Falcon's Run

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I remember my first foster home. I was the only Navajo there, too, and I took some grief, but each one of those kids was hurting. Most of them believed they hadn’t measured up somehow, and that’s why they’d been placed in the system. Others coped by convincing themselves that their parents would be back for them soon. Bobby’s story about his father being a spy is more imaginative than most, but it’s not unusual.”

  “Did you make up a story for yourself?”

  “No. I knew my mother wouldn’t be coming back. She had other...priorities.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  Abby reached for his hand. “What she did made you a stronger man. I can’t imagine anyone I’d like in my corner more than you.”

  Her words took him by surprise. Most people offered pity. Yet the way Abby was looking at him made him feel invincible, like one of the legendary warriors of his tribe.

  “I’m sure that Bobby senses that you two are alike in some ways. That’s why he trusts you,” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s trust. Bobby sees me as a necessary evil. If he cooperates with me, maybe I can solve the case a little faster. Then things will get back to normal for you and him. With Bobby, trust has to be earned.”

  “Is that the way it is with you?”

  “Yeah. In that way I’m no different than Bobby.”

  He remembered the bad times like they were yesterday. When a person who’s supposed to love you no matter what bails, everything changes. The hurt fades eventually, but distrust remains, a scar that’ll always be there.

  As they pulled up in front of the ranch, Abby asked Preston to stop by the mailbox. After retrieving her mail, she hopped back into the SUV.

  “Thanks. You saved me having to walk back,” she said, then suddenly stopped sorting through the stack.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “This letter has no stamp on it,” she said, holding it up for him to see. “I’m hoping it’s a donation. Sometimes people will leave a check, or cash, for us in the mailbox.” She tore open the envelope, then stiffened.

  “It’s not a donation,” she said in a taut voice. “This is from the same person who’s been emailing me.”

  “Crazyman?”

  “Yeah. He wants Sitting Tall Ranch closed for good.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking, so Abby kept the letter on her lap as she read it out loud. “‘Your first mistake brought death. How many more will pay if you keep the ranch open?’”

  Her voice wavered on the last line and she swallowed hard.

  “Don’t let him get to you. That’s what he wants.”

  “I’m responsible for hiring Carl, and if you’re right, danger followed him here. Am I now endangering everyone else connected to the ranch just so I can keep things going?”

  “There’s no reason to believe that, and you’re already taking all the precautions you can. Except for Bobby, who you’re keeping close, you don’t have kids coming in right now. You’re only doing what has to be done, like taking care of the livestock.”

  “I trusted Carl, and look what’s happened. If I’m that bad a judge of character, maybe I’m not fit to run the ranch,” she whispered, voicing her greatest fear.

  Though her voice had been barely audible, he still managed to hear her.

  “You’re letting him twist your thinking,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s get down to basics. You trust me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “See that? You’re an excellent judge of character,” he said. She smiled.

  As Preston parked in front of the ranch’s office, Abby saw Bobby standing on the sidewalk, waiting. “I have to know whether Carl was doing anything illegal here, Preston. For my own sake and that of the ranch.”

  “I’ll find out,” he said. “Right now I’d like to talk to some of your volunteers. I see a few faces I haven’t spoken to before.”

  “Some of the younger kids have flexible schedules that depend on whether they’ve got exams or other school activities. During the summer, they pretty much come and go all the time. A handful of our adults are also on drop-by status. It sounds a little crazy, but everything gets done.”

  “All right. Looks like we’ve each got work to do,” he said, gesturing toward Bobby.

  “Feel free to talk to anyone you want and wander around. I’m going to see what’s up with Bobby,” Abby said and picked up the mail.

  “Leave the one from Crazyman in the SUV. The chances of getting prints from it are remote, but you never know.”

  As Preston walked off, Abby went to meet Bobby. She had the mail clutched so tightly in her hand she bent the edges, a detail Bobby didn’t miss.

  He shot Preston a dirty look.

  Catching it, Abby eased her grip and forced herself to smile. “Bobby, you’re back early. Something wrong?”

  “No, PT was cancelled. Air-conditioning went out. Looks like you’re the person with something wrong,” he added.

  “What do you mean?” Abby saw that Bobby was watching Preston, who was out of earshot.

  “He said he could help, but he hasn’t. That’s why something’s bothering you. Right?”

  “I got some bad news, but it has nothing to do with Preston. He’s doing his best.”

  “Wait—he wants you to call him by his first name? It’s a trick,” he added quickly. “They only make friends with you when they want something. That’s what happened last year when one of my foster brothers got arrested. The cop was real nice to us, then he came to get Rodney.”

  Abby sighed. Bobby wasn’t a normal ten-year-old, but it saddened her to see just how cynical he’d become already. “Detective Bowman’s not like that.”

  “You like him?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s working hard to find answers, and when he does, I can open up the ranch again.”

  “Yeah—but you like him?” he asked, giving the word a deeper meaning by emphasizing it.

  “Maybe,” she said, understanding what he meant. “I really don’t know him all that well yet.”

  “He likes you.”

  “What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.

  “I see the way he looks at you.”

  She laughed. “He looks at me when he talks to me. So do most people, Bobby.”

  He shook his head. “No. When you’re not looking. He likes you,” he repeated.

  “Bobby, you’re imagining things. Now let’s get to work. We need to groom the camels, and you’re good with Hank. You can get him to koosh, to lie down, so we can reach his back.”

  Bobby smiled. “I like Hank.”

  “Yeah, I know. He likes you, too. I don’t let just anyone groom him, you know.”

  Bobby practically beamed. As they walked, he looked away from her and in a whisper, said, “I like the detective, too.”

  “Was it that hard to admit?”

  He shrugged. “He said he’d teach me to play ball. I hope he keeps his word.”

  “Wait and see, then you’ll know.”

  After they’d brushed Hank, Abby saw Preston trying to talk to one of her volunteers, a college-aged girl. She kept turning her back on him as she worked.

  “Looks like the detective needs my help,” Bobby said.

  “He does, does he?” Abby replied with a tiny smile.

  “Yeah, he’s not getting anywhere. Cassie won’t even look at him. He’s making her nervous. If I go with him, maybe people won’t feel like he’s about to arrest them or something.”

  “Maybe so, but you should probably ask him if he wants your help first. If he says not now, then come back.”

  “Okay.”

 
As Bobby walked off, she saw Ilse Sheridan leading Big Red into one of the big enclosures. Abby went to meet her.

  “You’re early today. Thanks for giving us some extra time, Ilse.”

  “Glad to help out. Rod wanted me to drop off some donations he got for you from his NBA buddies. With the new rumor that’s going around, he was afraid donors would be few and far between, at least for a while.”

  “I don’t understand. What rumor?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Ilse stared at her in surprise. “It’s just gossip, but it’ll have an effect.”

  “Go on,” Abby said.

  “Some people are saying you need to be audited to prove that donations are really going to the ranch. Carl was a convicted thief, so they’re wondering what else was going on here.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face, but dismay soon turned to anger. “That’s beneath contempt. My finances are an open book.” Seeing Stan by the ranch’s office door, Abby waved, signaling him to wait for her. “I’m going to stop that nonsense in its tracks.”

  * * *

  PRESTON SAW ABBY storm away from Ilse Sheridan. Curious, he figured he’d go talk to Ilse next. Officers Jerry Michaels and Gabe Sanchez had collected statements from those present the day Carl’s body had been found. Now he needed to account for the whereabouts of the rest of the workers here and see if they had an alibi that covered the vic’s time of death.

  As he approached Ilse, Preston caught a glimpse of Bobby out of the corner of his eye. The kid was hanging back, but Preston knew he was listening to everything that was going on.

  “Ilse Sheridan?” he said. “Remember me?”

  “Detective Bowman,” she said with a nod. “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like you to answer a few questions for me.”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  “Do you normally volunteer here this time of day?”

  She shook her head. “No, not usually. I made an exception today because Mr. Garner asked me to come by and drop off some donations he’d collected on behalf of the ranch.”

  “Where were you last Sunday between nine and midnight?”

  “You don’t honestly think I had—”

  Preston held up one hand. “I’m asking everyone the same question. It’s just procedure.”

  Ilse relaxed. “I came after work and stayed till around ten, maybe a bit after. I was exercising Tracker. I take him out for a run, then groom him and put him away for the night.”

  “Who else was still here when you left?”

  She paused, considering it for several long moments. “That’s hard to say for sure because this place is so big. Usually though, by ten everyone’s gone. Abby gets up real early, too, so sometimes she’s already gone to bed by that time. Offhand, I don’t remember if her light was on or off when I left that night.”

  He noted the way Ilse kept glancing to her right, losing eye contact each time she spoke. Instinct and experience told him she was lying or uncomfortable about something.

  He continued his questions but soon realized he wasn’t getting anywhere. After he thanked her and moved on, Bobby came up to him.

  “She didn’t tell you everything. Remember when I told you I hear and see things ’cause people don’t pay attention to me?” Seeing Preston nod, he continued. “Sometimes Ilse meets Monroe here. They like each other.”

  “You think they’re trying to keep it a secret?”

  “Yeah, ’cause when people are around, they barely speak to each other. I know what’s going on because I saw them ducking into the toolshed Sunday night. I was still here because my foster dad was late picking me up. He had an extra job. Anyway, I went to the barn to give Tracker some carrots, heard some weird noises and looked through one of the gaps in the wall between the boards. They were in there, kissing and stuff. It was embarrassing.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “Nah. They were too busy with each other. Besides, spies know how to sneak around. I’ve been practicing. I read what to do in Angus McAdams’s book, Spycraft. I even bought my own copy.”

  “How long were you here last Sunday?”

  “I left at about seven-thirty or eight.”

  Preston checked his notes. According to the statement he’d given Gabe Sanchez, Monroe had supposedly been at an Isotopes game in Albuquerque at that time. “You sure you saw them Sunday?”

  “Yeah, the next morning...that’s when I found Carl,” he said in a whisper-thin voice.

  Preston considered what he’d just learned. It was possible Ilse and Monroe had been here and maybe seen the killer or knew something they were leaving out to cover their relationship. The Isotopes story could have been a hasty attempt to give the police an unverifiable alibi.

  “You think they did it,” Bobby said.

  It hadn’t been a question and that surprised Preston. No one, not even his foster brothers, had ever been able to read him so easily.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. I need evidence. Police work isn’t about guessing—it’s about facts,” he said.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Bobby said. “Do you think you can hurry up and work faster? This place is all Abby’s got, and she’s really worried she might lose it.”

  “I know.”

  “It can really hurt when you have something really important, then it’s taken away, especially when it’s not your fault.”

  Preston felt the tug in his gut. “Yeah. I learned that back when I was in foster care.”

  Bobby’s eyes grew wider. “You were a foster kid? Why’d you become a cop?”

  Preston laughed. “Okay, kid, you’re going to have to explain that.”

  “Cops pretend to be your friend, then once they get what they want you never see them again.”

  Preston walked beside him, trying to figure out what had happened to Bobby. “Not all cops are like that, but it’s a tough job. Sometimes it can make the rest of your life...difficult.”

  Bobby looked at Preston, then back down at the ground. “It’s hard to believe anyone when all you get is excuses.”

  “Yeah, but here’s something you can count on from me—I’m going to teach you to play ball.”

  “I’m not athletic—and it’s not just ’cause I’ve got JRA. I can’t catch even when the ball hits me in the hands.”

  “It’s just a matter of timing and practice. I can teach you. And as far as throwing the ball goes, I taught my brother Rick, and that guy couldn’t hit the side of a barn when we first started,” he said and laughed.

  “Did he have problems getting around?”

  “Not like yours, but he was a total train wreck. He couldn’t go through the house without knocking something over. He was clumsy and overweight back in high school. Now, he’s six foot four and trimmed down to around two-twenty.”

  “Is he still clumsy?”

  “That depends on who you ask,” Preston said and smiled. He wished he could tell Bobby more about his brother. None of them, except Daniel who’d found out by accident, knew exactly what Rick did for the FBI. Some sort of undercover work—that’s all he’d been able to put together. Rick would be home in another year, and Preston was looking forward to seeing him then.

  Before Preston could say anything else, he heard tires on gravel and saw a truck pull to a dusty stop by the office. Ed Bain, from the feed store, got out and strode toward Abby.

  Sensing trouble, Preston broke into a jog.

  “This is your fault, you witch,” Bain yelled, raising a fist as he closed in on her.

  Preston stepped between them, blocking the man’s advance. “Put your hands down.”

  Bain stopped, lowered his fists, then kicked out, aiming for Preston’s groin.

  Preston stepped sideways, dodging the kick, then grabbed the
man’s boot, twisting it like a corkscrew. The man yelled in agony, falling to the ground on his face.

  Preston dropped down and grabbed Bain’s arm, twisting his hand up toward his neck painfully.

  Bain yelped, groping with his other hand to break the hold. Preston just applied more force, and Bain curled up, tears in his eyes.

  “Stop resisting,” Preston ordered.

  Bain gave up, and Preston brought both of the man’s wrists together and handcuffed him.

  Still holding Bain’s arm, Preston looked over at Abby. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say in a shaky voice.

  “You might as well call my parole officer,” Bain spat out. “At least in prison I won’t have to beg for food and a place to sleep.”

  “You have a job. What’s your problem?” Abby asked him.

  “The problem is you got me fired, you dumb—”

  Preston tightened his grip. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Maybe you should bring him inside,” Abby said, noting that all the volunteers were watching.

  Preston read him his rights as he pushed him inside Abby’s office.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Go ahead and take me in. The job at the feed store was all I could get around here. Now that it’s history, so am I.”

  “Why were you fired?” Abby asked.

  “After you left, I managed to smooth things with Barton, but then that reporter came back and started pushing me for answers about Carl. Barton said he didn’t need that kind of publicity, so he fired me,” Ed said.

  “You’re talking about Marsha Robertson?” Preston asked him.

  “I don’t know her name. She’s the hot blonde on local TV. She said there’s a burglary ring that has been breaking into area houses and she wanted to know if I knew anything about that. She also kept asking about Carl and what had happened between us. She then asked me ‘why,’ not ‘if,’ I’d killed Carl. That’s the part Barton heard.”

  “Answer one question for me,” Preston said. “Have you been sending Abby Langdon threatening letters? You might as well come clean. You’re going to jail anyway.”