While Ron drove, I told him about my vehicle search. We hashed that over until the subject was dead, well before we reached the southeast heights address.
We pulled up and parked across the street from a plain-Jane apartment building, the kind usually occupied by young marrieds or college kids. Tan stucco, dark brown trim, painted iron railing along the skinny second-story walkway. It had twelve units—six on the ground floor, six on the upper. Ron said Livingston’s was supposed to be apartment twelve, the last one on the west end, second floor. It did not look like the residence of a man with hundreds of thousands in cash, that’s for sure.
“Maybe he’s just frugal with his money,” Ron said, when I mentioned it to him.
“Or he’s here temporarily. I get the feeling he’s a guy who moves around a lot.”
“That, too.” He’d trained a pair of binoculars on the one window of the apartment, but I doubted he was getting much through the closed blinds.
I took in the bigger picture. There was only one car in the building’s parking lot, a ten-year-old black Celica in front of unit one. If I had to guess, I’d say it most likely belonged to the manager.
“Do you think he’s actually here?” I asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he mumbled from behind the binoculars, “but it’s getting close to the time people come home from work and school. It’s worth watching to see who shows up.”
He’d no sooner spoken than a pickup truck pulled up in front of apartment three. A young guy in jeans and t-shirt got out, slinging a heavy-looking backpack over his shoulder as he locked the truck. He loped to the stairs at the east end of the building, took them quickly and went into number nine. Before his door was hardly closed, another car parked and discharged a college-aged girl, who apparently lived in unit two, next to the manager. Two more residents came home in the next twenty minutes. I felt myself itching to do something. The diamond ring was probably sitting inside just waiting to be retrieved by me.
“I could go check out Livingston’s place,” I offered. “There’s enough activity, no one’s going to notice.”
“Right. And have Livingston come waltzing up the minute you’ve cornered yourself inside? Forget it.”
“But the ring. It’s in there, calling my name.”
“Yeah … no. We need to catch Livingston with the ring.”
I didn’t see why we couldn’t just nab the ring, take it back to the Lorrentos and be done with this whole case. What would Livingston do, report me to the police for stealing his ill-gotten property?
“He won’t be happy to see you, Charlie, and he’d probably come after you.”
Damn. How does he read my mind like that?
“He’ll be along. If the ring is in the apartment he’s not going to leave it for long. Most likely, a small item like that, he’s carrying it with him.”
I hate it when my brother makes sense. I pulled out my phone and called Drake to let him know where we were. He had finished his flight and was back at Double Eagle airport, and he still had maintenance to do before heading home.
An hour passed. I’d used up all the fun activities, such as poking through Ron’s glove compartment. Nothing interesting there— just the usual assortment of outdated insurance slips, a wad of napkins from fast food places, a plastic straw, three twist-ties, a near-empty tube of sunscreen and two small screws that didn’t appear to belong to the vehicle. Oh, and the Colt pistol he’s licensed to carry anywhere. I took a moment to ponder the question of whether people actually ever used their gloveboxes for gloves. I, personally, had never seen it. Moving along, under the front seat, my hand encountered a dust-covered gummy worm and I quickly gave up that search.
“Will you stop fidgeting,” he demanded after about ten minutes of my restlessness.
“Surveillance is boring.”
“Yes, it is.”
I should have known, when he suggested the outing, we wouldn’t simply walk up to Livingston’s door and get what we wanted. Experience should have told me this would become the sum of my afternoon hours.
“I’m hungry.” My biscuits and gravy and the bottle of water had long since worn off.
“There’s a gummy worm under the seat.” He actually managed to say it without a smile. “If we get desperate, my survival kit is in the back.”
I’d seen his survival kit. It consisted of a warm coat, a space blanket and a collection of vending machine goodies. Cheese and crackers, packs of Oreos and fried pork skins comprised the menu, and I would bet a dollar everything in there was way past its sell-by date. It would do in a pinch, but I wasn’t that hungry yet. Two blocks north, we’d passed a Carl’s Jr. on Central. I could walk over there and back a lot quicker than it was taking Jay Livingston to get home.
I’d no sooner voiced the thought than I sensed Ron’s body tensing. A white van had pulled into the apartment parking lot, taking the slot at the far west end.
“Take a look,” he said, handing me the binoculars. “Is that him?”
I aimed toward the vehicle and the man who was climbing out. Same slim build, same dark hair with a bit of curl. He wore similar jeans and jacket as the first time I’d met him. He stood beside his car a moment, door open, glancing all directions. I lowered the binoculars.
“It’s him.”
Livingston’s gaze switched toward us. Oh, crap. Had the setting sun flashed off the binocular lenses? I started to slide down in my seat but he’d spotted me. Our eyes met for a long moment and I knew he recognized me. Smoothly as a snake moves, he slipped back into his van. It whipped out of the parking lot and headed east with a squeal of tires.
Chapter 43
Ron peeled through the apartment parking lot, making a wide turn that put us in the same direction as our quarry, but the white van was out of sight.
“He turned left at the corner,” I said.
Ron followed, and I could see his vehicle ahead at the intersection with Central. Traffic on the major street was backed up solid.
Bad move, Jay.
We caught up. With only two cars between us, surely Livingston already knew we were behind him. Livingston edged forward until a kindly soul held back and let him turn right into the traffic stream. With two more vehicles waiting their turns, we knew Jay could be miles away before we ever moved.
“There’s a light at Girard,” Ron said, making a tight U-turn back to the last intersection we’d passed.
He zipped, way above the speed limit for these residential streets, three blocks east before turning left. We came to the traffic signal and saw it was green in our favor.
“He’s back there,” I said, staring to the left, my heart racing a little. “He’s about four cars back, waiting in the left-turn lane.”
Livingston would turn exactly into our path if he didn’t pull some quick maneuver to do otherwise. I couldn’t tell whether he’d seen us. My guess was he would be watching his rearview mirror.
Ron crossed the intersection. “Okay, this is a different wrinkle. We’re tailing someone that’s about to end up behind us.”
“He’s sure to spot this car. Red doesn’t exactly blend into the background.” I thought fast and hard.
“Grab my Stetson from the back seat,” Ron said.
I handed him the wide-brimmed hat and he swapped his ball cap for it.
“Duck down. With any luck, he won’t realize it’s the same Mustang.”
I slid my seat back and did my best to tuck into the scanty legroom below. “You watch the road,” I said. A collision in this position would definitely maim or kill me.
Ron slowed his speed and hung to the right-hand lane. “I’m letting cars pass me while we still have two lanes here. If he continues past Lomas it’ll narrow down to one and I’m stuck with whatever the traffic pattern is at that point.”
I concentrated on breathing in my bunched-up position.
“Okay, he made the turn and he’s tailgating the guy in front of him. I think he has his eye on me.” He draped his ar
m over the steering wheel, a casual gesture Livingston wouldn’t expect from a driver chasing him.
I heard a car pass on our left. As the next one approached, Ron yawned and brought his left hand up to cover it.
“He passed me. Kind of gave me a look but didn’t react. I’m going to let one car get between us, then I’ll edge over into his lane.”
“Let me know when I can sit up again. Feeling a little vulnerable here with no seatbelt.”
Ron was probably thinking of the pricey ticket he’d get if a cop stopped him and found me in this position.
“Approaching Lomas …. Looks like he’s going to turn left.”
“Maybe he’s making a big loop, planning to head back home now that he thinks he’s lost us.”
“Let’s hope so. It would simplify things.” I felt the car ease into the left lane and make the turn. The motion, along with stopping and coasting, gave my stomach a rolling sensation.
“What’s happening, Ron?”
“Traffic’s moving better here than on Central,” he said.
“Can I get up?”
“Uh … yeah, you’d better. Looks like he’s gonna get on the freeway.”
Great. I unfolded myself from my tiny compartment and planted my butt on the seat, reaching for my seatbelt. My eyes refocused just in time to see Livingston’s van get into the lane for southbound I-25.
“This is looking like quite the loop,” I said. If he stuck with it long enough, Livingston could make the trip all the way back to El Paso by going this way.
Ron glanced at his instruments and back at the road. He’d allowed three vehicles between ours and the white one. Jay ignored the Gibson exit, the last one which would have conveniently taken him back to the apartment.
“What do you think he’s up to?”
“No idea, Charlie. All I can do is follow.”
A lot of the traffic dropped away at the Broadway exit; now, no one blocked our view of Livingston’s vehicle. Or his view of us. I had a feeling he knew we were there—may have known all along—and was set on creating a long chase.
Ron sighed. Aside from a casino coming up soon, it would be fifteen miles or so before another chance to get off the interstate.
Livingston passed the casino, even though the billboards said Ringo Starr and his group were appearing tonight. Who could not want to see that show? Ron actually let out a chuckle when I questioned it aloud.
“You don’t even remember him, kid.”
I was searching for a response when we suddenly noticed we were catching up with Livingston—rapidly. Ron slowed, but the white van was definitely coming to a stop. Our man had edged to the side and was pulling off the highway. Ron tapped his brakes to alert the drivers behind, then he followed Livingston’s moves as he came to a complete stop. We halted less than ten feet behind his vehicle.
“Surely, he doesn’t think speeding up now will gain him any advantage,” I said.
“I think his engine shut down.” Ron left the Mustang running and waggled his fingers toward me. “Hand me the Colt.”
I did as instructed, holding my breath in hopes this whole scenario wasn’t about to go horribly wrong.
“Stay in the car,” he said. “If he takes off again, I don’t want to have to wait for you.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me his cell phone. “Scroll through my phone contacts and get the number for Tom McPeel. He’s with Major Crimes at APD, the contact the El Paso police gave me. Call and tell him what’s going on. Ask him to dispatch some state troopers to our location.”
Ron waited until two cars whizzed by before opening his door. With the Colt tucked into his waistband, he edged toward Livingston. I couldn’t help it. I had to find out what was going on. I opened my door and stood behind it, listening as Ron approached.
“Hey, man. Why’d you stop?” Ron asked.
I couldn’t catch the words, only the fact of a short, mumbled response.
“Wait right here.” Ron turned to me and called out with a huge grin on his face, “He’s out of gas.”
“Tell him I’m calling roadside assistance,” I shouted back. I hit the button for Detective McPeel.
Chapter 44
Word got out quickly. Two state police cars showed up within ten minutes, dispatched from the nearby town of Belen. The sun had set, making me wish I’d remembered to bring a jacket. Why is it I can never seem to understand that surveillance drags on forever and I should be prepared for all temperatures and all hunger conditions?
The officers had quickly transferred Jay Livingston to one of their vehicles, and a call was put out for a tow truck to take his. The flashing lights brought traffic to a crawl, gawkers unable to resist trying to catch a glimpse of blood. Ron and I were in the process of telling how we happened to be there when Drake called.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
I caught the fringe of worry in his voice.
“We caught our suspect. Just talking to the police now.”
“Does this happen to be at the side of the highway?”
“Why? What have you heard?”
“It’s on the news. Traffic reports say I-25 is backed up for miles, and the overhead shots make it look serious. I thought I recognized Ron’s car.”
Oh boy. With the traffic and cacophony of voices, I hadn’t even heard the news helicopter. I assured him there’d been no injuries and all was well. I’d be home as soon as I could possibly manage. The long day was suddenly closing in on me.
When the detective arrived, I begged off any more roadside questions, asking whether we could take this up again in the morning. He gave me a look that said police work isn’t only nine-to-five, but then he took pity and told us we could come by his office anytime within twenty-four hours and give our statements for the record.
Even so, it was nearly eight o’clock before I dragged my weary body into the house after Ron took me back by our office to shut everything down and retrieve my loaner Corvette. Drake greeted me with a long hug and the offer of a sandwich, but by that time the hunger had passed and bed was all I wanted. I showered, fell between the sheets and didn’t wake up for many hours.
By the time I roused a little, Drake was already gone. He’d left a note on the bathroom mirror, letting me know he had to be out early for a spring elk count with the Fish and Game Department. The tone of the message was that he really hoped we would have a nice evening together. Poor guy. I’d hardly been around in the past few days.
I breakfasted on two leftover blueberry muffins, played with Freckles in the back yard awhile and, when she was finally tired out, I made ready to leave for the office. Ron and I had agreed to go together to speak with the detectives. I wasn’t looking forward to the questions, but did have to admit I was curious about Livingston’s motives and whether the expensive ring had been recovered.
I met Ron at the office and rode downtown with him. Detective McPeel met us with a gruff expression that hinted he’d been up late into the night on this case. Hey, not my fault. He could have locked his suspect into a cell and gotten a good eight hours’ sleep like the rest of us.
We each gave our version of events, mine including the two trips to El Paso and discovery that Jay Livingston’s living arrangement was a sham, which had led us back to Albuquerque in pursuit of our client’s missing ring.
“We got a lead on the apartment on Rucker Street and were surveilling the place. We had hoped to talk to him there. There was always the chance he’d mistakenly given me the wrong ring during our transaction and would trade it back for the correct one.” Yeah, and pigs can fly.
McPeel’s skepticism was every bit as evident as my own.
“You searched his apartment last night, I’m sure. May I ask if you found Bobby Lorrento’s Super Bowl ring?”
A long moment went by as he decided whether to share information.
“Let’s just say the ring you’re looking for … it’s only a fraction of what we found.”
“Living
ston had more? What—more sports memorabilia?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. A full investigation is ongoing.”
“But—okay. You are saying the ring I bought back for Bobby Lorrento is among all this?”
“We believe so.”
Ugh. Why do cops speak in such roundabout ways?
He printed my statement, had me sign it and told me I could go. I wasn’t sure which room Ron had gone into. I hesitated in the hallway, wondering where to look for him, when I heard a slight commotion. From around a corner, two officers appeared with an orange-jumpsuited prisoner. It was Jay Livingston. This time he didn’t look quite so debonair.
“Where’s my stuff?” he demanded. “I need to get home and check on my stuff.”
“We’re not headed home right now, sir. You’re on your way to your arraignment.”
“For what? I purchased everything in that apartment.”
Neither officer responded. I pressed myself against the wall as they passed. Livingston gave me a long, hard stare. One of the officers took his arm and kept him moving forward. The other peeled off and ducked into a side room where I caught the pungent scent of strong coffee.
I eased toward the open doorway and stood to the side, intent on the phone in my hand, as if I was busy with an urgent message. From the break room I could hear two cops talking.
“That was the jewelry guy?” one said. “I heard the search was pretty unbelievable.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Closets jammed full—I mean full—of the stuff. Lots of cash, too. We were up until four, logging it all into evidence.” A noisy yawn. “A cup of this stuff for the road and then I’m outta here. Gotta get some sleep.”
The other man chuckled. Footsteps approached the door and I moved a little farther away.
Before either of the men left the coffee room, I heard another door open at the far end of the hall. Ron appeared, relaxed and smiling. I caught up with him and we left the building.
“Guess what,” I said as we walked through the parking lot. “Bobby’s ring wasn’t the only thing Livingston took.”
Alibis Can Be Murder Page 20