Charlie parked the pickup in the parking slot that had belonged to Nathan Whitaker. It was actually Whitaker’s vehicle, loaned by Patricia, and though he felt strange driving the vehicle of a dead man, it was something he’d done before during some of his more rebellious years away from home.
Traditional Navajos, however, would have avoided the personal property of the dead, vehicles included. He thought of the “dead” hogans he’d seen sometimes on the Rez while growing up. They’d been abandoned, of course, because the evil in a dead person was said to remain close to the site of their passing. The unfortunate survivors of that family were forced to find new lodging, often with close relatives.
“Good tactic, us representing the executors of his estate,” Gordon mentioned as they stepped out of the vehicle. He adjusted his tie, but kept the light suit jacket unbuttoned. It was a hot afternoon. “Considering the fact that it’s still broad daylight and we can expect to be seen by renters coming home from work.”
“Nancy and DuPree are still waiting for the paperwork to do the search, so now’s the only time we have. Nancy said they hope to be approved by midmorning tomorrow,” Charlie said, locking the pickup with a touch of the key fob.
He stopped and took a look at the apartment doors on the ground floor of the four-story brick structure. “Room 108 is over here.” He pointed to the west side of the structure, then led the way down the sidewalk that bordered the lawn, which encompassed the grounds on the east and west sides of the building. It quickly became clear that Whitaker’s apartment was the last one on this side.
They remained quiet as they walked, nodding to a man in a suit just opening the door of apartment 107 as they approached. The man turned to face them.
“You relatives or cops?” the man asked. “I knew Nathan, and everyone here is sorry for his loss. I hope the guy who blew himself up yesterday was the killer.”
Gordon stepped up immediately, extending his hand. “I’m James Stinchcomb and this is my associate Nabor Malka. We represent the Whitaker estate, and are here to photograph the belongings of the deceased.” He brought out an expensive camera taken from the shop inventory.
The man shook both their hands. “I’m Greg, and I really appreciate all the work Nathan was able to do for our vets at Back Up. One of my cousins is a vet and a client. He’s on a job right now in Phoenix. Tell the Whitaker family that I keep recommending Back Up to every vet I meet. Spread the word, as Nathan always said.”
“We’ll do that. Have a good evening, Greg,” Charlie said, turning back toward apartment 108 as the man went inside.
Glancing through the curtains of the single west-facing window, they couldn’t make out any objects except for what appeared to be the backside of a sofa. Ahead, attached to the brass doorknob by a rubber band, was some kind of flier.
Charlie inserted the key, then turned the knob and opened the door. There was a low, very distinctive sound, ending with a click, as he stepped inside.
“Was that a door closing?” Gordon, right behind him, whispered.
Charlie scanned the room quickly. There was a kitchen area to the east behind a waist-high partition, but no outside door. The sound came from the short hall, where there were three more doors. The closest one, on the west side, had to be a closet judging from the distance to the outside wall. The south door was open slightly, revealing a tile floor and obvious bathroom.
Charlie pointed to the closed door on his left, the bedroom, then brought out his backup pistol from his pocket, shifting to his right to cover the closed door from the corner. Again he heard a noise—this time clearly coming from the bedroom.
“Police officer!” Gordon lied, bringing out his own weapon. “Come out slowly with your hands up.”
There was a pause, the sound of papers, then Charlie smelled something familiar. “Smoke!” he called out. “He’s lit a fire!”
Gordon, having inched up against the living area wall, peeked around the corner. Smoke drifted out from under the closed door. There was the sound of a sliding window and a sudden gust of smoke.
“He’s bailing!” Charlie realized, turning and heading for the outside door. “Kick down the door and put out the fire!”
Charlie ran outside and reached the building corner just as a figure in sweats and a hoodie went over the cinder block wall at the back of the apartment property. He raced across the lawn toward the wall, shoving the pistol back into his pocket. In the background, he heard the sudden, nerve-grating screech of a smoke alarm.
The wall was about six feet high, no problem for Charlie to clear, but he could hear the tear of his dress pants and feel the burn of his knees scraping against the stone-hard blocks as he came over the top. He landed in the hard ground of a dry utility easement and saw the burglar nearing the street at the end of the block. This guy could sprint, Charlie realized, as he took off after the running figure, but he’d been a distance runner back in school. Charlie knew he’d be able to catch up to the guy, despite the suit and street shoes, unless the guy had parked his vehicle within a block. At least it wasn’t the bosque this time.
Not wanting to slow down by pulling out his cell phone, Charlie concentrated on his stride. The packed dirt made running easy, unlike the sand along the river or the rock-littered ground he’d experienced in Afghanistan. The gray hoodie guy took a hard left at the street, disappearing from view due to the cedar fence at the end, but Charlie had already cut the guy’s lead in half.
Reaching the end of the alley, Charlie cut left and saw the guy running down the sidewalk to the east. Ahead was a street full of traffic in the afternoon rush hour, and the guy would have to cut to the right or circle the block.
Charlie had narrowed the gap to maybe a hundred feet now, slowing just a bit in anticipation of a sudden left or right. Instead, the guy ran right out into traffic.
Cars braked, tires screeched, and drivers swerved, but the guy made it across the street without a scratch. Charlie thought about making the run, stepped out into the street, and had to jump back onto the sidewalk as a driver in a commercial van changing lanes nearly ran him down. Shaking at the near miss, Charlie had to laugh as the driver slowed just long enough to give him the one-finger salute.
Then he saw an opening. Charlie dashed out to the center, waited for a car to pass by in the far lane, then hurried to the sidewalk, ignoring the honks and shouts of another stressed-out driver as he looked for the burglar.
The guy had disappeared into the crowded Smith’s grocery parking lot, so Charlie had to come up with a quick strategy. His target was likely headed for a vehicle in the lot, not being stupid enough to go inside the grocery, where cameras could record his passage. The burglar might be able to hunker down in a vehicle, or just drive away.
He’d concentrate on checking out the cars and vehicles several slots back from the street but still at a distance from outside store cameras. Charlie brought out his smartphone, ready to record a video if he saw someone that fit the description of the burglar. He walked down the rows just to the left of center, alert to anyone in a vehicle, ignoring people with shopping carts or a companion.
An old gold Chevy sedan pulled out several vehicles down, having backed into the slot, and he started filming with the camera immediately. The driver was a blond woman wearing a baseball cap, and she looked familiar. She didn’t look his way, so all he got was a profile as she turned and headed toward the entrance.
Charlie picked up the pace, jogging to keep the vehicle as close as possible. She turned sharply at the end of the row, forcing a man carrying groceries to jump back, then raced out of the parking lot onto a side street. He stopped recording; there were too many objects between him and the vehicle.
He moved out of the way of a passing car, then headed toward the end of the block, where there was a stoplight. Recalling that there had been a fire in Whitaker’s apartment when he left, he hustled across the street at the pedestrian walk, then, once across, jogged back at a reasonable pace. The lack of sirens suggested that Gordon had managed to extinguish the fire, so he slowed down to a brisk walk. He didn’t see smoke anywhere, and recalled having seen a fire extinguisher in the apartment over by the kitchen. Not that he’d need one—Gordon was smart and capable of dealing with anything.
He decided to try and contact Gordon. His pal answered immediately.
“Charlie, where are you? Any luck catching the burglar?” came Gordon’s voice.
“The bastard—or more likely the bitch—got away. I’m headed back,” Charlie answered. “What about the fire?”
“It’s out. Just a paper fire in a metal wastebasket to divert our attention. I’m venting the apartment now. I also called Nancy. She’s on her way and sounds pissed. What’s this about ‘the bitch’?”
“It’s just a guess, but I think the burglar was a woman, maybe even Anna Brown. She drives a gold Chevy. Call Nancy and tell her that the perp disappeared into the parking lot of the Smith’s over at Fourth and Orchard. Slender, about five foot eight, dark blue sweatpants, gray hoodie, and white running shoes. Also brown gloves, leather, I think. I didn’t get a face-on look, just enough of a profile to verify that the person looked like Anna. Facial coloration and blond, shoulder-length hair all fit her, however. If this was the burglar, and I think it was, she’d shed the hoodie and put on a red cap.”
“Did you see the license plate?” Gordon asked.
Charlie stopped on the sidewalk. “Let me check my cell and see if I caught that.”
“You got her on camera? Good man.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how clear it is.” Charlie ended the call, then played back several seconds of video. He froze the image and saw the plate number and letters immediately. There were also several military bumper stickers visible.
He called Gordon again. “Hey, bro, it’s NHE-440, and I’m almost a hundred percent it’s Anna Brown’s car. Pass that along, okay?”
“Right. Okay. See you when.” Gordon ended the call.
By the time Charlie returned, there was an APD squad car at the street and several residents were out on the lawn or standing in their doors, wondering what was going on. As Charlie approached Gordon, an APD officer, and the guy next door, Greg, Charlie also noticed a metal trash can on the grass. Next to it was an oven mitt, a small fire extinguisher, and what looked like an old-school hardcover business ledger. The ledger had a black oval in the middle.
“So you put out the fire by the book,” Charlie joked, pointing to the ledger.
“Yeah. Smothered the burning paper. Found the fire extinguisher later and brought it along just in case,” Gordon responded, looking down at the tear in the knees of Charlie’s suit pants. “You take a dive, bro?”
“Naw. I just couldn’t leap over that block wall in a single bound. Skinned my knees, I guess,” Charlie admitted sheepishly. “Probably frightened some shoppers over at Smith’s as well. Running around, looking into cars like a deranged businessman.”
“But at least you have an ID on the burglar. Nancy’s going to go by Anna Brown’s apartment first, but she wants us to stick around.”
“Hang on,” Charlie said. Several seconds went by. “Okay, done. Wanna take a look?”
“Why not just talk to Anna personally? I think that’s her,” Gordon said, pointing to a gold Chevy pulling up at the curb behind the police car.
Anna Brown, wearing the dark sweats, white shoes, and a gray hoodie but minus the red cap, climbed out of the car and walked toward them. “Charlie, are you okay? I need to apologize for the mess I made, and for running away like that. I just panicked. The papers I burned in the wastebasket were personal, and I was embarrassed that someone would find them. I hope nothing else was damaged. I’m so sorry,” she added, wiping tears from her eyes as she looked at the items on the grass.
The uniformed police officer came out of the apartment just then, looked at Anna, then to Charlie, who nodded.
“This is the woman you want to talk to, Officer Roseberg,” Gordon said.
“The woman you say fled the apartment, the person you chased, Mr. Henry?” Roseberg asked. “Miss.…?”
“Brown, sir,” Anna said, reaching out to shake the hesitant officer’s hand. “Anna Brown. I confess to setting the fire in the trash can, but only to destroy some embarrassing personal mail. I didn’t intend on hurting anyone, or damaging someone else’s property.”
“How about breaking and entering?” Gordon suggested softly.
Anna’s face turned red. “I still have the apartment key Nathan gave me. I guess it’s time I confess to withholding information. Nathan and I had a relationship for a while when I first began working at Back Up, and I spent some nights here. But that was many months ago, and after all this trouble surrounding his murder, I was afraid someone would find out. I don’t want to lose my job. You understand how Patricia might take this news.”
“This is getting complicated,” Officer Roseberg said. “Let’s take this one step at a time, okay?”
Charlie saw flashing lights in the street. “Here comes Detective Medina. Maybe she can help unravel what’s going on.”
“Am I going to be arrested?” Anna whispered, looking from Charlie, to Gordon, and then to Officer Roseberg. The cop looked back toward the apartment, then just shrugged.
* * *
“So despite the presence of some charred paper copies of possible emails between the two of them, did you believe Anna’s story that she came here ahead of us just to destroy evidence of her affair with Nathan?” Gordon asked Nancy as they searched through Whitaker’s apartment.
Charlie looked up from the kitchen cabinet he was looking through. “What he said.”
“Not really, but it’s hard to read minds some days, Gordon,” Nancy replied, sorting through the scorched ledger and other papers piled on the dining table. “She’ll still have to pay a fine for setting the fire, and if Charlie had been a cop, she’d be up on other charges. My guess is that she was looking for the same thing you came for—the user name and password on Nathan’s cloud account. That suggests there’s something more than just love letters that she’d been wanting to get rid of today.”
“Just how serious was their relationship, at least in her eyes? Could she have killed him out of jealousy, then planted those terrorist fliers just to cover her ass?” Charlie asked. “These days, any shooting like that gets a lot of attention.”
“After all that time?” Gordon said, searching through the hall closet. “Jealously is all about emotion, and if she’d have wanted to kill him after the breakup, why wait for months?”
“Ah, but recently Patricia and Nathan started seeing each other more seriously, and Patricia had kicked Steve to the curb and filed for divorce,” Charlie pointed out. “That meant Anna no longer had a shot at winning him back.”
“It’s just that Anna didn’t come across as an obsessive woman, at least not today. Not a stalker or hysterical person,” Nancy said. “Even our interview was calm and controlled.”
“I think it’s just an act. You suppose she would have confessed to being here if Charlie hadn’t gotten close enough to ID her?” Gordon asked. “She just got caught and is winging it, trying to stay cool. I think that love letter stuff is a pile of crap.”
Charlie looked over to Nancy, and she nodded.
“So we have to find that cloud username and password,” Gordon said.
“Maybe Anna found them first and is keeping that from us. Or Nathan just had them memorized, or kept the password on him, like in his wallet?” Charlie asked.
“Hopefully there’s a written record still out there,” Nancy said. “My understanding is that his personal effects, whatever he had on him, like wallet, watch, and any jewelry, were returned to whoever is handling his estate.”
“Patricia?” Gordon asked.
“Correct. I’ll call and ask to see everything he had in his pockets, and his jewelry, at the time of his death,” Nancy said.
“Aren’t his clothes still stored as evidence? Isn’t that the way it’s handled?” Gordon asked.
“Yes,” Nancy answered.
“Including his belt and shoes?” Charlie asked.
“You thinking of the old spy craft hollow heel trick?” Gordon asked, bringing out a labeled, sealed plastic bag from the closet. “And here they are, I think, along with his belt.”
“Patricia must have brought them here once she was given a set of keys,” Nancy said. “Let’s take a look.”
“Let’s handle them with gloves, okay?” Charlie suggested. “I remember seeing some in a drawer,” he added, going through a drawer and bringing out some blue latex throw-away cleaning gloves.
“That chindi thing sticks with you, huh?” Gordon asked.
“Ah, the Navajo evil spirit,” Nancy said. “Gina told me about that.”
“We’re not supposed to discuss these things,” Charlie replied softly, handing each of them a pair of gloves. “I’ll check the belt, you guys each take a shoe.”
Gordon handed the bag to Nancy, and she opened the plastic strip and handed Gordon a shoe, and Charlie the belt, which was stained with blood around the buckle.
He turned the belt to check the inside. There was something scratched into the leather. “I may have something here,” he said, holding the belt up close. “Write this down, somebody,” he added. “Capital I, then lower case pa, number 2, lower case tfot, upper case US, lower case o, upper case A,” he added.
“I get it,” Gordon said immediately. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. Easy to remember, harder to decrypt.”
“Sounds like a good password,” Charlie admitted. “But we still need a user name.”
“Belt? Size forty-two?” Nancy said, looking at the stamped size in the belt leather.
“Keep looking,” Gordon advised, examining the left shoe. “Nothing here.”
“Not this one,” Nancy said. “Unless the shoe size or manufacturer is the answer.”
“My guess is that it’s not any of these. It’s more likely a name, or a tie-in with the information he uploaded into the cloud,” Charlie suggested. “It could be something in his wallet, or wait, he had to pay for the cloud storage service, right?”
“And probably by credit card. You’re right, Charlie. And once we—well, I—get a look at his bank and credit card records, that might help,” Nancy said. “If we can find the vendor, maybe we can discover his user name as well, even if it requires a warrant. The forensics people are working on his computer. I’ll have to ask them to list any purchases he made.”
“Meanwhile, let’s see if there are any receipts here. We haven’t checked that accordion file yet.” Gordon pointed to the table. “Patricia gave us permission to go through his stuff, but we should probably call her about what happened this evening. She’s going to find out anyway.”
* * *
“Hello, people,” Patricia said, opening the apartment door, which had been propped open about a foot to help vent out any remaining smoke. “It doesn’t smell so bad. Thanks for saving Nathan’s stuff.”
Nancy stood and offered her a chair at the dining table, which was almost clear now except for some bank statements in a shoe box. Gordon and Charlie were drinking Cokes they’d purchased from a machine in the apartment building’s recreation room.
“I saw the charred trash can outside on the grass. How did the fire get started anyway? Either one of you guys smoke?” Patricia asked the men, who’d stood when she entered.
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you face-to-face, Patricia,” Nancy said.
“Charlie and Gordon caught someone in here going through the folders kept in the desk, and she climbed out through the window after setting some letters on fire.”
“Charlie ran after her while I put out the flames,” Gordon announced, “but she got away. As for the fire, there was some smoke, but only the metal wastebasket suffered any damage.”
“You said she, not he. By any chance was it Anna Brown?” Patricia asked. “I saw her car when I drove up.”
Nancy nodded. “She came back about fifteen minutes later and admitted going through his papers and setting the fire. She said she wanted to remove any embarrassing letters or items Nathan may have kept.”
“So she admitted to the affair? Well, technically, the relationship, I guess,” Patricia said, shaking her head. “Do you think she was really after any information that Nathan might have stored in the cloud?”
“I do,” Charlie said.
“We all do,” Nancy said. “But she had a key to this place, which I insisted she turn over. All I could do was have her arrested for trespassing and misdemeanor vandalism. An officer took her to the substation on Second Street. She probably won’t spend any time in jail.”
“She even asked me to drive her car over there so she’d have a ride home,” Gordon said.
“Anna apologized to me twice for causing so much trouble. She offered to replace the suit pants I tore chasing after her,” Charlie said.
“Is she worried about losing her job, or does she have more secrets she doesn’t want us to know about?” Patricia asked.
“Both?” Charlie suggested. “It’s hard to tell. She’s mixing cockiness with sincerity, at least in my opinion.”
“So, people, should I fire Anna, or let her try to set things right again? Can she be trusted?” Patricia asked.
“From a strictly business standpoint, she probably should be fired,” Gordon suggested. “But…”
“If she’s no longer around, it’s harder to keep an eye on her,” Charlie pointed out.
“But if she’s guilty of committing some of the crimes we’re already investigating, she’ll be in a good position to do even more damage,” Nancy said.
“I say we keep her around, at least until we find out what Nathan was hiding. If she’s innocent, there shouldn’t be any more problems, at least coming from her,” Charlie said.
“Keep your enemies closer?” Patricia asked.
“Beginning with a much closer look at Anna. Where she’s been, where she goes, what weapons she owns, what her skill sets are. Can we do that?” Gordon asked, looking at Nancy.
“I think we have to,” Nancy said. “If you decide to keep her on staff, Patricia, just be very careful. And clue Max in on the situation.”
“If she does show up for work, I’m going to force her to switch over to the new system, where all wages paid to our vets come directly to the office via checks or bank transfers. That’ll keep her busy, and will be a test to see how badly she wants to stay with Back Up. I’ll make it a condition of her employment,” Patricia said.
“And we’ll continue searching for the missing link needed to access that cloud,” Nancy reminded. “But let’s make sure not to discuss that around Anna.”
Fifteen minutes later, Charlie looked around the apartment, then at his watch. “We done here now? Gordon and I still have to drop Anna’s car by the police substation, and it’s getting late. If we encounter her, we’ll play dumb regarding her job,” he added, looking at Patricia.
She nodded. “And I’ll make sure she finds out the name of the vendor of that cloud storage site—as soon as I do. With that, Anna will know we’re getting closer every moment to, hopefully, discover what she’s been up to. That should put her on edge.”
“Her apartment will be watched in the meantime,” Nancy said.
“Let’s go, Gordon. We have to drop off Anna’s car,” Charlie said, standing. Leaving Patricia and Nancy to close up the apartment, Charlie and Gordon walked back to the parking area.
“You up to something, Charlie? I caught that look in your eye when you suddenly went off Indian time,” Gordon joked, recalling the notion that Indians were less concerned with schedules and timetables in their daily activities.
“Yeah. There’s something in the glove compartment of my rental that I thought I might want to give to Anna.”
“Ah, Big Brother strikes again.”
“Appropriate trivia, guy. Isn’t it amazing how your high school reading list can come back to haunt you at the strangest times? Let’s hurry and get that done before the ladies come out. Nancy might not approve,” Charlie said.
* * *
“Looks like Jake beat us to work this morning,” Charlie said as he stepped out of the rental car. He’d pulled in the parking slot beside FOB Pawn’s loading dock just after Gordon parked, and his pal had waited for him at the door.
“As usual. We need to lighten the load for him and Ruth. They’ve really been holding down the fort these days. Is it okay to say ‘fort,’ Charlie?”
“As long as you don’t mention cavalry, John Wayne, or old westerns in the same sentence, pal,” Charlie reminded. “We Navajos have long memories.”
“How about if I’m referring to Fort Knox?”
“Gold is okay, and speaking of gold, we’d better get to work before our meager supply runs out,” Charlie joked, standing back as Gordon entered the keypad code that unlocked the heavy steel door.
They’d just stepped inside when Jake called out, “Guys, good news! The Feds think they’ve caught the terrorist!”