Kill the Heroes

by David Thurlo

  “I already have my purse and the folder,” she said, holding them up.

  Charlie walked over to the rear of the car, removed Turner’s bug, and put it into his pocket. Then he returned to where DuPree and Ruth were talking.

  “Detective. Will you need me to help locate the shooter’s position?” Charlie asked. “There was probably some brass left behind.”

  “Not necessary. I have a fix on the location. And there’ll be metal detectors, if necessary,” DuPree replied. “Now go find some shade until I can release someone to give you that ride. Better give me your car key, Charlie.”

  Charlie handed it to him. “I’m afraid to look, so take good care of her, okay?”

  Ruth groaned, grabbing Charlie’s arm. “You and that car. Let’s go stand under a cottonwood tree and get away from that smell,” she added in a whisper, gently brushing a cube of glass off his shoulder with a shaking hand.

  * * *

  Detective Wayne DuPree strolled into Frank and Linda’s mom-and-pop grocery and deli at five thirty, just a few minutes behind Charlie and Gordon, who were seated at one of the four lunch counter tables near the deli counter, sipping iced tea. The table gave them a view of the front entrance, so there was no need to wave to the cop; he knew where they’d be.

  The interior was long and lean, lined with shelves containing everything from Chinese teas, to Mexican and New Mexican foods for the local residents, half of whom were Hispanic.

  Their lunch menu varied, however; everything from green chile cheeseburgers to Navajo tacos and organic vegetarian salads. Most of the fare originated from local farms and ranches.

  “A Navajo taco and an iced tea,” DuPree announced to Frank as he approached the deli counter. “You guys already ordered?” he asked Gordon and Charlie.

  “Yes, they did, Wayne,” replied Frank, a short, barrel-chested man in his late fifties. He placed two plates loaded with burgers and sweet potato fries on the counter. “Here they are, boys.”

  Frank and Linda had run their small business for two decades, and knew both DuPree and his father, who’d worked this neighborhood as a sheriff’s deputy for most of his career.

  Charlie stood and retrieved his and Gordon’s meals, bringing them to the table as DuPree took a seat. “I’ve got some very interesting news, guys. I accompanied some State Police officers and a Bureau agent when they interviewed the staff at that vet place, Back Up. Turns out the three who work there had just returned, having shut down their office for a few hours, apparently right after you and Ruth left.”

  “That’s conveniently coincidental,” Charlie said. “Where’d they go?”

  “According to Patricia Azok, the three had split up to go visit potential employers and search out more temp jobs for the vets they represent. They didn’t return until around three, which is about the time we arrived at their office,” DuPree explained.

  “Which means one of them could have been the sniper who nearly took out Charlie over in Corrales,” Gordon responded. “And might even be the killer we’re looking for. Any way to check their alibis?”

  “That’s not going to be easy, Gordon. Some of that time they were in transit. But it might not matter anyway,” DuPree said.

  “Why the hell not?” Charlie asked. “Except for you and a few state police officers, the only people who knew we were tracking down Colby are those three Back Up people. Unless the shooter was following Ruth and me and somehow got ahead of us. Or, taking the simplest explanation, we just happened to walk into an ambush directed at the State Police. Any idea who might have known about their investigation into Colby? Who sent Sergeant Legler?”

  “The state cops are looking into that, but my instincts still point back to that Back Up office,” DuPree said.

  “So it does matter. The shooter, terrorist or not, could be either the ex-wife, Patricia, or Anna Brown, the bookkeeper. They are both about the same size, with similar skin and hair colors. Max is too heavy to have been the sniper I saw. Unless he hired it out. We have already considered that the terrorist might have a partner.”

  “Ah, but then there’s the bug,” DuPree responded, shaking his head.

  “Bug?” Gordon asked.

  “Yes. All three of them immediately denied any connection to Colby’s death and the shots fired today, as well as the previous incidents. Colby, as it turns out, worked several days at the company whose name was on the box with the explosives. Max and Anna verified that information. Then the staff began to speculate on ways anyone else could have learned about you and Ruth searching out Colby today, and Anna recalled that Steven Azok had been in the office more than once—before and after Whitaker was shot. She suggested that maybe Azok had bugged the phones to snoop on Patricia. He’s been stalking her ever since she threw him out of their place.”

  DuPree continued, “While the state police officer was on the phone, checking to see if they could get a tech over there to sweep the place, I decided to do a visual. In less than five minutes I found a bug stuck under Max’s desk. It was active, according to the tech who arrived a little later. No fingerprints were lifted, so they’re trying to trace the device. Apparently it’s readily available on Amazon and several mail order suppliers, so unless they can find a name to match with the serial number, it’s a dead end.”

  “I suppose the shooter could be Azok. Still no idea where he’s hiding out?” Charlie asked.

  “His red pickup was discovered yesterday more than a hundred and sixty miles from here, along the curb on a Farmington street. It’s not known how long it had been there. No sign of Azok, however, and his brother Aubrey claims not to know where he might be right now. FPD cops are looking for possible witnesses and checking security cameras in that area of their city,” DuPree said.

  “What else did they find?” Gordon asked.

  “The plates were missing, along with the registration and paperwork. But a set of fingerprints lifted from the interior match Azok’s,” DuPree said. “And the VIN number matched with the DMV. It’s his pickup, all right.”

  “How about reports of recent stolen cars in that area? Something blue, maybe a pickup,” Charlie asked. “Or a recent purchase from a used car lot? Azok’s obsessed with Patricia, so he might already be back here. It’s only a three hour or so drive from Farmington.”

  “He’s not at his last residence. The ATL is still active, and Patricia Azok has been notified,” DuPree said.

  “One Navajo taco, Junior,” Frank called out, laying the plate on the counter, along with a glass of iced tea.

  “Junior?” Gordon said with a smile.

  “My dad and I share the same first name,” DuPree mumbled, getting up to collect his meal.

  “So where do we stand right now?” Charlie asked.

  “Caleb Koury has been cleared of any radical activity, and released from jail. His computer emails to and from the Middle East have been between former classmates, not radicalized Muslim extremists,” DuPree added. “The list of suspects in the more recent attacks is more clearly defined, but we need to find Azok. This might not have a direct connection to the terrorist shootings, but my gut works against that possibility. Unfortunately, someone is still trying to kill you, Charlie.”

  “But why, unless it’s a terrorist who can’t seem to hit the target anymore?” Gordon asked. “Well, except for the guy in the trailer.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Maybe, from all the pressure, this shooter has been forced to take greater risks.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. A daylight attack, and the increased chance of pursuit and a visual ID,” DuPree said. “Waiting in ambush that close to residents was dangerous, especially if he was also the person who killed the guy at the trailer. How long had he been there, waiting within a hundred yards of his last victim?”

  “That’s why we need to keep up the pressure. I’m going to focus on Azok,” Charlie concluded. He’d also call Russell Turner, who’d contacted him a few hours ago, wanting to be brought up to speed on the shooting. Th
e CIA guy was still keeping a protective eye on Dawud Koury, but asked to be contacted when there were any substantial leads.

  “Stalkers are obsessed. How about we shadow Patricia Azok and wait for her husband to show up?” Gordon suggested. “I’m in, Charlie. You’ll need an extra set of eyes in case Azok turns confrontational instead of running away like last time. And, just in case Westerfield has made it to Albuquerque, we’ll ask Stannic—the deputy marshal—to cover Ruth’s apartment or provide someone. It’s nearly closing now, and she and Jake might be willing to tend the shop. They can run the business with their eyes closed anyway.”

  DuPree nodded. “Most of our detectives are tied up assisting the Feds, so it’s up to you two to do the heavy lifting on alternative theories. The Feds don’t believe Azok is a viable suspect, despite not having a clear alibi. They’re still reacting to those ISIS notes, concentrating on the lone-wolf theory, trying to guess what might happen now that the guy probably has explosives and detonators.”

  “How much of that was taken?” Gordon asked.

  “There are two sticks of dynamite missing, along with two detonators. ATF is now working on that. I’ve been instructed to assist in every way possible on the terrorist angle. Just keep in touch. As far as Azok is considered, I’ll make sure the APD patrols in the wife’s neighborhood know who you are. In order to do that, however, I’ll need specifics regarding the vehicles you’ll be using,” DuPree said.

  “Well, my Charger is out of commission at least for a few days, and besides, Azok knows it belongs to me. I have a silver rental sedan right now, a Hyundai,” Charlie answered.

  “The guy has seen my pickup too,” Gordon said. “Maybe Jake would be willing to switch vehicles with me once in a while, which means the patrols need to know about his black SUV. If this goes on for a couple of days, we’ll plan to vary our surveillance so it won’t spook the guy. One vehicle, two vehicles, like that.”

  “Okay, guys. Now let’s eat. My dinner is getting cold,” DuPree said.

  * * *

  “I’m just saying, that if I’d have been with you this morning, we might have caught the bastard,” Gordon said, still watching the street west of Patricia Azok’s apartment.

  “Or you might be in the hospital or dead. Azok would have shot at both of us. You squared off with him at the hospital that night, remember?” Charlie added.

  “Yeah, well. I’d have chosen a ride along with Ruth as a companion too. She’s much better company than either of us. Speaking of Ruth, how are things going between the two of you?” Gordon asked.

  “Much better.”

  “That’s cryptic.”

  “More than you need to know, Gordon.”

  “You’re in deep this time, Charles.”

  Charlie looked at his watch. “Speaking of time, you think Azok is really going to come by this late? It’s one fifteen.”

  “Assuming we haven’t missed him, he just might make one last drive-by to make sure she’s still at home and alone,” Gordon responded. “We can wait a few more minutes, then call it.”

  “Okay. But one of us should probably make a pass by here early tomorrow, or else check to see if Azok might be waiting near Back Up for Patricia’s arrival at work,” Charlie suggested.

  “Now you’re talking like a stalker.”

  “Experience, I suppose. Amazing, the skills you learn after a tour or two out snatching insurgents, day or night,” Charlie observed. “Learning habits, profiling.”

  “Think we’ll ever be able to put those days to rest?” Gordon asked.

  “All but the memories.”

  “God’s ears, Charlie. Now let’s go home before I fall asleep.”

  Charlie started the engine and took one last glance into the side mirror. “Wait a sec!”

  Gordon nodded. “Light on. Now off again. Maybe she had to get up just for a second to grab her cell phone. Or had to use the head.”

  “Yeah, probably it’s nothing. Still, I’m going to circle the block so we can check the alley.”

  “Good idea. I’m awake again anyway.” Gordon sat up in the seat.

  They drove quickly down the block, then Charlie turned onto the side street. Nearing the alley, there was the glow of taillights at the opposite end as a vehicle came out into the next street over, turning left.

  “No headlights, just the brake lights as he stopped for a second,” Gordon exclaimed. “He turned left.”

  Charlie raced down the street, turning right to locate the vehicle, a pickup, which was continuing broadside south past the next intersection. “I’m following whoever this is. He has no good reason to be creeping down a back alley in a residential neighborhood this time of night.”

  “Take it slow, Charlie. No need to spook the guy if that’s Azok,” Gordon warned. “You might wanna go lights out, like him. I’ll use the night-vision scope.” He reached over onto the center console and brought up the monocular unit, which had been for-sale merchandise earlier in the day at the shop.

  “Good thing we brought the scope,” Charlie said. “Guide me.”

  Charlie reached the intersection, passing through instead of immediately pursuing so they could take a quick look without spooking him. “Looks like a Ford 150,” Gordon confirmed.

  Charlie slowed and quickly turned the small car around in the deserted street, then followed, moving just fast enough to keep the vehicle in sight.

  “Glad there aren’t many streetlights in this neighborhood,” Gordon commented. “I’m trying to read the plate. It’s in-state, BMX something.”

  “You see anyone besides the driver?”

  “Yes, but with the headrest, I can’t make out anything except for the top of a head. The driver is wearing a ball cap,” Gordon announced. “And, the plate numbers are 499.”

  “Fourth Street coming up, stoplight, and traffic. He’ll have to turn on the headlights or get pulled over. The street is well lit, so we’ll do the same,” Charlie said.

  The pickup, a dark blue color, turned left on the arrow, heading north as the driver turned on his lights. Charlie had to run a yellow light to follow, using the delay to also turn on the sedan’s headlights to blend it. “I hope we don’t end up having to race this guy.”

  “Hey, at least you’ll get better gas mileage.”

  “Let’s ask someone to run that plate and see if we can rule out some innocent who just happens to be cruising around with his date or companion.”

  “It’s gonna have to be Nancy.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, following as far away as possible while still being able to make the same traffic lights. He slipped into the right-hand lane, not wanting to be directly behind the pickup on the four-lane street.

  It didn’t take long for Nancy to answer. As a detective she was usually required to be available. Gordon made the quick request, then ended the call.

  He picked up the night scope again, ready in case the pickup turned onto a less-lit side street. “If he keeps this route, we’ll be out of the city in another ten minutes,” Gordon pointed out.

  They continued on, barely keeping the pickup in sight all the way out of north Albuquerque. Once they’d cleared the last large intersection, there were no streetlights ahead on this stretch of El Camino Real, the royal trade route of the Spanish settlers from Mexico to Santa Fe. And here the ancient path narrowed to two lanes.

  “He’s in no hurry. If this is Azok and he’s grabbed Patricia, the guy is at least keeping his cool,” Gordon said. “I wish Nancy would get back to us on that license plate.”

  A few minutes later, Gordon got the call. He listened, gave their location and direction of travel, thanked Nancy, and then said good night.

  “Well?” Charlie asked, his eyes on the taillights a quarter mile ahead.

  “The plates are stolen, and you wanna guess from where?”

  “Farmington?”

  “You heard. Well, did you also hear that there’s a dark blue F-150 pickup on the FPD hot sheet?” Gordon asked.


  “No, but the Four Corners area is pickup heaven. I bet there are a hundred missing Ford pickups in San Juan County. I grew up in Shiprock, remember, and even my dad had his truck stolen once,” Charlie admitted. “But does the most recent theft fit within our time frame?”

  “Sure does, and APD dispatch is notifying the Bernalillo cops and the State Police to pull him over once he gets within their city limits. Nancy wants to make sure we keep the vehicle in sight until then.”

  Charlie nodded. “So the worst we can do tonight is help catch a pickup thief.” We’re good at that, he recalled, from a series of incidents last year.

  “Crap,” Gordon muttered, bringing the night scope to his eye. “They’re pulling off the road.”

  “Is there a…?”

  “Yeah, a side road that leads beneath the railroad tracks,” Gordon completed the sentence. “But he’s coming to a stop.”

  Charlie slowed. “Suppose he spotted us?”

  “Now he’s taking off again,” Gordon said. “Raising dust.”

  Charlie accelerated. “He’s making a run for it!”

  “Wait!”

  “Wait why?”

  “He left someone by the road. Or else met them there,” Gordon replied. “I can’t make out who it is. But we’d better stop and see.”

  “Yeah. If it’s his wife, we have to pick her up. The cops ahead should be able to stop him.”

  Charlie slowed again, seeing someone standing beside the road, waving their arms.

  “It’s a woman, I think. She’s wearing a hoodie.”

  They pulled off the highway and the woman was clearly visible at the edge of the headlight cones. “It’s Patricia!” Charlie exclaimed, braking to a stop.

  Gordon already had the window down. “Are you okay? Was that your … husband?”

  “I’m fine, Gordon. Just a little scared,” she answered, her arms wrapped around her chest tightly. “And yes, that was Steven.”

  Gordon jumped out and held the door open for her. “You’re safe now. Get in.”

  “I can ride in the back.”