout.”
“I’ll get as close as I can and still keep the truck hidden from the house.”
“Don’t take your eyes off the place. We may have to move quickly if he spots one of us. And keep Sam out of sight. Got that?” Charlie asked, looking at Randal.
Sam nodded.
“Copy,” Gordon replied. “Be careful.”
Charlie turned and looked up the rocky hillside of what was essentially the last foothill before the mountain proper began. Picking his route, he left the pavement and began the reconnaissance, his pistol still in the holster and his cell phone in his shirt pocket, set on vibrate.
This, the west side of the Sandias, was steeper in most places and much drier than the forested east side, but the enormous weathered granite boulders and shelflike outcroppings with shadowed overhangs provided decent cover, though his advance was more of a climb than a hike.
The house itself was pueblo style, with the exception of the tall windows, skylights, and a large two- or three-story-high turretlike element that reminded Charlie of a kiva, or maybe a castle keep. From up there, the inhabitants could see for miles to the west.
The closer he got, the thicker the vegetation and the b
etter the cover, but he still had to pick his way around the enormous rocks and boulders, and he moved slowly. At this point he could no longer see Gordon or his pickup, though he knew his pal and Sam were hiding, watching the narrow driveway for vehicles coming or going.
It had occurred to him a half hour ago that there was probably a neighborhood watch program up here and a private security service. Charlie doubted he’d be spotted, but Gordon might have to explain his and Sam’s presence if a patrol came along. Hopefully, if Myers had taken Margaret up here to hide her away, he was too busy dealing with her to be looking out a window right now. What the guy would have, Charlie guessed, was his own set of surveillance cameras and, maybe, motion detectors.
The entire property was surrounded by a tall adobe-style wall built into the hillside and following the terrain. It would be difficult getting over that barrier in many places, with the ground sloping away. After taking a tactical assessment, he figured best bet would be to come over the wall from uphill, and he’d already located a piñon tree close enough to climb and, hopefully, be within reach of the top of the wall.
Climbing the piñon tree proved to be tricky. He had to stick close to the trunk or risk breaking a foothold branch, and there were a lot of dried-out, dead smaller branches that poked him constantly. His cut finger ached a bit as well, and that scratch on his stomach itched where he’d rubbed up against the rough bark.
He’d forgotten about the needles themselves, and was about to give up and find his way back down the fragrant but sticky tree when he realized the wall was just a little bit taller. Charlie found a limb that looked sturdy enough to go just one foot higher, and he could probably reach up and pull himself up onto the wall, or at least have a look over into the yard below. His cell phone, which he’d switched to his back pocket to keep it from falling out, began to vibrate. Unfortunately, with his back against the trunk, there was no way he could reach it. If it was Gordon, he’d just have to wait.
