by Aimée Thurlo
“I’m Jason,” the tallest boy said, balancing well on two prosthetic legs. “I’m eight and I’ve never even seen a camel. Can we pet them?”
“I’d like that too,” the other boy said. “I’m Carlos.”
Abby recognized him from his file. Carlos was a victim of abuse and still had trust issues.
“Are they friendly?” Carlos added.
“Absolutely. We’ll pick up some treats for them as we go over to their pens.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw a camera crew hurrying over to her, but the detective moved quickly to intercept them.
A wave of relief swept over her and she smiled. She liked that man already. Beneath the stern cop exterior was a gentle heart. She’d make sure to thank him later.
* * *
PRESTON IDENTIFIED HIMSELF to the reporters. He knew a few already, like Marsha Robertson. She was an area reporter for the number one network affiliate in the state, which was based in Albuquerque.
He gave them all a quick rundown. “That’s all I have for you at this time.”
“A source tells me the owner was also attacked,” Marsha said, “perhaps by the killer. How can you be sure that those kids are safe?”
“There are a dozen or more police officers here. They’re safe, just as you are.”
“Right now, sure, but later...then what? Once the crime scene is released and the officers all leave, will Sitting Tall Ranch open up and return to business as usual?”
“That’s a question you’ll have to ask the owner.”
“And that would be me,” Abby said, walking up with Bobby at her side.
“The safety of the children always comes first, so the ranch will be closed until we can find out exactly what happened. I’ve made an exception for those kids because they were already here. Our riding instructor, Michelle Okerman, will stay with them while I speak to you, and if you’ll glance over from time to time, you’ll see the difference just being around the animals makes to these children.”
Abby paused and looked directly at each reporter there. “This ranch is a nonprofit whose sole purpose is to brighten the lives of kids who might otherwise have very little to smile about. One of our guests today is in the last stages of a serious illness and deserves extra consideration. That’s why I decided to let Sitting Tall Ranch rise above its present circumstances and come through on promises made.”
Preston saw that Abby’s answer had hit just the right tone with the reporters. He had a feeling more donations would soon come in. In fact, he intended to send her a check himself.
As the reporters moved away, Stan approached and said, “Well played.”
“I didn’t play, Stan. I told them the truth.”
“Yes, well, now concentrate on staying low profile till this blows over.”
“And that’ll be soon, right?” Bobby asked, looking up at Preston. “The CSI unit will get DNA from something, or trace evidence, and then you’ll go arrest the bad guy.”
“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not. Right now we’re gathering evidence, and then we’ll be interviewing a lot of people. Once we have a suspect, we’ll move in and arrest him or her.” Seeing Officer Michaels signal him, Preston excused himself momentarily.
“What’s up?” he asked Michaels as he walked over to the barn.
“We processed, photographed and logged in the evidence. When will you be ready for us to process the vic’s residence, the bunkhouse?”
“Hang on. I want a chance to look around there first. Did you or Gabe interview the staff?”
“Everyone who’s on-site now, yes. That includes the riding instructor, Michelle Okerman. She teaches the kids about balance and paying attention. Basically, she walks next to the mounts and helps them each step of the way. Monroe Jenkins, the police chief’s son, is here this morning, too. He volunteers a lot in the summer and does whatever needs to be done. Ilse Sheridan is also here. She’s Lightning Rod Garner’s personal assistant and volunteers her time to help train the horses. The last time any of them claim to have seen the vic was yesterday afternoon.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know when you can process the bunkhouse. In the meantime, walk through the grounds and check out each of the other structures. We don’t know where else the intruder went. And verify that there’s a bicycle inside the barn office.”
Michaels nodded. “Got it. We’ve already set up a search pattern.”
When Preston returned to where Abby was standing, Bobby was speaking to Michelle. The boy was favoring his right leg and swaying slightly from side to side.
Abby followed his line of vision. “He’s conning her,” she whispered with a tiny smile. “Michelle was hoping to divert Bobby by asking him to talk to the kids, but he knows where the action’s going to be. He’d rather stick with us.”
“That kid’s in pain. I don’t think he’s faking it,” Preston said.
“His disability is real, but he’s learned to use it. Don’t ever underestimate him. Bobby’s highly intelligent and knows how to manipulate adults to get out of whatever he doesn’t want to do.”
Preston didn’t comment, still unconvinced.
“Jack Yarrow, his foster parent, prefers dropping him off here first thing in the morning because Bobby makes his wife nervous. He can read her like a book and tells her what she’s about to do next, which creeps her out big-time.”
“He’s incredibly observant,” he said with a smile.
“It’s all part of a game he plays. Bobby can’t let go of the hope that he and his biological father will be together again someday. After his dad gave him up, Bobby made up the story that his dad’s in the CIA and had to leave to protect him. He told it so many times, he actually began to believe it. He reads everything he can about spy craft and pretends he’s training so he can join his dad someday.”
“He’s protecting himself from a truth that hurts too much to accept,” Preston said, remembering his days in foster care.
“The problem is that this game he plays often gets him into trouble. When he’s told not to do something, he pretends he’s a spy on a secret mission and finds a way to do it anyway,” she said. “I’m willing to bet that most of the time he doesn’t get caught.”
“He may be a handful, but he’s got a lot going for him,” Preston said, chuckling. “Kids who’ve been bounced around often need something or someone to believe in. Bobby had a hard time finding that, so he created it. In my mind that deserves a high five.”
Just then Bobby came up. “When will you be checking out Carl’s office?”
“I’m going over to the bunkhouse now,” Preston said. “I’ll check the office after that.”
“Great. I can help you at both places. I’ve been at the bunkhouse lots of times too,” he said.
Abby gave him a surprised look. “You have?”
“Sure, after Carl finished his chores, he and I would play games. We both loved anagrams and riddles, and sometimes we’d make up our own codes and send each other secret messages.”
“On a computer?” Preston asked.
“No,” Bobby said. “Just on paper. He was good, too. We’d try to make the codes impossible to break, like real spies would, but he’d win most of the time.”
“What happened when you won?” Preston asked, following his gut.
Bobby smiled. “I’d get to feed the camels.”
“Alone?” Abby asked, her voice rising.
“No, Carl would always stay with me, watching, but I’d be the one who did it,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.
“Sounds like the camels are your favorites,” Preston said.
“Yeah, Hank and Eli are cool. They remember stuff. There’s one guy who swatted Eli just to get him out of the way once, and Eli never forgot. After that, he’d set the guy up by
acting real calm, then biting at him the second he got close.”
“Are you talking about Joe Brown?” Abby asked.
Bobby nodded.
“I caught him manhandling one of the horses and fired him on the spot,” she told Preston.
“I’m going to need to interview everyone who might have had some grievance against the victim or the ranch. Can you get me a list of all current and past employees, say, going back six months?” Preston said.
“No problem,” Abby said.
As they headed toward the bunkhouse, Bobby slipped in smoothly between Preston and Abby. Preston noted it silently, wondering if the boy had a crush on Abby. Or maybe there was more at play. Considering Bobby’s past, it was possible the kid didn’t trust cops.
“So Carl had the use of the bunkhouse rent free?” Preston verified as they neared the small building about the size of a one-car garage or a startup home on the Rez.
“It was part of the package since I couldn’t pay him what he was worth. Carl agreed to fix up the interior for me, too, as long as I purchased the supplies,” she said. “When I first bought Sitting Tall Ranch, the property had been unoccupied for years. Everything had been neglected and most of the buildings were practically unlivable.”
He looked around. The barn and storage sheds had fresh coats of paint, the corrals had up-to-date welded pipe fencing and the areas were well maintained. There wasn’t a weed in sight.
“You’ve done a good job. The place shows the care you give it.”
“That’s what you do with a dream,” she said softly, then unlocked the bunkhouse door.
Chapter Five
Preston put on a fresh pair of gloves as he stepped inside. “Come in with me, but don’t touch anything,” he told them. “And be careful where you step. If there’s something on the floor, leave it there.”
Preston remained in the doorway a few seconds longer and just looked around. He’d expected a utilitarian place designed to fit the needs of its one resident, and he’d been right on target. The interior held the stamp of the working man who’d lived here.
An easy chair made of blue vinyl and patched with duct tape in several places was backed against one wall. A small table a few feet in front of it held an old TV with rabbit ears and the digital converter box needed to translate the signal.
There were pencil and black ink sketches on the wall and the supplies needed for more—stiff white paper, charcoal sticks, markers and pencils—on the shelf of a nearby empty bookcase.
“He loved to draw,” Bobby said, standing at the doorway with Preston, “but he threw out most of his stuff. If he wasn’t happy with the way it came out, it went straight into the trash.”
Abby nodded. “I tried to salvage a charcoal sketch he’d thrown out once, but he wouldn’t let me keep it. When I gave it back to him, he just tore it up. He made me another one, though, and I hung it in the main house, my home.”
Preston led the way into the room, then saw Bobby staring at the bookshelf. “Something missing?” he asked the boy.
“Yeah, his coffee can is gone,” Bobby said.
“He kept coffee on the bookshelf?” Preston looked around for a coffeemaker but didn’t see one.
“He drank coffee like crazy, but it was all instant,” Bobby said. “The coffee can was his bank—that’s what he called it. It was old, like from twenty years ago, and all dented. He said that he used to buy that brand when he was a lot younger and having it around brought back good memories.” Bobby paused, swallowed hard, then in a heavy voice added, “He told me about it being his bank because we were friends and he trusted me.”
Abby stepped closer to Bobby and said, “How about we wait outside for you, Detective?”
Bobby shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I just miss him, that’s all. Let me stay and help.”
Preston heard Abby sigh and saw her nod.
“Anything else that looks out of place, Bobby? Walk around and take a good look, but remember, don’t touch anything,” Preston said.
Abby stayed right beside Bobby as they took the lead. Preston followed, his gaze on Abby. She was leggy and had a great figure, but what appealed to him most had little to do with her looks.
She was obviously a woman whose feelings ran deep. She cared a lot for Bobby and the rest of the kids who came to the ranch. He made a mental note to find out more about her, and not just because she was part of the case he was working.
They passed through a narrow hall and an open door and entered Carl’s bedroom. Inside they found an unmade bed, one wooden chair, an old oak desk and a small three-drawer chest. On top of the desk were several lottery tickets, two scratchers, tickets from a slot machine and a couple of chips from the casino.
“You sure he didn’t gamble?” Preston asked Bobby.
“I never saw stuff like that here before. There’s no way those were his. He thought gambling was stupid. Someone must have put them there,” Bobby said. Then he pointed to the coffee can on top of the chest of drawers. “He didn’t keep the can there either. It was always out front, on that shelf.”
Preston lifted the lid, but there was no cash inside, only two more lottery tickets.
“Think hard, Bobby. Did you ever see the cash that was supposedly inside the can?”
“I never looked inside it—that would have been rude. But he wouldn’t have lied to me,” Bobby said.
Abby smiled at Bobby, then looked at Preston. “I can tell you this much—Carl was always careful with his money. He had to be. He never wasted a dollar.”
“Yeah, Detective Bowman,” Bobby said. “I’m just a kid, but I know serious gamblers. That’s all they talk about—winning, betting, the odds.”
“Did you learn that from your parents?” Preston asked.
“No, no way. My mom died when I was three or four, and my dad, well, he gave me up ’cause he’s a spy and can’t afford to have a kid hanging around. He travels all over the world,” Bobby said proudly. “I know about gamblers because my last foster dad had the habit. All those guys ever talk about is hitting the big time.”
“Carl wouldn’t even take part in the dollar World Series pool or the weekly football winners the staff had,” Abby said.
“And why would anyone keep losing tickets?” Bobby said, pointing to the desk. “People throw that stuff out once they find out they lost.” He paused, then added quickly, “They are losing tickets, right?”
Preston glanced down. “I’ll have to check the numbers, but the scratchers are no good.” He entered the numbers into his notebook, then put it into his pocket.
“You need to get your lab guys in here and fingerprint this entire place! Like on TV. Especially those tickets. Once you find who put them there, you’ll be able to close the case. Right?” Bobby asked, his voice rising with excitement.
“We’ll need more than that, Bobby, but we’ll start by taking prints,” Preston said. “There’s a uniformed officer outside named Michaels. Can you find him for me?”
“Sure!” Bobby turned around, lost his balance for a second and fell against Preston.
Preston helped steady him.
“Let go. I’m fine,” Bobby muttered.
As Bobby ambled off in a rush to go, his side-to-side gait was barely noticeable.
Preston took a step and instantly noticed that his jacket pocket felt lighter. It didn’t take him long to put things together. Bobby hadn’t accidentally lost his balance at all. He’d had a specific goal in mind.
Preston nearly laughed out loud. He wouldn’t say anything right now, but he’d settle this with the kid later.
“Did you see that? Bobby left with scarcely a trace of a limp,” Abby said. “When he’s excited or distracted, he isn’t so aware of the things that are wrong with his body. I first noticed that when my twin sister got s
ick, and that’s what eventually led me to open Sitting Tall Ranch. Here kids have something fun to do and think about. We lift their spirits and, believe it or not, that’s a big part of the battle.”
“What happened to your sister?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked away, her eyes misty. “Another time.”
Sensing that she regretted having spoken so freely, he dropped it for now. “I haven’t seen any mail around here anywhere,” he said, focusing back on work. “Did Carl have a post office box?”
“Not that I know of,” Abby said.
“No bank account, no bills... Something’s not right,” he said, thinking out loud.
“I paid his utility bills,” she said. “I know it sounds like a really sweet deal, but Carl could have worked at any ranch in the county for far more than what I could pay him. He was the best animal trainer I’ve ever seen.”
“Exactly what kind of training did he do for you?”
“He made sure the horses were worked daily and that they’d respond to cues without any problems. He also worked with the llamas and made sure they’d be steady and reliable around the kids. We also use the camels for promos and fundraisers. Hank, in particular, can be terribly stubborn, and if he gets mad, he’ll just refuse to cooperate. Away from the ranch that can be a problem, but when Carl went along, they were always on their best behavior.”
As Officer Michaels came into the bunkhouse, Preston went to meet him. “Have the team process this place and collect fingerprints. I have reason to suspect the killer was here.”
“Got it. And in answer to the bike question, there’s an old five-speed in the barn office.”
“Thanks,” Preston said, then looked over at Abby.
“That’s Carl’s,” she confirmed.
After Michaels left, Preston placed the casino tickets and other gambling pieces in an evidence bag, then signed and dated it. “I’ll follow up on this personally.”
“Can you let me know what you find out?” Abby asked.
“Not right away. This is a police matter now, but I will say this—I have a reputation for closing my cases. I never give up till the job’s done.”