by DiAnn Mills
“Yes, ma’am. Had he shared this place with you?” Alex poured tenderness into his words. He sympathized with her anguish and saw no reason to be callous. Yet the question was important if her husband had been acquainted with the area.
Red-rimmed eyes met his. “No, sir. I called the police officer who first notified me on Saturday, and he gave me directions. Todd liked to take different routes on his bike. Usually he preferred a country setting, which is why I’m not surprised he was found here among the trees.” She pressed her lips together as though fighting for control. “Am I in the way of your investigation? I can leave.”
“Not at all. Agent Price, do you see any reason why Mrs. Howe shouldn’t stay?”
Ric took over the conversation. “Perhaps we’re the intruders. We’re exploring the crime scene and talking through scenarios. Saturday was noisy, and solace is vital to thinking through evidence.”
She nodded. “So many people have been at the house to sit shivah. I’m ashamed to have left, but I thought I’d break down and never recover. I looked in the mirror, and I wasn’t supposed to do that either. What’s wrong with me? My sons need their mother. I’ve always followed our practices. Faithfully. The mourners will be disappointed when they discover I’m gone. They mean well. Everyone does. Want me to eat. Recite the kaddish prayer. Listen to them talk about good times with Todd. Encourage me to do the same. But I want to forget, grieve in my own way.”
“The mourners are there to comfort you,” Ric said. “A blessing during this sad time. But they aren’t the ones going through the incredible loss.”
Alex listened to Ric, wishing he had the empathetic skills of his partner. His parents had the ability to minister to others, but Alex had believed their methods were weak—giving what they had to a widow they didn’t know, or to a man who was drunk and wouldn’t remember their generosity. Now he regretted not paying attention. Bekah Howe hurt, and he wanted to do more than arrest the person who killed her husband.
“Mrs. Howe, this is not a time to be alone. Allow those who want to help be your support. Let their memories of your husband touch your heart,” Ric said.
She smiled with water-filled eyes. “Yes, I will. Thank you for your understanding.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve been here long enough. Agent Price, Agent LeBlanc, I’m glad you stopped by.”
“You’re welcome.”
She focused on Alex. “I haven’t forgotten your promise to find the person who did this to my family.”
He hadn’t promised her, just said he’d do his best. But it was a commitment, and he’d honor it. “Law enforcement across the city are working together to find your husband’s killer.”
She reached for a tissue in her pocket and touched it to her nose. “Agent LeBlanc, I intended to contact one of you, but with so many people at my home, I couldn’t focus.” She drew in a light sob. “I received a call on my cell phone for Todd last night. Let me retrace my steps. I had his cell phone forwarded to my cell. The number wasn’t recognizable, so as advised by our family’s lawyer, I pressed Record on the phone before I answered. I’d been doing this in case the information was business related and I’d need it as reference in the future. A man wanted to speak to Todd. He said it was important. I explained what happened. He said whoever popped Todd did the world a favor because he was a worthless idiot. When I asked his name, he hung up.”
“And you have no idea who the caller was?”
She shook her head. “The voice was vaguely familiar. But I can’t remember where. He really frightened me.”
“Can we listen to the recording?” Alex said.
“Yes, but the phone is at home. This is so horrible,” Mrs. Howe said. “The man hated Todd. Why would my husband be in contact with such a vile person?”
Alex and Ric walked Bekah Howe to her car. Alex showed her a photo from the footage obtained through Green-to-Go’s security cameras. “Does anything about the build of this man remind you of someone?”
She peered at the photo. “I don’t think so. Wish I could help you.”
“Mrs. Howe, once we have your phone, we’ll trace the number and run the recording through voice recognition software to see if we have the man’s identity in our database.”
“You mean this man might know who murdered my Todd?”
“Possibly.”
She touched her stomach as though nauseated. “Come by later, and I’ll give you the phone.”
“We’ll assign another agent to make that pickup. Will it interfere with shivah?”
“Finding his killer takes priority. Others will not agree, but I don’t care. I’m grateful for all you’ve done. I’ll be home shortly.”
Alex waved as she drove away. “Makes me wonder who the real victim is.”
“If Todd Howe had another cell phone on him, most likely a burner, the killer could have confiscated it,” Ric said.
“Which brings us back to the question of why he was in that clearing.”
“Whether he’s innocent or involved in a crime, Bekah Howe has to assemble the pieces of her life and look to the future.”
They took the path that wove in and out of thick woods, then back to the clearing and the crime scene.
Alex bent in the same spot where Bekah Howe had left roses. “At least two people were a part of Saturday morning’s murder: Howe and the killer. The same weapon that brought down the quadcopter is the one that killed Howe. But who operated the quadcopter?” He stood, his mind continuing to speed over the various scenarios. This wasn’t a competition. His and Ric’s skill sets collided on a regular basis, but their success rate showed high stats in solving crimes. They’d figure out what happened here. “All we can do is stay on this until we have solid answers. Nothing happens by chance. We have likely homegrown terrorism and a murder.”
“That was a lengthy analysis for a Cajun.”
“I do have my intellectual moments.” Alex stared at the field toward the airport. He glanced back at where Howe had been found. The area had been searched repeatedly. Nothing had surfaced.
Moments later, they climbed into Alex’s Jeep en route to the Aldine Westfield Stables. The temp read 99 degrees, and the air-conditioning seemed slow. “Nothing in this case makes sense. Stacy found a dead man, a dog, and a drone. Sooner or later we’ll get inside the warped mind of whoever’s responsible for the murder and the quadcopter. We simply need to stay on it.”
EARLY AFTERNOON SHADOWS had set in when Alex and Ric entered the Aldine Westfield Stables. The smell of horses mixed with hay met Alex’s nostrils and transported him back to his boyhood days in Louisiana. He hadn’t ridden in years, and he missed the freedom of a powerful animal lunging beneath him.
A white-haired cowboy greeted them and explained he oversaw the stables. “The name’s Chet. How can I help you?”
Alex introduced himself and Ric. The agents displayed their IDs and gave him their cards. “We understand the airport rangers keep their horses in these stables.”
“Yes, sir, they do. This is their headquarters.”
Alex took his usual lead. “What can you tell us about the organization? We’re investigating the murder of a man found Saturday morning and a stolen quadcopter with the capabilities of blinding a pilot. One of the riders discovered the body.”
Chet narrowed his gaze. “Oh, you mean Stacy Broussard. Hated that for our cowgirl. Been meaning to call her, see how’s she doing.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate it. We’re curious as to why she was alone.”
Lines deepened across his brow. “She knew better. Should have reached out to someone or me when the other two riders canceled.”
Alex whipped out his notepad and pen. “What can you tell us about them?”
“Sure. The three rodeo queens, I call ’em. I remember one had a sick young’un, and the other had unexpected company.”
Confirmation from Stacy’s testimony. “Thanks. Is there anything else we should know about the airport ran
gers?”
“Gentlemen, follow me, and I’ll give you a tour.” Chet led them to an office marked Private. After pulling a ring of keys off his belt chain, he unlocked it, gestured them inside, and pointed to a map on the wall. “This here’s the airport’s perimeter, covering about thirteen thousand acres. The rangers are volunteers who patrol the area. They come from every walk of life—housewives and college students to civic leaders and those trained in law enforcement. I’m one of them, retired gas and oil man, and we’re dedicated to increasing airport security. Those who are interested in serving the community complete an application and are thoroughly screened before being accepted into the program. They ride in pairs or threes.” He peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. “That’s why last Saturday was unusual.”
Alex still had a problem with the whole concept. Stacy hadn’t convinced him, but he’d not mention it.
Ric cleared his throat. “How are the volunteers scheduled?”
The man pointed to a bulletin board on another wall above a desk. “It’s printed out and tacked up here, but they can get their times online.” He gestured to a computer on the desk below. “Sometimes they use this too.”
Ric read the schedule. “Looks like the riders maintain the same schedule and trails.”
“Yes, sir. It doesn’t vary much since most have jobs and other responsibilities. They enter any changes online and work it out among themselves if there’s a problem. But life happens, as it did on Saturday.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Did Chet blame himself for Stacy riding into a crime scene?
“Is the website security protected?” Ric continued.
The man shrugged. “I don’t know much about computer technology or what you mean.”
“I’m sorry.” Ric smiled and glanced at the computer. “I was wondering if anyone could see the schedule.”
“It’s private, sir. I suppose a hacker could find out in a flash who was riding and guesstimate when and where the rider would be on the trail.”
“My thoughts too. Do you mind if I attempt to access the secure site?” Ric said.
The man held up his hand. “Go for it. If you can figure out how this could’ve been prevented, my hat’s off to you. I mean, Stacy being there by herself and having to deal with a dead body is nothing we want repeated.”
While Ric sat at the desk, Alex turned to the man assisting them. He shifted from foot to foot. “Chet, I’m curious.” He captured the man’s attention to figure out why he was uncomfortable, to either reassure or identify some form of guilt. “Do you blame yourself for Dr. Broussard being alone Saturday morning?”
He released a sigh. “Yes, sir, I do. I slept past the alarm and didn’t get here until she’d already left. If I’d been on time, I’d have ridden with her.” He paused. “At least been able to take over the unfortunate situation.”
Everything about Chet’s body language also spoke of sincerity and regret.
“You obviously value her friendship, and I encourage you to support her.” Alex bent over Ric’s shoulder and watched him click the Members Only tab on the airport rangers’ website. The page asked for a password.
Ric’s fingers sped across the keys. One day, Alex would request a tutorial. “Does the password change on a regular basis?” Ric said.
“I think it’s always the same. Too many people need it.”
“Thanks.” He typed on.
“Can you get into it?” Alex said.
“Working on it, bro. I’m trying the most common ones first.”
“What are you using? Airport? Horse? Saddle? IAH?” Alex said. “Rider? Stable?”
“Been through those and anything resembling them.” He tilted his head and typed in 122003, the date the airport rangers were organized. “Bingo.” He glanced at Chet. “Sir, I’d like to talk to whoever’s in charge of the website because the password is too obvious.”
“I’d be glad to. Our web guy is retired and a volunteer. This is one mess.”
Alex handed him his notepad and pen, and Chet jotted the name and phone number. Most likely Ric would contact the webmaster, and Alex the two women volunteers. “Have you noticed anything unusual, a stranger on the grounds or a phone call asking about the rangers?”
“I get those kind of things all the time, but nothing I recall that a feller would question. I can call if I think of something.” He studied their cards. “Special Agent LeBlanc and Special Agent Price, the airport rangers are my friends. I don’t want to see bad press or any of ’em hurt. So whatever I come across, you’ll be the first to know. God and country and Texas.”
Alex hid a grin. “Thanks for your help.”
Ric stood and aimed his attention at Alex. “Do we have all our questions answered?”
Alex nodded and the two agents shook Chet’s hand.
Once in the Jeep and facing the beginnings of rush-hour traffic, Ric sighed deeply.
“Let me have it,” Alex said.
“Here’s my overview of what we’ve learned. Todd Howe rode his motorcycle into an area on the trails posted for equestrian riders, specifically the airport rangers, and he’s murdered. Stacy rode the trails by chance without her partners, stumbled onto the body, the quadcopter, and a dog. She reported it. Exonerating her makes sense to me. We have nothing solid to locate who stole the quadcopter or who murdered Howe. Bekah Howe receives a threatening phone call from a stranger. Then we learn the airport rangers’ website is easily hackable, providing the volunteers’ unique schedule.”
Alex stopped behind a string of brake lights winding along the road. “Back to Stacy. What if she and her friends had ridden upon Howe’s body? Would that make any difference in our case?”
“At this point, I don’t see how. The 911 call would still have been made.”
“Then we’re back to ground zero.” Alex drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Bro, we’ve pored over the same dilemma since Saturday. Let’s find out who called Bekah.”
STACY WANDERED THROUGH THE CLINIC on Wednesday morning. Visitation for Mr. Parson would be tonight and Thursday, and his funeral on Friday afternoon. She missed watching him shuffling about, listening to him greet each animal, and joining in his aged chuckle. His special kinship with animals and children made him a favorite among whoever visited the clinic. He was most surely in heaven, for she’d never seen a man with faith in motion like his. Faith . . .
She believed, but for many years, her faith had been a Sunday ritual that didn’t trickle into today’s problems. Memories of when her prayer life and closeness to Him took priority pounded at her heart until she listened to what God was saying. Forgiveness was a choice, an act of obedience. Eight months ago, she took the first step to reestablish a relationship with her parents. The break had been her choice, and now the reuniting must be hers too. Time to change her monthly habit and call more often. Like Mr. Parson, her parents wouldn’t be around forever. She picked up her cell phone. It rang twice before her mother answered.
“Hi, Mom, this is Stacy. How are you doing?”
“Wonderful at just the sound of your voice.”
She smiled. “Dad busy in the garden?”
“That he is. The tomatoes this year are huge.”
“Save me a couple when I’m there at the family reunion.”
Mom sobbed, and Stacy swallowed her own emotion. “Can’t wait to see you.”
For once she felt the same—scared but wanting her parents in her life. So much to say and yet it would take a face-to-face. “Mom, I saw a great photo of you and Dad on Facebook. Was it taken at the crawfish festival?”
“Yes. And I found your veterinary clinic there too. You are more beautiful than I remember.”
She missed her. “I need to go, Mom. Got an appointment in a couple of minutes. Give Dad my best.”
“I will.” Mom paused. “I love your calls.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to stop. Bye, Mom. Love you.” She clicked off the call before hearing if her mothe
r would respond the same way. Taking a deep breath, one filled with stress and satisfaction, she turned to pull out the chart for the cocker spaniel’s upcoming visit.
The time read 10:35. Her ten o’clock with the cocker spaniel and the sweet family who owned the dog was normally punctual. Since the girls were out of school, maybe the owner had forgotten. But another appointment had been scheduled for eleven, a sometimes-difficult macaw. Stacy pressed in the tardy pet owner’s phone number, and the woman answered on the third ring.
“Dr. Stacy, I’m so sorry. I meant to call earlier. The twins have the flu, and it’s been a tough morning. Can we reschedule?”
“Of course. A week from tomorrow at the same time? I’m closing Friday afternoon for Mr. Parson’s funeral.”
“Perfect. If everyone here is healthy, we’ll be at the service. Thank you for your understanding. The girls love your clinic, and they really wanted to come today.”
“Hope they feel better very soon.”
The woman sighed. “They’re running fevers, body aches, vomiting, and feeling miserable.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“My fear is they were contagious at the carnival.”
“Or someone there infected them with a nasty virus.”
Stacy said good-bye. Summer vacation and dealing with the flu hit low on her chart for any child.
The colorful scarlet macaw arrived a few minutes early. True to the bird’s reputation, he attempted to bite her several times. Odd how such a beautiful red, yellow, and blue bird could have such a deplorable temperament. But she was determined to make a friend out of him.
After the macaw and its owner left, she glanced at the clock. Whitt would arrive soon. He’d inquire about how she was doing with her new iPhone, and she’d done little but look at a few apps that he’d loaded. Unopened mail from earlier lay on her desk, and she ripped into each envelope, sorting the junk from those things requiring her attention. Whitt had been after her to handle paperwork immediately so he could organize her desk. She smiled at the thought of him devising ways to show his affection. His love language was having things done for him. In turn, he chose the same for her.
