by David Thurlo
“What?”
“Azok. Well, most of his upper half,” Gordon answered.
Charlie ran his hands over his aching head, brushing off bloody dust and something moist and chunky, hoping it didn’t belong to him. “I still have most of my skull and ears, but for sure I lost my Bluetooth.”
“Found mine. Want me to call it in—if my phone still works?”
“Go for it. Meanwhile, let’s step away from this mess and check out our body parts. The vests saved our lives, but let’s make sure we’re not losing any blood.”
* * *
Charlie and Gordon were being treated by EMTs out of Bernalillo when SAC Jackson came up carrying a battered, hard plastic rifle case.
“Let me guess. It’s a Ruger carbine in .223 caliber,” Charlie said.
Jackson opened the case for them, verifying Charlie’s guess. “I’m hoping it’s the weapon that killed Nathan Whitaker, Charlie,” the agent answered. “You still think that the bomb was set off by the driver of that gold sedan?”
Charlie nodded. “How did the rifle survive the blast in almost perfect condition? That plastic case isn’t exactly bombproof.”
Jackson looked from Charlie to Gordon. “The techs think it was placed in the truck bed, not with the driver. And, something odd, the tailgate was down. The blast blew the rifle away from the truck. It was found, still in the case, wedged in the branches of a juniper tree thirty feet away. Why would the dead perp drive down this god-awful track with the weapon lying on the pickup bed where it could slide right out onto the ground?”
“Because it was placed there after the pickup arrived at this location. The gun was supposed to survive the blast intact so it could be tested by the ballistics people,” Gordon suggested.
“So we’d think Azok was the terrorist?” Jackson nodded. “Makes sense. But the story is all wrong. According to APD, the surveillance recorded outside his estranged wife’s home places Steven Azok ten miles away during the attack at the park.”
“Maybe whoever is trying to frame Azok doesn’t know about the cameras,” Charlie said.
“The guy in the gold car,” Gordon said with a nod.
“Who’s maybe the original shooter,” Jackson concluded. “We’ve discovered a set of bootprints leading to vehicle tracks that don’t match those of the truck. There were two vehicles out here, and Azok had this other person with him for a while.”
“Looks like the terrorist was using Azok as a throwaway partner,” Charlie said. “He managed to set up Azok to lead us here today, even providing him with a script. Then Azok was killed. The texts came from the gold car guy later on.”
“Either Anna, Max, or Patricia,” Gordon offered. “Or someone manipulating one of them. A person we haven’t seen yet.”
“Good point. I’m not a hundred percent sure Patricia didn’t have a hand in this. At this point she might have done anything to get Steven out of her life,” Charlie suggested. “He would have come to meet her here if she’d played it right.”
“Cap him, then set us up to die? I don’t think Patricia is really that cold. Let’s concentrate on Anna, Max, and maybe one of the Back Up clients we haven’t met yet,” Gordon argued. “Anna drives a gold sedan, and that puts her toward the top of the list. But maybe someone stole her car, like with Webster.”
Jackson shook his head. “I’m a little out of the loop here, guys, with the Bureau’s focus on some still unidentified person or persons. Fill me in on what you know. I want to make the arrest when it goes down.”
Chapter Seventeen
After refusing the advice of EMTs to go to an emergency room for further examination, Charlie and Gordon gave their official statements to the FBI agent and the State Police, and were able to head back to Albuquerque about seven in the evening.
“I wonder what Jackson is going to find, looking deeper into Anna Brown and Max Mitchell’s backgrounds,” Gordon said as they reached the street leading to FOB Pawn, and Charlie’s rental. “Supposedly, Back Up was closed today with all the current clients scheduled for temp jobs. I think Max is in the clear, but not Anna. And, maybe not Patricia. She inherited all of Nathan’s estate.”
“They’re vets, Anna in the Air Force, and Max in the Army. They were apparently his first and only employees, but besides what they apparently do for Back Up, we never really checked up on them. All we know about Patricia is some personal stuff concerning Azok and her ex. She’s never served, if I recall,” Charlie said.
“Two out of three had weapons training, especially with Max. Patricia may have gone to the range with either of her husbands. A lot of people who serve make sure their family members are also familiar with firearms. Safety issues, spouse and family protection while they’re deployed, stuff like that,” Gordon pointed out.
“Let’s go straight to the source, then, starting with Max. See what he can tell us about the ladies?”
“Works for me. Let’s call him tonight and see when, and if, he’ll be available. Maybe join him for a few beers. I’ve met a few soldiers who are willing to talk once they’ve discovered someone else is buying,” Gordon said.
“First, let’s clean up at your place, then grab some dinner. I haven’t eaten since, well, that nutritious spinach salad at lunch,” Charlie said. “Ruth insists it’s healthy.”
“Hey, it works for her.”
“No substitute for man food, however.”
“Amen to that. How about we order pizza? The place on Fourth. Once we get sanitary again,” Gordon said. “Those disinfecting wipes back there just weren’t enough to clear away whatever landed on me,” Gordon said.
Charlie felt the back of his head, recalling the blast. It would take a long, hot shower before he’d consider resting on a pillow again. Ruth and Rene were still being covered by Deputy Marshal Stannic and his people from WITSEC, so he was going to limit his time with her to a phone call instead of a night on the couch. Hopefully tonight the dreams that had haunted him for years, enhanced by the gore of today, wouldn’t be paying him a visit. He’d go to sleep thinking of Ruth, of course—after a Navajo prayer giving thanks for being able to live another day.
Max told them that he was on the wagon now, but he agreed to meet at an old family restaurant on Fourth Street for pie and coffee. When they walked into the small establishment, they immediately spotted the Vietnam vet sitting at a booth across the room with a view of the entrance. Just as a waitress approached, Max stood and waved them over.
“We’re meeting a friend,” Gordon told the woman with a smile. “Can we start out with coffee for all of us?”
Max greeted them with handshakes and a weak smile. “I managed to catch the evening news. Glad you boys escaped with nothing more than scratches and the mother of all headaches. It’s sad to hear about Steven’s death, though. Nobody should have to die like that. On the plus side, it might take a lot of pressure off of Patricia. Is it true that the Feds think Azok killed himself, and that he was one of the terrorists?”
“They asked us not to discuss the details,” Charlie replied, taking a seat and sliding down to make room for Gordon. “But there are some conflicting theories,” he added, stopping as the waitress came up with a carafe and two big mugs. Max already had his own coffee.
After they’d ordered, and the waitress was out of earshot, Charlie continued. “We don’t know for sure what else Azok was doing besides stalking, then kidnapping Patricia, but we do know he couldn’t have been the sniper who killed your boss.”
“The Feds are concentrating on finding that individual. As for us, we’re still checking out the possibility that the shooter at the heroes ceremony may have had a personal motive for killing Whitaker,” Gordon said.
“And Colby, and for trying to take you, well, both of you out,” Max concluded. “If it wasn’t a terrorist, just what the hell kind of motive are we talking about? What’s behind the three murders—so far?”
“Hate, revenge, jealousy, greed, mental illness? Who knows? Whatever the reason, we
’d like to get deeper into Nathan’s life, not just concerning his relationships with Back Up clients, or his ex-wife,” Charlie said.
“We’ve been told that Nathan was trying to get back together with Patricia and that enraged Steven Azok, but what else can you tell us about Whitaker’s personal life?” Gordon asked. “From the time you met him, at least. Any old friends, enemies, bar fights, road-rage incidents, girlfriends, anything like that,” he added.
“Well, I’d put this out of my mind until just now, but when Nathan started up the company, he was hooking up with someone. And, please, don’t say where you got the information. I respect the woman, and I have to work with her,” Max added.
Charlie and Gordon looked at each other. “Anna Brown?”
“Yes, but there wasn’t anything going on when they were at work, though it wasn’t exactly a secret. There were a lot of smiles and frequent glances, much more than friendly gestures. That went on for some months, then stopped all of a sudden. For a while their conversations were strained, they stopped looking at each other, and it was strictly business. There was never any fighting or insults that I saw or heard. They’d just turned cold, and that was strange.”
“Any idea what caused the breakup?” Gordon asked.
“I was smart enough not to ask, but I have an idea. Not long before the split, Patricia came into Back Up. She was really upset and told Nathan that she was going to divorce Azok. Steven was being abusive and that marrying him had been a big mistake,” Max said.
“How’d Nathan take that?” Charlie asked.
“He wanted to go beat the crap out of the guy, and I volunteered to help,” Max said. “But Patricia said she didn’t want anyone to get into trouble. That she’d already kicked the guy out and had filed a restraining order. She said she could handle it.”
“Any idea why she brought that news to Nathan?” Gordon asked. “They’d been divorced for a while, right?”
Max nodded. “Maybe Patricia was looking for sympathy, a shoulder to cry on, or even reconciliation. Something.”
“Anna overheard Patricia’s story?” Charlie asked.
Max nodded. “In the following days, Nathan began talking to Patricia on the phone in the office, sometimes for fifteen minutes or more. I could see how jealous and hurt Anna was whenever I went into her office. I asked what was wrong, and she said it was personal and to butt out. I backed off, and after a few weeks everything was better,” Max explained.
“On the surface,” Gordon said.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Max said. “Eventually the strain went away and we were all friends again, or, well, office friendly.”
“How much interacting is necessary for operations at Back Up? Didn’t Nathan and Anna still have to work together on expenses, budgets, taxes, and wages?” Charlie brought up.
Max shrugged. “Nathan and I handled almost all the contacts with clients and employers, and Anna took care of the books. We’re not even networked except in sharing WiFi and a common printer. We have our own laptops or a desktop, and share files using flash drives if we need. The financial part of it Anna handles on her own, with software she’s configured to fit our business model. You already know how the vets get paid.”
“And that Patricia is trying to change all that now,” Gordon said. “Is Anna still against the move?”
“Yeah, and she’s been dragging her feet, complaining that we have to remain flexible in order to get jobs for small operations and employers who just want to hire someone on a particular project. Like a homeowner who needs someone to help put up some gutters or lay down some tile, but wants to pay in cash,” Max said.
“You mentioned that everyone works with their own computer,” Gordon said. “Didn’t I hear someone mention a few days ago that Anna also has Nathan’s laptop?”
Max nodded.
“Do you use them for personal emails as well?” Charlie asked, alert to the direction his pal was taking.
“I do, and I think Nathan did as well,” Max confirmed. “As for Anna, she has a desktop in her office, so I’m rarely looking over her shoulder.”
“Have any law enforcement officers asked to look at Nathan’s laptop or the contents of his desk, just in case either of them might provide a lead?” Charlie asked.
“No, but Detective DuPree asked us to keep everything secure and available, and not to delete any computer files or emails in case they are ever subpoenaed by a prosecutor.”
“How about if we make the suggestion to SAC Jackson to take a closer look, or maybe just keep it local with DuPree?” Gordon asked. “I think we’ll get further if we stick with APD.”
“I don’t think the law will even need a warrant. Patricia has a big stake in finding Nathan’s killer, and I’m positive she’ll cooperate. She’s already received the paperwork from county and is now, legally, the owner of Back Up,” Max suggested. “It’s her call.”
“Good idea,” Charlie said. “I’ll pass that along to my contacts, and ask Ruth to come along tomorrow. I can use her business expertise.”
Gordon just smiled.
* * *
Charlie pulled into a parking slot beside the small Back Up office, noting the three vehicles belonging to the regular staff were already there. As he walked around to join Ruth, who had just climbed out of the rental, Detective Medina pulled up into the remaining slot in her unmarked sedan and nodded to them.
“Hi, guys. Gordon not coming?” Nancy said as she got out of the car.
“He needed to catch up with the online business this morning, and Ruth already has established some rapport with Patricia,” Charlie said. “Besides, Gordon’s charm doesn’t seem to work on Anna, who, we think, might not be that happy being asked to turn over Nathan’s laptop. She’s already fighting Patricia over the bookkeeping methods.”
“DuPree still wants our computer forensic expert to examine the laptop for anything that might help with the investigation—well, investigations—into each attack that seems to be directed toward Nathan and those individuals with a connection to him and Back Up,” Nancy said. “He also wants me to box up any physical evidence, papers, and so forth, then bring the contents in. Until now, there hadn’t seemed to have been any urgent need to look inwardly for other possible motives for all the crimes committed so far.”
They walked up the steps and Nancy, in the lead, knocked as she turned the knob on the door to Back Up. Inside the outer office, Patricia and Max were seated at their desks, and Anna stood in the doorway to her own area, her face flushed and her eyes shooting daggers. Max relaxed slightly, obviously glad to see them. Patricia stood and walked around to greet them.
“Welcome, Detective Medina, Charlie, and Ruth. We were just working on some issues concerning Nathan’s computer.” Patricia motioned to a silver and black laptop on her desk. “Is it possible for us to make a backup of all the files before you take the computer?”
“I’m still against this, people,” Anna declared immediately. “It’s not right turning over the personal files of our clients. The private information of all these vets shouldn’t be seen by some shop owner who has no legal authority whatsoever to examine these records.”
“This shop owner has been the target of at least four attempts on his life since Captain Whitaker was killed, Ms. Brown,” Ruth called out, her voice ice cold. “I was there in several of those incidents, and was seated next to Captain Whitaker when your boss was killed. His blood was on my clothes. Where were you, and why do you want to impede Charlie’s efforts to track down the person who’s been trying to kill him? If he doesn’t have the right to search out the killer, then who does?”
Anna’s face turned even redder than before and she clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Charlie won’t be permitted to see anything on that computer directly, we’re already clear on that, Ms. Brown,” Nancy declared. “Mr. Henry will be briefed with any information needed to protect him from further attempts on his life. He seems to have a knack for
ferreting out the truth, and if he happens to discover the identity of the persons or people responsible for recent events, that will serve us all. Isn’t that what we want?”
“Well, Patricia has the last word on this, unless you have a warrant,” Anna said, her anger fading, resigned to the reality of the situation. “But I still need a copy of the text and data files. I need to be able to access client information in order to continue to serve our function here.”
“You don’t back up your files?” Ruth asked.
“I have a separate hard drive for the business records and software, and Max and Nathan backed up their own files on flash drives,” Anna said, now assuming a less confrontational tone.
“Nathan kept his in there,” Max said, pointing to the drawer at the desk where Patricia was sitting.
Patricia brought out a cigar box. Inside were three flash drives. “He actually used two, the red and blue ones. The white drive is mine,” she said, handing the first two to Nancy.
“I’ve only used Nathan’s computer as a source of information. I haven’t changed any files or deleted a word,” Anna said. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a flash drive that was still in the bubble pack. “This is brand new, hopefully with enough capacity to copy all the text and data files on the system, including his emails, correspondence, attachments, zip files, and pdfs. The works.”
“Then go ahead,” Nancy replied, looking over to Patricia, who nodded.
The process took several minutes, and during that time Patricia took out all the papers and folders from Nathan’s former desk and a file cabinet drawer, handing them to Nancy, who placed them in two cardboard storage boxes that she had brought with her. When the files were backed up onto the flash drive, Anna removed the device, shut down the computer, and then stepped back.
Patricia handed the laptop to Nancy, who put it into one of the boxes. Then Max wrote something down on a memo pad. “Here is the user name and password needed to access the computer,” he said, handing her the paper. “We all knew each other’s passwords, in case one of us was sick or needed to take the day off.”
