“You mean like Tugger and Baba being catnapped.” I saw where he was going with this.
“Si. Among the other things.” He moved around on the sofa, settling into the soft, supple leather, while marshalling his thoughts. “You were fortunate Ricardo had put the tracking instrument onto Tugger’s carrier and forgot about it being there. Otherwise…” He stopped speaking and looked at me, staring directly into my eyes.
“Otherwise, I might not have ever gotten the cats back.” I glanced down at the cat purring in my lap and stroked his forehead, watching his ears flick at my touch. “I know, Tío, I know. I got lucky.”
“Sometimes es necesario to be prepared, not to count on the luck.”
I nodded and Tío went on. “I have taught Tugger how to protect himself, guided by his own instincts or the command of someone he trusts. It was not difficult to teach him these things. He is muy inteligente, our Tugger.”
“He is smart, Tío,” I agreed, a sense of pride replacing the horror of a moment before.
“And he has the corazón of a lion. You remember the time the burglar broke in here? Tugger’s instinct was to protect you, but he did not know how. Now he knows.”
I nodded, keeping my head down, afraid to speak lest my voice betray my deep emotions.
“Do not feel the guilt I see upon your face. He is not suffering or made to be bad. He is wiser now, as all living things must be to survive.”
Tío looked around him and smiled. “Even in this world of ease called Palo Alto, even in a home of love, we learn it is
not enough to nurture but also to protect. And do not try to deny, sobrina, there exists in this house a gun that you know how to use, if called upon. Have you become a less loving human being because you have learned how to protect yourself and la familia?”
Tío began to pull the protection from his arm. I sat still and listened to the harsh, ripping sound of the fabric, not unlike what was going on inside my mind. I shook my head, looked up, and smiled at my wise and wonderful uncle.
“Of course not, Tío. And thank you for helping me see that.”
Tugger got up from my lap and hopped to the floor. There he stretched, yawned, and went about his business. Seconds later, I heard crunching sounds coming from his cereal bowl in the kitchen.
“Well, I’m glad to see this hasn’t interfered with his appetite.”
“He has the healthy one, our Tugger. It is true.”
I rose from the chair and plopped myself down on the sofa next to Tío, who put an arm around me. He kissed me lightly on the forehead.
“Sorry I got so emotional earlier, Tío.”
“No problemo,” he answered, with a wink.
“So I could put up a sign on the front door, ‘Beware of Attack Cat,’ and not be kidding, right?”
“This is only when necesario, mi sobrina, only then. We still have more to do, but he is a good student. He must learn to do it when you make the command, also, not just me.”
“I see. You tell me when we need to practice, Tío, and I’ll be there.” I looked at the uncle who was more like a grandfather to me and had recently become the patient patriarch of the Alvarez family. “Gracias, Tío. Muchas gracias, por todo. Te amo.”
Chapter Fourteen
It’s All in the Planning
I was late. Richard had already left two ‘where the hell are you’ messages on my cellphone. They’d gone into voicemail because I, in turn, had been leaving messages for Flint, asking that he call me right away. I tried to tell myself Flint was probably working on a case with his phone turned off, as we often have to do. But it didn’t make the knot in my stomach go away or keep me from the shallow breathing, which became slightly labored as I rushed up the staircase to the third floor.
I pulled open the double doors of D.I., gave a quick smile and wave to Stanley, our office receptionist/manager, and scurried down the hallway to the back offices housing Information Technology. Andy buzzed me in instantly. He’d probably been waiting for me under orders from Richard.
When I threw open Richard’s office door, it banged noisily against the wall, but neither Richard nor Gurn reacted. Their eyes were glued to the forty six-inch monitor before them. I scurried into the room mumbling ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ under my breath, finally getting their attention. Richard acknowledged me with a curt wave over his shoulder, and Gurn gave me a quick smile.
Without saying a word, Gurn stood from his chair and gestured for me to sit down. I did, and he leaned in over my shoulder, his focus never leaving the screen. In silence, I, too, studied the views they were caught up in, eight different rectangular pictures of people frozen in running positions. Filling the screen, each section was of varying digital quality. Some were crystal clear, and others downright fuzzy, but most in between, the enlarging of them causing the pixels to
become obvious and almost intrusive. Richard forwarded the sections in unison, frame by frame, allowing us to study each movement of the runners in stop motion.
“Let’s put it back to the beginning, Richard,” Gurn suggested, “so Lee can see them all.” He turned to me, a warm grin on his face. “I can’t find anything, but maybe you’ll have more luck, sweetheart.”
With our noses practically touching, I felt his warm breath on my face. Gawd, he’s so yummy! Down, girl. I forced my attention back to the screen.
“Okay,” said Richard. “Back we go.”
With a few keystrokes, the screen went black. Richard pivoted in his chair to face us.
“Eye witness accounts say the fallen runners dropped within yards of the finish line. What I’ve done, Lee, is take the last minute of these eight races, synchronizing the foot patterns of the runners and their proximity to the finish line as much as possible—”
“Good going, Richard,” I interjected. “That’s using the ol’ noodle.”
“Don’t mention noodles or any other food. I’ve been at this since eight o’clock last night, and I’m starving.”
“You bring this off, Brother Mine, and I’ll get you the largest pepperoni pizza you’ve ever had.” The screen came alive again with the same cast of characters, but the finish line was no longer in sight.
“You’ll have to give half the pizza to Gurn,” said Richard. “It was his idea. He’s been here since about ten-thirty last night.”
I turned to Gurn, who winked at me. “Is that where you went? I thought you went home.”
“Only long enough to drop off Baba and head here. I knew Richard could use someone to bounce things off, and this scenario reeks of something I encountered in Ethiopia three years ago. I still don’t know how they did it. Maybe this could give me a clue.”
“Wow. So maybe this has been going on for a lot longer than we thought.” I screwed up my face in puzzlement. Gurn reached out and rubbed the area above my nose with a gentle fingertip.
“Don’t scrunch up your forehead, darling,” he whispered.
“It’s a bad habit she’s got,” offered Richard. “Among others.”
“Gentlemen,” I said tartly, removing Gurn’s finger from my forehead. “Let’s try to keep this meeting professional, shall we?”
“Si, mi capitán,” said Richard, turning back to the screen.
“Aye, aye, captain.” Gurn gave me a sharp salute.
“You two are in such trouble,” I growled. Both men laughed then sobered.
Richard rubbed his eyes. “I’m so tired, I’m punchy. Okay. So here’s the line-up. At the extreme left-hand corner, Buenos Aires, Argentina, next is Boston, Massachusetts, next is Frankfort, Germany, then Lima, Peru. The second row—”
“Sounds like the United Nations of foot races,” I interrupted.
“No kidding.” Gurn’s voice made us turn in his direction. “They come from across the globe. From what info Richard and I have gathered, the only races affected are the ones attracting top runners, top dollar being offered to the winners.”
“But we never heard about any top runners dropping dead—”
“Or gals,” Gurn added.
“Exactly,” Richard agreed. “The ones who were dropped were people coming in fourth or fifth, the ones showing well but of little concern to the media.”
“Or the world at large,” I said slowly, but thinking furiously. “So illegal bets have been placed, probably at the Fantasy Lady among other places, not on win, place or show but on the runners coming in fourth, fifth, or sixth.”
“That’s what we think, yes,” said Gurn.
“So Spaulding and his men have been taking in bets then fixing the races—and in the worst way possible—by killing off the competition.”
“Yeah, but how?” both men said in unison.
“Yup, we’re back to that one,” I muttered.
“So let’s get at it.” Richard cleared off the remnants of a cannibalized computer from a nearby chair and pulled it over. Gurn plopped himself down, and the three of us stared at the large computer screen.
For fifteen minutes, we said nothing but watched the tedious progression of the last minute of each race frame by frame. My eyes burned in concentration, as the runner moved, leg up, leg down, foot touching the ground, foot in the air. Nothing looked unusual.
“Wait a minute,” I said, jumping up and touching the screen in the upper right-hand corner. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t tough the screen with your fingertips,” Richard said automatically. Both men got up and leaned forward glaring at the spot I indicated. The grainy image of a man in the background crowd was the focus of our attention. And I didn’t remove my finger, no matter what Richard had said.
“Can you keep him on the screen? Then go back to near the beginning with the other races. Somewhere in the lower right side. I think I saw him there, too.”
“Sure, just a minute.” Richard sat down again and pushed a few keys on the keyboard. The grainy man remained, but the other seven pictures returned to the beginning.
“Gentlemen, never mind the runners. Pay attention to the faces in the crowd. In particular, look for this guy.” I tapped the screen again on his face.
“Stop doing that,” Richard growled.
“Okay, okay. I’ll buy you a bottle of glass cleaner.”
“I don’t use…never mind.” He interrupted himself.
Tense and alert, we scrutinized the low resolution and sometimes out of focus images of the crowds on either side of the paths or roads for another half an hour, trying not to overlook anyone.
“Stop,” Gurn nearly shouted. “Right there!” He pointed to a similar image of a dark-haired, tall, thin man, standing three rows behind a cheering crowd. “That might be the same guy; has the same physical description, height, and demeanor. It looks like him to me.”
I peered at the image, and a face half obliterated by a woman waving a multicolored banner directly in front. “Sure does. Although…Richard, where did these two races take place?”
“The one on the top is Lima, Peru. The one at the bottom is Tegucigalpa, Honduras.”
“What are the dates? How far apart?”
He pulled a sheet of paper over from the side of his desk and scanned it. “Let’s see. Tegus was April fourteenth, and Lima was July fifth.”
“He almost could have walked from one place to the other,” remarked Gurn.
“Gentlemen, please note. This man is not cheering, waving, moving, or anything. Just standing stock still and watching. Like this guy up here.” I tapped the upper right screen again.
“Like he’s waiting for something to happen,” Richard murmured, but saying nothing about my fingernail banging on his screen.
“Exactly. Keep going, Richard. Let’s see what this man does at the end of these two races.”
“Should I only forward those two and forget the other six?”
“For the moment, yes.”
Richard enlarged the Lima and Tegucigalpa frames, each filling half the screen, and eliminated the rest. The remaining two videos, now larger, became even more difficult to interpret. We pushed our chairs back slightly and tried to link the pixilated imagery together in our minds. Unfortunately, both videos were apparently shot by amateurs. Right after the victims fell, both videos cut out abruptly, one coming to a jumbled somersault of an ending, as if the shock of the man falling to the ground before the photographer’s eyes caused him to lose grip of the camera. The other shooter came in for a close-up of the victim’s distorted face, going in and out of focus before going to black.
“That’s disappointing,” Gurn said. “I thought we were on to something.”
“Maybe we are,” I answered. “Richard, can you send all eight of those videos to my laptop and phone? I’d like to look at them again.”
My cellphone rang. It was Lila.
“Mom, where are you?”
“Phoenix. With Jennifer.”
“How are she and the kids doing? Can you talk?”
“No. We’re here in Jennifer’s living room coming to some decisions. But in answer to your question, everyone is doing as well as can be expected. Liana, as Stephen had made no provisions for his funeral—”
“Understandable. He was only forty-three.”
“Jennifer has decided,” Mom went on as if I hadn’t said anything, “since she is moving back to the Bay Area to be near her mother and the rest of the family, to bury him in the Hamilton Family Crypt in Pala Alto.”
“Wow. That’s heavy news, Mom, but welcomed. I’m glad Jenn and the kids will be closer to us.”
“So the funeral will take place day after tomorrow at Morrison’s Mortuary.” Her voice lowered. “I would like this situation to be cleared up by then. What is the progress?”
Lila, who is known for making unrealistic demands, still caught me unawares. I was silent for a moment, my mind trying to take in what would have to happen to make her dreams come true, so to speak.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mom. This may go deeper than we first thought. We’re still trying to sort out what exactly is going on. We haven’t even gotten to the solving part of it yet. One thing you may not know, Lou Spaulding made bail late last night. The charge of murder has not entered into the picture, merely income tax evasion.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. If I knew Lila’s razor-sharp mind, she was sorting out all the ramifications of our involvement in the Fantasy Lady Sting like a first rate computer.
“I understood it was a possibility. However, we must persevere.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Always.”
She hung up. I turned back to my brother and my boyfriend. “Gentlemen, we’re being asked to move this along as quickly as possible.”
“I didn’t know this Spaulding guy was loose,” said Richard. “I don’t think I like this.”
Gurn stood to face me. “There’s one way to push this forward.” I looked at him with a million questions written on my face. “The Palace to Palace 12K Race is tomorrow. I’m going to run it.”
“No!” I practically screamed then lowered my voice. “Gurn, you can’t. You can’t.”
“Yes, I can and will.”
“But you’re on the list. You might be—”
He grabbed my shoulders with both hands. “Richard checked the other names on the list. There were only two
others who hadn’t run before Nick found the list. One was a woman who stopped running a couple of weeks ago because
she was having problems with her pregnancy.”
“And the other?” I asked because he stopped talking, and both men looked at one another.”
“Danny Masamitsu ran last week, Lee, and had a heart attack just as he was about to come in fourth. He didn’t make it.” Gurn’s voice was soft and tender, but the words radiated through me like an earthquake of magnitude seven point one. “That’s eight people we know of. I’m the only one left
on the list. Honey, this is the only way to stop this.”
“Don’t do it, man.” Richard’s surprised face showed Gurn hadn’t confided in him. My brother came over and stood next to us. “I thought when I showed you what happened to the others on the list, it would slow you down, Gurn. We can’t protect you if we don’t know what’s going on…how they’re killing these people.”
“But one thing we know is, they are, Rich. And they don’t know we know,” Gurn argued. “It gives us an advantage. And don’t forget, I’m a military man. I’ve done in a lot of bad guys. Still do.”
“A fine time for you to admit it,” I said.
“Lee, I’m the ideal sacrificial lamb. I can take care of myself, and I’m a good runner. Three years ago, before I busted my knee, I place fourth or fifth in a lot of races, some of them pretty big. Then I had to bow out, but the recent surgery was a success. It’s all on record. With a little luck, and if I push myself, I can come in fourth or fifth on this. I know it, and if Spaulding and his men have done their homework, they know it.”
“That’s probably why he was on the list, Lee,” added Richard.
“I know, I know,” I said. “But I still don’t—”
“This could force their hand.” I could tell Gurn felt he was winning us over, and he pushed even harder. “Worst case scenario, I’ll drop out fifty yards from the finish line.”
“Worst case scenario, they drop you fifty yards from the finish line.” I glared at the man I loved, unconvinced.
Gurn looked back at me, one of his radiant smiles breaking out on his face. “Liana Margaret Alvarez, you’re one of the most intuitive PIs I’ve ever met. You’ll make sure they don’t.”
Chapter Fifteen
Repercussions Are No Fun
I drove home from the meeting and its ensuing revelations, with sweating palms, an acid stomach, and a tic in my right eye. Between not being able to talk Gurn out of competing in the race the next day, and not being able to get in touch with Flint, I’m surprised that’s all I had.
Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries) Page 62
