I pictured String and Mole—royally pissed because I’d taken their money and left them with groggy hangovers from the sleeping pills. I had no illusions about getting away as easily a second time.
A cluster of motels and truck stops surrounded the area near the I-40 onramps. I passed them all up and drove several miles north where another bunch of hotels catered to the business traveler and the huge west-side Intel plant. Parking my Jeep in the lot of one such place, I walked about half a mile and checked into another one.
The desk clerk gave me an odd look. Obviously frazzled woman clutching a puppy under her arm and a cell phone in one hand, while struggling to keep a purse strap over the shoulder . . . the guy couldn’t figure out what my story was. But at least he didn’t ask. He took my credit card and handed me a plastic key.
I settled into a plain vanilla room and bolted the door every way I could. Freckles dashed about, checking out her third set of new surroundings in nearly as many days. Life must be quite the adventure to her.
For my part, I was getting a little sick of the adventure and just wanted to move about freely in my own hometown without fear that some bad guy lurked in the bushes. I took stock of the room with its faux-Euro bedding and flat screen TV, noticed it had a mini bar and used it to make myself a fairly stiff rum and Coke.
Once the drink coursed its little version of relaxation therapy through me, I thought I finally had it together well enough to call Drake. I made light of the situation, saying that I’d spotted two of the bank robbers near the office and just felt it better to be away from my familiar haunts tonight.
He was tired, I could tell. The past week had been sheer hell for him and now he was feeling the pressure of keeping the helicopter busy on some paying jobs. Gotta make those outrageous insurance payments. I gave him the name of the hotel and my room number.
“I’ll meet you at the airport when you fly in tomorrow, if you’d like,” I said.
“Maybe I should join you in that hotel.” By the tone of his voice I knew he wasn’t that tired.
“Umm . . .good idea.” Although I really couldn’t see how a romantic interlude was going to happen, talking about the possibility definitely lightened my mood as I hung up.
Unfortunately, the romance bubble popped a moment later when my cell phone rang. Ron.
“Where are you?” he asked with more than a hint of grumpiness in his voice. “You were going to call Kingston and then call me right back.”
“Sorry.” I filled him, letting him know that I didn’t completely trust the FBI or the Albuquerque police to keep wily guys like String and Mole away from my house or office.
“I’m in a hotel now, but I’m a little worried about Elsa. If those guys know where I live and they’re hanging around waiting for me to go home, and if she sees them and questions what they’re doing there . . .” I could just picture my eighty-something neighbor demanding answers from a guy like String.
“I’ll go by and check on her. Meanwhile, give her a call and tell her not to open the door to anyone.”
Trying to warn her about the danger and that she might spot cop cars around the house without really telling her why was no easy sell. Elsa still thinks of me as that teenager she took into her home after my parents died, and she doesn’t really take “don’t worry about it” as an answer. I did my best and told her to expect Ron within a few minutes. Let him cover the tough questions.
Gradually, the toll of the long day and the scare began to coalesce into a dull fatigue in my bones. I took a shower and turned on the television, relying on old reruns of Frasier to lift my mood and take my mind off real life.
Freckles curled up next to me and her warm little body worked to reassure me that there really are good things in this world. Somehow, I slept in a deep, dreamless state until I began to hear the morning movements of other guests opening and closing their doors along the corridor.
I stretched and hugged the puppy before it hit me that the new day was beginning with a big question: Now what?
Chapter 33
I threw my clothes back on, walked Freckles outside, grabbed a bagel and cup of coffee from the free breakfast bar provided by the hotel, and decided I better take stock of the day. I couldn’t live like this, in a hotel room, wearing the same clothes day after day, trying to care for a puppy and not even being able to go to my home or office in my own hometown. It was ridiculous.
A call to Kingston netted me the answer that they were still watching my place but had seen no trace of the bad guys. I expressed my frustration.
“I’ll get you an escort,” he said. “Someone to go with you wherever you need to go.”
Gee, that wasn’t going to be a whole lot better than having the 24/7 company of the gang, now was it? At least this time the guns would be pointed away from me instead of toward me. I grumbled, but agreed.
“Can I make contact with the agents watching my house? I need to get some things, food for the dog, stuff like that.”
“I was about to send the overnight watch crew home. I’ll meet you there myself.”
Whatever.
“Twenty minutes?” That was wishful, I knew, in the morning rush traffic, but I couldn’t sit around here much longer.
He said he’d be there.
Forty-five minutes ticked by and I fumed the whole time, unaccustomed as I’d become to driving across this city during the heaviest traffic hours. But eventually I pulled into my driveway, feeling on hyper-alert for anything unusual. Everything seemed just fine, including the dark agency car out front. Kingston stepped out of it as I exited the Jeep.
“I walked around back, checked all the windows and doors. Everything looks good,” he said.
“Maybe they aren’t as bright as we’re giving them credit for,” I said with a wistful little tone in my voice.
“Don’t get too complacent. The fact that they came back to Albuquerque tells me they’re pretty desperate. Your name wasn’t mentioned on the news, so we can’t discount that they had some way to figure out who you were and where your office is.”
My guts tightened up again. Just when I’d begun feeling a tiny bit less vulnerable.
I stared at my front door.
“Charlie, I’d recommend that you stay hidden away for a few more days. Give us the chance to use our resources and catch these guys.”
It probably made sense but the instructions chafed at me. “Give me fifteen minutes,” I told him.
Freckles followed me onto the porch and I unlocked the front door. She dashed past me, into the living room. A small sheet of paper drifted across the hardwood floor at the entry. I bent to pick it up but stopped cold.
“Agent Kingston,” I called out. “You better come see this.”
Bold words in black marker covered the page: You took our money.
Kingston appeared at the open front door. I pointed at the note.
“They must have slipped it under the door,” I said. “When could they have done that?”
“Sometime before my agents arrived. They watched the place all night and no one approached this door.”
I went back over the previous afternoon in my head. It was nearly dark when I left the office and encountered String. After I made my mad dash across the lawn and over the curb they must have come here and left me this warning. They may have even staked out the house, hoping I would come right home, until the government cars began showing up in the neighborhood.
Kingston picked up the note by one corner and went out to his vehicle to get an evidence bag for it.
“Not that we need more proof about where this came from,” he said, “but every little bit helps make the case in court.”
Yeah, I supposed that once I was dead it would be helpful to prove who’d come after me.
“I hope I don’t have to argue with you about being extra careful,” the agent said.
I put a hand on my fluttering stomach. “No. No argument here.”
“I’ll wait with you until you pack
a few overnight items. You should go back to the hotel.” He stepped inside and closed the front door. I watched him go to the front window and take a position so that he faced my Jeep in the driveway, peering through the sheer drapes.
While he stood vigil, I gathered all the new amenities we’d purchased for Freckles—crate, blankets, food, dishes, leash and toys. It’s amazing how much stuff a new baby needs. Then I packed a small bag for myself.
“I want to check with my elderly neighbor,” I told Kingston. “It will just take a minute.”
Without waiting for an okay, I dialed Elsa’s number.
“I’m making a vacation out of it,” she said, after telling me she’d talked to Ron last night. “My cousin in Portland is always begging me to visit. This looks like a good time. Your brother is picking me up at noon and taking me to the airport.”
Bless her. What a trouper she is.
I felt about a million percent better when I hung up. I called Ron’s cell immediately and told him to watch her until she was safely past security in the airport. He acted as if I were treating him like an idiot for telling him all this. Maybe I was. Everything felt extremely jumbled up right now.
My small suitcase joined the stack of doggie goodies by the front door.
“Are there any leads at all?” I asked Kingston. “Anything on these guys’ whereabouts?”
“We questioned all known relatives of Stringer and Mohler, right after we got you back from Arizona. As of last night we’ve had someone watching each of their homes. Put the word out among informants on the street.”
“And . . . nothing?”
“It can take time. Guy like Mohler, with his history of drug deals, he’s gonna show up at his old haunts eventually.”
Eventually. That sounded like a long time to me.
“Ready?” he asked. He walked out to the porch ahead of me, scanning the street carefully. I had to give the guy points for trying to keep me safe.
I put the loaded dog crate and my own bag in the back of the Jeep and coaxed Freckles up to the passenger seat.
“I’ll be at my office,” I told him.
“That’s not—”
“It’s happening. It may not be the safest place, but I have a job to do and I’ve already been away from it too long. I’ll go to a hotel tonight.”
“Before nightfall. And don’t walk outside alone, not out the door, not down the street.” He stood beside my door, his eyes scanning the street as we talked.
Sheesh. I gritted my teeth. Taking orders goes against my grain and hiding out is definitely not my lifestyle.
“At the office, keep all the doors locked. Instruct your people to admit only known persons.” He caught my erupting protest. “I wouldn’t put it past these guys to try to force their way in.”
“Surely they don’t think I have their money?”
He held up the plastic bag with the note. “Well, you are the one they’re coming to. They seem to think you can get that bank money back for them.”
Valid point. But so illogical. I fumed as I locked my doors and started the Jeep. Kingston went back to his vehicle and I could see him talking on a handheld radio.
I spotted two strange vehicles on the street where our office is, a van with the windows darkened—way too shiny and new for String or Mole. The little antennae spiking up from its roof spelled ‘government.’ Same for the gray car with two guys in suits, about half a block away. I gave them a tiny wave as I passed.
Both Ron’s and Sally’s vehicles were parked in their usual places. An armed man in uniform stepped out from behind the ancient elm tree at the corner of the property when I pulled in. Once he saw it was me, he blended back into the shrubbery. I sighed.
Ron had apparently gotten the new office protocol too. The back door was locked and the pull-down shades were closed. I unlocked my way in and called out. No telling how edgy everyone else might be by now.
At least the coffee machine was full. I retrieved the bakery box with the remains of yesterday’s decadent chocolate cake from my office and it didn’t take more than a couple of minutes for both Sally and Ron to show up.
“So.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“So. So, I guess we wait this out,” Ron said.
I looked over at Sally. “You don’t have to be here.”
Ron piped up. “We’ve already discussed it.”
“I’ll stay until my normal time today,” Sally said. “That way, someone is with you until Ron gets back from the airport.”
“Depending on how things go,” I told her, “I’d rather that you stay home tomorrow and until these guys are caught. Even though they didn’t harm me before, there’s no telling what they might do now.”
She nodded. I also noticed that she gulped.
“You’ve got a small child, a husband who needs you. I don’t want to put you at risk.”
“I know. We were already talking about going away for the weekend. I’ll convince Ross that we should do it.”
“Good.”
She gave me a long hug. “I’d stay if it would help you out.”
“I know you would. But it’s not necessary.” I turned and rummaged through a drawer for a knife to cut the cake.
Ron sent a worried look at me, behind Sally’s back. He said, “Okay, that’s the plan. I’ll be back from the airport before one o’clock and then you’ll join up with your family and take a nice little summer vacation.”
“With pay,” I added, handing her a plate with a thick slice on it.
She headed back to her desk and I turned to Ron.
“Okay. That plan gets us through to early afternoon. What then?”
The quick answer came when my cell phone rang, down inside my pocket. Drake.
“Hi, hon. Everything going all right this morning?” Rotor noise filled the background.
“So far, so good,” I said, raising my voice a bit. “How about you? Job done?”
There was an affirmative answer but the background noise was getting louder.
“Do you still want me to pick you up when you get here?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I got a call. There’s a brush fire south of Los Lunas and I need to go there. Will you be all right?”
Poor guy. He’d taken so much time off this past week to watch out for me. I couldn’t ask him to pass up any new jobs. I assured him that I’d be fine but told him about Kingston’s instructions to stay in a hotel again. We agreed to touch base later in the day.
Ron had disappeared with a hunk of cake and I found him in his office.
“Okay, what next?” I said, leaning against the doorjamb. “I hate living on the run from these guys. And you know good and well that the minute the FBI gets a more urgent call this case will go straight to the back burner.”
He nodded, which sent chocolate crumbs all over his shirt front.
“I can’t keep living in hotels, watching every shadow on the windows.”
“Kingston says they are watching for Stringer and Mohler around their old haunts. But that won’t last long.”
“Exactly. It’s fine to think that I have some protection out there, Ron, but I’m not good at waiting around. I have to be proactive.”
I walked over to his window that faced the street. Both the van and the car were still in place. For now.
“You have your weapon with you?” he asked.
I patted my purse.
“Keep it on your person. You leave the purse in your desk when you go downstairs. You should have it where you can get your hands on it.”
I wanted to resent the advice, but had to admit that the gun—in my purse, in the car—had done me no good yesterday. It was having the pepper spray in my pocket that saved my bacon that time. I set the purse on his desk, retrieved the pistol and stuck it into my waistband. It was heavy, uncomfortable, and reassuring.
“I have a ton of invoicing to do,” I said. “Pop over across the hall if you come up with a plan for what we should do next.”
I settled at my desk and Freckles lay at my feet. The bonding was pretty cute to watch. Better than watching for bad guys any day.
Emails, invoicing, and computer entries soaked up my attention for awhile. Longer than I imagined, because the next thing I knew Ron was standing there. In his hand, a sheet of paper.
“Found these addresses,” he said. “Last known residences of Stringer and Mohler, plus some for relatives. I think I’ll do a little drive-by of my own, now and then. The third guy—can’t find anything without a last name.”
“I never knew what it was. The older men called him Kid. Billy, the younger one who was killed, called him Ollie. That’s not a lot to go on.”
“I think I’ll put in a call to Detective Gonzales. Based on what their sketch artist did when you worked with him—maybe they’ve come up with something. I don’t know how much Gonzales will tell me, but we’ll see.”
I’d given it a lot of thought in recent days but still didn’t really have any firm information I could offer about the third man. He seemed so innocent—well, maybe naïve was a better word—in retrospect. The teenager who’d somehow gotten in with a couple of really bad dudes. Considering what had happened to Billy, I wondered if Ollie were even alive now.
Chapter 34
Oliver Wendell Trask crouched beside a blue dumpster in a dark, stinking alley. His hands were coated in grime. His hair and clothing reeked of used cooking grease and rotted vegetables from a quick foray into the dumpster for anything edible.
Mama would have belted him across the mouth for consuming the stuff he’d just put in there, a half-eaten burger and a few ribs with some of the meat still on them. But that was back when she still cared what he ate, when she cared whether he bathed. By the time he’d hit high school the daily battles became too much for either of them. She’d run off with some guy, one of the many. He’d dumped the pretense of attending classes and fended for himself ever since.
He looked at his hands and cringed. He wasn’t fending all that well right now, for sure. This whole week had turned into a pile of crap.
A door opened and a man in white kitchen garb stepped out and flung two bulging bags into the open trash bin. Ollie pressed himself into the wall at his back but the man saw him anyway.
Stardom Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #12 Page 18