Rob Thy Neighbor

by David Thurlo

  “You know the rest. Now, tell me again, are you certain you could identify the shooter if you saw him again?”

  “No doubt about it, Detective.”

  “Good.”

  “Can I ask you a few questions now, DuPree?” Charlie asked, noting that the detective’s mood had begun to improve.

  “Can’t guarantee I’ll be able to come up with an answer, but go ahead. And you can call me Wayne, Charlie,” DuPree suggested, reaching across the desk, lifting off a folder that covered a name plate that read DETECTIVE W. DUPREE.

  Charlie saw the opportunity to gather more information. “The man I shot and killed last night. Who is … was he?”

  “His fingerprints were on file, and the deceased had a record of auto theft and burglary going back to high school. He’s Anthony Donald Lorenzo, twenty-three years old, on probation and with a listed Rio Rancho apartment address. His mother and a younger sister currently reside in the Newark, New Jersey, area. They’ve been notified.”

  “And the man I saw, the Randal shooter?”

  “Sergeant Medina is working on that right now downstairs, using the sketch you and Sweeney made. She’s going to be assigned to me on the home invasions, including this case. I’m not sure the Randal incident is connected to the other crimes—there are as many differences as similarities—but until my captain tells me otherwise, it’s my responsibility.”

  “You think the man I saw has worked with this guy before, and they have a history together?” Charlie asked.

  “And maybe with the third perp? We have a better chance of getting all three once we get an ID on the guy who was unmasked. Punks who pull off these kinds of crimes usually have records and hang out with their crew. They’re all pretty much losers and get caught, sooner or later,” DuPree pointed out. “What else you want to know?”

  “This has to do with something you’ve probably thought about already. What if this wasn’t really a home invasion but a kidnapping attempt disguised as a strong-arm break-in. And it was directed toward Sam Randal, not his wife,” Charlie suggested.

  “Because they made a second move on him last night?” DuPree asked.

  “Exactly. And if it hadn’t been for Gordon and me jumping in the first time, they’d have hauled Sam away in that van.”

  “It fits. Kidnapping, for ransom, I suppose. Randal’s construction company is doing quite well, according to my contacts in the local business community.”

  “You’re already into this possibility, then?” Charlie concluded. DuPree was indeed smarter than he looked.

  “Never rule out, or assume, when you need to determine the truth, Charlie.”

  “As with everything in life, Wayne. I should let you know that Sam Randal has hired Gordon and me to look after him and his wife, and at the same time help identify the attackers.”

  DuPree nodded. “I’m not surprised, considering his resources. Have you spoken to Randal yet about his personal or business enemies, those he knows about, at least? If we share information, we’ll get to the bottom of this a lot quicker. Once I close a case it gives me more time to focus on the others. My captain is already breathing down my neck on these home invasion cases. And so on up the food chain to the mayor and city council.”

  Charlie thought about it a second. DuPree—make that Wayne—was right. With Nancy a close contact on the law enforcement side of this, they might be able to get to the suspects a lot faster. One down, two to go, and it would all be over. Hopefully.

  “Sam is at the hospital with Margaret, and we need to keep both of them close if they are going to be protected, so that’s where Gordon and I are going next. We hope to find out exactly why he’s become a target. If they’d wanted him dead, it would have happened the moment he opened the door yesterday,” Charlie said. “Maybe he’s more likely to open up to us about it than to law enforcement—no offense—if it involves an iffy business deal, for instance.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  They both turned as Sergeant Medina came into the room carrying a thick folder. Nancy was attractive and outgoing, but she was also smart and capable, having earned her rank quickly.

  “Medina’s got something,” DuPree said as Nancy held up the folder, a grin on her face.

  “We may have a winner, Detective,” she said, handing the papers to DuPree. “Everything I’ve seen about this guy fits what we think we know. Hi, Charlie, glad you’re here.”

  “Don’t show the suspect’s photo,” DuPree warned. “Charlie needs to pick it from an array without any cues.”

  “Which is why I’ve selected three other photos with similar descriptions, Detective,” Nancy replied without sarcasm. “That meets the legal requirements for a nonprejudicial photo array. Ready, Charlie?”

  “Sure.”

  Nancy opened the folder and took out four color images, laying them out side by side on the desktop. The man in the second photo had a scar above his left eyebrow, but none of the others had such a mark.

  “Take your time, Mr. Henry. Is the man you saw in the Randal home pointing a gun here?” DuPree asked, switching on a small digital recorder.

  Charlie looked at the photos carefully, then pointed to the third image. “That’s the guy, I’m positive. His hair is longer in the photo than when I saw him, and he has a scratch on his face now. He’s the person whose ski mask had apparently been pulled away at the Randal house. He was chasing Mrs. Randal and fired a weapon in her direction.”

  DuPree turned over the photo to read what was on the back. “Let the record show that Mr. Henry identified the photo of one Raymond Geiger, white male, age, umm, twenty-two in the photo, current address listed as Apartment 247, Sierra Avenue NW, Rio Rancho, New Mexico.”

  “That’s it?” Charlie asked after DuPree stated the time and date, then switched off the recorder.

  “Here is Geiger’s file, which includes his arrests, convictions, and probation records,” Nancy said, placing the folder in front of DuPree. “I took the liberty, assuming that Charlie could make the ID.”

  DuPree nodded. “So far, two of the crew are from Rio Rancho,” he said, opening the file.

  “I saw this Ray character in action. He’s not nearly the martial arts equal of Gordon, but he has some serious hand-to-hand skills, even with an injured finger. Does he have martial arts training or a military record?” Charlie asked.

  DuPree held up his hand as he read, then looked up after a moment. “No military record, but he owns and operates a martial arts school in Rio Rancho. The business name is Butkikin Dojo. What do you call those words that sound alike but have a different meaning?”

  “Homophones, and don’t ask why I know that,” Nancy responded, daring them to comment.

  “Clearly, Ray Geiger also has attitude,” Charlie responded with a grin. “Mind if I ride along when you go to arrest him? That’s where you’re going next, right, Detective?”

  Nancy looked at DuPree, who shrugged. “He’s riding with you, Medina. And make Charlie stay in the vehicle. Geiger will recognize him. This might get tricky, and not just if Geiger resists arrest.”

  “Because?”

  “Jurisdiction, Charlie,” Nancy offered. “If we’re in Rio Rancho, the actual takedown is the responsibility of the Rio Rancho department. Unless they have a warrant for him for crimes committed in Rio Rancho, however, they should be eager to turn him over to us.”

  “You could also use the state police, right?”

  “Yeah, Charlie, but no sense in pissing off the RRPD,” DuPree replied. “We still owe them after they looked after you and your brother last year.”

  Charlie nodded. “And it wasn’t the first time I’d gotten their attention.”

  “That incident I choose not to remember,” DuPree said, shaking his head. “Even if it helped them solve a murder.”

  Charlie’s phone signaled a text message. He looked down. I’m here. Much longer? it said.

  Soon Charlie texted Gordon back.

  “I read Geiger’s file,
Detective,” Nancy interjected, ignoring Charlie. “I also Googled him.”

  DuPree began sorting through papers. “And?”

  “Geiger supposedly got his act together after his last arrest in New Jersey, turned his life around, and now promotes a martial arts program at his dojo in Rio Rancho for troubled youth. According to an upbeat article in the Rio Rancho newspaper, Ray’s program helps redirect the energy of teens in a positive direction—keeps them out of further trouble,” Nancy responded.

  “And he’s also training them to win their next fight,” Charlie said.

  “There’s more,” Nancy added. “Ray’s got a family member living just a mile from his apartment, his father, Frank Geiger. Ray’s mother divorced Frank when the boy was six. She remarried and now lives back east somewhere. What makes the father interesting is that Frank, in his early fifties, is a former NYPD detective who served seventeen years on the force,” Nancy responded.

  “Crap. The son is a young criminal from a broken home, and his old man is a divorced ex-cop who had problems controlling his own kid. Looks like Ray is back to his old tricks, this time in New Mexico. Just what we need,” DuPree said.

  “Yeah, more bad karma. You mind if Gordon comes along?” Charlie asked.

  “Sweeney? Is he here too?” DuPree asked.

  Charlie nodded and pointed down. “He just arrived.”

  “Hell no, I’m not having that wiseass around to square off with the suspect. I’m pushing policy letting you come along in the first place, Charlie,” DuPree said. “And that’s only to help us pick out the right guy,” he added smugly.

  “No prob. We planned on every contingency, so Gordon has his own vehicle. He can go ahead and make contact with the Randals at Saint Mark’s. Maybe he can work on Sam and get him to open up about his enemies,” Charlie said.

  “You might want to get him started on that right away,” DuPree suggested, standing, then retrieving his weapon from a desk drawer. “I plan to have Ray Geiger locked up by lunch.”

  Chapter Five

  They met two Rio Rancho unmarked units in front of Butkikin Dojo, but the Rio Rancho detective who’d already taken a look discovered that the school was locked up and the lights were out. According to a sign in a window, the school didn’t hold classes until midafternoon. They tried Ray’s apartment next, but again, no one was around. Placing an officer to watch the building, DuPree decided to check with the father, Frank, who was supposedly unemployed. A quick drive-by along the street determined that Ray’s registered vehicle, a red pickup, was in the elder Geiger’s driveway, parked in front of a one-vehicle garage.

  The boxy, two-story, flat-roofed rental house was in a relatively new development of maybe fifty densely packed units. Each dwelling had an attached garage and small backyard enclosed within a six-foot-high cedar fence. All the cookie-cutter structures, in southwest generic pueblo style with fake vigas, looked pretty much identical, even down to the same sandy yellow stucco walls and one tiny pine balcony extending out from an upstairs room.

  As the two Rio Rancho detectives walked up to the gate that led to the front entrance, the overhead garage door crept up with a faint rumble, revealing a large silver Chevy pickup taking up most of the interior. All the officers stopped in the driveway, hands moving to the butts of their handguns.

  A tall, belly-heavy man in his late fifties wearing a sleeveless T-shirt was standing just behind the door in the center, holding a shovel at quarter arms. Nancy, standing beside DuPree, was the only officer in uniform, and the man in the garage focused his attention on her.

  “What the hell does an Albuquerque cop want with me? You take the wrong turn on Highway 528, cutie?” The man leered, letting his eyes roam down Nancy’s body.

  The local detectives, who’d frozen at the sound of the garage door opening, had their weapons out now, pointed at the man. The garage had wooden shelves along both sides, constructed of unfinished two-by-fours and plywood. They held several cardboard boxes, with the labels of a moving company on the sides. Most were taped shut. Toward the front of the garage, against the wall of the house, was a long, heavy wood bench with a few hand and power tools in various locations, along with one-gallon paint cans and plastic containers.

  “You Frank Geiger?” the senior officer demanded.

  “Yeah, who are you?”

  “Detective Larranaga, Rio Rancho police. Please set down the shovel, Mr. Geiger,” the detective ordered, taking a quick glance into the interior of the red pickup in the driveway.

  “Guess I’m busted, Officer,” Frank replied sarcastically, revealing a significant limp as he stepped over and placed the shovel into the bed of the Chevy. “But the light at the corner was yellow, not red. I swear. Don’t shoot.”

  “Lose the attitude, Geiger. Do you happen to know where your son, Ray, is right now?” DuPree demanded. “The red truck is registered to him.”

  “Who wants to know, fatty?”

  Charlie, who’d exited Nancy’s squad car unnoticed, fought hard not to smile. DuPree had lost some weight since they’d last met, but he still had a spare tire, though not as pronounced as Geiger’s.

  Finally Geiger noticed Charlie. “Ah, the Indians have arrived. Then you must be the cavalry, lady. Love your blue uniform, but where’s your stallion?”

  Nancy gave Geiger a cold “give me a reason” stare but held her tongue.

  “I need to speak with your son, Raymond Geiger, in person.” Larranaga demanded. “If I have to ask you again, I’m holding you for obstruction and we’re going to the station.” He brought out a set of handcuffs.

  “No need, Detective. Hell, my boy’s inside puking his guts out. We tossed back a few too many last night watching ’Backs baseball, and this morning he couldn’t keep his breakfast down. What the hell is going on? Some kid at Bojo get kicked in the nuts and now his parents are claiming child abuse?”

  “Geiger’s stalling. Ray could be halfway down the alley by now,” DuPree stepped toward the side of the garage, looking toward the rear of the house.

  The RRPD detective shook his head, not taking his eyes off Geiger. “We know our business, DuPree. There’s a uniform in the alley, covering the back of the residence.”

  “Yet you’re giving the person you’ve come to arrest time to fetch a weapon or two and barricade the house,” DuPree replied. “You wearing a vest, Officer Larranaga?”

  Larranaga’s face turned red. “Detective Larranaga. Screw this. Ray Geiger has earned some credit with this community, but you’ve got a point. The subject may now be armed and dangerous. If your son doesn’t come outside and turn himself in right now, Geiger, I’m calling SWAT.”

  “SWAT? What the hell?” Frank yelled. “No, back off. I’ll get Ray down here right now. He’s unarmed, and I guarantee my boy is completely innocent of whatever trumped-up crap brought you here. My boy’s made a big contribution to Rio Rancho. Ray serves as a positive role model to every tough kid in the community. If he got in a fight, he was jumped, and it was a hundred percent self-defense.”

  Geiger turned toward the door in the garage that led into the house. “Ray, come on down, the police want to talk to you,” he shouted, stepping into the entrance.

  “Hold on, I’m going to be right behind you,” the detective announced. He nodded toward his partner. “Watch the front, Johnson.”

  “Don’t go any further, Mr. Geiger,” Larranaga ordered. “Stay on this side of the entrance. Is there anyone else in the house besides Ray? Tell me now,” Larranaga insisted, unholstering his handgun and holding it down by his side.

  “No, just Ray. And like I said, you don’t need your weapon,” Geiger insisted as he stepped back down into the garage, limping. “No reason to shoot anyone. My son is unarmed.”

  DuPree had flanked Geiger and the detective, reaching a position to back him up. He had his weapon out as well. Charlie looked over at Nancy, who also had her pistol out. She’d moved close to the corner of the garage so she could cover the other detective stand
ing along the sidewalk leading to the main entrance in front, or turn to her left and back up DuPree.

  Charlie, in the driveway, looked up at the window on the second floor, which was set back at least twenty-five feet from the garage roof. The window was open, and Ray Geiger was standing there, looking out. When Ray saw Charlie, he turned away and walked out of view.

  “He’s not puking somewhere. He’s in a room above the garage, and the window’s open,” Charlie called out.

  “Ray, dammit, come on down to the garage. The officers want to ask you some questions,” Frank yelled through the now half-open door into the house.

  “Did he have a weapon, Charlie?” DuPree asked, his eyes still focused on the open door.

  “Didn’t see one, Detective DuPree,” he responded, still watching the window.

  Less than twenty seconds later, Ray Geiger, looking tired, appeared at the door leading into the garage, wearing black sweats, running shoes, and a Yankees blue-and-white pinstriped jersey-style shirt. Frank stepped aside and motioned for Ray to enter the garage.

  “See, my son is unarmed,” Frank pointed out.

  “Let me see your hands, Ray,” DuPree demanded.

  “You blind?” Ray drawled sarcastically, holding out his hands, palms up, and giving Nancy a broad smile. “But if your lady officer wants to search me…”

  “Let me … please,” Nancy replied, evil in her eyes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a latex glove. “First for drugs. Drop trou and bend over, your hands on your knees, tough guy.”

  “Hey, you’re supposed to start in front,” Ray joked nervously.

  Nobody laughed.

  “Hold out both hands, Ray Geiger, fingers extended,” the Rio Rancho detective ordered. “Unless you want to submit to a cavity search in front of all these men.” He looked over at Nancy, who now had the glove in place.