Falcon's Run

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I will.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him gently. “I’ll carry this with me always, and every time I look at it, you’ll be there in my thoughts.”

  Before he could answer, they both heard a light knock on the door. Turning, they saw Daniel walk in.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he said, motioning them toward the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  As soon as they left her office, Daniel held out a small device in the palm of his hand. “We found a half dozen of these in the bunkhouse and the office. They’re cheap RF models but effective. They’re easily available, too, if you know where to look.”

  “RF?” Abby asked.

  “Radio frequency. These are listening devices that send conversations to a radio receiver within range,” Preston said.

  “So I’ve been bugged. Can the person on the other end still hear us?” she asked in an almost whisper.

  “No. I’ve disabled these,” Daniel said, “but you might have more in your office and in the house. I’d like to check.”

  Her eyes widened. “Please do!”

  Daniel went through her office, then her house. After he was done, he joined them and showed them the four small listening devices he’d found. “The two in the ranch office were on or around your desk. The ones in your home were on your portable phones.”

  “This would explain how our moves were second-guessed from the very beginning. I thought it was the reporter’s fault, but I may have been wrong about that,” Preston said.

  “Kyle also found out something interesting about the painting by Whit McCabe,” Daniel said. “While I was sweeping the buildings, Kyle used my computer and did a search. ‘The Rodeo’ disappeared ten years ago from a private collector’s gallery. That’s before Carl went to prison. It was insured for six figures. Selling something high profile like that to a legitimate gallery or collector would have been impossible, of course, and on the black market it would have only commanded a fraction of its worth.”

  “So maybe Carl was biding his time, looking for just the right buyer,” Preston said.

  “That doesn’t sound like Carl, but I’ll tell you what does—and this is something you need to keep in mind,” Abby said. “If someone was keeping tabs on Carl, he would have known. Carl was always on his guard. He was the only person Bobby never could sneak up on.”

  “Maybe he found the bugs but left them in place, deliberately misleading whoever was listening in. Inmates learn a lot of survival skills in prison, so that makes sense,” Preston said. “But here’s something else—he didn’t run. That tells me he wasn’t afraid for his life. Carl may have had something he felt would keep his ex-partner at bay—leverage of sorts. He wasn’t concerned when his killer came calling because he was counting on something else to protect him—a bargaining chip, information that could lead to a bigger payoff or penalty.”

  “Then why didn’t he use it to save his life?” Abby asked.

  “Remember that Carl was beaten to death. Rage often overwhelms logic,” Preston said.

  “So we’re now looking for something else he hid in the office?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, but this time it wouldn’t be something he needed to safeguard in the same way he did the painting. We’re talking information of some kind—notes, a letter, something his partner would have really wanted or feared. And it’s bound to be in a place that’s meant to be overlooked.”

  “Can I help?” Bobby asked.

  Abby jumped and turned around quickly. “Bobby, I’m going to have to put a bell around your neck.”

  Preston smiled. “I knew you were there.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Bobby said. “I saw you glance out of the corner of your eye. Spies do that.”

  Preston smiled. “You’re good spotting little details, Bobby, so come along with us.”

  Daniel and Kyle followed Preston and Bobby into the barn and stopped to look through the open door of Carl’s small office. Visible were a filing cabinet, an old desk and chair, an ancient rotary phone and a few shelves with business papers. “You’re the one who has the eyes for things like this, Preston,” Daniel said.

  Preston nodded. “I’d like to focus on the ordinary at first, like floorboards that aren’t flush, trim that’s loose, gaps between objects. Concentrate on potential hiding places.”

  As they all started searching, Preston got down on the floor and worked his way slowly toward the old wooden desk. He was looking for changes in elevation, but as he shifted to one side, the bottom of Carl’s chair caught his eye. There was a tiny slit in the cushion.

  “I’ve got something, but it might just be a sign of wear on an old chair.” He studied the slit at the inside end of the cushion. The diagonal cut disappeared beneath the back of the chair.

  With Daniel’s help, Preston loosened the metal post that held the two parts in place and removed the back rest, which slid into a metal bracket. The slit, easily visible now, was longer than he’d realized. Part of it had been hidden by the mechanism.

  Preston reached inside with a gloved hand. “I’ve got something.” A moment later he pulled out a small spiral notebook.

  “Cool,” Bobby said.

  “Do you recognize Carl’s writing?” he asked Bobby as he opened the notebook.

  Bobby nodded.

  Preston took a closer look at what was written inside. The first section, a total of maybe five pages, was easy to read, but then the words stopped and gave way to what was clearly a number-based code. “Can you make this out?” he asked Daniel.

  He looked at it and expelled his breath in a hiss. “I’ve got some decryption programs I can run it through,” he said. “It’s probably some number-for-letter substitution code.”

  “Can I see?” Bobby asked.

  When Preston showed it to him, Bobby smiled. “He and I came up with this code. We’d leave notes for each other, spy-craft, you know? I told you that when I meet my dad someday—”

  Preston stopped him gently. “How do you decode this?”

  “Simple. The letter A is 26 and B is 25, all the way down to Z, which is one. So Bobby would be 25-12-25-25-2. Get it?”

  “I’ll program the decryption and it can translate the numbers automatically for us,” Daniel said. He tried to use his smart phone but after a moment looked up. “I’m not getting a connection from here.”

  “That’s why Carl used the old-school landline,” Abby said. “Let’s go to my office. You’ll have a reliable Wi-Fi connection there.”

  Five minutes later Daniel had decoded the first section. “Here’s a quick rundown of what I’ve got so far. Right before the police caught up to him, Carl had a falling-out with his partner. The guy discovered that Carl hadn’t been splitting the take fifty-fifty and was out for blood, so once Carl left prison, he changed his name and went into hiding. Carl figured that one day the guy would track him down, so he kept a few things in reserve in case he needed money to run.”

  “So Carl hadn’t really turned his life around,” Abby said softly.

  “Yes and no,” Daniel said. “He wasn’t a thief anymore, but he also needed to survive. That took priority over returning what he’d taken.”

  “So who was his partner?” Preston asked.

  “The journal never mentions anyone, including Carl himself by name. I’m guessing that was his way of remaining anonymous in case it was found prematurely.”

  “It also protected Bobby, too, in the off chance he might have found it during one of the games they played,” Abby said. “Carl knew Bobby had a good eye.” She looked over at Bobby, who nodded solemnly.

  “There’s a second part here, too, but it uses a different code entirely,” Daniel said. “I’m guessing that section will reveal which pieces of art Carl held on to and maybe where he stashed them. My computer’s tryi
ng to decrypt it now, but it may take time, depending on how complex the code is.”

  “I bet I can figure it out,” Bobby said. “I know how Carl’s brain worked. He and I used to play spy all the time and make up all kinds of ciphers. We’d pretend that we were CIA field officers and needed help from our agents,” Bobby said. In a sad voice, he added, “I’ll miss him.”

  Preston looked at Bobby for a second, then making up his mind, added, “Bobby, give me your cell phone.”

  He pulled it out of his pocket and turned it over to Preston.

  Preston found the camera app, then, taking the notebook from Daniel, took photos of the relevant pages. “I’m trusting you with this, Bobby, but I need your word you won’t tell anyone that you’re helping the police. That has to be top secret. Will you agree to the terms?”

  Bobby nodded. “Yeah, and you can trust me. Just ask Abby.”

  “I don’t have to, I trust you.”

  Bobby beamed him a smile. “I’ll crack it, probably faster than the computer because it didn’t know Carl. To really solve a puzzle or break a code you need to think like the person who made it up. That’s what Angus McAdams said in his book Spycraft. Of course, that’s not the author’s real name. He had to keep his real identity hidden.”

  Preston glanced at Abby, Daniel and Bobby. “The existence of this journal has to stay between us for now. That way there’ll be zero chance that the information will be leaked to the press. As long as Carl’s partner doesn’t know we have this, we have the advantage.”

  “But Carl didn’t give us any names,” Abby said. “We have no way of identifying this person.”

  “Carl obviously committed most of his thefts in Denver and on the West Coast, but he may have started his life of crime here in Hartley. What if he formed his partnership here at the very beginning? None of the other investigators have been able to find that person, but maybe they’ve been looking in the wrong place,” Preston said. “The first thing we need to do is find out who Carl’s associates were before he left for the big city and track their movements. Perhaps one of them has recently moved back here, from Denver or one of the other cities where Carl operated.”

  “You’re looking for an old buddy of Carl’s, maybe a criminal who never got caught?” Abby said.

  Bobby looked at them. “You should talk to Mrs. Whitcomb. She came to our school to tell us about the old days. She’s lived here forever, and Mr. Whitcomb was a famous lawman. He was the only sheriff around for like a hundred miles.”

  “Sadie Whitcomb—I know her,” Abby said. “She doesn’t have a lot of money, but once a month, like clockwork, she sends us a small check. I’m sure she’ll help us.” Abby smiled. “But I should warn you she’s quite a character. Unless she knows you, she won’t open her door. She’ll just pretend she’s not home. She’s close to a hundred so you won’t be able to use your badge to push her either.”

  “How’s her memory?” Preston asked.

  “For what happened two days ago, not so good, but forty years ago, that’s like yesterday. She can remember details that’ll amaze you. I invite her to the ranch from time to time so she can look around and have some fun. She’s just amazing.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Down the same road as Meadow Park.”

  “The retirement community? That’s about ten miles from here,” Preston confirmed. “Let’s go.”

  As they left the office and walked to his SUV, Preston glanced off in the direction of the barns. “Ilse sure gets around.”

  Abby saw Ilse laugh and then give Stan a quick kiss. “Don’t see too much in that. Ilse likes men and she’s single,” she said and shrugged. “Deep down she’s got a good heart. She volunteers here a lot.”

  Preston watched them for a second longer, then climbed into his SUV. “They look like old friends having fun.”

  “They probably are friends. Both of them spend a lot of time working here.”

  Preston followed Abby’s directions to a small casita surrounded by fruit trees a quarter mile off the main highway. A chain-link fence bordered the property. The small front yard, probably a lawn at one time, was mostly gravel now. Two cats were watching them from a bench atop the small porch.

  Abby led the way, but as they stepped onto the porch, Sadie opened the door. “I saw you pull up, Abby. Did you come for a donation? I read in the paper about all the troubles you’ve been having.”

  Sadie invited them to take a seat on the sofa and after hearing what they wanted, she nodded. “I can help you. I knew Carl Sinclair when he was just a kid, and even back then I can tell you he was always up to no good.” She looked directly at Abby. “I’m so sorry that I never took a closer look at Carl Woods. If I had, I could have warned you, Abby.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I knew about his past, but I believed him when he told me he’d changed,” Abby said.

  “His kind doesn’t change,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “My husband, Jeremiah, was the county sheriff back then, and he kept a close eye on troublemakers like Carl.”

  “Did he ever actually arrest him?” Abby asked.

  “No, he never could get anything on him or his buddy, another troublemaker Jeremiah couldn’t abide. When several Whit McCabe paintings were stolen from a collector here in town, Jeremiah was sure Carl and his friend were responsible because Carl had worked for the man at one time. Jeremiah tried hard to find something to tie them to the theft but couldn’t. Then the owner of the stolen paintings passed on, and his son wasn’t interested in art. He settled for the insurance money and auctioned off the rest of his dad’s collection. There weren’t any other suspects, so I think the insurance company stopped looking after that.”

  “Did your husband ever mention Carl’s partner by name?” Preston asked.

  “All I remember is that Jeremiah called him ‘The Liquidator.’ From the bits and pieces he told me about, the man dealt in stolen property, but he also knew how to cover his tracks. He never flaunted his wealth, and when he wasn’t traveling, he spent his time at a small cabin just this side of Navajo Dam,” she said. “He died in a hunting accident a few years before my husband passed. Guess he didn’t have any living relatives because no one ever claimed the body.” She paused. “Come to think of it, his cabin is probably still up there above the lake. I suppose you could go take a look.”

  “Do you know where it is?” Preston asked.

  “Only that it’s northwest of Navajo Dam, off the main road. Jeremiah mentioned that you had to go past a cliff with two large rocks that looked like fangs at its base. There was a gully and a dirt road that led up the hill. You couldn’t see the cabin from the highway, I recall him saying.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s going to be enough to find the place,” Abby said.

  “I camped out in that area when I was in high school, and we drove up that highway a dozen or more times. Believe it or not, I know the cliff that she referred to. Hosteen Silver said they were Tsé ĺí’áhí, like the two Churchrock Spires east of Gallup,” Preston said.

  “Spires, I get, but I don’t speak Navajo, dear,” Sadie said. “What does that word mean in English?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Loosely, it means ‘standing rock,’” he said, turning to Abby and nodding. “If those rocks are still within sight of the road, we’ll find them.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The drive took them through the town of Bloomfield, then past the small community of Blanco. Preston kept glancing in the rearview mirror.

  “Hang on,” he said, then suddenly braked hard and took a sharp left down a farm road.

  Abby hung on to the door handle to balance herself in her seat. “What are you doing? We’re not even close to the dam!”

  “There was a dark green vehicle back there. He was hanging way back, so I’m not really sure it wa
s a tail, but I saw it after we left Sadie’s.” Preston stopped and looked back into the mirror again. “He’s gone now.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Wait five minutes, then continue our drive. Keep a watch for green vehicles parked by the highway, in case he’s hoping to pick us up again,” Preston said. “I couldn’t really tell if it was a van or an SUV, but I am sure of the color.”

  Eventually they got back on the road, crossed the massive rock and earthen dam and entered the pine-covered hills above, leaving the big canyon behind. They drove along the highway just under the speed limit, not wanting to miss any of the landmarks. Preston took a wide curve, and off to their left he spotted the low sandstone cliff with the two rocks at the bottom.

  “Tsé ĺí’áhí.” Preston nodded in that direction. “Smaller than I remember, though.”

  “Pointy and like fangs,” Abby said. “Sadie was right.”

  They continued around the long curve and as they rounded the bend, he saw a dark green SUV pulling off the shoulder and onto the highway. It passed by, heading in the opposite direction. The driver had his head turned away, and Preston couldn’t get a clear look.

  “Is that the same SUV you saw before?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  With no oncoming cars, he was able to do a one-eighty on the highway and parked along the shoulder where the SUV had been moments earlier. A three-wire cattle fence was in place on both sides of the road.

  “The ground is soft, and it won’t be an easy hike, but it looks like we have to walk from here,” Preston said.

  “Good thing I’m wearing boots,” she said.

  They’d hiked about twenty feet up the wash when Preston noticed something on the ground up ahead. “Footprints. Maybe the person in the van came this way, too.”

  “Call of nature?” Abby asked.

  He sniffed the air and glanced around. “Naw, I smell...gasoline?” Up ahead he saw a thin curl of black smoke rising into the air just around the curve of the arroyo.