Chapter 55

 

“Bobul?” Sam called softly. No response.

She walked through the boxing room, the foyer and shipping room, where Lisa had neatly organized supplies yesterday. No sign of the chocolatier. She went upstairs and peered into each of the spare rooms and her office in the turret room. Empty.

Strange. Then again, Bobul had always been something of an oddity. Maybe the sight of the police cars had alarmed him. His grasp of English was a little tenuous. She knew nothing of his history. She supposed he could have ducked out the front door and escaped through the surrounding fields.

Beau’s voice, magnified greatly through a bullhorn, brought her back to the reality of the unfolding drama outside. Through the window in the boxing room she saw deputy Walter in position behind his car, aiming a rifle toward the carriage house. Rico was nowhere in sight—she assumed he’d been told to circle the building and watch the rear. Beau, shielded by the open door of his cruiser, shouted again for the three men to come out.

No response.

Beau looked toward Walter. It would be foolish for the three of them to storm the building, knowing at least one of the suspects was armed and unsure about the other two. Sam watched him speak into the mike on his shoulder. Reinforcements could be a long time coming—his department was small. Sometimes the state police helped, providing there were officers nearby. Neither of them had a SWAT team or high-tech resources handy, and going through channels could take precious time.

Minutes ticked by. Sam began to worry about Lisa and Benjie arriving for work and getting caught up in the nightmare.

Beau picked up the bullhorn again, gave another order for the men to come out one at a time, hands raised. Again, nothing.

She could see the frustration on his face, the tension in his shoulders. She felt useless trapped in the house but knew he’d have a fit if she were to come outside.

His radio must have come on again; he listened intently for a couple of minutes and nodded. He walked back to Walter’s car and the two spoke with their heads together. No more than five minutes went by and a black and white state police car arrived. The officer, in his sharp black uniform, got out and walked over to Beau, said something, pointed toward the sky.

Sam found herself watching the road, hoping her employees wouldn’t venture in when they saw all the action. Or turn and run, never to return.

She heard a distant throbbing sound and the state cop pointed north. A dot appeared in the sky. A blue and white helicopter approached, correcting course when he apparently spotted the law enforcement vehicles’ flashing lights. The state officer said something into his microphone and the helicopter passed directly over the carriage house. The nearby weeds laid flat and dirt flew as the pilot held his machine at a hover a couple hundred feet above the building.

Beau used the bullhorn again.

“Matthew Cook. Wolfe Hanson. Kurt Blake. Come out now with your hands up!” A few beats went by. “We have reinforcements and tear gas. Come out now or we’ll use them.”

The side door of the carriage house opened slowly. Sam held her breath until she could see all three men. Their hands were empty.

The helicopter lifted a little higher until the dirt stopped whipping around the men. Beau, Walter and the state cop rushed forward, shouting. All three men dropped to the ground, facedown. In mere seconds, the lawmen had cuffs on them.

Sam stepped out the kitchen door, unable to sit on the sidelines another minute. Beau gave her a smile and a thumbs-up.

“What the hell was that shit!” the eldest of the suspects yelled. He had a rough look about him.

Walter gave the guy a shove toward his cruiser. Sam stepped aside as they passed, then she walked over to Beau.

“Matt, what’s he talking about?” Beau asked the younger, dark-haired guy.

“This place is weird,” Matt muttered. “Doors slamming shut, locking us in.”

Beau shifted his eyes toward Sam.

“Must have been the wind,” she said with a shrug.

Other than what the helicopter rotors had caused, there was no breath of wind anywhere. The aircraft had flown to one side and touched down in the open field. The rotors spun slowly and the pilot got out and ran up to the officers.

“Everything under control now?” he asked.

“Great, Drake. Thanks so much.” The state cop set a hand on the pilot’s shoulder and turned to Beau, making introductions all around.

“Drake Langston, Beau Cardwell. Drake’s based in Albuquerque but whenever he’s in the area he’s a great resource.”

“Civilian contractor,” Drake said, “but I’m happy to help law enforcement whenever I can. My wife’s a pilot too.” He reached into his jacket and handed Beau a business card.

Sam knew the name—she couldn’t remember how, until it occurred to her she’d met this man’s wife a couple of times. Charlie.

Drake confirmed her guess with a smile. “Well, I’m doing an elk count up at Amalia. Better get back there. Fish and Game thinks I just went to Taos Airport to refuel.”

He gave a quick nod and jogged back to his machine.

Within a couple minutes, the helicopter was gone. Shortly after, the various law enforcement vehicles with their captured suspects pulled away and left in a little procession toward town. Sam went back inside. What an eventful morning, and it wasn’t quite nine o’clock yet.

She walked into the supply room, trying to remember where she’d been in her inventory count. Bobul stepped through the doorway leading to the basement. When he saw her, his face took on a secretive look. He walked past her, murmuring something about starting his first batch of chocolate for the day.

What was that all about? He’d always been a little spooked by Beau, but was he so afraid that he’d chosen to hide out in the basement?