Chapter Thirteen

It was barely 8:00 AM, already warm in urban Albuquerque. Charlie drove into the only remaining parking place next to the austere Back Up building. To his right was an older model faded gold Chevy sedan with a variety of bumper stickers, most of them from branches of military service, politicians, and gun lobby groups. The other two slots contained an ancient Jeep and a new-looking economy model pickup.

“Looks like everyone’s there,” he called to Ruth as he hurried around to open her door. Charlie was rested now and needed to learn who might have latched onto Ben Webster’s van yesterday. Hopefully the shooter hadn’t had time to cover all his tracks.

“Same vehicles as last time, so Anna, Patricia, and Max?” Ruth asked, stepping out of Charlie’s Charger.

“I’m guessing that Jeep belongs to Max,” Charlie said. “A little rough around the edges but still able to do the job.”

“So what’s the plan? Do we divide and conquer, or double-team someone?”

“Rene got you watching sports?” Charlie observed with a smile, walking beside her toward the front entrance to Back Up, resisting the urge to take her hand, then giving in.

She smiled and gave his fingers a squeeze, holding on tight. “Of course. But I picked that up in college. Speaking the language helped me fit in and talk to the players, both male and female teams. I made a lot of friends that way,” she replied.

“Hmmm.”

“Just what does that imply?”

“Never mind,” he said. “Why don’t we gather as many names of potential suspects from Anna and Max—vets, contacts, or employers who had a beef, or maybe a personality conflict with Nathan?”

“Then we filter through the names to determine who on that list had no obvious alibi? Make some calls?”

“Exactly. And I’d also like you to try and uncover any business-related issues that would fly over my non-MBA head?” Charlie said. “Turning on the recorder now,” he added in a whisper, reaching into his light jacket pocket.

“Okay, here goes,” Ruth added, letting go of his hand and stepping onto the porch just ahead of him.

As they came into the small outer office, the bookkeeper and Patricia were involved in a heated discussion about something. When they saw they had visitors, the women stopped talking and greeted them.

The attention went immediately to Charlie and his latest encounter. Once it was clear he was uninjured, he declared his reason for the visit. “We came here today searching for the identity of the man who shot at me,” he added.

“The same guy who killed Nathan. Is that what you’re thinking?” Max asked. “This is all screwed up.”

“It was the terrorist. I think he staked out the Afghan family’s place, hoping that Charlie would show up at that protest. That what you think?” Anna asked.

Charlie nodded. “Pretty much. The problem is, the van the shooter was driving belongs to Ben Webster, one of your clients.”

“No shit,” Max responded. “But isn’t Ben working that gig in Phoenix?”

“Sure is,” Anna replied. “Unless he came back early or skipped out on the job.”

“If the vet doesn’t show up or has on-the-job problems, don’t the employers let you know?” Ruth asked.

“According to what I’ve been able to learn, Webster has shown up for work on time, every day recently,” Charlie said. “We’ve already ruled him out.”

“So what’s with his van?” Max asked. “How did the terrorist end up with it?”

“According to his apartment manager, the employer transported their work crew, Webster included, to Phoenix in company vehicles. The van was left at Webster’s apartment,” Ruth said.

“So Ben was just unlucky. I heard recently that Albuquerque has the highest rate of auto theft in the country,” Anna said.

“Except that the van was stolen, used, then returned and parked right back where Ben had left it,” Charlie replied, looking from Anna to Max for a reaction.

“That makes no sense at all, unless someone was trying to frame Ben,” Patricia said. “This is an odd coincidence,” she added. “Nathan being killed, then Charlie gets attacked by maybe the same terrorist using a van with a connection to Back Up.”

“More than a coincidence,” Max responded. “That’s why you two are here, Charlie. Am I right?”

Charlie nodded. “Who knew Ben was out of town, and that his van would still be parked in front of his apartment? It’s an old model that can easily be broken into with a slim jim.” Seeing Patricia’s raised eyebrows, he explained, “A long, thin strip of metal that can be inserted between the glass and door, raising the lock lever and opening the door.”

We knew he was gone—well, not Patricia,” Max said, looking over at Anna, who nodded.

“Along with a few of the vets also trying to get that gig, and his other friends, and his neighbors, including that apartment manager, right? Are the police checking with those people?” Anna said.

“Hopefully. But we’re wondering if you’d thought of anyone new who might have had an issue with Nathan, or now, Ben Webster?” Charlie added. After what had happened lately, he was more worried about earthly, armed enemies than chindis, the evil in a person which remained after their death. He wasn’t concerned with speaking names aloud anymore.

Anna and Max exchanged glances, then Anna spoke. “Maybe Todd Colby? He’s a hard worker, but he came in more than once complaining to Nathan about the work he’d landed. One time Nathan stood up from his chair while they were arguing and Colby squared off like he was expecting an attack.”

“Colby’s a whiner and has absolutely no job skills, Anna,” Max argued. “The only places Nathan could find work for him involved basic hard labor—digging ditches, loading and unloading construction materials, cleanup and janitorial. He couldn’t handle any heavy equipment beyond a wheelbarrow. Once he dumped two loads from a hoist and got fired, remember?”

“Copy that,” Anna said. “And his computer skills are limited to video games. He can’t even text. We keep trying to place him, but sometimes when an employer gives him a try, they don’t call back for more. Todd had a big argument with Nathan about two weeks ago, and Nathan told him to get out. Colby blew up and threw a punch at the door. See that dent in the metal?” she said, pointing to the spot.

“Then what?” Charlie asked.

“Nathan and I made sure Colby left the property. Haven’t seen him since,” Max added.

“Do you have an address for Mr. Colby?” Ruth asked, looking over at Charlie, who nodded.

“He’s no longer represented here, so I guess it’s okay. Boss?” Anna looked to Patricia.

Patricia nodded. “If you promise to be careful talking to the man, Charlie. It doesn’t take much to set him off.”

Anna left the room, heading into her office.

“By the way,” Charlie asked, “how did Colby serve?”

“He was in the Army, combat engineers; demolition, if I recall. He was deployed for three tours in Iraq during the Gulf War, and saw his share of the action,” Max explained. “My advice is to avoid any confrontations. Colby has PTSD issues, and was drinking heavily when he came here looking for work. First time Nathan smelled it on his breath, he cancelled the job. Colby was annoyed, but promised to quit the booze if he could get another chance. Fortunately, I think he finally quit drinking, or at least cut back.”

“Here’s the address,” Anna said, coming back into the front office with a piece of paper in hand.

Ruth took the handwritten note and put it into her purse. “Thank you so much, we’ll keep it confidential.”

Charlie glanced over at a dozen clipboards on the wall, all containing what looked like business stationery. “It looks like you have a lot of clients out on jobs today, more than I saw last time. This is good news, right?”

Patricia spoke. “We’re hoping to get even more work for our vets. Finances are still tight.”

“How exactly does your bookkeeping work?” Ruth asked.

“Some of the employers we work with are still paying our people directly, and that makes accounting more difficult. Right, Anna?” Patricia commented.

“It’s a little more work for me, but I don’t mind. When our vets get paid directly, they feel a lot better about themselves, even though they’re required to pay Back Up a percentage of that salary. They don’t like to wait either, often needing the money right away. Most employers, however, insist on sending us the checks, then we pay our clients their share. Having an option was something Nathan always insisted on, leaving the payment methods up to the employers. Sometimes employers prefer dealing in cash, especially when it’s one- or two-person businesses who simply require a temp on certain projects, but nothing long-term,” Anna replied.

“How can you ensure that the payments made directly to your clients are accurately reported to Back Up?” Charlie asked. “Say, a vet making three hundred dollars on a job, but only reporting two fifty?”

“Anna and I were discussing this problem when you came in,” Patricia replied. “I’d like to change over to the less vulnerable system and require that all wages be paid to Back Up directly in order to avoid any potential abuse. Not that I know of anything like that having actually taken place.”

“What do you think, Max?” Charlie asked.

“We’re hurting for money right now, and I don’t want us to lose Back Up. If changing the system will help, I’m all for it,” Max admitted.

“If we change over to a private employment agency payout system, complete with contracts, we’re going to be telling some of our vets that we don’t trust them anymore. That’s not good, and that’s why I’m against it,” Anna replied. “I don’t think we’re being ripped off, we’re just not finding enough work for the vets, and too often the jobs pay just minimum wage.”

“Your opinion is noted, Anna,” Patricia replied.

“Well, that’s a business decision for you people,” Charlie said. “All I want to do is talk to some of your clients and see how they feel about Nathan and Back Up in general. Maybe get a hint of who might have been skimming from this office, or had a beef. Someone wanted him dead, and once we rule out all the vets, we’ll be able to move on in the search for the killer.”

“And whoever has been attacking Charlie,” Ruth added.

“So you’d like a list of our vets and their contact information?” Patricia asked. “Please call them first, Charlie. If they don’t want to talk to you, I’m asking that you leave them alone.”

“Of course.”

“Anna, would you mind printing out our active client list?” Patricia asked.

“And maybe those who’ve moved on within the past year?” Ruth suggested.

Anna glanced at Patricia, who nodded.

“While you’re doing that, Anna, may I have a look at your office?” Ruth asked. “I’m interested in seeing your layout. I do a lot of the bookkeeping at FOB Pawn, and we’re using a new system ourselves.”

“Our software is ancient, but sure,” Anna replied, then motioned Ruth into the next room.

“Do you really think one of our vets may be responsible for Nathan’s death?” Patricia asked in a whisper.

“Maybe just the attacks on me,” Charlie answered.

“Isn’t that just a little too coincidental?” Max said.

Charlie shrugged. “That’s what’s bothering me. I still think the terrorist angle is just a smokescreen to hide the real motives for the attacks. And, maybe, just maybe, I’ve become a target to promote that theory. That’s why I’m taking a different path than most of law enforcement.”

“Jealousy, maybe. As with Patricia’s ex?” Anna said, just entering the room ahead of Ruth. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Where is Steven, anyway? Has he been located?” Max asked.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Charlie answered. He looked over at Ruth, who held a folder in her hand. She nodded.

“Then I guess it’s time to go,” Charlie said. “Thanks so much for your help, and, starting with Todd Colby, we’ll respect the privacy of your clients.” He shook hands with all three of the Back Up staff, then he and Ruth exited.

As they walked back to the car, Charlie had a question. “There was definitely some tension between Anna and Patricia.”

“Anna’s pretty defensive about her work. I think she’s worried about getting some of the blame for the financial situation. I asked about her military service, and she said she was an AP—Air Police—and helped provide security at Air Force bases overseas. She had to deal with a lot of cranky officers, and maybe that’s what makes her defensive. Anna said that Nathan was a tough boss, but in a good way. She suggested that part of the reason Back Up is in financial trouble is that Nathan was weak when it came to business practices.”

“Maybe that’s what got him killed.”

“Or maybe he was the one skimming money, not the vet clients,” Ruth suggested. “Not that I know of any evidence pointing in that direction. It’s just a thought. Money stolen or misspent leads to trouble. Look at what my husband did.”

“Okay, but what would be Nathan’s motive? Drugs, bad investments, gambling? He had a drinking problem, but had supposedly beaten that years ago.”

“Do you kill someone who owes you money?” Ruth questioned.

“I’m still running low on answers, Ruth. Let’s keep looking at potential suspects, and maybe that’ll lead to the motive.”

*   *   *

They were unable to reach Colby by phone, and it turned out that he’d moved from his old address in the town of Bernalillo, north of Albuquerque, to somewhere in Corrales. Fortunately they were able to locate a tenant in the building who could give them the phone number of the apartment manager, and after they’d wasted more than an hour, they approached Colby’s supposed forwarding address, a mobile home located in a dead-end street north of the village fire station.

They turned off Corrales Road and drove down the bumpy dirt street, which had been graveled long ago. After passing several old adobe houses and outbuildings, plus a long, narrow alfalfa field, they spotted a mobile home parked to the right of Alfalfa Lane, which dead-ended with a metal barrier. Beyond was the bosque, beginning with a line of trees.

“There’s a white Ram pickup.” Charlie noted the mud-spattered vehicle parked beside the faded green single-wide.

“We’ve got reinforcements,” Ruth said, looking in the side mirror back toward the highway. “The lights aren’t flashing, so I don’t think they’re after us.”

“The State Police,” Charlie noted, slowing down, then stopping about fifty feet from the end of the trailer. “It’ll be safer for you to stay in the car until I see what’s going on. Maybe they’re coming to arrest Colby.”

He opened his door, then remembered to grab his sunglasses. As he leaned back toward the center console, there was a loud slap and boom. The driver’s side window shattered, spraying him with flying glass.

“Down!” Charlie yelled, pushing Ruth toward the floorboards. Three more bullets struck, hitting the windshield and raining cubes of glass down upon them. There was a short pause, then someone behind them started yelling.

“Stay as low as you can, Ruth,” Charlie called out. “I’m going after this bastard!”

Charlie threw open the door and rolled out onto the ground, flattening as he yanked out his handgun.

“Anyone hit?” came a familiar voice. It was Detective DuPree.

What the hell was he doing here? Charlie wondered, taking a quick look toward the single-wide, then the bosque to the east.

“The shots came from the bosque, the three tallest trees toward the south,” called another man, probably the state patrolman.

“Cover me!” Charlie yelled, jumping to his feet and zigzagging to his right toward the far end of the trailer, intending on flanking the shooter. He raced to the corner of the mobile home, took a quick look, then ducked back when he saw a standing figure aiming a rifle from the tree line about fifty yards away. A bullet whizzed by just inches from his face.

DuPree and the other officer opened fire and the rifleman dropped down out of view.

Pistol out now, Charlie slipped around the end of the trailer, jumped across a small drainage ditch, and raced toward the trees, ready to fire if he saw the shooter. He cut left, then right to throw off the aim. If he could reach the bosque and the cover of the flood plain forest, he’d almost be on equal terms with the rifleman. The sunbaked ground of the approach was hard, dotted with clumps of waist-high buffalo grass, but ahead there was taller sagebrush and willows. He now had eyes on the back of the camo-jacketed figure as the man faded into the thicker vegetation, mostly tall willows, shrubs, and trees of all species and ages.

No more return fire had come, and Charlie was already gaining on the shooter, who was slowing. The ground ahead was transitioning from hard-packed clay to river sand, which would explain the gunman’s drop in speed. Colby, if that was him, was still fleeing east toward the Rio Grande River, perhaps three hundred or more yards away. The growth was getting denser, and he couldn’t see that far ahead. Though it had been a dry year, the area closest to the water table was still green and dense. Charlie knew he could run down almost anyone who wasn’t a long-distance athlete. Hopefully, the guy didn’t have a vehicle parked on the canal road that lay between here and the river.

Charlie’s pace was swift and steady. Long ago, he’d learned how to remain aware of his footing while keeping his sight on the trail ahead. It was evident almost immediately that the shooter had chosen to flee down an animal trail, one used by rabbits and coyotes, based upon the abundance of familiar, yet non-human tracks.

He had to catch up to the shooter, one way or another. The guy had just tried to kill him, and Charlie needed answers. The running man was slipping in and out of view, but hadn’t changed direction.

Just then Colby, or whoever it was, cut to the left and disappeared into a thick grove of willows.

The thicket was about a hundred feet in diameter, and appeared to be separated from the surrounding trees, clustered into a big oval. Charlie slowed to a jog, stopped, then stepped softly behind a clump of brush, ducked down, and waited, listening. The thicket was dense, and if that’s where the shooter was still hidden, any movement would be obvious as long as he watched the tall, slender tops of the willow branches.

He heard the clump of running footsteps coming up from behind. Charlie turned around as a state policeman appeared in his dark black and gray uniform, moving in a crouch, handgun out. The officer slowed, looked at Charlie and nodded, aiming his handgun toward Charlie’s left, covering that flank.

Wary of another ambush, Charlie held his finger to his lips, signaling silence, then pointed to the willow thicket.

The state cop signaled with his hand, indicating that Charlie should hold his position and provide cover fire if needed.

Charlie nodded.

The officer backed into the trees surrounding the stand of willows, then moved from trunk to trunk, circling the thicket, his weapon aimed toward where the shooter was apparently hiding.

“Police officer,” the cop called. “You’re surrounded,” he lied. “Put your weapon down and come out with your hands in the air. Walk toward my voice.”

Charlie heard the sound of a vehicle close by, to the east. “Crap!” he yelled. “He’s already split.”

Charlie jumped up and raced toward the river, looking ahead and spotting the high ground of the conservation road about fifty yards away. It lay atop a levee beside an irrigation canal that ran parallel to the river for miles in either direction.

“Try to get an ID on the vehicle,” the cop yelled, following in his footsteps. “I’ll call in some units to block off the bosque.”

“Copy,” Charlie responded, his eyes on the road. All he could see, unfortunately, through the trees and undergrowth, was a blue blur and plenty of dust from the vehicle heading north.

By the time he could get a clear view of the road, it was empty. As the dust cloud dissipated, it was clear that the shooter had turned to the west off the ditch road and fled down some residential street that connected at the end.

He hurried back toward Colby’s single-wide, finding a hiker’s trail that appeared, from the tracks, to be mostly used by animals. Ruth was back there, hopefully safe with DuPree. Somewhere behind him was the state police officer, but Charlie wasn’t waiting.

Finally Charlie reached the last layer of trees and saplings, and emerged into the open. Ahead was Colby’s trailer, the Charger, and the state police black-and-white cruiser. Detective DuPree was standing there, pistol down at his side.

Charlie knew Ruth was safe, or DuPree would be with her. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie heard, then saw the state police officer jogging up from behind.

“Shooter got away, north up the canal road, then probably west onto Corrales Road. Had a blue vehicle—a pickup, I think—parked to the east on the conservancy road,” Charlie added. “Where’s Ruth?”

“I’m here, Charlie,” she said, stepping into view from behind the trailer. “Your car’s full of glass right now.”

She walked up and gave Charlie a quick hug.

“Better not,” Charlie said, backing away after a second. “I’m still full of glitter,” he realized, after finally noticing cubes of glass on his sleeves and shoulders.

“Close your eyes, duck down, and shake your head,” DuPree suggested.

Charlie did so, then opened his eyes again. “Anything in my hair and on my face?”

“Close your eyes again,” Ruth said, then came up and brushed his face gently, including his eyebrows and hairline. “Okay,” she concluded. “Better.”

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“Okay, now that this tender moment is over, I have a few questions,” DuPree said. “Did you recognize the shooter? How about a description?”

“All I got was a glance, no ID possible. Shooter was light-skinned, blond or light brown hair, about Ruth’s height, wearing jeans and a camo jacket with a hood. No glasses or facial hair noted. I couldn’t close within fifty yards and couldn’t pick him out of a lineup. Medium to light build, and he knew how to run,” Charlie added.

“That doesn’t fit Todd Colby,” DuPree replied. He turned to the state policeman, who was already on his radio again. The cop nodded, passing along the description.

“Is Colby in the mobile home? He couldn’t have missed the gunfire,” Charlie said.

“Don’t know,” DuPree replied. “Can we clear the trailer before you work the scene?” DuPree asked the officer, who was still on the radio. The state cop held up his hand, signaling for them to wait …

A moment later the uniformed officer ended his call. “My jurisdiction, Detective, so I’ll take the front. Cover the rear. Be careful, Colby worked with explosives.”

A minute later the cop yelled, “No response, the door is locked. Check the back, but don’t enter. I have a warrant.”

“Stand by,” DuPree yelled. “Cover me, Charlie?” he asked, then stepped back from the small rear door and reached into his pocket, pulling out a latex glove.

Charlie monitored the door, checking back and forth at the trailer windows in case they were being watched. Then something caught his attention. “You smell that?” he asked.

DuPree looked over at him. “Yeah, smells like…”

“Death,” Charlie added softly.