by Joseph Badal
Barbara looked around, expecting someone to have a question. She had several she wanted to ask, but didn’t think it was her place. Her stomach flip-flopped when Susan raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any officers stationed inside the target property?”
“No. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be anybody in the house. We’ve used “through-the-wall” infrared radar and fiber optics and haven’t picked up any indications of body heat. We’ve called the home number several times without a response. The Franchini’s appear to be out. We sent an officer in street clothes to the residence. He knocked a number of times and walked around the property. All the doors and windows were locked tight and covered with drapes or shutters. Couldn’t see into any of the rooms. No lights on.”
“Or, already dead,” Susan whispered.
Whaley turned to see if there were any other questions, but Susan stopped him. “I have a question for Mr. Lucas.”
Whaley stepped aside and Lucas came forward. He glared at Susan as though she was the Anti-Christ and grumbled, “Yes, Detective?”
“You said something about a metal sign in the front yard.”
“Yes.”
“Is it a For Sale sign?”
“No. It’s from a construction company.” He pointed at one of the photographs. “You can see heavy tracks from construction vehicles that must have crossed the lawn at some point.” Lucas squinted and sarcastically asked, “Anything else, De-tec-tive?”
“You mentioned something about the Three Ghouls’ MO. Can you clarify what you meant?”
“No, that’s classified.” He looked around the room. “Well, if there are no other questions—”
Susan came out of her chair and raised her hand. “Mr. Lucas, I have more questions.”
Barbara watched Lucas’s face redden. She held her breath. Conflicting emotions ran through her. She was nervous anticipating what her partner might ask, but, at the same time, was very interested in what Susan might say. She knew how sharp a mind Susan had and knew whatever she would ask would be important.
“Were the neighbors asked about the whereabouts of the Franchinis?”
Lucas blew out a loud stream of air. Barbara thought he looked exasperated. His face had turned almost crimson. He looked at Whaley and asked, “You want to answer that?”
“We cleared out the neighbors from the houses close to the Franchini place.” He suddenly looked embarrassed. Red-faced, he said, “We never got around to asking any of them if they knew where the Franchinis might be.” Besides, it’s unimportant where the Franchini’s might be. In fact, it’s an advantage that they’re away from their home. If the killer shows up, we’ll be able to act without endangering the Franchini family.”
“So the Franchinis could already be dead.”
Lucas ignored Susan and looked around the room.
Barbara caught Darzi’s surprised expression. He seemed about to interject as he half came out of his chair, but appeared to have second thoughts and sat back down.
“If there’s nothing else . . .” Lucas said.
Susan, still standing, said, “Can you at least tell us what’s in this house that’s so important to attract a man who tortured and murdered a family in Flagstaff, who apparently executed his two partners in Milan, who carjacked a vehicle in Socorro, who may have murdered a woman in Cuba, who swapped vehicles in Aztec, and who is now possibly in Farmington?”
“I already explained. The information is classified.”
After the briefing ended, Barbara and Susan waited for the rest of the people in the room to exit. They then moved down their aisle to follow them, when Bruce Lucas came back into the room and blocked their departure.
“I’m going to make something very clear so there’s no chance you two will misunderstand.” He paused a second and then continued, “You are here as observers only. You are to take no part in the operation. I don’t want you to open your mouths. You are not to draw your weapons. You got it?”
Susan half-raised a hand. “Would it be all right to ask a question?”
Lucas frowned at Susan. “What is it?”
“Let’s say the killer is at the Chaco address and he has a weapon pointed at you. Would it be all right with you if I pulled my weapon and shot the bastard?”
Lucas growled, turned, and fast-walked from the room.
“Oh, Bruce—”
Barbara grabbed Susan’s arm and said, “Shut up.”
Race sped into Farmington. Despite being fatigued, he’d been able to stay awake, fueled by pure adrenaline and continuous thoughts about the killer he hoped he would find in Farmington. He was so stressed by the time he reached the city that he felt as though every nerve ending in his body had been stripped.
He’d accessed Google Maps on his phone to find the address on Chaco Loop. He approached the street from the west, turned slowly onto it, and passed the address. He circled the block and was angry that there were no police vehicles in sight. His call to the Farmington P.D. had apparently been blown off as a crank call. On his second circuit of the Franchini’s street, he spotted a parking place three doors down from 127, and tried again to reach Franchini. Still no answer. “Aw, hell,” he whispered. He opened his door and stepped down to the street. As he closed the door, someone grabbed him from behind and slammed him to the ground. The air went out of his lungs as emergency lights flashed and what sounded like a hundred voices shouted.
CHAPTER 43
“A reporter?”
“Yeah, Chief,” SWAT Commander Scott Whaley said. “He’s carrying Herald-Tribune credentials. Phillip Taylor’s his name.”
“Sonofa—how the hell did he learn about this?”
“He won’t disclose his source. What should I do with him?”
Chief of Police Summers turned to the FBI contingent and shot Lucas a questioning look. Barbara and Susan hung back a few feet and watched.
“Tell him to get out of here,” Lucas said. “If he doesn’t cooperate, throw him in a cell.”
Whaley smiled. “I hope he doesn’t cooperate.”
“Don’t you think we should—?”
Lucas interrupted Barbara. “When I want your opinion, Detective, I’ll ask for it.”
Barbara noticed a sour look on Sanjay Darzi’s face, but the man didn’t say anything.
Barbara stepped forward and tried again. “You said the guy’s name is Phillip Taylor.”
Chief Summers said, “Yep. That’s the name on his press pass.”
“Never heard of him,” Barbara said.
Lucas scoffed. “You know every damn reporter in the state?”
“No, but I do know the people at the Herald-Tribune.”
Lucas shook his head and snarled at Barbara, “If you want to waste your time, why don’t you call the paper and check on the guy? Go ahead, make a fool of yourself.” Lucas turned to Whaley. “Get that damned reporter out of here.”
Barbara turned away, took her cell out of her coat pocket, and called Betsy Jaramillo’s cell number. She heard Lucas snort and say, as he walked away, “Women cops. What a waste.”
Reporter Betsy Jaramillo answered as though she was in a sleep-drugged haze. “Hell-o-o.”
“Betsy, it’s Barbara Lassiter. Sorry to call so late.”
“Jeez, Barbara. Calling me at this ungodly hour, I hope you’ve got a good story for me.”
“I might. But I first need to check on a guy who claims to work for your paper.”
“Don’t tell me. Phillip Taylor, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“Maggie Carter asked me about Taylor at a press conference last night.”
“Does he work for the Herald-Tribune?”
“I told Maggie I’d never heard of the guy. But when I went back to the office, I checked to make sure. I don’t know how he got his hands on press credentials, but I assure you Phillip Taylor does not work for us.”
“Thanks, Betsy. I’ll be in touch.”
Barbara moved to where Susan and Otero-Hansen now stood.
“Sophia, where’s numb nuts?”
“You mean my boss?”
“One and the same.”
“He’s in the SWAT vehicle in that office parking lot down the block, pretending to be one of the boys.”
“Let’s go see him.”
“What’s up?”
“You’ll find out in a few minutes.”
They walked down the street and turned the corner. Half-a-block down, they circled around behind an office building. Sophia Otero-Hansen banged on the side of the SWAT vehicle parked behind the building. When Lieutenant Whaley came out, Barbara said, “Is Bruce Lucas in there?”
Whaley sneered as though he’d had more than enough of Lucas. “Yeah.”
“Would you kindly ask him to join us?”
Whaley opened the vehicle passenger door and called out, “Hey, Agent Lucas. Someone out here wants to talk with you.”
Lucas joined them on the street. When he saw Barbara, Susan, and Otero-Hansen standing together, he asked, “What’s this? A tea party?”
Lucas’s comment was so blatantly sexist and insulting that Barbara was barely able to keep her feelings under control. She put her arm out and blocked Susan when her partner moved toward Lucas.
“I believe you said something about female cops being a waste. Well, I checked on the reporter you just released. He doesn’t work for the Herald-Tribune, which means he’s carrying forged press credentials.” She let that settle in. “Which could mean you just released the killer.” She paused again, then said, just as Sanjay Darzi walked up, “If women cops are a waste, then what are incompetent, misogynistic FBI agents?”
Lucas babbled for a few seconds and appeared to be about to respond, when Darzi said, “Come over here,” and led Lucas away.
CHAPTER 44
It took several minutes for Race’s breathing to slow down to normal. It was bad enough he’d been surprised by the police on Chaco Loop. The fact that he could have been taken in and questioned had made it difficult to take even a shallow breath. He’d blown it. He’d almost irreparably blown it. Thank God he’d taken the time to disguise his appearance. He scratched at the phony beard, which had become hot and itchy.
He drove away from Chaco Loop and, by the time he’d parked on a residential street a few blocks away, had come to the conclusion that the police had things under control. If the Three Ghouls murderer aimed to rob the Franchini home, the cops would surely grab him. The same thing would probably transpire if he was after the Abbott collection in Monticello, Utah. Of course, the man could be after some other collector altogether, but how he could determine who that might be, Race had no clue.
The only option he seemed to have was to leave things in the hands of the police and return to Albuquerque. He’d never had the chance to go to the bank there where he had a safety deposit box. He would need to do that pretty quickly as he was low on cash. Maybe he’d stop for something to eat, drink a couple caffeinated colas, and hit the road. As he pulled away from the curb, he wondered if Jim Dunhill had ever contacted Nicholas Franchini. He called Dunhill’s number.
“Jeez, Race, I’ve racked my brain for over an hour trying to figure out how to get hold of you.”
Race realized he hadn’t given Dunhill a number to call. He was so used to calling with burner phones and never giving out his numbers to anyone but Eric Matus that he’d stuck with normal procedure.
“Sorry, Jim. What’s going on?”
“Nicholas Franchini moved to another address in Farmington about six weeks ago.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah. When I didn’t hear back from Franchini after ten calls, I accessed the Worldwide Coin Collectors website. They always post new members and change of contact information for old members on the site until the next annual membership directory is published. I checked to see if Franchini had moved. There was a cell phone number on the website that wasn’t in the directory. I checked Franchini’s Facebook page and learned from a post he’d placed weeks ago that they had a major water leak in their home and are renting a place across town until the reclamation work on their home is finished. After I couldn’t get in touch with you, I tried to contact Franchini. Called the cell number ten minutes ago. No one answered.”
Race’s pulse pounded in his temples. “What’s his new address?”
Dunhill recited the address and cell number. “Where are you now?”
“A few blocks away from the Franchini home on Chaco Loop.”
“You’re about a mile-and-a-half from the Franchini’s new address.”
“Hold on. I’m pulling it up on Google Maps.”
While his cell phone uploaded the new address, Race muttered. “I noticed a sign in the front yard of the Chaco Loop place. Paul Shepherd Reclamations, or something like that.”
“That’s a national franchise operation,” Dunhill said. “They come in when there’s been storm damage or a water leak. Mold. That kind of stuff.”
“That’s why Franchini didn’t shut off the phone at the Chaco place. Where he’s staying now is just temporary.”
“That makes sense. But I guarantee you he moved his coin safe with him. A serious collector would never leave his collection behind, even if he had a safe as solid as a bank vault.”
Race shouted, “I got the directions to the new address. I’ll call after I get there.” He disconnected the call to Dunhill and dialed the Franchini cell number. It rang, but no one answered. He bounced his left foot on the floor board as he steered the truck away from the curb.
The route to the Franchini place on Burro Drive took him down to Main Street and onto the small bridge over the San Juan River. The thought crossed his mind that he should call the police, but this time he held off doing so. He could reach the Franchini home before the police could. He might be able to get the revenge he’d wanted for three years. But, if everything was okay at the Burro Drive location, he’d let Franchini call the police while he got out of town.
The pickup went airborne when Race hit a rise on the far side of the river bridge. The vehicle slewed left and Race almost lost control. He dropped his cell phone on the seat next to him as he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands to get control of the vehicle.
He picked up the cell phone as he raced toward Burro Drive and redialed the Franchini number. No answer again. He felt in his gut something was wrong.
He found the turnoff that would take him to Burro Drive and took the turn at speed. The vehicle slid sideways into the straightaway after he made the turn. His head slammed into the driver’s side window as he tried to control the truck. Race cursed himself but didn’t slow down. He turned right onto Burro Drive and looked for 1456.
The neighborhood was a collection of high-end residences on large lots. The only car Race saw parked on the street was a late model Audi across from 1456. He passed the sedan, executed a U-turn up the block, turned off his motor and headlights, and coasted back down the street. He stopped in front of the house one up from the Franchini residence, took his pistol from his briefcase, and left the pickup. He quietly closed the truck door and crouched as he approached the front of the house. He tested the door handle. Locked.
Race bent over as he moved toward the rear of the house. There were no lights on in rooms along the side of the place. But there appeared to be lights on at the back. When he reached the back corner, he saw that motion detector security lights were on along the rear of the residence. What he knew about this type of security light told him that movement would illuminate them and they would stay on for maybe a few minutes—depending on the setting. This told him that someone or something had recently tripped the motion detectors. He hoped he had arrived in time.
The rear of the house seemed to be relatively straight, except for a recessed area near the far end. A brick path led to a patio and the recessed area. Race moved to the patio and noticed that something flapped in the light breeze. As he came closer, he saw
it was a curtain or drape caught in the patio door. He rushed to the door, tested the handle, and pushed inward.
He stepped into a large den, quietly closed the door behind him, and crept across the room to a corridor that appeared to parallel the back of the house. He stopped and listened for sound, but heard nothing. He saw the kitchen and dining room at the end of the corridor, to the right. He moved left, toward where he presumed the bedrooms were located.
The hall floor was Saltillo tile, covered intermittently with Navajo throw rugs. Race padded past the front entrance alcove to the first room on the left. He cracked the room door and saw in the slight bit of glow that leaked through a window a desk, two chairs, book shelves, and a six foot tall safe. The safe appeared to be closed.
The Amarillo police had guessed that the robbery at his house happened after the men beat Mary and threatened to hurt their daughters. Probably to coerce her into giving up the combination to Race’s coin safe. If this invasion followed that MO, the intruder would threaten Nicholas Franchini or the man’s wife, if he was married, get access to his coin collection, and then murder the couple.
He could wait in the hall outside the room with the safe. Sooner or later the intruder would force Franchini to open it.
Then a woman’s scream reverberated through the house.
CHAPTER 45
The fact that repeated phone calls to the Franchini phone at the Chaco Loop location were unanswered and had gone to voicemail had bothered Sophia Otero-Hansen for the last hour. Great, if Franchini was out of town. But what if he wasn’t? What if the killer had already been here and gone? She moved to where Barbara was in conversation with Susan and shared her concern.