“I’m passing this new information along to Detective DuPree,” Kruger announced. “Then I’m going to make sure Mrs. Azok gets home safely,” he added. “Thanks, guys.”
While Kruger was back on the phone, Gordon and Charlie introduced themselves to Patricia. Then they exchanged phone numbers and she thanked them for their support. When she and Sergeant Kruger left, Charlie asked the nurse at the counter for information on the two other victims. Even if they couldn’t visit the wounded police officer and fireman, Charlie wanted to check on their condition and offer his support to the families.
A half hour later they were in Gordon’s pickup, heading back to Gina and Nancy’s home. Charlie was describing the brief meeting he’d had with the families of the two men while Gordon had been talking to other first responders who’d also come to express their support.
“None of the friends and relatives had been able to communicate with the wounded for more than a few minutes. They’d been sedated after treatment. The good news is that both men are expected to recover completely, the bad news is that neither of the guys, so far, have been able to add to what we already know. I’m sure that early tomorrow morning APD is going to be all over them with questions,” Charlie explained.
“You think that the wounded just happened to be in the line of fire and were collateral damage? That whoever the shooter was—Steven Azok—came to take out his rival?” Gordon asked.
“Well, there was no attempt to take out as many people as possible—the usual terrorist tactic. All the shots were clearly directed toward a target around the center of the front row, which included Ruth and the dead man’s sister.”
“And you,” Gordon reminded.
“Ruth and I were lucky, that’s for sure.”
“You aren’t just lucky, you have skills and instincts. But I was really impressed with how you said Ruth handled herself. She’s quite a woman.”
“Sure is. As soon as the shooting stopped, she worked her way back to help the others, then took charge and worked to comfort the sister.”
“You both are fighters. She just might be the woman you need in your life.”
Charlie smiled. He should be so lucky.
* * *
It was seven thirty the next morning when Charlie stepped into the small office of FOB Pawn, “FOB” standing for “forward observation base” in military terms. Jake Salazar, their other employee, and Gordon were already seated, drinking coffee.
“Morning, other boss,” Jake greeted. “Sounds like you and Ruth had a scary first date.”
“In other words, it was just like another day at work,” Gordon acknowledged.
“That would be funny if it wasn’t so true,” Charlie said, then groaned, recalling the situations in the past two years, when they’d all been in a world of hurt.
“Is Ruth coming in today?” Gordon asked.
“I suggested she take the day off when I drove her and Rene home last night, but she said that work was the kind of therapy she needed right now. She also didn’t want to worry her son,” Charlie said.
“There she is now,” Jake announced, looking up at the section on the surveillance monitor that displayed the alley camera viewing field.
Charlie watched as Ruth hurriedly climbed out of her white Camry, grabbed her purse, and then nearly ran up the steps. As she came into the office, key still in hand, she waved to the three men.
“Turn on the news, boys, you won’t believe this!” she exclaimed, nearly out of breath.
Gordon turned on the nineteen-inch television sitting on a shelf. He scrolled through channels until he found a “breaking news” report on a network morning show. They listened in silence as a local reporter, standing on the sidewalk outside the downtown Albuquerque federal building, began to read a prepared statement.
“This morning at around 7 AM an employee at Foraker Middle School in Albuquerque’s north valley discovered a large envelope attached to the main gate of the facility. Printed on the outside of the envelope were the words ‘Attention: Police Department.’ Although the exact contents of this envelope have not been disclosed, law enforcement agencies have revealed that a message inside contained threats that may be connected to last night’s deadly shooting at the Recognition Park dedication ceremony. It cannot be confirmed that yesterday’s cowardly ambush is an act of terrorism, but authorities are asking that anyone who has information concerning this attack, or the placing of this envelope at Foraker Middle School, contact law enforcement agencies immediately.”
When the bulletin ended, Gordon put the broadcast on mute.
“So they’re calling this a terrorist attack? Here in Albuquerque?” Jake was the first to speak.
“Well, the targeting makes sense, I guess, shooting at those Americans who have been labeled heroes, and at a very public event,” Charlie said. “This certainly gets everyone’s attention.”
“Whoever placed the envelope was smart, going low-tech and avoiding any chance of an electronic trace,” Gordon pointed out. “I doubt any cameras at the school got any usable images that far from the buildings. But maybe someone driving by saw something…”
“Whatever was written must have sounded genuine, otherwise I don’t think the authorities would have released this to the media so soon. Apparently there are no suspects yet, so it’s possible there may be future attacks,” Ruth said. “We’re still in danger—”
“Hey, check this out,” Gordon interrupted, turning the sound up on the TV as the image shifted to a breaking news header.
“We’ve got company, people,” Jake announced, pointing to the surveillance monitor. An unmarked police car was pulling into one of the parking slots in the alley.
Gordon looked over, then turned the mute back on the TV. “That’s Nancy. This can’t be good.”
Charlie stepped over and opened the door just as Nancy walked up the steps to the small platform, that served as a porch and loading dock. “Detective Medina. You’re here on business, I’m guessing.”
The thirty-year-old officer, dressed in civilian slacks and a matching jacket, had the looks and shape of a model, but the intelligent eyes of a smart cop—and a pistol at her hip. She held onto the open door and motioned Charlie back toward the office. “You and your staff are following the news, I see,” she said, walking with Charlie over to the entrance to the office cubbyhole, now crowded.
“There’s a lot more happening than what we’ve seen and heard, isn’t there?” Gordon suggested.
“That’s one of the reasons why I’m here, guys. Charlie, you’re probably on the shooter’s list—if this really was a terrorist attack. You too, Gordon. I know you weren’t there, but your name was on the guest list that was published in the local newspapers,” Nancy warned. “Homeland Security and the Bureau have come on board. All the major news networks already have their reporters hounding every law enforcement agency in the metro area.”
“Sounds serious,” Charlie replied. “Do the experts think this was a lone-wolf attack? One shooter?”
“And were any bombs or explosives found around the park?” Jake asked.
“No. The only real evidence we have at the time is the single .223 shell casing and two recovered slugs. One came from the deceased, and the other from the fireman’s upper arm. The rounds are apparently surplus military issue, years old,” Nancy said.
“That ammo could have been purchased almost anywhere. Not much help unless the weapon is found,” Gordon said.
“In addition to the slugs, we have ejection marks on the casing. The FBI lab is working to determine the weapon used,” Nancy confirmed.
“The news reports didn’t indicate exactly what was said, only that there might be more attacks. Did you see the message itself?” Ruth asked. “What can you tell us?”
“I got permission to show you and Charlie the details, but it’s being kept from the press for the moment. This afternoon, I’ve been told the content will be released, and I’m guessing that the entire country will go ballistic. So don’t let anyone else know what I’ve shown you until it becomes public. You all willing to go along with that?” Nancy said, bringing out her smartphone.
They all nodded. Nancy swept an image into view, and turned it around so they could all see the display.
“‘We will kill the American dogs you call heroes. Know that this is only the beginning,’” Gordon read. “Pretty clear photo of the ISIS black flag, but taken somewhere in the Middle East. Looks like the image was a screen grab.”
“No slogans, except what’s printed below the flag. Short and to the point. Is this it?” Charlie asked.
“Yes. Just two typed sentences and their banner, printed on a single piece of generic computer paper. The techs are working to determine what brand of printer was used. That won’t help much either, not until we find the printer,” Nancy said.
“If this was an actual terrorist attack and not a jealous husband who decided to shoot his competition, does that mean Steven Azok is in the clear?” Charlie commented.
“I interviewed Azok late last night at his apartment, Charlie. He claims he was at his place, working out with his weights. No alibi that can be verified, unfortunately,” Nancy said. “It turns out Azok has three registered firearms, a pistol and two rifles. None of them is a .223.”
“Azok wouldn’t use a weapon that could be traced to him. Not unless he’s an idiot as well as a coward. The guy could have bought the murder weapon and ammo out of some guy’s trunk at a gun show parking lot,” Gordon said. “Or on the street. If he does have some shooting skills, this terrorist angle could be a smoke screen.”
“Good point. From everything I’ve seen or heard about this kind of assault, they’re usually carried out by suicidal maniacs who come out blasting, using large magazines that can spray twenty or more rounds at a time without reloading,” Jake said. “They’re ready to die, and are usually strapped with explosives to set themselves off when confronted.”
“This does suggest a lone-wolf, do-it-yourself attack with no outside support or budget,” Charlie said. “Until assault-type weapons became available everywhere in the country, almost all center-fire rifles, except for a couple of World War Two weapons, were limited to five rounds. That’s all that were fired last night. Maybe the guy saw he scored some hits, but didn’t have time to reload with armed cops already moving in his direction.”
Nancy nodded. “Well, whoever the shooter was, radical or not, he wasn’t suicidal. There were no religious epithets, war cries, or explosive vests. Those of us who were armed reacted quickly to what was clearly an active shooter situation. As soon as the first two shots were fired, I jumped out of my seat and moved in the direction Charlie indicated. I had to circle around some vehicles to get there, but I reached his likely position in less than thirty seconds. He got off five shots in about that many seconds, then split. Clearly this guy intended on making his escape.”
“So he could do it again today, or tomorrow? Three people were shot, one killed. And he’s still out there, waiting for the next opportunity. If this warning means anything, we already know who his next targets might be. What can we do about a sniper, Charlie?” Ruth asked, touching him gently on the arm.
“Avoid getting out in the open unless you’re on the move, and stay away from windows and doorways,” Nancy offered. “Charlie and Gordon are trained to watch for threats like this.”
“So now what?” Charlie asked.
“I’m supposed to stay close to you guys until we get a better handle on what the situation is,” Nancy answered.
“Then let’s try a little investigating at the same time. I want to keep the shooter guessing on where I’ll be next. Can we go back to the park and take another look around in broad daylight? You’ve still got officers working the area, right?”
“DuPree is there now, and I think he’d like an expert witness’s take on what went down last night. Getting away from here for a while might be a good idea anyway, Charlie. The press will come looking for you now that word is out, and the less they show your face the harder it’ll be for a potential sniper to identify and target you,” Nancy said. “Worse-case scenario, of course. How about you, Gordon? Can you get away for an hour or so this morning, maybe do the driving for Charlie?”
“I guess, at least for a while. I’m working on something new here in the shop, but as long as I’m back in a few hours it should work out. Can you guys handle things if we take off until, say, ten thirty?” Gordon asked, looking from Jake to Ruth.
“Ruth?” Jake asked.
“Of course. And you’d better get going,” she added, pointing to the monitor. “Check the sidewalk camera out front.”
A local TV station’s van had just driven up to the curb.
“Follow me, guys,” Nancy said, nodding toward the back door.
* * *
Nancy drove north in her unmarked vehicle, Gordon following closely in his big pickup with Charlie riding shotgun. Both had their concealed carry beneath light jackets.
They crossed the Rio Grande on the Paseo del Norte Avenue bridge and within fifteen minutes Gordon pulled up to the curb that defined the grassy, egg-shaped park. The lawn was about the size and shape of a high school athletic field.
Unable to find a space near Nancy in the line of official-looking vehicles, mostly marked and unmarked law enforcement units, Gordon had to circle the park to find a spot on the opposite side. Cars and trucks of all shapes and sizes surrounded the park and the adjacent streets, and more than a hundred civilians were congregating at the west end of the park, outside the restricted area. That section, halfway across the big lawn, had been delineated by yellow crime scene tape. Flowers lay scattered along the boundary, accompanied by lit candles of various sizes, most of them in glass jars.
As Charlie climbed out of the pickup, he noted that several folding chairs had been set up in what appeared to be their positions last night before the attack. Gordon came up beside him, and they crossed the grass and met Nancy at the halfway point, ducking under the tape.
“That where you and the victims were seated?” Gordon asked.
Charlie took a careful look at reference points, including the monument, then nodded. “I’m guessing that they’re hoping to re-create the scene and get a better idea of how things went down.” He’d already identified a cop who was standing in the front row, looking off to the southeast. It was Detective DuPree, this time in a light blue APD windbreaker instead of his weary, checkered sports jacket.
“Looks like a crowd is gathering.” Gordon glanced over his shoulder toward the west end. “Now that there might be a terrorist angle, this is going to be an unfortunate attraction for a while.” He stopped and looked up at the ten-foot-tall, foot-thick, polished granite monument shaped in the roughly square outline of New Mexico, pegged on the bottom left. Carved into the sides were terms and expressions used to describe those who put their lives on the line—patriot, first responder, Marine, soldier, sailor, medic, police officer.
“Today that slab of granite reminds me more of a tombstone,” Nancy commented sadly. “I wish I’d caught up to that bastard last night. Every hour this event is in the news there’s someone overseas cheering about the death of another American.”
“This guy is living on borrowed time, and if someone was working with him, they’re both going down,” Gordon replied, catching up to Charlie and Nancy.
DuPree nodded to them as they approached. “Thanks for coming back, Charlie. I wanted to get your confirmation regarding the location of the chairs last night, and the victims. I’ve been tracing the shooter’s field of view based upon where we found the .223 brass. Check it out and give me your feedback.”
Charlie took a quick look around. There were colored and numbered flags on wires stuck into the grass identifying the location of victims, blood, and the position of chairs and other items after the shooting had occurred. “Okay if I sit down to re-create my field of view?”
“If that helps,” DuPree replied.
When he and Ruth had been led to their seats in the front row, he introduced himself and Ruth to those already there, including Captain Whitaker and his sister, Janice, to his right, in the seats beyond Ruth. To Charlie’s left had been Olivia Benevidez, an APD police officer who’d been shot a year ago while attempting to arrest a drug dealer. Her husband, a private school teacher, had been seated in the next chair over.
Choosing the seat he believed was in the same position during the ceremony, he sat and looked to his two o’clock, southeast from where he was facing. Across the park, beyond the street, were houses in a row, and in the space between properties, he saw a red flag on a wooden post, and a utility pole within a few feet. An officer was standing beside the pole, looking in his direction.
“The red flag is in the right position, or very close to it, as I recall. That’s where I saw the muzzle flash. I’m ninety percent sure that’s where the shooter was positioned. It looks to be about a hundred and twenty yards, give or take.”
“A hundred and twenty-five, to be precise. Good estimate.”
“Not a difficult shot, assuming the weapon was equipped with a scope, and there was still ambient light here in the park.”
“Agreed. You didn’t get a look at the shooter, is that correct?” DuPree asked. “Not enough for any description, even a general height, weight, or like that?”
“No, the sniper was in deep shadow, and the sun had already gone down. It was essentially dark at that location. I do recall seeing the pole from the flash when the second round was fired. It was to the left of the shooter, probably.”
“That makes sense. We also found a nail driven about an inch into the wooden pole forty inches off the ground,” DuPree added.
“A rest for the rifle to steady the aim of a right-handed shooter?” Gordon suggested.
“Based upon the position, that makes sense,” Nancy said. “We believe the shooter was kneeling, Gordon, and not a little person. That confuses the actual height of the shooter.”
Gordon frowned at Nancy, who was six inches taller than him.
“The attack took some planning,” Charlie said. “I can’t help but believe that the shooter had a specific target in mind, at least for the first one or two rounds.”
“But two more people were shot.”
“The man who died was only struck once, then the shooter switched targets,” DuPree pointed out. “That supports the theory that the shooter wanted to kill more than one person, which goes to support the terrorist claims that we read in that letter.”
“An attack by a very careful terrorist, then, but not a trained sniper. With a limited-capacity, old-school magazine—five rounds—if that’s what it was, then hitting a target sixty percent of the time isn’t that bad,” Gordon confirmed. “By the time the third round was fired, everyone was diving for cover. That’s how it went down, right?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, turning around to look in the second row, then back at the flag in the distance. “Those guys back there, they were seated pretty much in line with the captain.”
“Looking from where the shooter was, the field of fire was pretty limited. Even with a twenty or more round magazine, he could have only taken out a maximum of four to five people in the front row, the captain, his sister, Ruth, Charlie, and the lady cop, Officer Benevidez. Plus those seated behind you and to your left, Charlie,” DuPree said.
“So did the sniper’s position determine the targets, or did the target determine the position selected by the sniper?” Gordon asked.
“Either way, if killing one of the heroes was the objective, the attack succeeded,” Nancy said. “We have to…”
The sound of an amplified voice coming from the west end of the park drowned out the rest of her comment.
“We are under attack, fellow Americans,” came the angry words. The cheers and shouts from the crowd echoed across the park.
“That’s Ed Humphrey, the state senator,” Gordon said, “the mirror image of an Islamic extremist. This is his district, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and he’s up for reelection,” Charlie commented. “I’m glad he’s on our side … kinda. Humphrey says exactly what the undereducated want to believe, and they follow him like ants to sugar.”
“If this attack was really the work of a lone-wolf terrorist and not some local nutjob, old Ed is certainly going to get more traction, even among the moderates. Targeting the heroes who’ve gone the extra mile for community and country pisses off all Americans,” DuPree said.
“The people who hate America can’t beat us this way,” Gordon affirmed.
“Or on the battlefield. But attacks like this will continue to fuel the fight between the political parties, where power and partisan control trumps unity,” Charlie said. “Hopefully this won’t all blow up in our faces. Our politicians feed on these incidents.”
“Agreed. Not even freedom of speech is free anymore. But enough of that. Today we need to close our ears to the posturing and just do our jobs,” Nancy replied. “Hunt down this killer before he strikes again.”
“God’s ears,” Gordon said.
DuPree suggested that they walk over to where the shooter was positioned to get a quick look from that perspective, and see if any new ideas or insights came to mind. Five minutes later, they’d merely confirmed what was already known. Charlie, having observed with a chill that Ruth had been in the center of the field of fire, decided to look in other directions, trying to determine how the sniper had escaped.
He turned and looked into the graveled alley behind the location. It ran parallel to the street on this side of the park, dividing the block of new, middle-class homes along the rear of each property. Only a few had any kind of fencing, mostly split cedar walls standing six feet high that gave backyards some privacy. The houses on either side of the shooter’s position had chain-link fencing, about four feet high. The residence to the left of the pole was unoccupied, with a FOR SALE sign out front in the dried-up lawn. The area around the utility pole and down the alley in each direction for the length of both lots had been blocked off by more yellow tape.
“Did you get any vehicle tracks or find any residents who saw what the shooter was driving?” Gordon asked, also taking in the scene.
“Only tire impressions in the gravel,” Nancy answered. “There were a few spots farther down the alley toward the intersecting streets where actual tread marks were photographed, but we don’t even know if the shooter was parked along the alley or came in on foot.”
“We interviewed the residents for this block, and those in the next block in both directions, and nobody recalls a vehicle in the alley. Of course most of them were in the park watching the dedication ceremony,” DuPree said.
Gordon looked at the space between the houses opposite the park. “The shooter could have parked a block farther south, east or west side, then approached, headed north, between these two buildings. Neither house has a window facing toward their neighbors.”
“But how do you hide a rifle, walking down the street?” Nancy asked.
“A carbine, placed in a golf bag, maybe?” Charlie suggested. “The new municipal course is just three blocks west of here, right?”
“Or maybe the car was parked along the curb, one street over, and everyone was focused on the events in the park,” Gordon ventured.
“And it was getting darker by the minute,” Charlie said.
“Guys, we had officers roaming the neighborhood all last night and this morning, trying to find anyone who saw or heard anything useful. Some of the homes have security cameras, and the images for the past week are going to be examined. The park dedication was well publicized, so the terrorist, or whoever, had days to come by and survey the site, making plans on where to position themselves. Depending on how and where the guests were seated, the shooter probably had a backup plan. My people have been checking all around the neighborhood, trying to find out if any strangers had been seen walking the sidewalks or alleys,” DuPree commented. “If anyone saw anyone, we’ll at least have some potential suspects.”
“What if the shooter was a local, maybe even someone over there in that crowd?” Gordon asked, pointing toward where the politician was speaking.
“It’ll be harder then, or maybe easier. We’re going to find out who, in this area, may have immigrated from one of the trouble spots in the Middle East or Africa. Or who traveled to, say, Turkey, within the past year or so,” Nancy said.
“Or what if the shooter was the ex-husband all along, and he’s managed to mislead the investigation? What if this is simply jealousy?” Charlie asked.
“Then we’ll have to sort all that out ASAP,” Nancy responded. “Before the crap hits the proverbial fan.”
“Exactly, which means we have to get back to work. Thanks for coming over and sharing what you know, guys,” DuPree said, turning to walk back toward the park. The others followed.
“I’ve arranged for an increase in patrols on the streets near your shop, Charlie. You and Gordon need to behave as if there’s a sniper out there with you on his list. Keep a low profile,” Nancy added as they stopped at the curb to wait for a KOB-TV van to pass.
As they stepped up the curb onto the pea-graveled walking path that circled the park, uniformed officers were taking down the crime scene tape. The numbered markers and chairs had already been removed, and a few people were moving the flowers and candles that had been placed beside the barrier over to the base of the stone monument.
Reporters from at least two TV stations were standing by as their camera crews filmed the activity, and the crowd that had been gathered around the state senator was passing across the path Charlie and Gordon were taking. The guys decided to wait until the gathering reached its destination.
“Here comes another speech,” Charlie commented as Senator Humphrey positioned himself in front of the monument, in exactly the same position where the mayor had stood last night.
“Hey, you’re Sergeant Henry, Charlie Henry, aren’t you?” an overweight Anglo man in slacks and a camo jacket yelled out, stepping away from the crowd toward Charlie. “You were here last night, nearly got shot by that diaper head, right?”
“So you saw the shooter?” Gordon asked, a touch of sarcasm in his tone.
It didn’t register with the man. “No, but crap, didn’t you hear the news? Damned Muslim left a note at some school taking credit. Said they’re just getting started. We’ve got to run those people out of here once and for all, then nuke Syria or wherever the hell they’re hiding.”
“You think Senator Humphrey has a plan?” Gordon ventured.
“Damn straight. We’ve got to kick ass, not just take names. Too bad you didn’t kill them all over there in Afghanistan, soldier.” He looked at Charlie, waiting for a response.
“You serve, pal?” Charlie finally asked.
“Wish I coulda. Bad back kept me outta the Army. But I’m well-armed, and if any of them A-rabs show up on my street I’m going to smoke them quicker than shit. Thanks for your service, Mr. Henry,” he added, holding out his hand.
Charlie took it reluctantly, limiting the shake to a light squeeze. “Thanks. Just keeping it real, sir. Seriously.”
The man nodded, then turned away toward the crowd and ducked his head as the senator started his presentation with a prayer.
Charlie motioned to Gordon. “Let’s get the hell out of here before anyone else spots me. I’m not in the mood.”
“Yeah, and if they’re all intellectuals like Beer Belly, you’re outmatched anyway,” Gordon said. “The further they are from reality, the tougher they talk.”
“Fortunately most Americans can still think for themselves, Gordon. I’m just hoping we’ve seen the last of the shooting.”
“The only thing that’s going to settle things down again is catching the sniper.”
“Yeah. Especially if he’s really out to kill the heroes. You could be next, pal,” Gordon said, glancing down the long line of vehicles waiting beside the park as they approached his pickup. “But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
“And I’ve got yours,” Charlie responded, then he took a look back at the crowd listening to the politician. “But what about Dawud Koury?”