I was kneeling on the ground when I heard the sound of approaching vehicles. Retreating to the cabin, I latched the door, barricaded it with a chair, and waited.
“What is it, Uncle Damien? What’s wrong?” Artie’s voice trembled as he watched my preparations.
“Not sure yet, Artie,” I said. “I thought I heard a car when I was outside. Until I know who or what is coming, I’m not taking any chances.” I showed him the small rip in the sheet covering the window. “You keep an eye on the road through this, and I’ll watch through the other window. Sing out if you see anything coming.”
He gulped and nodded, his face solemn. “What happens if…”
“It’ll be all right, kid,” I assured him, hoping as I said the words that I could make good on my promise. “Just watch for any activity coming from your direction.”
There was a tense 30 seconds or so of silence as we waited at our respective posts. Then, “I see something, Uncle Damien. I think it’s a police car. And there’s a second car right behind it.”
As the words left Artie’s mouth, a third car came into my line of sight on the west side of the cabin. We were being approached from both directions at once. “Swap sides with me, Artie,” I called out. We made a quick switch, and I peered through the hole in the sheet.
The lad was right. Two white sedans were coming our way from the east, roof lights flashing, sirens off. All three cars came to a stop near the cabin in a fan-shaped configuration, their front ends focused on the cabin door. Uniformed state troopers emerged, and took up defensive positions behind the car doors. I saw one of the officers reach inside his vehicle for a megaphone. “You in the cabin,” his voice boomed. “Open the door. Show yourself.”
Concerned these cops might be trigger-happy, I told Artie to go to the corner and tuck himself as far behind the stove as he could. Without any prompting, Hershey joined him, placing himself in front of the boy.
“You have thirty seconds,” the amplified voice announced.
I removed the barricade from beneath the doorknob, pulled back the latch, and opened the door a crack. Flattening myself against the inside wall of the cabin for protection, I called out, “Don’t shoot. My name is Dickens. Damien Dickens.”
“ID?”
I pulled out my billfold, and read off the details from my driver’s permit and my PI license. There was a pause as one of the other officers called in the information to the dispatcher for verification. I watched through the crack in the door, and saw him nod to the cop who was holding the megaphone. There was a perceptible lessening of tension in the stance of the troopers.
“Are you alone?”
“No,” I shouted. “I have a boy with me. Artie Hegarty-Sutherland. Also my dog.”
“Are you armed?”
“Smith & Wesson 29.”
“Please toss out your weapon, Mr. Dickens, then show yourself.”
I looked back at Artie, who was taking in the proceedings with eyes the size of saucers. Giving him a thumbs-up sign for reassurance, I reminded him to stay where he was. Promised him everything was going to be fine. I slid my revolver out of its holster, removed the ammunition from the cylinder, and tossed the gun in a gentle arc so that it landed at the feet of the nearest officer. My hands held palms-out at shoulder height, I stepped through the doorway. Following the state trooper’s orders, I turned to face the cabin wall, placed my hands against the rough-hewn siding, and spread my legs for a pat-down. The constable doing the honors removed my billfold from my hip pocket.
I waited with mounting impatience, and was about to protest, when I finally was told to turn around. The sergeant who appeared to be in charge walked up to me and returned my possessions. Once I had holstered my gun and replaced the billfold in my hip pocket, he introduced himself. “Gordon Fotheringham. Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Dickens. We weren’t sure what we would find. We were worried about a possible ambush.”
I waved off the apology. “No need to explain, Sergeant. I appreciate the rescue. Can you give us a ride? There’s a plane and pilot waiting for us at Canyonlands Field.”
“Those were my instructions,” Fotheringham confirmed with a nod. “We can talk on the way.”
I asked him to wait while I returned to the cabin to collect Artie and Hershey. Cradling the sack containing the gold nugget in both arms, staggering a little under its weight, I led our little group back outside. Fotheringham ushered us to one of the squad cars. I waited for Artie and Hershey to climb into the rear seat, then slid in beside them, resting the heavy bundle across my legs. Fotheringham climbed into the front passenger seat and spoke with his dispatcher before telling the constable behind the wheel to head for the airstrip. As soon as we were underway, he corkscrewed around in his seat to face me.
“Can you tell me what happened here, Mr. Dickens?”
I gave him a capsule summary, beginning with our flight into Canyonlands. When I described emptying my gun at the receding taillights of Colin’s rental car, he nodded. “That checks. Highway Patrol found the rental vehicle abandoned on the shoulder of the I-70 just a few miles east of here. It had a broken tail light and a flat tire. The driver must have hitched a ride with a passing motorist. After running the plate number, the officer got in touch with the car rental agency. The counter clerk put your pilot on the phone, and Mr. Warrenburg briefed the officer on the situation. That’s when we were called in.”
“Have you put out a BOLO for the driver?”
“For what it’s worth, we have. Problem is, the information on the rental agreement is minimal. The customer’s name on the form is illegible, and the man we spoke to wasn’t on duty when the car was rented out.”
“I can help you with that. The suspect’s name is Colin Hewitt. He’s wanted for kidnapping. Also, I believe he’s a person of interest in a robbery investigation in Las Vegas.” I proceeded to give Fotheringham a detailed physical description: height, weight, hair color, and approximate age.
He looked at me with an odd expression on his face. “You know an awful lot about this perp, considering you only saw him briefly.”
“I know more about him than I care to,” I said with a grimace. “I’m married to his sister.”
Part Four
Touched the face of God
Chapter Thirty-two
February 24, 1983
Susan was waiting outside the General Aviation terminal of McCarran Airport, Bruno Carravaggio hovering protectively nearby, when Warrenburg taxied to a smooth stop on the parking apron. Standing half a step behind her, his hand on her elbow, Bruno’s eyes darted to and fro, alert for any hint of danger. Susan appeared more relaxed than I had seen her in a long time, and she was smiling as she turned to say something to Bruno.
As soon as the built-in staircase had deployed, Artie ran down the steps and launched himself into Susan’s arms. She knelt on the tarmac to embrace him, tears in her eyes. Bruno, one hand resting on Susan’s shoulder, greeted me as Hershey and I reached the tarmac. “Glad to see you, Mr. D.” A wide grin spread across his face as he reached out his hand to me. “Welcome to Vegas.”
“Thanks, Bruno.” I retrieved my hand from Bruno’s firm grip, and offered it to Susan to help her to her feet. “Has there been any news from Laporte?”
“He called shortly before we left for the airport,” Bruno replied. “Duke Zyklos is expected to recover. He’s been moved out of the intensive care unit, but the surgeon claims his patient is still too weak to be interviewed by the police. He’s strong enough to have hired himself a lawyer, though.”
“Has anyone heard from Millie?”
Bruno replied with a shake of his head. “Nuh-uh, Mr. D. Not a word.”
Susan had arranged accommodations for us at the Sands Hotel. Located on the Las Vegas Strip, it was a low-key, classy sort of place. Bruno led the way down a path from the Sands parking lot through a lush garden to a pair of adjoining poolside suites nestled in a far corner of the complex. Artie’s head was drooping and his feet were dra
gging by the time we reached our rooms, and he made no objection to Susan’s suggestion of a nap.
I saw Bruno’s eyes following Susan’s receding back, as she led Artie to the bedroom. He appeared to be uneasy, and I asked him what was wrong.
He took his time answering, his eyes wandering around the room, landing everywhere except on me. Finally, he blurted out, “I think I may have messed up, Mr. D.”
My heart lurched, but I managed to keep my voice steady. “How do you mean, Bruno?”
He blushed, as he continued to avoid my gaze. “Well, Susan and I…” He hesitated, took a deep breath, and looked straight at me. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together these last couple of days, what with me being her bodyguard and all, and we’ve gotten to know each other.”
“Go on.” I was getting an inkling of where this conversation might be going.
“Well, the thing is, I know it’s unprofessional and all, but what I mean to say is, I think I’m in love with her.”
“Have you said anything to Susan?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. She’s older than I am. Besides, I’m not in her league, either financially or socially. And I’m her employee, hired to protect her.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Susan isn’t the sort to worry about social status or the size of your bank account, Bruno. It’s the size of a person’s heart that counts with her, and yours is as big as they come. There’s less than two years difference in your ages, and you won’t be her bodyguard much longer. Why not just let things develop naturally.”
His face relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, Mr. D. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
Susan reentered the room, her brow furrowing with concern as she heard his last statement. “Is there something the matter?” she asked. “Something I should know?”
“Nothing you need be concerned about.” I winked at Bruno. “Just man-talk. How’s Artie?”
“Asleep before his head hit the pillow.” Susan sank into a chair. “Thank you, Damien, for finding him and bringing him back safe and well. Once he’s rested, I’d like to send him to Stowe with Captain Warrenburg. His disappearance hit Mary and Zeb very hard. I think they would appreciate some time alone with him, and I have some pressing business to attend to here in Las Vegas.”
“Where is Warrenburg, by the way?”
“He’s spending the night with an old Air Force buddy here in town. I’m expecting him to check in by phone with me later this evening.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Artie to be traveling without protection.” I turned to Bruno. “Would you mind going with him? To see him safely back to Mary and Zeb? Maybe also take Hershey along? The dog can remain with the Hegartys until Millie and I can reclaim him.”
“It’s OK by me, Mr. D.” I heard the disappointment in his voice, and there was an answering flicker in Susan’s eyes. I suspected Bruno’s feelings for Susan might not be a one-way street, but I refrained from saying anything. Instead, I voiced my concern about Millie’s silence.
“I don’t know what goes on inside Colin’s head,” I told them. “He might even try to return to Las Vegas to see his wife and the baby. If he does, and if he thinks Millie had a hand in upsetting his plans, she could be in danger.”
“Do you really think he’d harm his own sister?” Susan asked.
“As I said, I don’t know what he might or might not do,” I replied, looking at Susan until she met my gaze. “I know you’re still upset with Millie, and you think I’m worrying needlessly. Nevertheless, it’s unlike her to be out of contact for so long.”
After a long pause, during which our eyes remained fixed on each other’s, she nodded. “What are your plans?”
“Once I’ve caught up with Millie, I need to take care of this.” I opened the bulky package I had been carrying with me since leaving Cisco, displaying its contents to Susan and Bruno. “It’s the stolen nugget. I want to get it out of my hands and into the possession of the Las Vegas police as soon as possible.”
“I saw in the newspaper there’s a pretty hefty reward being offered for this thing, Mr. D,” Bruno said, as he turned the nugget this way and that. “Hey, it really does look like a dragon.”
I left Susan and Bruno to deal with the logistics of returning Artie to Vermont, and went into the adjoining suite to use the phone. My first call was to Colin’s apartment, where Millie was supposed to be staying. I let the phone ring for a full two minutes before I finally gave up. My next call was more successful. I reached Lt. Davila, the detective in charge of investigating the gold heist, and told him what I had found. We agreed it would be best for me to bring the nugget to police headquarters as soon as possible. He would arrange for the insurance company to send an adjustor to meet with us. “Did you say your name was Dickens?” Davila asked as I was about to hang up.
“Yes. Why?”
“Your wife was in to see me the other day, wanting to find out what we had on her brother. She’s a tough cookie, your wife is.”
“She can be,” I acknowledged. “When did you meet with her?”
“Tuesday afternoon.”
“Have you heard from her since?”
“Nah, not a word. I figured she gave up and went home.”
After telling Davila I would be there later in the afternoon, I grabbed a quick shower, shaved, and dressed in my one remaining set of clean clothes. There was no ‘Hewitt, Colin’ in the Las Vegas telephone directory, but I found a listing for ‘Hewitt, C.’ that matched the phone number Millie had given me. I copied down the address and returned to Susan’s suite, leaving behind a laundry bag filled with dirty clothes for the hotel’s cleaning service to deal with.
“I’m going to swing by Colin’s apartment before heading over to police headquarters to turn in the nugget,” I said. “I’ll grab a cab at the hotel entrance.”
Susan offered me the use of her rental car instead. She and Bruno would spend the rest of the day with Artie, she told me. She suggested I leave Hershey with her, and I agreed. “Artie will enjoy having him around,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
A bubble of foreboding was building inside my gut. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself Millie was able to take care of herself, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. I consulted the street map of Las Vegas provided by the car rental agency, and drove north along Las Vegas Boulevard to Bonanza Road. The apartment complex where Colin and his wife lived was easy to spot. I turned into the driveway, located Building 103, and parked next to a Dodge Colt hatchback that had seen better days.
I walked up the stairs to Unit E, pressed on the doorbell, and listened for a response to the discordant door chime. There was none: no voice calling out ‘Just a minute,’ no approaching footsteps. I tried the knob. The door was locked, and the curtains covering the adjacent window were closed. I rang the doorbell again, keeping my thumb pressed against it, hearing the chimes echoing back at me from inside the house. Mocking me. Defeated by the bell, I stepped over to investigate the curtained window more closely. As I turned, a glint of something metallic at the end of the corridor caught my attention, and I crouched down to get a closer look. It was a set of keys, and there was something familiar about the fob attached to the key ring. The gold, heart-shaped fob dangling from the key ring had the letter ‘M’ embossed on one face. I slid my finger through the ring and picked up the keys, flipping the fob over to read, ‘Love, Dick’ engraved on the back surface of the fob.
My heart began to hammer, and I told myself to slow down. To think clearly. I had given this fob to Millie for Valentine’s Day the year before. The ring held three keys in all. Two of them were Medico security keys, and the third was a Yale. I removed my own keys from my pocket and compared them to the ones I had just found. The Medicos matched, but there was no partner for the third key. I noticed a reddish-brown spot on the tip of the Yale. A spot the color of dried blood. Millie must have been accosted while she was unlocking
the door to the apartment, I reasoned, and had tried to defend herself, using her keys as an improvised set of brass knuckles, and losing them in the struggle.
I tried the Yale key in the lock on the apartment door, and felt the deadbolt slide back. My revolver in my hand, I slipped inside the apartment and locked the door behind me. It took only a few seconds to walk through the one-bedroom unit and verify it was unoccupied. Millie’s carry-on suitcase was next to the wall at one end of the living room sofa. I laid it flat, popped open the latches, and flung back the lid. Her clothes were inside the suitcase, neatly folded as was her habit. A systematic survey of the apartment revealed her toiletries bag resting on a corner of the bathroom vanity. The refrigerator was stocked with basics, but was half-empty. The apartment was tidy, and there was no sign of a struggle. Returning to the front door, I stood on the jamb and surveyed the floor of the exterior corridor.
Satisfied there was nothing else to find in the immediate vicinity, I stepped across the threshold, locked the door, and dropped the key ring into my pocket. I walked over to the rail across from the apartment door and scanned the area below. The shrubbery near the foot of the stairs appeared to have been disturbed. A few small branches were broken off, and the mulch was in disarray. There was something else, too. Something lodged in one of the bushes. I ran down the stairs, worked my way behind the shrubs, and retrieved what I had spotted from above. A leather handbag. It must have been in the bushes for a day or two, I realized. There were water spots on the leather, most likely from the nearby irrigation head. Returning to the parking lot, I laid the handbag on the hood of the parked Colt. With shaking fingers, I unfastened the clasp and checked the contents. Inside the bag was a familiar, red leather wallet. And, inside the wallet, I found Millie’s driver’s license and PI credentials.
The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4) Page 17