by Aimée Thurlo
“And that’s not connected to Stuart’s homicide?”
“I’m not ruling it out, but at this stage I don’t see a link.” She deliberately left out the fact that the robber had gained access to the safe, not wanting to speculate on how he knew the combination. That fact alone provided a good link, one she wasn’t supposed to make.
“Do you have any other leads on that homicide?” Tafoya asked.
“Since the door to Stuart’s home—the murder scene—wasn’t compromised, I suspect that Stuart knew his killer and let him in. That’s why motive’s so crucial to this case.”
“You’re a good officer, Wells. Stay on it,” he said, dismissing her.
Katie swallowed the bitterness at the back of her throat. She’d been a damned good cop once. Now … It was strange how something intrinsically good like love and loyalty could lead to corruption. It also grated on her pride, having to play stupid to her boss.
She was on her way back to her desk when she got a call on her cell phone from her next door neighbor. Katie identified herself.
“It’s Doris,” the caller said. “I thought you might want to know that Brent’s out in your backyard, drinking and fighting with another boy. They’re just wrestling right now, but it doesn’t look like they’re playing. I yelled at them to stop, but they didn’t even slow down. Brent’s got blood on him, too. Should I call 911?”
“Did you see any weapons?”
“No. You think they’re just play-fighting to get a rise from me?”
“Maybe, but stay out of their way. I’ll be there in a few minutes and put a stop to it. Thanks, Doris.” Katie hurried to the parking lot, jamming the phone into her pocket. At least it wasn’t drugs this time. Brent was acting out, determined to find trouble. She just wasn’t around enough to keep him in line. Her job kept her on the go, and the hours were far from regular, but someone had to pay the bills.
Katie switched on her emergency lights as she flew down the highway, going code one—silent approach. She wanted to take the boys by surprise, and that meant no siren. It took her less than ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute trip home.
As she pulled into her driveway, she saw Doris on her own front porch, pointing toward the back of the house. Katie raced around the corner and found the boys on the ground, bloodied, their shirts in tatters. Brent was on the bottom, blocking roundhouse punches with his forearms, but the bigger kid was clearly wearing him down.
“Break it up!” Katie yelled, grabbing the kid by the collar. He turned to look, his face covered with dirt, sweat, and spit, his left eye swollen. It was doubtful he could see worth a damn, and she could smell booze all over him.
Brent punched up, catching the big teen in the gut.
“Let go, bitch!” the kid said, swinging his arm around and trying to grab her leg.
Katie kicked the boy in the side just hard enough to get his attention. As he doubled up, she grabbed his forearm and spun him around, flipping him onto his back.
Katie put her boot down on the big kid’s crotch. “Stay down sweetie, or I’m crushing your jewels.”
The boy looked up at her with glazed eyes, then turned his head and puked on the grass near an empty bottle of cheap whiskey.
Brent rolled over, then rose to his knees, panting.
Katie glared at her son. His nose was bleeding, and his lip was cut, but it didn’t look like he needed stitches.
“You promised me you’d stop screwing around—and drinking—but I can smell the whiskey from here. Your word isn’t worth shit anymore, Brent.”
“Ma, okay, I screwed up. It won’t happen … again. You can tell that narc Dora, Dorix, it’s okay. You’re a detective. I’m busted. Throw me in jail if you want. But first you may want to turn off the camera.” He pointed toward her digital recorder, sitting on the picnic table and aimed right at them. The green light was on.
“You were filming this?” She walked over, grabbed the camera, and switched it off. A quiet rage filled her as she ejected the cassette and jammed it into her pocket.
“Get up,” she said, turning to Brent.
“I’m trying,” he said, wobbling as he tried to stand. He began to giggle.
“Shut up,” she ordered, and hauled him to his feet. Katie had him by the collar so tight, she scared herself, but at least he’d quit snickering. Stepping back, she lowered her hands to his shoulders, holding him steady. “I’m too angry to deal with you now.”
“What about Ralph?” Brent said, pointing to the kid who’d been atop him only a few minutes before. “He’s still … ralphing,” Brent added, chuckling at his own joke.
Ralph was, indeed, still on his knees, gagging and wiping his mouth with his tattered sleeve.
Katie looked at the kid. “I could take you in on a variety of charges, but all you are to me is extra paperwork. Get the hell out of here—right now. If I ever see you near Brent again, I’ll haul you in for … being a pervert child molester or whatever comes to mind. You read me?”
The kid nodded, wiping his bloody lip with the hem of his shirt.
Katie knew the kid’s dad—John Harmon. That piece of walking garbage beat the crap out of his wife whenever he was drunk—which was most of the time. “Get out of here. Now!”
The kid took off, stumbled, got back up, and hurried to the back gate.
Katie glared at Brent. “In the house.”
“Ma, give me a break. We were just making something to put up on Facebook. I guess we got carried away.”
“Don’t push me,” she said in a deadly voice.
Brent took the hint and scurried inside. He had some problems opening the screen door, but soon was out of her sight.
Katie felt a pounding headache coming on. She’d never felt so trapped in her life. Drugs, drinking, and hanging with the wrong crowd had been Brent’s downfall—and her own. He would have gone to jail months ago if she hadn’t stepped in.
Reacting as a mom, not a cop, had cost her dearly. She’d removed damning evidence during a bust because it had implicated her son. Brent’s photo had been on the dealer’s cell phone—a client list of sorts—and she’d been lucky enough to have seen it first. Yet by removing the cell phone, she’d stolen the necessary evidence that could have been used to put the dealer in jail.
The dealer’s boss, Roberto Hidalgo, had put the pieces together and linked Brent to her. Moving fast, he’d found other evidence that tied Brent to previous drug buys and had used that information to blackmail her. Katie soon found herself creating diversions for the smugglers whenever a drug shipment came through their corridor. It was only a small favor, Roberto insisted each time, one that wouldn’t get her hands too dirty.
The weight of what she’d done wouldn’t have been quite so unbearable if Brent had actually turned his life around after that incident. Yet except for switching from drugs to booze, it hadn’t even slowed him down. She’d done everything she could to reach him, to make him see that he was throwing his life away, but her kid had one thing in common with his father—both were great with promises, not so good on follow through.
Despite it all, she’d never given up on Brent. She knew that he’d straighten out if she could just find a way to get through to him.
Hearing a call come over the radio, she answered.
“Farmington PD called,” dispatch said. “They nabbed a burglary team—two brothers—suspected of using the obits to target homes. Their MO is to strike on the days of the funerals. It’s possible the pair carried out the burglary attempt at The Outpost.”
“In that instance, there were three individuals seen in the vehicle. Any news on the third perp?”
“Nothing so far.”
“I want a chance to question the two they’ve got ASAP,” Katie said.
“Roger that. Captain Tafoya cleared it for you.”
Katie glanced back at the house. She was still too pissed off at Brent to talk to him now, and it wouldn’t do much good anyway considering the shape he was in.
Returning to her cruiser, she drove east on sixty-four. She still wasn’t sure what part Hidalgo had played in Stuart’s murder, so she’d have to be careful. These bozos were probably working for Hidalgo, and if his name came up during questioning, the drug dealer would drag her down with him.
The brothers had already been separated, and as she joined the interview, the Farmington detectives were applying the heat.
“We caught you with the Petersons’ big-screen TV and sound system, Frankie. Make it easy on yourself,” Joe Medina, the Farmington PD case detective said while Katie stood back. “Tell us about your other jobs—like that business over by Hogback you tried to hit the other day.”
“I stole stuff before, okay? I served two years’ jail time for that, then rehab. Now I’m clean and strictly legit. I never saw any of that stuff you guys say you found at my house, and I don’t know nothing about The Outpost.”
“I never mentioned the name of the trading post, Frankie. Tell me about that, and why you were working way out of your turf? And who was your driver, the third man in the car? Either you or Adam put a bullet hole in that yellow pickup. That adds firearms enhancement to the charges and can double your jail time. Give us the name of the driver. Cooperate and we’ll recommend a deal.”
“How can I deal when I don’t know nothing?”
“We’ve got you on several counts right now. The stolen electronics were covered with your prints,” Joe snapped.
“Yeah, well, somebody set me and my brother up,” Frankie said, and shrugged.
“How’d they get your fingerprints, then?”
“They must have put the stuff in my house while I was gone, then transferred my prints from a mirror or something with tape, maybe, like on CSI. Somebody hates me.”
“Adam tells a different story.”
“Nice try. My brother wouldn’t say anything against me. We’re flesh and blood. Go ahead and keep wasting my time, and yours. Meanwhile, the real burglars are out there, stealing stuff.”
Medina turned away, rolling his eyes.
* * *
After having no better luck with a second pass at Adam, Frankie’s brother, Katie met with the two detectives in the bullpen.
“I don’t get it,” Medina said. “Neither of these guys is exactly a Mensa candidate, and they know we’ve got them dead to rights on three different burglaries. So why not cut a deal and name their partner?”
“Frankie slipped up with the trading post. The name of the business they tried to hit never made the papers. They’re protecting the driver, the guy who first waved around the handgun. They’re running scared; otherwise, they would have given him up to get a few years knocked off their sentence,” Detective Henry, the other FPD detective said.
“I wouldn’t rate either of these guys as violent, but their boss might be,” Katie said, thinking of Hidalgo. The driver probably worked for the drug kingpin and that connection was undoubtedly known to the two burglars. The danger of naming names was as clear to them as their desire to see the next sunrise.
“We’ll keep working on these jokers and let you know if we get something you can use,” Detective Medina said.
As Katie pulled out of the Farmington station sometime later, she reached into her pocket for more antacids. Hidalgo. If only she could get something on that bastard. She should call in Ben Stuart, who might be able to ID one of the brothers. But if he did, she still wouldn’t have enough leverage on their boss. All she would do is piss him off. She’d have to sit on this for now and hope Stuart wouldn’t find out whom they had in custody.
With a frustrated sigh, she flipped open her cell phone and dialed the number Roberto had given her.
“This is my family time. It better be important,” Hidalgo snapped.
“The low-IQ pair you hired to break into The Outpost have accomplished the opposite of what you intended. They’re in custody and they’re calling way too much attention to the place. So far they haven’t given up the name of the third man. Is he one of yours, maybe the same guy who robbed the store and locked up the employees?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Anyway, I figured you’d want an update. The Farmington cops aren’t through with those two yet.”
“They won’t talk, they want to live. Just do your job.” Hidalgo spoke to someone else, then came back on the line.
“Listen carefully, guapa,” Hidalgo said a moment later, his voice a low growl. “The only reason your son’s not rotting in jail right now is because you’ve looked the other way each time I’ve asked. Keep your end of the bargain and we’ll all stay out of prison, your son included.”
Katie hung up. She hated Hidalgo. Even if she managed to nail him, nothing would ever be the same for her again. With each passing day, she became more like the ones she’d joined the police to fight. Too much dirt clung to her now, but once it was over, she’d leave the department and start a new life with Brent elsewhere, far from here.
That one hope was all she had left, and the only thing that kept her going.
ELEVEN
Inventory was well under way at The Outpost. Earlier this morning, Regina found merchandise in the back room Jo had never even known they carried—high-end Navajo-created dry painting reproductions that were breathtakingly beautiful. Although Jo had been able to find the items listed on the handwritten ledgers, they’d never been displayed for one reason or another. She wondered if they were worth killing over.
Jo could feel Ben watching her as they worked. Those searing looks sent ripples up her spine and brought back high school memories of romance. The man he’d become wanted her just as much as the boy he’d been once.
She stopped that thought in its tracks, knowing she’d somehow have to keep her romantic fantasies at bay. Ben was still her biggest weakness. Although she hated the way he always put her on the defensive, he could also make her feel things no one ever had, before or since.
“Did you hear what I said?” Ben asked her.
“Sorry. I was thinking of something else. Say again?”
“You’re not just taking inventory, Jo, you’re looking for the reason why Dad was killed—contraband, stolen, illegal merchandise, or smuggled goods. But you know Dad was a straight arrow. He’d never deal in anything even remotely questionable.”
“Tom was an honest man, but he bought from many different vendors. What if something he took in was stolen and the thief was willing to kill to get it back? Have you considered that possibility?”
“Everything here has a history we can trace.”
“That’s assuming the people who brought the merchandise to us didn’t lie about its origins. But we’ve also discovered things here that were never fully documented, like those dry painting reproductions. Where did they come from, originally?”
Ben said nothing for several long moments, then at long last, spoke. “It’s not knowing why Dad was killed that frightens you most, isn’t it?”
“The enemy you don’t know poses the biggest threat,” she said.
“You’ll be fine, Jo. You always are.”
“Was that a dig, or a compliment?” she asked.
“It’s a fact. You’re a strong woman who goes after what she wants—well, almost always,” he added, a grin tugging one corner of his mouth.
His voice felt like a caress that teased and enticed all at the same time. He wanted her, and was man enough to sense her attraction to him. Danger surrounded Ben. She wondered if he’d be rough or gentle in bed, or if he’d be equal parts of both. Tempting what-ifs mingled with another dozen if-onlys.
Yet common sense prevailed. “You and I need to keep our minds on business, Ben.”
“Nobody spends all their time working. You need to give yourself some time to play, to indulge the other side of you.”
His words lingered provocatively in her imagination. “A personal life is a luxury I can’t afford right now. The Outpost’s my priority,” she said. “I’ve set e
verything aside for it, my hataalii studies, which mean the world to me, and even the marketing course I’m taking at night school. I had to drop it.”
“Practical Jo. You always set goals and achieve them, but you’ve never really needed anyone else, have you?”
She turned her back to him, afraid she’d somehow give herself away. She wasn’t the unassailable, formidable woman he thought she was. Far from it. She ached to have someone love and comfort her so she wouldn’t have to be strong all the time. Sometimes in the middle of the night when her thoughts refused to be still, she thought about Ben. Back in high school, hanging around him had made her feel almost invincible. His willingness to take chances, to risk it all for a few moments of fun and excitement, had drawn her like a moth to the flame. Yet it was knowing what happened to the unwise moth that eventually gave her the courage to walk away.
No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t walked away—she’d run. The intensity of feelings she couldn’t control had made her feel too … vulnerable. Navajo ways taught that everything had two sides, and she’d seen the flip side of love. It meant carrying another’s burdens—as her mother had done for her husband, and as she’d done for her father once her mother had passed.
Life had always forced her to be strong, and she’d played the part to the hilt, but she’d paid a price. No one ever bothered to look past the illusion she’d created to see what lay beyond.
“Am I wrong about you, Jo? Is it really that you don’t need anyone, or have you forgotten how to reach out?” He turned her around to face him.
She started to speak, but no words came. It was as if he’d read her thoughts.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough and low, his eyes traveling to her breasts like a slow caress, then back up. “When you’re silent, it sparks my imagination.”
She drew in an unsteady breath. “Your imagination doesn’t need a spark—it needs a bucket of water.”
“Ouch.”
She moved away and forced herself to focus on the elaborately made silver and turquoise cuff bracelet she’d found in a small box. “Tom must have taken this in recently. I don’t remember it and there’s no tag, but I recognize the design, so I can link it to the artist.”
