The morning light was gray, as dawn was just beginning to light the sky. The silvery blue sky threw an odd light on the desert. The rocks, the plants, and even the mountains themselves looked like images on a video screen, not quite real. Joe climbed out of his sleeping bag and into the cold morning air.
“Guess what?” he yelled to Frank. “I just met a coyote.” He walked to the edge and looked down.
About thirty feet below, Frank waved his end of the rope. “Well,” he called up, “this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. The rope’s been cut. We’ve been sabotaged again.”
Joe pulled up the rope and examined it. The end had been cut a little more than halfway through. He checked the rest of the rope, and then dropped a length to Frank, who quickly climbed to the top.
As they anchored the rope and prepared to rappel down, they saw the tan Toyota coming along the road.
“I’ll bet Dad was worried about us,” Frank said. “You never did raise him on the CB, did you?”
“Nope,” Joe said, glad to see Fenton coming after them so early. He looped the belt through his harness and let himself carefully over the edge of the cliff. Then, leaning back against the rope and walking slowly down the face of the cliff, he rappelled to the bottom. Frank came after him. They coiled up the rope and then jogged out to the road, where Fenton stood by the car waiting for them.
Not until they were in the warm car did they realize how chilled they’d been in the cold desert air. As they sipped the hot cocoa Fenton had brought for them in a thermos, they told him about the events of the night. He had been listening on the CB but hadn’t picked up any of Joe’s transmissions.
“In fact,” he said as he drove, “all I could pick up was static. I didn’t even hear the transmissions you heard. Finally, about four o’clock in the morning, I went out with a flashlight to check the antenna. It was broken off.”
“I wondered what was wrong,” Joe said.
“Did you figure out whose voice you heard on the CB?” Frank asked him.
“No, but I hope to,” Joe said. “Maybe I’ll recognize it if I hear it again.”
“Maybe it was the person who cut the rope,” Frank said, “and who broke off the antenna on the motor home.”
“Well,” Joe said, “we know Raymond Perez could have cut the rope when we went into the camper to pack,” Joe said.
“But he didn’t have a knife,” Frank said.
“Not that I saw,” Joe said. “And Professor Townsend was also near the ropes. Grish was there, too, but he doesn’t count,” Joe said.
When they pulled into the campground, Grish was waiting for them at their campsite, standing beside his official truck. He grew angry when they told him someone had cut the climbing rope.
“That does it,” he said. “You guys are off this case. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, especially over some cacti. They aren’t worth the risk. I’m going back to the office to call the state agricultural investigators. No offense, Fenton, but I’m beginning to think it would be a good idea if you guys just packed up and went back to Bayport.”
Fenton nodded. “I’ll stop by the office in a little while and we’ll talk.”
Grish hesitated as he was getting into his truck, then said, “Seriously, Frank and Joe, this is getting too involved and dangerous. I want you to back off. Do I make myself clear?”
“Loud and clear,” Joe said.
“Good,” Grish said. “See you at the office, Fenton.” He got into the truck and drove off.
“Well?” Fenton said. “What do you boys think?”
“You know what we think, Dad,” Frank said. “How can we give up in the middle of a case? How can we . . .” He hesitated, distracted by the sight of Professor Townsend sitting in his pickup, trying to get it started. “You need some help, Professor?” Frank called.
Townsend didn’t respond, perhaps because he couldn’t hear inside the truck with the window rolled up. With Diane in the seat beside him, he was trying to start the engine, but it wouldn’t quite catch.
“Sounds like he’s out of gas,” Joe said. “I think we should give him a hand, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Frank said.
They walked over together. Townsend rolled down his window, looking flustered and not at all happy to see them.
“Can we help?” Joe asked. “Is your gas gauge working?”
“Of course it’s working,” Townsend said with a snarl. “There should be plenty of gas.”
“But it isn’t getting to the carburetor,” Joe said. “If you’ll pop open the hood, I’ll take a look.”
Eventually they realized that the problem was a clogged fuel filter. “It’s simple to fix,” Joe said, “if we find a replacement.”
After talking things over, they decided Joe would drive Diane and Fenton into Ajo, the nearest town, to pick up a filter. Fenton wanted to stock up on groceries, and so did Diane. Frank planned to put away the camping and climbing gear and maybe take a short nap after his cold night perched on the cliff.
“And,” Frank added as they talked over their plans, “I should have a little talk with Perez. I want to see his paintings, to see if he’s for real.”
“Good idea,” Joe said.
“What’ll you do if you see something that links him to Kidwell?” Fenton asked.
“If Perez and Kidwell are partners in crime,” Frank said, “they’re smart enough not to let me see anything in the camper that would incriminate them.”
“So you don’t expect to get in?” Fenton asked.
“Not if there’s anything in there that points to the thefts,” Frank said.
“What are you guys talking about?” Diane asked, standing by the door of her father’s truck. “What is this crime you’re discussing?”
Frank looked at her, then at Joe. “It’s a long story,” he said. “You’d better get on the road, Joe. We’ve got things to do.”
“You bet,” he said. “Diane?”
With a quizzical look, Diane got into the front seat, and Joe climbed into the driver’s seat. Fenton got in back, and they drove away.
Frank walked over to Perez’s camper. Perez met him at the door. “So,” Perez said, “how was your climb?”
“Funny you should ask,” Frank said.
“You mean it was eventful? Did you spot the cactus rustlers?” Perez asked.
“I’ll tell you what,” Frank said. “You show me your paintings and I’ll bring you up to date on our adventure.”
“What?” Perez said. “Why do you want to see my paintings?” When he saw that Frank was serious, he licked his lips and glanced inside the camper. He wasn’t his usual cocky self, Frank noticed.
“What can I say?” Perez said. “No one else has ever shown any interest, and . . . well, okay.” He stepped back and waved Frank in.
Frank looked at the groups of three and four paintings stacked together, leaning against the walls, on the kitchenette table, even hanging from open cupboard doors. The paintings were of desert sunsets, mountains, cacti, and shrubs.
“So these are your paintings?” Frank said at last.
Perez chewed his lower lip and nodded. Frank looked at the painting on the top of each stack and leafed through the most prominent stack closest to the door. Some were on canvas. Others were on wood. Propped up by the sink was a large dinner plate painted with a scene of a cactus garden. Frank let his eyes casually glance over everything in the trailer but could see nothing that tied Perez in with Kidwell or the thefts.
“There sure are a lot of paintings,” he said finally.
“I know. I know,” Perez said. “Actually, I’m supposed to be in art school at the university in Tucson, but I ran out of money. A friend lent me this old camper and I moved here. This is the cheapest place I could live until I can go back to school.”
“Couldn’t you get a job?” Frank asked.
“I looked, but I couldn’t find anything,” Perez said. “I figured an artist starving in the desert was more roma
ntic than an artist starving in the city.”
“They’re not bad,” Frank said, waving his hand at the paintings around him. “I like them.” Obviously Perez was an artist, but Frank still couldn’t get a sense of whether he was involved with the cactus thieves. A starving artist might stoop to stealing plants from a national preserve.
“Thanks,” Perez said. “Do you want to talk some more? You still have to tell me about last night.”
“Sure,” Frank said, “but first tell me how you met David Kidwell.”
“What?” Perez asked.
He seemed to have been caught off guard, so Frank pushed the point. “I said, tell me how you met David Kidwell. You two are obviously old friends.”
“Oh, I don’t remember exactly,” Perez said. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “We just got to talking one day when he was working around the campground.”
“What were you two doing yesterday when you went down the hill?” Frank said. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” Perez said. “I was just taking a look, like I said.”
“Don’t give me that, Perez,” Frank said. “I know you and Kidwell had a talk.”
“How did you . . .?” Perez said. “Man, you guys are good. Okay, here’s what happened. Kidwell and I got to be friends from just hanging out around the park. He’s a hard guy to know because he’s so quiet. When I overheard you and Joe talking the other day, I went to Kidwell and told him he was a suspect. Yesterday, when you were trying to spy on him, I went down the hill and told him. And while you and Joe were out looking for the professor, I put up that little rock pile to throw you off and make you suspect Townsend.”
“Why’d you do that?” Frank said, opening the door.
“ ’Cause I knew Kidwell was innocent, and I wanted to keep him out of trouble. He’s a loner, like me, and we’ve got to watch out for each other.”
“Perez, I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Frank said. “If Grish finds out that you’ve discussed the case with Kidwell, that’ll be the end of me. Now, listen, we’re officially off the case under orders from Grish. So don’t breathe a word to anyone about this investigation. Enough damage has been done already.”
Frank sighed in frustration. No wonder Grish was so adamant about secrecy, he thought. There are wily coyotes all over this desert.
• • •
Meanwhile, halfway to Ajo, Joe apologized to Diane for the way Perez had accused her father of being responsible for the rattlesnake.
“I know Perez was being a jerk and not you guys,” she said. “You and Frank are both very sweet.” Without looking in his rearview mirror, Joe knew his father was grinning in the seat behind him.
“My father’s been working very hard,” Diane said. “My mother has a rare form of arthritis and is in a nursing home, which is very expensive. I’m used to Dad, but I always feel sorry for people who don’t know him and don’t know why he’s like that.”
“It’s okay,” Joe said, resisting the impulse to say that he and Frank were used to dealing with jerks.
Just outside of town they found an auto parts store and purchased a filter for the professor’s truck.
Back in the car, Diane said, “I’m still waiting to hear your long story, Joe. What thieves were you talking about? Does it have something to do with the rattlesnake in your RV?”
Joe tried to think of something to say. Diane seemed innocent, but he and Frank had seen a lot of innocent faces on people who later turned out to be guilty. He decided to take an indirect approach. “Listen,” he said. “You didn’t happen to see anyone around our campsite yesterday afternoon, did you?”
“I was trying to tell you yesterday, when Perez interrupted, that I saw a tall, lean man wearing a cowboy hat hanging around your campsite just before you got back. He could have been the one who put the rattler in there. He’d have to be really knowledgeable about the desert, though.”
“Why do you say that?” Fenton asked.
“Only a real desert rat would know how to find a rattler in January,” Diane said. “They hibernate.”
“Well,” Joe said, “unless you can spot him again, you’ve given us a description that could fit a lot of men around here. Just take a look.”
They were on the main street of Ajo, heading toward a rectangular plaza with shops around it. Adults strolled across the brown grass lawn and children played there. All the men wore blue jeans, even the ones in business jackets. Many were Native Americans. Most of the men wore cowboy hats. And any man who wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat wore a baseball cap.
“That guy getting into the Jeep fits the description you just gave us,” Joe said. “So does that guy crossing the street, and even that guy going into the restaurant.”
“Why would anyone put a rattlesnake in your motor home, anyway?” Diane asked. “It just doesn’t— Oh!” she cried out, and pointed. “Joe! That’s him, right there!”
12 A Prisoner Is Taken
* * *
“That’s him, I swear!” Diane cried, pointing.
“Which one?” Joe asked.
“Going into the café on the other side of the plaza,” Diane said. “The one holding his hat in his hand and smoothing back his hair.”
Joe stifled the impulse to floor the car and race around the plaza. He knew that the man might duck away if he was aware that someone was after him. Instead Joe pulled the car into a parking place near the restaurant.
“Are you going to confront him?” Diane asked.
“Oh, no,” Fenton said. “Nothing like that. For now we’re just curious. We don’t want to get the guy stirred up so he runs.”
“How about a soft drink?” Joe asked Diane as they all got out of the car. “In that café.”
“Sure,” Diane answered. “Are we going to follow him?”
“At a distance,” Joe said. “If he’s the one who put the snake in our motor home, he might recognize us. We have to be careful.”
Once inside the café, they spotted the cowboy Diane had identified, sitting near the rest rooms in the back with another man, who was wearing a plaid shirt.
“Are you still sure it’s him?” Joe asked.
“Yes. Remember, I’m a scientist-in-training,” Diane answered. “I have an excellent visual memory.”
“You two find a booth so they can’t see you,” Fenton said. “Order a coffee for me. I’ve got an idea.” With a nod to Joe, he left. About ten minutes later he came back, carrying a denim jacket and a cap.
“Put these on, Joe,” he said. “You need a disguise.”
Seeing that the cap was too large, Joe started to adjust the tabs in back. But Fenton stopped him. “Pull it down low,” he said.
When Joe was ready, Fenton said, “You can’t see it from your side of the table, but there’s a telephone alcove by the rest rooms. It’s right by their table. Go back there and pretend to make a phone call. Listen to what they’re saying, if you can.”
“Be careful, Joe,” Diane said.
“No problem,” Joe said as he got up. Keeping his face turned away from the cowboy and the man in the plaid shirt, he walked back to the telephone, dropped in a quarter, and pretended to make a phone call.
The men weren’t talking much. They seemed more interested in wolfing down their hamburgers.
“We got it on the map?” the cowboy asked. The other man’s reply was indistinct. But after a few moments Joe heard the cowboy say, “So tonight is the last one? I thought we were gonna do a few more.”
“We were,” the man in the plaid shirt said. “But the boss says those pesky kids are getting in the way. This one’s the last.”
They talked some more, but Joe couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Then he heard the man in the plaid shirt say, “You ready, Slim?”
“Yeah,” the cowboy said, standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”
As they ambled to the register, Joe got his first good look at them. He recognized Slim, the cowboy, as the man they had
seen in Grish’s office the day before. The man in the plaid shirt was shorter and stockier, with long dark hair. So, according to Diane, Slim had been hanging around the campground, Joe mused. Perhaps Diane was right, and Slim was the one who’d planted the rattlesnake in their motor home.
After the two men left, Joe returned to the booth in time to see his father put a few bills on the table. Fenton handed him a burger and said, “Sorry, son. You’ll have to eat it on the way.”
Joe shrugged at Diane as she slid out of the booth. He took a big bite of the burger and, with his mouth full, said, “Oh, well, that’s the life of a detective.”
When they got outside, they saw the two men climb into a pickup truck and drive off.
“Hey, that’s Kidwell’s truck,” Joe said. “I saw it parked at Grish’s office.”
“Let’s go,” Fenton said, heading for the car, Joe and Diane hustling behind him.
“What did you hear inside?” Fenton asked as Joe started the car.
“Those two were talking about doing their last job tonight. And the cowboy’s name is Slim,” Joe added, pulling into traffic.
“Did they say why this was going to be their last job?” Fenton asked.
Joe grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “They said something about some pesky kids getting too close.”
“I see,” Fenton said. “Well, pesky kid, let’s not let those guys get too far ahead of us.”
They continued a few blocks through town, following Kidwell’s truck until it turned in to a motel parking lot and stopped next to a yellow van.
“Hey!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s the yellow van that drove by when our fuel line was cut.”
“You didn’t tell me your fuel line was cut,” Diane said. “You just said it was broken.”
Joe didn’t answer. He was watching the men enter a small bungalow unit.
“How did those guys know where to find us to cut the fuel line?” Joe asked. “Perez was with us, and I never saw Kidwell until we got to the site. Neither one of them could have radioed for these guys to come and cut our line unless the guys were waiting to do something like that all along.”
The Desert Thieves Page 8
