The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  “When do they meet?”

  “Today and tomorrow at six.”

  Hawkman stepped outside. “Thanks for talking with me. If you happen to find your recorder, call me.”

  “I'm sure it's gone.”

  Hawkman nodded and headed for the blue SUV. It was a few minutes after six and he figured the range would probably stay open for a couple more hours if enough people showed up.

  He pulled into the Arrow Point parking lot. Several cars were there, and he drove around until he spotted Cindy Brown's red Corvette convertible. When he climbed out of the Ford and looked inside her car, he spotted the blinking red light on the dash, indicating a set alarm. Not wanting to take the chance of it going off, he didn't touch the vehicle, but walked around it, observing the items scattered on the seats and floorboard. If this girl kept her room like this, she lived in a pig sty. However, he realized maids kept the Browns’ house immaculate, and Cindy didn't have to lift a finger. He pitied the young man who married her, if he didn't have a stash of extra cash.

  Hawkman spotted a couple of interesting items in the back seat of Cindy's car, retrieved his tiny camera from his briefcase in the Ford and took a couple of shots, then slipped the camera into his pocket. He'd also ask Cindy about those items when she finished practice. The weather happened to be just right and he could hear the thud of arrows hitting the targets, along with the voice of Roy Summers giving instructions. Hawkman walked across the asphalt parking lot, and up the path leading to the range. He stood outside the tall fence behind the participants and watched. Cindy showed exceptional talent with her compound bow and appeared to be close to mastering the sport. Roy complimented her several times on her stance and posture. Hawkman noticed all the fletchings on her arrows were yellow and black.

  He continued to watch her technique for several minutes, then when she packed up to leave, she happened to glance over to where he stood. Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. She yanked her quiver off the bench and stomped toward the office area where she probably had to sign out so she'd get credit for the practice time.

  Hawkman walked down the path and stood at the rear of her car. When she finally exited the building carrying her gear, she walked out with Blake Russell.

  They stood and chatted for a few minutes, then she turned toward where she'd parked and immediately put on a fake smile.

  “Well, hello, Mr. Casey, what brings you to the range?” she asked, as she loaded her bow in the trunk.

  “Wasn't that Blake Russell you were just talking to?”

  “Yes, he's in my class, but I don't think he's going to remain in archery. He's no good at all.” She slammed the trunk lid and turned toward him with glaring eyes. “Now what do you want? I'm in a hurry.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “Do you take a course called Speech Comprehension?”

  “Yes, along with a hundred other students.”

  “The class you're in is filled with several of your friends, like Laura, Jason, Blake and Joey.”

  She screwed her mouth into a sarcastic snarl. “I know them, but can't say I classify them as friends.”

  “I understand Jason Calderidge recorded Joey Higgins when he practiced a crazy blurb. Did you record him?”

  She tapped a finger on her chin. “Joey Higgins. Oh, yes, now I remember. No, I didn't have my recorder that day. He gave a hilarious presentation, and really spewed out a strong vocalization. No one had ever heard much of his voice. He's a mumbler, you know.”

  Hawkman pointed to the back seat. “I see you have a recorder. Why didn't you have it with you?”

  She glanced in the window. “I don't carry it to every period. We had no idea what would happen in class that day, and I'd failed to pick mine up.”

  “Do you have a voice changer?”

  She raised a brow and looked at him with skepticism. “What business is that of yours?”

  “Just curious. By the way, what's your boyfriend's name.”

  “That's none of your business either.” She whirled around, put the key in the driver side and opened it. “I've got an appointment, so I better get on my way.” She yanked the door shut, started the engine and drove away.

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  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The cool breeze coming through Cindy's car window didn't relieve the feel of sweat running down her back. She knew it hadn't come from practicing the bow; her nerves were on edge. The private investigator had asked questions which made her uneasy. What did he know? She glanced at the back seat and hit her hand on the steering wheel. “How stupid of me to leave the recorder and voice changer out in the open,” she exclaimed out loud.

  Instead of heading home, she turned at the next corner. Running fingers through her mussed hair, she bit her lower lip. “I've got to talk to someone.”

  Hitting the button on her wireless cell phone, she listened to the ringing. “Answer the phone, you big ape!” she cried.

  Finally, a voice came through her speakers.

  “Hello.”

  “I've got to talk to you.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can't use the truck tonight.”

  “I don't need it. I just want to talk. I'll be at your house in ten minutes. Be out in front.”

  “Okay.”

  When she pulled to the curb, he stood there until she rolled down the window. “Get in.”

  “How long is this going to take?” he asked climbing into the car, and bumping his head on the fabric of the convertible top. “Okay, what's your problem? I've got to get rolling. My old man has laid down the law.”

  “This shouldn't take but a few minutes. Tell me what you know about this private investigator, Tom Casey.”

  “Not much, other than he's nosey.”

  “Do you know who he's working for?”

  “How in the hell would I know? Why should you care?”

  “I have my suspicions, but If he comes around here asking questions, don't you dare tell him anything about me.”

  “You just keep letting me have what I want, and we'll have no problems.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Call it what you want, babe, but if you plan on me keeping my mouth shut, you'll be a good little girl and keep your word.”

  “Well, if the tale of our shenanigans ever gets out, we could both go to jail.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, opening the car door. “I've got to go.”

  After Cindy took off from the practice range, Hawkman hopped in the Ford and followed her at a distance. He doubted she even realized he had a different vehicle, as she hadn't seen him drive up to the range, and when she came out, he was standing at the rear of her car. She seemed a bit flustered during his questions, and he figured she'd head for her accomplice. Since he could spot her car rather easily, he allowed about a block between them.

  At first, he thought he'd miscalculated her move, as she appeared to be heading home, then suddenly she made a turn. It surprised him to see where she stopped. Before moving up closer, he removed the Stetson and pulled a ball cap from his duffel bag of disguises, then slipped on his shades. Driving closer to the house, he parked across the street. He took a map out of the glove compartment, unfolded it and pretended to be studying the streets, while looking around the edges. Taking the small camera from his pocket, he zoomed in on the young man on the step, and took a picture before he climbed into Cindy's convertible. Hawkman took a couple more shots, which included the car and house.

  The meeting of the two didn't last long, and Cindy roared out of the circular driveway, leaving rubber marks. The girl didn't appear very happy with this meeting. She turned sharply onto the road, almost flipping her fancy vehicle, and raced past Hawkman without even a glance toward the Ford Escape.

  Hawkman placed the half-opened map on the passenger seat, turned on the ignition, ma
de a U-turn and continued tracking Ms. Brown. She slowed through the rest of the residential area. Hawkman watched her drive into her home garage and close the door. He passed the place, then decided to go by the office and check out the pictures he'd taken.

  Parking in the alley, he picked up the briefcase, left the Ford and jogged up the stairs. The office felt stuffy, so he left the door cracked while he opened the window. It only took a few minutes for the cool air to make things smell fresh and forced him to close the door. While booting up the computer, he listened to the calls on his answering machine and took a few notes. When he finished, he removed the telephone book from the drawer, flipped through to the ‘G's', then found the extensive list of Gibson names. He ran his finger down the column until he came to ‘Brett Gibson', wrote down the information, and returned the book to its home. Folding the sheet of paper, he dropped it into the briefcase, then fumbled in his pocket for the camera. He attached the proper cords to the machines, and uploaded the pictures to the computer.

  Hawkman studied the photos of the recorder in the backseat of Cindy's car and zoomed in on the upper right hand corner of the instrument. It appeared the small initials J C were scratched in the metal. He didn't see any marks on the voice changer. Cindy would not have any reason to steal anyone's property, as she had the money to buy whatever she needed, unless it had something on it she wanted.

  He went to the next shot, and studied the features of the young man standing at the side of Cindy's car. The lad bore such a sinister smirk on his face, Hawkman wondered what thoughts were passing through his mind at the time. He suspected this was the youngest of the Wallace brothers, but couldn't be sure as these two boys resembled each other so closely; he found it hard to distinguish one from the other. Maybe Laura could tell.

  Hawkman printed out the pictures, cut them, stuck the individual prints into an envelope, and slipped them into his pocket. A thought flashed through his mind, and he fished out the address of Brett Gibson from the briefcase. He picked up the receiver of the landline and dialed the number. A male voice answered.

  “May I speak with Brett Gibson, please?”

  Hawkman listened with a smile of relief that he'd reached the right party the first time.

  “Mr. Gibson, my name is Tom Casey, I'm a private investigator and would like to make an appointment with you. I understand you're acquainted with Cindy Brown. I'd like to ask you some questions about the young woman.”

  Hawkman frowned. “No problems. I'm doing a routine investigation and her name has come up. I'd like to just check out your thoughts.”

  Picking up a pencil, Hawkman jotted down the date and time on a scratch pad.

  “Tomorrow night at seven would be great.” He hung up, checked his watch, and

  decided it was too late to check out any more leads tonight. Those would be first on his list after getting Laura to school safely. Time to travel home and hit the sack. “These early mornings are getting to me,” he mumbled, locking up the office.

  When he arrived home, he found Jennifer and Miss Marple curled up on the couch, sound asleep, with the television blaring commercials. He tiptoed over and took the remote from his wife's fingers and turned it off. She jumped and opened her eyes.

  “Oh, you startled me.”

  “Sorry. How in the world can you sleep through those loud advertisements?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Used to them, I guess.” Stretching her arms above her head, she stood. “I'm heading for bed. You'll have to tell me about your day tomorrow.”

  He smiled, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I'm right behind you. I've got another early morning.”

  She picked up her shoes from the floor. “How long is this going to last?”

  “Until I catch the villain.”

  “Are you any closer?”

  “I think so.”

  “Wish I wasn't so sleepy; I'd love to hear about your day.”

  “Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

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  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Thursday morning, Hawkman woke up before the alarm went off. “Guess I could get used to these early hours if I had to,” he mumbled, climbing out of bed. He went through his morning routine, then got into the Ford and took off. The freeway seemed sparse of traffic, which made the trip more pleasant. He turned onto the road leading to the Kings’ ranch, found a different spot to park, backed under the shade of a large tree and waited for Laura to roll past.

  To help kill time, he counted cars, then spotted the Toyota coming down the road. He adjusted the seat, turned the ignition, when suddenly Laura veered off the pavement and parked next to him.

  Hawkman rolled down the window when she approached the driver's side. “What are you doing? You're going to give away my cover if someone's watching.” He looked at her red swollen eyes and realized she'd been crying. “What's the matter?”

  “Someone killed Wendy last night.”

  “Your pet lamb?”

  She nodded, as her eyes filled with moisture.

  “Did a predator get her?”

  “No. Someone shot her with a bow and arrow.”

  Hawkman jumped out of the SUV and put his arms around Laura. “I'm so sorry. Was she inside her pen?”

  She caught the tears with the back of her hand as they rolled down her cheeks. “No, the gate stood open. Dad and I found her body in the field, impaled with an arrow. We buried her under an old apple tree in the pasture.” She reached inside her car and removed a paper sack. “Dad told me to give you the arrow, and tell you it looks like it came from a compound bow. He removed it very carefully and thought maybe you could dust it for fingerprints.”

  “Tell him, thanks. I'll do that for sure.”

  She climbed back into her car. “Guess I better get to class. I'm not going to be worth much today.”

  He watched her drive down the road; his heart went out to her, knowing how bad it hurt when you lost a beloved pet. Glancing into the bag she'd handed him, he noted the feather fletchings on the arrow were yellow and black. He stashed the weapon behind the seat, then hopped into the Ford, and hit the accelerator to catch up to Laura. He soon spotted the Toyota, let up on the speed, and followed her to the entrance of the school parking lot.

  Hawkman drove to the Kings’ ranch to question Olly about the death of Wendy. Just as he turned into their driveway, he met Olly coming out. They stopped and spoke from their vehicles.

  “Laura caught me on the road and told me about Wendy,” Hawkman said.

  Olly shook his head in sadness. “Horrible thing to happen. I'm headed over to one of my friends who might have a lamb I could buy. I know it won't replace the one she lost, but she loved that little thing, and it's not fair for it to be taken away from her in such a fashion.” He glanced at Hawkman. “Are you getting any closer to who is causing all this heartache for my daughter.”

  “Yes. I'm hoping to wrap this up by next week. Tell me, Olly, how did someone get to the pen without you guys hearing the vehicle?”

  He pointed down the road toward Medford. “I have a piece of land right next to the house property. There's a gate which leads into that pasture down the road aways. I've never had to lock it, but I think I'm going to chain it with a padlock today. Anyone could drive right up behind the barn, crawl over the fence and be right at the edge of the pen.”

  “Show me. I'd like to take a look.”

  “Okay, follow me.”

  Hawkman backed onto the road, let him go ahead, then trailed behind him for about a quarter of a mile. Olly pointed out the window, then stopped and got out of the truck. Hawkman pulled to the side of the road and walked across to the wooden gate.

  “You don't have to push it open all the way, I'm not going to drive through,” Hawkman said. “I want to walk it and look for tracks.”

  As he stepped through the opening, Olly dropped the leather coiled strap across the pole, holding the gate. “If you don't need me, I'm going to hea
d on out.”

  “You go right on. I'll close things up when I leave.”

  The rancher left as Hawkman's keen eye immediately detected the flattened grass leading in both directions and parallel to the house. The ground sunk lower, with a slight ridge running between the house and where he had spotted the tracks. Since he couldn't see the barn or other buildings from where he stood, he doubted anyone from the house would have spotted the headlights. He followed the path across several bare spots where he could make out the tread of the tires. They were definitely not from a pickup or truck.

  Soon, he came upon a spot behind the barn, where he could tell the vehicle had stopped, turned around and gone back out. Searching the ground, he found nothing; but as he turned to head back to his vehicle, a fluttering on the wire fence, caught his attention. He found a piece of blue floral fabric entangled on one of the barbs. Carefully, he removed the piece of material, and put it into his pocket. As he walked back to the road, disturbing thoughts ran through his mind.

  He didn't have any concrete clues that would put Cindy Brown at the scene, but everything pointed her way. One or both of the Wallace brothers looked mighty suspicious as her accomplice, but again, no concrete evidence. He needed to catch them in the act, which meant twenty-four hour surveillance. Climbing into the SUV, he drove slowly down the road.

  Laura walked from one class to another in a daze. Several classmates greeted her, but she had a hard time being cheerful. The idea of cutting the rest of the day passed through her mind several times as she forced herself to the next period. Thank goodness it was a short day.

  As she dragged herself to the final class, she saw Cindy approaching.

  “Laura, what's the matter? You look so sad.”

  “A bad day.”

  “Perk up, girl. I tell you what, after class, let's go have a piece of that wonderful pecan pie they have at the student union.”

  “No, thanks. I don't feel like eating anything.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Kinda, but not what you think.”