The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  The canine sniffed at Hawkman, then retreated to the shade of the trees, lay down and munched on the hard biscuit.

  Before they reached the entry, a tall skinny man, dressed in boots, jeans, work shirt and a straw cowboy hat perched on his head, stepped out the front door.

  “Hi, Olly, who's your friend?”

  “This here's Tom Casey. Mr. Casey, this is Ed Fowler.”

  “Howdy, Mr. Casey.”

  Hawkman held out his hand and as they shook, he noticed the firm grip and rough skin of a hard working man.

  Ed squinted. “Man, you look familiar. Do I know ya?”

  “I have an office in town. I'm a private investigator.”

  Throwing up his hands in front of him, he stepped back. “Whoa, why does Olly need an investigator?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” Olly said. “He just wants to ask some questions.”

  Ed snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. You're the guy from the Agency. The townspeople call you the name of a bird.” He rubbed his chin. “Danged, right off the top of my head, can't remember what kind.”

  “Hawk,” Olly interjected.

  Ed pointed a long skinny finger at him. “That's it. Hawkman.” He hooked his thumbs under the silver belt buckle in the shape of a bucking bronco at his waist and stared at Hawkman. “What's this all about.”

  Hawkman folded his arms across his chest and straddled his legs. “A young woman is being harassed and we feel it's a hired hand from one of the ranches in the area. Just wondered if you'd heard men bragging about messing with a gal?”

  Ed scratched the back of his head. “We don't have no extra hands right now, and I don't go to the bars where you might hear that type of talk. So I can honestly say I haven't heard a thing. Now you might ask Clay. He does hit the night spots every now and then, and might be able to help you out.”

  “Is he home?” Hawkman asked.

  Ed walked to the fence line, leaned over, and looked toward the back. “Yeah, his pickup's there behind the house.”

  “Thanks, Ed. If anything comes up, give me a call.” Hawkman handed him one of his cards.”

  “Will do.”

  When Olly and Hawkman left the yard through the gate, Ed had to whistle for Ranger not to follow.

  The men walked down a pathway toward Clay Hicks’ place, which sat back about half a block from Fowler's. Both properties were well kept, with good paint jobs, trimmed hedges and cut lawns. Even though no fence surrounded the smaller cottage, it appeared neat, with a brick border around the grass.

  The sun had dropped behind some hills and Hawkman noticed a light shining through the crack in the curtains. Approaching the front door, he could hear the television. Olly knocked, then rocked back and forth on his booted feet, as they waited.

  When the door opened, a short man close to fifty years, with mussed thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and dressed very similar to Ed, frowned. “Olly. Something wrong in the field?”

  King raised a hand. “Nothing I know about. Just brought a friend over for you to meet.” He gestured toward Hawkman. “This here's Tom Casey. Mr. Casey, this is Clay Hicks.”

  When Hawkman gripped the man's hand, he had the same feeling as he did with Fowler's, a man who was strong and knew hard labor. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hicks.”

  “Call me, Clay. I don't handle that Mister stuff well.”

  Hawkman smiled. “Very well, Clay it is.”

  “Come in.”

  Clay opened the door wide, then quickly picked up clutter off the gently used couch and chairs in the small living room. “Have a seat. Can I get you a beer?”

  “Sounds good,” Olly said.

  Hawkman sat on an overstuffed chair while Olly took a seat on the sofa. Soon, Clay came into the room with three cold bottled beers. “Anyone want a glass?”

  “No, thanks, this is fine,” Hawkman said.

  Clay took a seat on the opposite corner of the couch and glanced at Olly in puzzlement.

  “Mr. Casey is a private investigator and is asking questions of some of the ranchers.”

  Clay's back straightened. “Is there a problem?”

  “It's been reported a young woman is being harassed by some local hired hand,” Hawkman said. “Just wanted to know if you've heard anything?”

  “What's the guy look like? Clay asked.

  “She's never seen him; he calls her on the cell phone and says vulgar things.”

  “How do you know he's a worker on one of the ranches?”

  “We really don't know. A farm girl made the complaint, and it seemed like the best place to start. Just wondered if you'd heard anyone bragging about it? Sometimes, guys tend to gloat over such things.”

  “I know you drop by Red's sometimes to have a beer; have you heard any tales?” Olly asked.

  “Did this just happen lately?”

  Olly nodded.

  “Haven't seen many new faces around. Now, during harvest it's a different story; but right now there's just the old timers and they're all too cranky to even think about young girls. This sounds more like a young man's prank. None of these old codgers even know how to use a cell phone.”

  Hawkman leaned forward and put an elbow on his knee; holding his beer in one hand, he pointed with the other. “I see you have one on that table over there.”

  “Olly gave Ed and me one to use out in the field. They've been a big help. Saved us miles of walking time looking for a downed cow. I push a memory button and can contact Ed or Olly in a second. I wouldn't know how to use one for any other reason.”

  “Don't you carry it into town?” Hawkman asked.

  “Only when I'm going in for feed or supplies. It's great to check before leaving to make sure I haven't forgotten something.”

  “The next time you're in the bar, keep your ears open. In case you hear something out of the ordinary, give me a call. If you'll hand me that cell phone, I'll punch in my number and give it a memory digit. Then all you'll have to do is hit it and you'll reach me.”

  “Sure, be happy to.” Clay got up, retrieved the phone off the table and handed it to him. He stood and looked over Hawkman's shoulder as he fed the number into the cell. After they agreed on a memory button, he handed it back to Clay.

  “All these technical things are really something,” he said. “I've even given some thought about learning how to use a computer after I saw Olly's daughter with one. Not sure my old brain could take the overload.” He laughed as he returned to his seat.

  Hawkman stood and placed the empty beer bottle on a magazine on the table. “Clay, thank you for letting me intrude on your evening. Please give me a call if you hear or see anything unusual in the area. Write down any suspicious vehicle's license plate and let me know when you can.”

  “I sure will, Mr. Casey.”

  Olly and Hawkman drove back to the big house and as they walked toward the dwelling from the lean-to, Hawkman said. “Your men seem okay. Whenever you feel ready, you can tell them it's Laura we're concerned about. It might make them pay more attention.”

  “I'm glad you feel that way. I'd trust either of them with my life.”

  “Before I leave, I'd like to speak with Laura.”

  “Sure. You want to come in or shall I have her meet with you out here?”

  “I better get on my way, as I'm sure it's getting close to your dinner time. Just have her step outside. I'll only keep her a moment.”

  Olly disappeared into the house and within a few seconds, Laura stepped out the back door.

  “Yes, Mr. Casey, what did you want to see me about?”

  “I'm sure you have a computer. Do you ever get e-mails from strange people?”

  “Sometimes, but I figure they're spam, so I just delete them.”

  “Without putting your computer in jeopardy, don't open an attachment, but print anything out that appears weird like someone writing you a message. Then bring it to me to see.”

  “I'll do it.”

  “I'll be talking to you i
n the next few days. Be very aware of people around you until we can figure out who's bugging you.”

  “Don't worry, I will.”

  “One of these days, I'll go with you to your classes at the college.”

  Laura grinned. “Really?”

  “Why do you find that funny?”

  “I can just imagine what the girls will say.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hawkman left Laura's home, and headed back to town. He decided to stop by the office to pick up any mail and lock up for the night. When he arrived, he parked in the alley and jogged up the stairs. The reflection off the metal door caught his eye as it showed a dent in the surface. He ran his hand over it and wondered what had caused such a deep indentation. Retracing his steps, he studied the ground for a large rock or metal pipe that could cause the damage. Not seeing anything nearby, he glanced above the stairwell and caught a glimpse of something protruding from the eave. He trotted back up the stairs and fortunately, being tall, grabbed hold of what looked like the feathered end of an arrow. It took him several minutes to work it out, and once he twisted it free, he took it inside under the light. After examining the shaft, he came to the conclusion it was made from aluminum or carbon/graphite, and must have come from a compound bow.

  “Why would anyone be shooting one of those powerful things in town?” he grumbled, turning it over in his hand.

  He placed the arrow on the desk, then picked up the mail which had been slid into the door slot. His finger caught on a tattered sheet of cardboard at the bottom of the pile. He pulled it out by the corner and a large hole was ripped in the middle, but written in bold black letters, circling the hole, were the words, ‘STAY AWAY FROM MY GIRL'. Taking the arrow from the desk, Hawkman figured he'd ruined any fingerprints that might be on it when he had to force it out of the wood. Holding the paper by the very edge, he put the point through the hole and it fit, except for the couple of small torn places. So he assumed when the arrow didn't stick in the door, the note fell off, and the perpetrator shoved it into the mail slot. He probably didn't even look for the arrow and left in haste.

  Hawkman carefully placed the note on the desk, opened the small cabinet above the filing cabinet and removed the fingerprint set. He dusted the matte paper, but found nothing. The guy probably wore gloves.

  He sat down and pulled the file he'd started for Laura toward him, took a yellow legal pad and noted the first clue. Hawkman imagined this guy to be a hunter or a bow and arrow enthusiast. Now, he at least had a clue to pursue.

  The thought of this man with such a weapon in his possession sent a shudder down Hawkman's spine, and put fear into his heart for Laura's and her parents’ safety. He'd hunted with a couple of his friends who used the compound bow. The velocity of the arrow will go straight through a deer and land on the ground opposite the prey. It's a powerful weapon and the arrow can travel quite a distance. A person wouldn't have to be close to his victim to inflict terrible injury. Since Hawkman didn't know a lot about this sport, he jotted a reminder to contact one of his hunting friends and ask some questions.

  The arrow wouldn't fit into his briefcase, but he remembered he'd saved a cardboard tube which a map had come in. Finding it in the corner of the room, behind the filing cabinet, he taped one end shut, and slid the arrow inside. He placed the note into the valise and opened the office door. When he stepped into the dark evening, he scrutinized the area for any strange pickups or cars. Seeing none, he breathed a sigh of relief, and headed for his vehicle. He figured for the guy to shoot the arrow into his door, he had to come down the alley and use the weapon at a fairly close range. Otherwise, too many obstacles stood in the way for him to get a good shot.

  Traveling down the freeway, he kept his eye on the rearview mirror, just in case. He also pondered how he'd ask Laura about any of her male friends who liked archery. Being a farm girl, she might know about guys who enjoyed hunting with bows and arrows, or heard about them through her girlfriends. He'd also ask her dad and his hired hands.

  When Hawkman arrived home, he found Jennifer at her computer and she seemed extremely focused. Her fingers were flying across the keyboard at a high rate of speed, and he could tell by her intense expression, it would be best not to interrupt her. Their feisty cat, Miss Marple, twined around his legs and meowed in a begging tone.

  Hawkman placed his briefcase and the cardboard tube on the counter, then picked up the feline. “What's the matter, little girl, are you being neglected?”

  Jennifer glanced his way and smiled. “Yes, she's being ignored. I'll be through in a few minutes.”

  “No hurry, I'll go play with our mistreated pet.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Right.”

  Hawkman picked up the ragged stuffed toy, which no longer resembled the original form of a rabbit, and had Miss Marple in her glory for several minutes before Jennifer finished her project.

  “Done with chapter eight,” she said, rising from the computer. “I had a brain storm earlier about what I wanted to do and thought I'd better get it down on paper before I forgot.”

  He studied the worn out toy in his hand. “Why don't you get Miss Marple a new rabbit?”

  “She has at least six new ones in her animal box, but that's the one she always drags out.”

  “Maybe you should hide this one and let her get used to a more decent looking toy.”

  “Tried. It didn't work; she followed me around crying for the old rabbit.”

  “Wonder what she'll do when there's nothing left of this poor thing?”

  “Time will tell,” she said, walking over to the counter and pointed at the cardboard tube. “What's this?”

  “You won't believe what happened to me today. I think I just got my first clue on who's harassing Laura.”

  She peered down into the open hole, then shook the arrow out into her hand. “Wow, this is one wicked looking weapon.”

  Hawkman tossed the limp rabbit to the cat and joined Jennifer at the bar. “I found it stuck in the eave above my office door, and a note crammed in my mail slot.”

  She glanced at him wide eyed. “Really? Tell me about it.”

  Hawkman related the incident to her. “He could be a very dangerous man.”

  “Or a very stupid one, shooting that arrow into your building. If it had ricocheted differently, it could have hit an innocent person. Many people go down the alley near your office.”

  He sat down on one of the bar stools and fingered the arrow. “Fortunately, it didn't go awry. I think he's trying to scare me off with this statement.”

  Jennifer looked at him. “He sure doesn't know you. This will only make you go after him harder.”

  He smiled. “You have me figured out pretty well, don't you?”

  She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I should. Lived with you a long time.”

  He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I think you can read me better than I can read you.”

  She laughed. “More than likely.” Pushing away from his embrace, she picked up the arrow again and turned it over in her hand. “This didn't come from an old fashioned bow. Its shaft is made of aluminum or another strong metal. Bet this came from either a compound or crossbow.”

  “I'm going to talk to Matt or Phil; they both hunt with bows. They should be able to give me a little insight.”

  “Good idea. You said a note was in your mail. What did it say?”

  He pointed toward his briefcase. “Push that over here and I'll show you.”

  She shoved it toward him. He opened the valise, and removed the note he'd put inside a clear plastic bag. “This struck me as odd, since Laura swears she doesn't have a boyfriend.”

  Jennifer studied it through the film. “I'd say he's wishfully thinking she'll be his soon. From the way he's going about it, I'd say he doesn't care if it's against her will or not. I definitely think he's dangerous.”

  “I agree. At lea
st her parents are aware of someone harassing her, and Olly will probably clue in his two hired hands. The more eyes we have looking out for Laura, the better.”

  “Do you think she's one who will take chances?”

  “I don't feel so, but I could be wrong. She's scared right now, and I've only seen her in this stressed mode. Once this eases, I'm not sure.”

  “Well, you better keep her frightened; it could save her life.”

  “How do you suggest I do this?”

  She picked up the arrow. “Show this to her and her parents along with the note. Then explain what a dangerous weapon he has in his possession.”

  “If I tell her dad, I'm afraid he won't let her out of the house, and I do want them to go about their normal lives. I'd like this guy to reveal himself soon, but he won't if she doesn't show herself.”

  “I understand your point, but they should all know what they're facing.” She shoved the arrow back into the cardboard roll, then threw up her hands. “Looks like you've got a few decisions to make.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Hawkman heard the whistle of the wind whipping around the house, he left the bar stool, and stepped outside on the back deck to check the aviary that housed his pet falcon, Pretty Girl. As he threw back the clear covering that protected her from the cold and wind, but still let in plenty of light, she flapped her wings and squawked a greeting.

  “Hello, my pretty bird. I know you'd like to go hunting, but it's too late, and it's mighty cold. Maybe in a day or two.”

  He gave her fresh water and food, then made sure the cage cover wouldn't be blown off by the high gusts. Coming back inside, he shivered. “Man, it's nippy out there.”

  “I'm ready for spring,” Jennifer said, stoking the fireplace. “I'm getting eager to go fishing.”

  “You have a few months to go before it's warm enough to be out on the dock.”

  “I know, and I hate the time change. It gets dark so early I can't even enjoy a lovely sunset.”