Kill the Heroes

by David Thurlo

  “Our software is ancient, but sure,” Anna replied, then motioned Ruth into the next room.

  “Do you really think one of our vets may be responsible for Nathan’s death?” Patricia asked in a whisper.

  “Maybe just the attacks on me,” Charlie answered.

  “Isn’t that just a little too coincidental?” Max said.

  Charlie shrugged. “That’s what’s bothering me. I still think the terrorist angle is just a smokescreen to hide the real motives for the attacks. And, maybe, just maybe, I’ve become a target to promote that theory. That’s why I’m taking a different path than most of law enforcement.”

  “Jealousy, maybe. As with Patricia’s ex?” Anna said, just entering the room ahead of Ruth. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “Where is Steven, anyway? Has he been located?” Max asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Charlie answered. He looked over at Ruth, who held a folder in her hand. She nodded.

  “Then I guess it’s time to go,” Charlie said. “Thanks so much for your help, and, starting with Todd Colby, we’ll respect the privacy of your clients.” He shook hands with all three of the Back Up staff, then he and Ruth exited.

  As they walked back to the car, Charlie had a question. “There was definitely some tension between Anna and Patricia.”

  “Anna’s pretty defensive about her work. I think she’s worried about getting some of the blame for the financial situation. I asked about her military service, and she said she was an AP—Air Police—and helped provide security at Air Force bases overseas. She had to deal with a lot of cranky officers, and maybe that’s what makes her defensive. Anna said that Nathan was a tough boss, but in a good way. She suggested that part of the reason Back Up is in financial trouble is that Nathan was weak when it came to business practices.”

  “Maybe that’s what got him killed.”

  “Or maybe he was the one skimming money, not the vet clients,” Ruth suggested. “Not that I know of any evidence pointing in that direction. It’s just a thought. Money stolen or misspent leads to trouble. Look at what my husband did.”

  “Okay, but what would be Nathan’s motive? Drugs, bad investments, gambling? He had a drinking problem, but had supposedly beaten that years ago.”

  “Do you kill someone who owes you money?” Ruth questioned.

  “I’m still running low on answers, Ruth. Let’s keep looking at potential suspects, and maybe that’ll lead to the motive.”

  * * *

  They were unable to reach Colby by phone, and it turned out that he’d moved from his old address in the town of Bernalillo, north of Albuquerque, to somewhere in Corrales. Fortunately they were able to locate a tenant in the building who could give them the phone number of the apartment manager, and after they’d wasted more than an hour, they approached Colby’s supposed forwarding address, a mobile home located in a dead-end street north of the village fire station.

  They turned off Corrales Road and drove down the bumpy dirt street, which had been graveled long ago. After passing several old adobe houses and outbuildings, plus a long, narrow alfalfa field, they spotted a mobile home parked to the right of Alfalfa Lane, which dead-ended with a metal barrier. Beyond was the bosque, beginning with a line of trees.

  “There’s a white Ram pickup.” Charlie noted the mud-spattered vehicle parked beside the faded green single-wide.

  “We’ve got reinforcements,” Ruth said, looking in the side mirror back toward the highway. “The lights aren’t flashing, so I don’t think they’re after us.”

  “The State Police,” Charlie noted, slowing down, then stopping about fifty feet from the end of the trailer. “It’ll be safer for you to stay in the car until I see what’s going on. Maybe they’re coming to arrest Colby.”

  He opened his door, then remembered to grab his sunglasses. As he leaned back toward the center console, there was a loud slap and boom. The driver’s side window shattered, spraying him with flying glass.

  “Down!” Charlie yelled, pushing Ruth toward the floorboards. Three more bullets struck, hitting the windshield and raining cubes of glass down upon them. There was a short pause, then someone behind them started yelling.

  “Stay as low as you can, Ruth,” Charlie called out. “I’m going after this bastard!”

  Charlie threw open the door and rolled out onto the ground, flattening as he yanked out his handgun.

  “Anyone hit?” came a familiar voice. It was Detective DuPree.

  What the hell was he doing here? Charlie wondered, taking a quick look toward the single-wide, then the bosque to the east.

  “The shots came from the bosque, the three tallest trees toward the south,” called another man, probably the state patrolman.

  “Cover me!” Charlie yelled, jumping to his feet and zigzagging to his right toward the far end of the trailer, intending on flanking the shooter. He raced to the corner of the mobile home, took a quick look, then ducked back when he saw a standing figure aiming a rifle from the tree line about fifty yards away. A bullet whizzed by just inches from his face.

  DuPree and the other officer opened fire and the rifleman dropped down out of view.

  Pistol out now, Charlie slipped around the end of the trailer, jumped across a small drainage ditch, and raced toward the trees, ready to fire if he saw the shooter. He cut left, then right to throw off the aim. If he could reach the bosque and the cover of the flood plain forest, he’d almost be on equal terms with the rifleman. The sunbaked ground of the approach was hard, dotted with clumps of waist-high buffalo grass, but ahead there was taller sagebrush and willows. He now had eyes on the back of the camo-jacketed figure as the man faded into the thicker vegetation, mostly tall willows, shrubs, and trees of all species and ages.

  No more return fire had come, and Charlie was already gaining on the shooter, who was slowing. The ground ahead was transitioning from hard-packed clay to river sand, which would explain the gunman’s drop in speed. Colby, if that was him, was still fleeing east toward the Rio Grande River, perhaps three hundred or more yards away. The growth was getting denser, and he couldn’t see that far ahead. Though it had been a dry year, the area closest to the water table was still green and dense. Charlie knew he could run down almost anyone who wasn’t a long-distance athlete. Hopefully, the guy didn’t have a vehicle parked on the canal road that lay between here and the river.

  Charlie’s pace was swift and steady. Long ago, he’d learned how to remain aware of his footing while keeping his sight on the trail ahead. It was evident almost immediately that the shooter had chosen to flee down an animal trail, one used by rabbits and coyotes, based upon the abundance of familiar, yet non-human tracks.

  He had to catch up to the shooter, one way or another. The guy had just tried to kill him, and Charlie needed answers. The running man was slipping in and out of view, but hadn’t changed direction.

  Just then Colby, or whoever it was, cut to the left and disappeared into a thick grove of willows.

  The thicket was about a hundred feet in diameter, and appeared to be separated from the surrounding trees, clustered into a big oval. Charlie slowed to a jog, stopped, then stepped softly behind a clump of brush, ducked down, and waited, listening. The thicket was dense, and if that’s where the shooter was still hidden, any movement would be obvious as long as he watched the tall, slender tops of the willow branches.

  He heard the clump of running footsteps coming up from behind. Charlie turned around as a state policeman appeared in his dark black and gray uniform, moving in a crouch, handgun out. The officer slowed, looked at Charlie and nodded, aiming his handgun toward Charlie’s left, covering that flank.

  Wary of another ambush, Charlie held his finger to his lips, signaling silence, then pointed to the willow thicket.

  The state cop signaled with his hand, indicating that Charlie should hold his position and provide cover fire if needed.

  Charlie nodded.

  The officer backed into the tre
es surrounding the stand of willows, then moved from trunk to trunk, circling the thicket, his weapon aimed toward where the shooter was apparently hiding.

  “Police officer,” the cop called. “You’re surrounded,” he lied. “Put your weapon down and come out with your hands in the air. Walk toward my voice.”

  Charlie heard the sound of a vehicle close by, to the east. “Crap!” he yelled. “He’s already split.”

  Charlie jumped up and raced toward the river, looking ahead and spotting the high ground of the conservation road about fifty yards away. It lay atop a levee beside an irrigation canal that ran parallel to the river for miles in either direction.

  “Try to get an ID on the vehicle,” the cop yelled, following in his footsteps. “I’ll call in some units to block off the bosque.”

  “Copy,” Charlie responded, his eyes on the road. All he could see, unfortunately, through the trees and undergrowth, was a blue blur and plenty of dust from the vehicle heading north.

  By the time he could get a clear view of the road, it was empty. As the dust cloud dissipated, it was clear that the shooter had turned to the west off the ditch road and fled down some residential street that connected at the end.

  He hurried back toward Colby’s single-wide, finding a hiker’s trail that appeared, from the tracks, to be mostly used by animals. Ruth was back there, hopefully safe with DuPree. Somewhere behind him was the state police officer, but Charlie wasn’t waiting.

  Finally Charlie reached the last layer of trees and saplings, and emerged into the open. Ahead was Colby’s trailer, the Charger, and the state police black-and-white cruiser. Detective DuPree was standing there, pistol down at his side.

  Charlie knew Ruth was safe, or DuPree would be with her. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie heard, then saw the state police officer jogging up from behind.

  “Shooter got away, north up the canal road, then probably west onto Corrales Road. Had a blue vehicle—a pickup, I think—parked to the east on the conservancy road,” Charlie added. “Where’s Ruth?”

  “I’m here, Charlie,” she said, stepping into view from behind the trailer. “Your car’s full of glass right now.”

  She walked up and gave Charlie a quick hug.

  “Better not,” Charlie said, backing away after a second. “I’m still full of glitter,” he realized, after finally noticing cubes of glass on his sleeves and shoulders.

  “Close your eyes, duck down, and shake your head,” DuPree suggested.

  Charlie did so, then opened his eyes again. “Anything in my hair and on my face?”

  “Close your eyes again,” Ruth said, then came up and brushed his face gently, including his eyebrows and hairline. “Okay,” she concluded. “Better.”

  “Thanks,” he said softly.

  “Okay, now that this tender moment is over, I have a few questions,” DuPree said. “Did you recognize the shooter? How about a description?”

  “All I got was a glance, no ID possible. Shooter was light-skinned, blond or light brown hair, about Ruth’s height, wearing jeans and a camo jacket with a hood. No glasses or facial hair noted. I couldn’t close within fifty yards and couldn’t pick him out of a lineup. Medium to light build, and he knew how to run,” Charlie added.

  “That doesn’t fit Todd Colby,” DuPree replied. He turned to the state policeman, who was already on his radio again. The cop nodded, passing along the description.

  “Is Colby in the mobile home? He couldn’t have missed the gunfire,” Charlie said.

  “Don’t know,” DuPree replied. “Can we clear the trailer before you work the scene?” DuPree asked the officer, who was still on the radio. The state cop held up his hand, signaling for them to wait …

  A moment later the uniformed officer ended his call. “My jurisdiction, Detective, so I’ll take the front. Cover the rear. Be careful, Colby worked with explosives.”

  A minute later the cop yelled, “No response, the door is locked. Check the back, but don’t enter. I have a warrant.”

  “Stand by,” DuPree yelled. “Cover me, Charlie?” he asked, then stepped back from the small rear door and reached into his pocket, pulling out a latex glove.

  Charlie monitored the door, checking back and forth at the trailer windows in case they were being watched. Then something caught his attention. “You smell that?” he asked.

  DuPree looked over at him. “Yeah, smells like…”

  “Death,” Charlie added softly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DuPree tried the knob, and the door opened, sending a foul odor reminiscent of a neglected meat locker or a slaughterhouse. Somehow Charlie doubted that Colby had been butchering cattle.

  “What is that awful smell?” Ruth asked, coming around the end of the trailer. “Like something died.”

  DuPree poked his head inside, then stepped back, cursing softly. “Not something, someone. Looks like Todd Colby. Oh, sorry, Charlie.”

  Charlie shrugged. He walked down the two steps of the small wooden porch, shaking his head. “Well, we can rule him out as today’s shooter.”

  DuPree closed the trailer door, gagging just a little, then yelled to the state police officer, “Body inside. Looks like the resident.”

  DuPree walked down the steps and joined Charlie and Ruth. “For once, I’m glad this isn’t my jurisdiction. I’m leaving this to the state police and the Corrales cops. The guy’s been dead at least a day or two. And in this heat…”

  They walked away from the trailer and stood next to the state police car.

  “What brought you here today, Charlie?” DuPree asked. “The Back Up connection?”

  “Yeah. According to their office staff, the guy had a beef with the dead man. Well, the other dead man. Is that why you showed up?”

  “Pretty much, at least for my interest. But I also found out that the guy inside was being investigated by the State Police for possession and transportation of stolen property. They were sending Sergeant Legler here to interview him, and because I’m interested in finding out if he has an alibi for the previous shootings, I found a way to tag along.”

  “Stolen what? Guns? Drugs?” Charlie asked.

  “No, stolen electronics and computer components that end up at flea markets and internet sales across the state,” the state police officer said, walking up to join them. “Inside, along with Colby’s body, are cardboard boxes containing everything from laptops and tablets to smartphones and hard drives. There are also what look like industrial explosives and a couple of electrical detonators in a box labeled with the name of a local construction company. But there’s something else, and I had to call in my captain. This place is going to get very busy before long.”

  “What did you find, Sergeant?” DuPree asked.

  “Pinned to the east side wall is a poster we’ve seen before.” The sergeant brought out his phone and showed them an image. It was a printout of an ISIS flag, and below it, the message “Another hero sent to hell.”

  Charlie shook his head slowly. “Looks like our terrorist has changed his tactics.”

  DuPree swore softly. “How’d he gain entry? I didn’t see any marks on the back door suggesting a break-in,” DuPree said. “Anything like that in the front?”

  Sergeant Legler shook his head. “No open or broken windows either, which means Colby may have let his killer inside.”

  “Which suggests he knew him,” Charlie concluded. “Maybe there was a fight between partners and Colby lost.”

  Ruth looked back and forth between Charlie and DuPree. “If the shooter is the same man who killed the vet at the ceremony, how did he know we were coming here today?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Somehow he knew we’d want to talk to … Colby.”

  “But not when,” Ruth argued. “If the terrorist—or maybe the other terrorist—was watching us at the shop or my apartment and he followed us, how did he know to get here first?”

  “Because we had the wrong address? Or maybe the terrorist somehow knew about t
he State Police visit. He shot at us because we were closer or he didn’t have a clear shot at the cruiser. Or because he recognized me. There are several possibilities, I guess. Either way, if he wasn’t watching me already, then knowing we were coming narrows down the suspect list. Perhaps the shooter is an insider, or there’s some very personal motive at stake here.”

  Charlie immediately thought of Steven Azok, who did fit the description of the man he saw running away. Just how disturbed was the guy, and was he smart enough to pull off such a huge scam?

  DuPree nodded. “I see your point. But again, you were the target, and this was way too close. And how did Colby get the explosives, and what did he intend on doing with them? The guy was trained in detonation work in the military, so he had the skills needed to blow things up. We need to get our ducks in a row before the terrorist tries again, Charlie.”

  “But you’re going to be busy here for a while, right?” Charlie asked.

  “Undoubtedly a lot longer than I want. I can also expect the Feds currently looking for the terrorist to take over this investigation as well, and they’ll want to brush me aside. How about I give you a call when I’m done and we can meet at that little mom-and-pop place down from your shop?” DuPree suggested. “If they’re still open.”

  “Frank and Linda’s? Sure. Meanwhile, I think we have better things to do than stand around in this sun,” he said, nodding toward Ruth, who’d become very quiet.

  “Ready to get back to work?” he asked her.

  “How?” Ruth nodded toward Charlie’s car, which had both front and rear windshields shattered.

  “Forgot about that. The crime scene will be needing my car for a while, right?” Charlie asked.

  “Remove any firearms or devices you may have laying around inside, Charlie, then give me your key. I’ll find someone to give you two a ride back to the shop,” DuPree replied.

  Charlie looked down the dirt road. Two Corrales Police cars were parked there, with uniformed officers walking toward the trailer. A State Police car was coming up to join them. “Got my cell phone and the Beretta, but there’s one more thing I need. How about you?” he asked Ruth.