by David Thurlo
“Sam seems to have prospered,” Charlie noted. “Why live in this modest neighborhood when you could buy a big house in the foothills, along Rio Grande Boulevard, or near the old country club?”
“Sam’s a great businessman, but he’s very low-profile, down-to-earth. Humble, I’d say, despite being an only child. Maybe it’s because of his childhood, but he doesn’t flash around his wealth, like some people do who are newly rich. He was really annoyed when the business edition of the Albuquerque Journal did a story about his success with Firm Foundation. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Sam shuns publicity, and his donations to charity are always done anonymously.”
“You two seem very close. Does the business require Sam to be out of town a lot?”
“No, he’s a homebody. Sam sends Jeff on any required business trips. Anytime Sam leaves the city we’re together, and it’s always on vacation, never business. I want for nothing, and we’ve driven all around the country. He’s afraid of flying. Neither of us has any desire for the fancy stuff, like a Mercedes, a swimming pool, or a housekeeper. I was raised in what used to be considered a middle-class family, and I’ve never associated with what my mom called the upper crust. Sam pays his employees well, and Jeff Candelaria has been foreman since before Sam took over the company. I’m the only person with the company who no longer works full-time. Except those two who got fired, of course.”
“And Jim Eldon, the electrical contractor,” Charlie suggested softly.
Margaret’s face flushed for a moment, and she avoided eye contact. After a brief pause, she spoke. “Mr. Eldon wasn’t really with the company, he was subcontracting. I don’t know the details about why Sam decided not to hire him anymore, and Sam hasn’t talked about it. I think it might have just been a personality conflict,” she added.
It sounded like a lie, but Charlie decided not to press the issue, starting to think this was unrelated to what was going on now. “Sounds like you know the firm and his work as much as anyone. The detective has asked you this already, but now that you’ve had time to think about it, have you been able to come up with any idea why your home was targeted, then Sam and the business?”
“No, and we’ve gone back and forth about this, searching for answers. We still can’t believe this could have anything to do with his business dealings or personal life, yet clearly, there’s someone out there who wants to do him harm.”
“Sam’s only been here in the city for a few years, right? What about his past, before he came to New Mexico? He ever talk about that?”
“No, he says that it was so boring it would put me to sleep. Lower-class childhood, and after high school, nothing but insurance policies and claims and sales, learning how to run a business. Nose to the grindstone. Sam always put his work first until he met me.”
“How about his personal life? His past. Old enemies, girlfriends, stuff like that?”
Margaret laughed. “Before we got married, he told me all about his old girlfriends, and gave me the chance to do the same. Clearing the air, he said. Once we both had our say, he wanted us to never speak of it again. The past was done and gone, and all we needed to think about was now, and toward the future. He’d already thrown out his old photos, and I offered to do the same. He said to keep my family photos, but definitely not those of my old boyfriends. He’s the jealous type, if you hadn’t already noticed.”
Charlie said nothing, wondering just how many boyfriends Margaret had had in her life. Perhaps Jim Eldon had been one of them, and Sam had found out. She was definitely appealing—looks, personality, the whole nine yards.
“Hey, don’t give me that look. I grew up with very strong, conservative values, and that was a long time ago,” Margaret protested, her face turning almost as red as her hair.
“None of my business,” Charlie replied hastily, feeling his own face starting to flush.
“Let me clear the table.”
Charlie’s cell phone, in his shirt pocket, began to ring. He brought it out and checked the caller. It was Madeline Greene, his neighbor from across the street.
“Hi, Maddie, what’s up?” he asked, hoping it was good news for a change.
“Hi, Charlie. Did you call for a plumber this morning? There’s a white van with a West Mesa Plumbing sign parked in front of your driveway.”
“No, I didn’t. What is the plumber doing? Is he checking the water meter at the sidewalk?”
“Nope. I can’t see much, but I think they went inside your house. Over the top of the van I can tell that the garage door is open.”
“They? How many?” Charlie knew something was up. Nestor insisted that Charlie always handle things like this.
“Two men, wearing caps and white jumpsuits, or whatever men call them. I can’t see them right now, so they must be inside, or out in the backyard,” Maddie responded, her voice raised an octave. “Want me to take a closer look?”
“No! Stay home and away from the window, Maddie. Lock your doors, call the police, and report a burglary. Remind them that this was the location of a suspicious incident just last night.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Maddie. Stay safe,” Charlie added, turning toward Margaret, wondering if this was just a diversion to lure him away.
“You think this is a trick?” Margaret asked. “I heard most of that.”
“I can’t leave you here alone. The police will handle it.”
“No. Let’s mess up the burglars’ plans. I’m going with you,” Margaret said, reaching for her purse and phone, both on a nearby serving table.
“You sure?” Charlie said, reaching for his light windbreaker, which would help conceal the Beretta at his belt.
“Let’s go. On the way I’ll call Gordon and Nancy,” Margaret said, bringing out her keys. “I’ll set the house alarm on the way out.”
* * *
Charlie tried to reconnect with Madeline on the way but couldn’t get through. APD Dispatch probably had insisted she stay on the line until a patrol car arrived. He was a lot closer to his house coming from the Randals’ rather than the shop down in the valley, and it would take less than ten minutes to get there. He knew that was like forever to a burglar, so he’d be way too late. Local response time supposedly averaged less than four minutes to have an officer on the scene, depending on the locale and time of day. Maybe they’d get lucky.
“We’re almost there. When we arrive, stay in the car with the doors locked. I’ll leave the engine running and the air conditioner on,” Charlie told Margaret as he turned onto his street. “If you feel threatened in any way, honk the horn and yell as loud as you can.”
“Of course. And don’t worry about me. I have a revolver in my purse and Nancy showed me how to use it,” she replied, her voice taut. “I’m never going to be taken by surprise again.”
He’d come the quickest way, approaching from the south, and as he drove up the street he could see a white and blue APD cruiser parked a few houses down. He couldn’t see any officers, but Madeline, in cutoff jeans and sweatshirt, was standing on her porch, phone in hand.
She saw him and waved, then stepped off the porch and walked halfway across the lawn toward the street.
“Pretty girl, even with that streak in her hair,” Margaret commented as he pulled over to the curb. “You ever ask her out?”
Charlie laughed. “She’s smart, good-looking, and way too young for me, Margaret.”
“Age doesn’t have to be a barrier, Charlie,” Margaret responded.
Charlie nodded, still wondering exactly what the attraction was that had brought Margaret and much-older Sam together. From a man’s point of view, he could see why anyone would have been attracted to the woman beside him. But Sam? Guess you had to be a woman.
Charlie climbed out. “I’m going to check it out. Remember—”
“I’ll stay here,” Margaret completed the thought. “Be careful.”
Charlie nodded, then crossed the street and met Madeline as she reached
the sidewalk.
“Hi again, Charlie. The plumbers closed the garage door and took off just a few minutes before Officer Wilson arrived. I told him all I knew, and then he made a radio call to the station, I guess. Right now he’s looking around back. He told me to stay here,” Madeline said. “I took some video as they were driving away, and the officer copied it into his cell phone.”
“Thanks so much for keeping an eye on the place and calling the police. Did you notice if they took anything?” he asked, looking back across the street.
“When they came back outside, they loaded two big toolboxes into the van before they climbed in and drove away,” Maddie replied. “And, oh, they were wearing gloves, which I thought was odd, considering it’s already in the eighties outside.”
“Be sure to mention that to the police. Maddie, you going to stick around for a while?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“There’s a woman in my car—Margaret—that I’m trying to keep safe and out of public view right now. If anyone takes an interest in her, give me a call?”
“Sure will. Is she the victim of that home invasion?” Madeline asked.
Charlie nodded. “But let’s keep that to ourselves.”
“Gotcha.”
“There he is,” Charlie said, seeing the uniformed cop coming around the corner of the garage. Charlie waved, stepping out into the street.
“I’m Charlie Henry, sir. I’m renting that house. And I have a concealed carry permit,” he pointed out, lifting his windbreaker so the officer could see he was armed.
Tall and fit-looking, Officer Wilson seemed familiar, but Charlie didn’t recall why. Over the past few years, since acquiring the pawnshop, he’d seen his share of law enforcement people—and they him. The good news was that he’d made more friends than enemies.
Wilson relaxed slightly, smiled, then spoke. “I was told this was your residence, Mr. Henry. Your name has come up several times lately during shift briefings. I’m Officer Wilson, and I worked with Sergeant Medina in vice a few years ago. Let’s take a look inside. Stay behind me, please.”
“Did you find how they got inside, or if they vandalized anything, Officer?” Charlie asked, following the man toward the house.
“I haven’t been able to make that determination yet from the exterior. All the windows are closed, the front and back doors are still locked, as is the garage, and there’s no sign of forced entry. Your neighbor, Miss Greene, with the blue hair and Daisy Dukes, advised me that these plumbers, or whoever they are, had the garage door open for a while. Are you missing your garage remote, sir?”
The gadget was kept in his glove compartment, out of view, and he’d checked during the drive over. He glanced back at the Charger, and Margaret waved at him.
“No, and there was no sign the garage door was tampered with?”
“I didn’t see any physical damage,” Wilson responded. “An experienced burglar, however, may have several remotes, trying them out to see if one is coded to your frequency. Burglars have been known to drive through residential areas during the day, operating remotes, watching to see if any overhead doors start to open. Especially in older neighborhoods.”
“Trial and error?”
“Exactly. But there’s an even lower-tech way to defeat the mechanism itself and gain access. A long wire with a hook can be used to release the locking mechanism on the inside of older-model doors, the one at the top. After that, the door is raised manually. Usually a small mirror attached to another stiff wire is slipped beneath the door, which has been pushed up a few inches with a wooden wedge. That mirror helps the burglar position the hook. Let me take a look around the bottom of the garage door before we go inside.”
“I’ll get the remote from my car,” Charlie suggested.
A minute later, he joined the officer, who was crouched in front of the overhead door at the midpoint, where it made contact with the concrete driveway.
“I think that’s what went down,” Officer Wilson announced, bringing out a cell phone and taking a photo. “There are some recent scrapes on the door and the concrete where the mirror was slid beneath the rubber weather seal. I also found marks where the wire and hook were inserted. Before they exited, the intruders must have reset the lock mechanism device to try and conceal their means of entry.”
“Hopefully nothing inside has been trashed. Can I open the garage now?”
Wilson nodded.
Charlie touched the remote. The door came up, rumbling a bit as the long screw mechanism spun, raising the heavy door. It was old and noisy, but it still worked, and Nestor could see no reason to replace something that was still safe and functional.
“Clearly, then, they reset the mechanism,” Wilson confirmed. “They probably pushed the inside button to close the door, then ducked out before it came all the way down. Take a look around the garage and see if anything is missing or has been disturbed. Protocol keeps me from calling in the techs on minor incidents, so we’ll need to find something else wrong before I make that request. Miss Greene says she watched the two men leave and they weren’t carrying away anything except for toolboxes. You missing any?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, my only toolbox is the blue one on the counter over there.”
“Okay. Do you have guns, jewelry, or electronic devices small enough to fit in a couple of toolboxes?”
Charlie nodded. “A couple of handguns, plus some jewelry, like watches, cufflinks, and a few rings. Also some turquoise items. Lately, I’ve been the target, not my stuff,” he reminded the policeman. “I doubt whoever came in here today was out to rob me—which makes me wonder exactly what went on inside. I don’t see anything in the garage missing, or even disturbed.”
“No gas leak I can detect either, or accelerants like gasoline. But I need you to check inside the house. Try to avoid touching anything unnecessarily,” Officer Wilson said, walking over to inspect the door leading into the house from the garage. On the back wall of the garage was a second door leading out back, the big barrel bolt still in place. “None of the doors appear to be damaged or tampered with, and the door leading out back is still locked on the inside.” He reached for the doorknob. “This one is also locked.”
“Odd. I always lock the door with the dead bolt, not the lock in the knob,” Charlie said. “The dead bolt requires a key both inside and out. They must have turned the button on the knob, then shut the door behind them as they came from the kitchen into the garage. But how did they get in? All the windows are kept locked.”
Wilson looked at the doorknob. “This is decades old. They probably bumped the mechanism using a blank key and a rubber hammer, basically taking it apart. Then, once inside, they put it back in place.”
Charlie nodded. “I saw that done on TV. Makes sense, especially if they also know how to open the garage door with a cheat.”
“So they got inside the house, but put everything back to normal, then locked up as they left?” Wilson asked. “Why make everything look untouched?”
An alarm went off inside Charlie’s head, and for a few seconds he was back in Iraq, breaking into a house or business. Quickly his buried training and survival instincts rose to the surface. At least twice lately someone had tried to kill him.
“Because they were setting up a booby trap,” he mumbled.
Chapter Thirteen
“Huh?” Wilson took a step back. “Maybe the bomb squad should check it out.”
“I’ve encountered IEDs before, Officer. Let me take a quick look—visual only. Just don’t touch anything, okay?”
Instead of inserting the key in the doorknob, Charlie put his key ring back into his pocket and began to examine the narrow space between the door and jamb, beginning around the lock mechanisms. The house and attached garage were forty-plus years old, and the doors and jambs had many years of wear and abuse, which left gaps, especially in places where small drafts weren’t so noticeable, like the kitchen.
“There’s a flashlight amon
g the hand tools on the counter,” Charlie said, examining the door carefully.
Wilson handed it to him within seconds. “You know what you’re doing?”
“I’ve had some ordnance training,” Charlie replied, still looking for anything that didn’t look right. He switched on the flashlight and took a closer look at something that had already caught his eye. “There’s a thin wire bridging the gap between the door and jamb—on the inside, in the kitchen. Reminds me of a clothespin bomb from that old sixties-era anarchist’s guide.”
“Pardon?”
“Book belonged to my dad. Don’t ask. With the device I have in mind, a clothespin is part of the trigger. A piece of wood is connected to a wire fastened to the door trim. This wood is inserted between the jaws of the clothespin attached to the door, and prevents two wired metal contacts on the clothespin jaws from touching. These contacts are connected, one each, to terminals of a battery. Opening the door yanks on the wire and pulls out the wood, closing the jaws on the clothespin and completing a circuit. Juice from the activated battery sets off an electrical detonator and the explosives. Low tech, no cell phone required.”
“I get it.” Wilson nodded, taking another step back. “This is definitely a job for the bomb squad.”
“Let’s make sure first. No sense in calling in a false alarm,” Charlie said. “Whoever did this had to exit the house, but not through this door. We can get in the same way.”
“Miss Greene said they were around back before they closed the garage door. Maybe they made their final exit by crawling out a window along the back of the house facing the alley? When I took a quick check before, the three windows in the back were closed, but I didn’t check to see if they were locked. I was looking for broken glass or an open window.”