Cait awoke in the first faint light and eased out of her sleeping bag. Jack was still fast asleep on the couch. She pulled on sweats, a jacket and running shoes, and slipped out the front door.
A series of staccato barks grew into high-pitched yelps close by in the gray, formless desert. A chorus of eerie cries arose in response, a wild welcome to the new day.
She turned off her headlamp when she reached the closed visitor’s center and an empty entrance kiosk. Pale pink outlined the tops of the Rincons as she headed into the park.
Snorts and grunts issued from a small wash that intersected the road. Dark shapes emerged. A pack of javelina moseyed across the tarmac, large adults and puppy-size youngsters, hooves clicking on the pavement like castanets. They faded into the cactus and she continued, hoping not to spook them. The adults might be provoked to attack and bite if a baby “red” became scared.
At the start of Cactus Forest Drive, she started jogging. A mile later, she took a break to admire the dawn’s gaudy artwork.
The sound of running feet behind her made her jump behind a palo verde. As soon as she saw Jack and Chris, she stepped out. “Hey there.”
“Morning.” Jack’s breath steamed in the morning chill. “I could get used to living here. Not nearly as cold as winter in Albuquerque.”
“I hear the summer heat is brutal.” Chris caught his breath. “Everyone prays for the monsoons to cool things off.”
Cait kissed Jack’s cheek and pointed. “Look.” A large, many-armed cholla cactus glimmered on the side of the road, its dense coat of spines glowing like micro candles against the rising sun. “Did you hear the coyotes?”
“And owls too,” Jack said. “Lots of wildlife out here.”
“I find the coyotes’ night songs soothing,” Chris said. “They put me to sleep.”
They ran for another mile and turned back, reaching the apartment as the temperature warmed.
“You go ahead and shower,” Jack said to Chris. “We’ll make coffee.”
“Thanks. What’re your plans for today?” Chris wiped his forehead. “Track down that con artist?”
“For one thing. We need to make sure Clark’s mom talks to the police. Then we need to find the bank where Rod Stone deposited that big cashier’s check. It might be possible to claw back some of her money. I don’t think he can withdraw $200,000 in cash all at once. He might try to transfer it somewhere else. But there will still be a paper trail.”
Chris grimaced. “That poor lady. He must be a master manipulator.”
“Exactly. Fern Bush is gullible. She was worried about not having enough money to live on, so she fell for a scam. Now she’s really going to be in a bind,” Jack said.
“That’s unfortunate. See you two this afternoon.” Chris headed for his bedroom.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be one of those days.” Cait sat at the kitchen table. “Have you heard anything about the investigation of the bomb in your place, and the shooting of your partner?”
Jack sat across from her. “Total dead end. When I called yesterday, they hadn’t come up with anything. And there were no witnesses to Russell’s shooting.”
“So his killer is free as a bird.”
They sat in silence until the coffee was ready. Cait filled three mugs and set them on the table.
Chris entered the kitchen and microwaved himself a frozen burrito.
“Do you think you’ll like working at Saguaro National Park?” Cait asked.
“I think so. But I’m surprised at the amount of illegal activity. Thieves sneak into the park at night off Old Spanish Trail and try to dig up saguaros. Vandals come in to graffiti or damage cactus. Why someone would do that, I can’t tell you. We need more nighttime surveillance.”
“Then there’s the Gila monster trapper,” Jack said.
“Last but not least.” Chris washed his plate and put it in the drainer. “We haven’t seen his vehicle in the park since the day you ran into him. That doesn’t mean he isn’t walking in at night.”
“You’ve got a crime wave amidst the prickly pear,” Cait said.
“Looks that way. I better go,” Chris said. “Good luck finding your villain.”
After he left, Cait and Jack showered and dressed. At eight, Jack called Clark Bush to make plans for the day.
“Would you mind coming with us to the police station?” Clark asked.
“Not at all. Let’s meet at the main station on Stone Avenue downtown and talk to a detective. They’ll need a warrant for Fern’s bank in order to find out where the cashier’s check was deposited,” Jack said.
An hour and a half later, everyone sat in an interview room, telling Detective Larry Bison how Rod Stone, aka Jerry Fleming, had defrauded Fern Bush.
Broad-shouldered and built like a refrigerator, Bison bore more than a passing resemblance to the animal who shared his surname. He ran a hand through thick curly brown hair and listened with a flat expression to how Fern had lost all that cash. “Any idea where Rod Stone banked?”
“I’m afraid not.” Fern pulled on her lip. “My bank doesn’t seem to know. How would we find out?”
“They have to tell you. That’s the easy part.” The detective frowned. “But don’t hold your breath about the money.”
Fern lost color. She tried to speak but no words came out.
“I’ll get to work on this. I’ll call you folks soon as I have some news,” Bison said. “Let me know if you find out anything, or hear from this Stone character. We’ll try to pick him up, and we’ll notify the FBI and New Mexico authorities as well.”
Clark guided his mom out of the building. Cait and Jack followed the Bushes to the Clark’s SUV in the parking garage, where they said their goodbyes
“That’s a sad story that’s going to get sadder.” Cait waited until she and Jack were out of earshot. “I can’t stand seeing those people taken advantage of. What if the police don’t act quickly enough? I’d like to confront Christy Mossman to see what she knows about Stone. But that means stepping on Bison’s toes. But you know what, I don’t care. Let’s go watch her place to see where she goes.”
“It’s worth a try,” Jack said. “I’d like to know her connection to that creep.”
***
Jason Gonzalez cruised the stolen sedan—his second in as many days--past a row of warehouses on Hemi Road, off Broadway Boulevard in south Albuquerque. He didn’t see Joe Tafoya’s black SUV, but Sonny Para’s right-hand man could have parked in a back lot or driven a different vehicle.
Gonzalez slowed at the end of the block, U-turned and pulled over on a dirt shoulder.
He watched and waited. Como Rico should get off soon and walk to a bus stop. Jason had called Como early that morning, told him he would pick the older man up a few streets away from his work.
Just after six, Como walked out of the front door. A man stood in the doorway, watching his progress to the street. Jason gulped and ducked. After Como made it to the end of the block, Tafoya closed the door.
The minutes ticked by as Jason kept his eyes on the warehouse. A security gate slid open on the side of the building.
He kept his head down as a twenty-foot rental truck came through the gate. The vehicle rumbled away and turned in the direction Como had gone.
Anxious to get going, Jason waited until it looked like no one else was leaving the warehouse. He started the ignition and drove off, worried Como had already boarded a bus.
Jason turned onto busy Broadway Boulevard. There was Como Rico on a bus stop bench. After cross traffic cleared, Jason made a left turn, pulled to the curb and lowered the passenger window.
“It’s me,” he called out. Como jumped up like a startled animal.
Rico looked up and down the street before approaching to the window. “Jason?”
“Get in quick, someone might see us.” Jason unlocked the passenger door.
Como just stood there, unconvinced. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere you want. I’ll buy you dinner and we can talk.” Jason cast a worried look around. “Please.”
Como finally climbed in. “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”
Jason nosed the sedan into a travel lane and headed for downtown Albuquerque.
He drove with an eye on the rear view mirror. At Central Avenue, he headed east a few blocks toward the University of New Mexico. There he turned off and took a circuitous route down side streets to make sure no one was following. Finally he got back on Central and parked near a hole-in-the-wall diner.
Inside, they bought torta sandwiches and chose a table in the back, facing the door.
Como didn’t touch his food. “Where did you go from Albuquerque?”
“To L.A. to see my aunt, then to Tucson. No matter where I go, Sonny Para finds me. How is that?” Jason picked his sandwich up, then put it down.
“That’s reassuring.” Como managed a warped smile. “So we’re going up against a man who knows all?”
“There has to be an explanation. I drove my car to L.A., where a guy with a gun showed up on my aunt’s doorstep. I bailed out and headed for Phoenix, and someone ran me off the freeway at night. I crashed that car but managed to get to Tucson.” Jason sat back and cradled his still-sore arm in his lap.
“How did you get another car?”
Jason refused to meet Como’s eyes. The older man snapped his fingers. “You took it, eh? Hotwired it. I won’t ask what happened to the gunman in L.A. Desperate times require desperate measures.”
“They found me in Tucson.”
“How?”
“Don’t know. I ran into Detective Gallegos there, the cop I knew in Albuquerque. I was hitchhiking and he drove by. He took me to see a doctor for my shoulder and paid for a motel room. He left me at the motel and that afternoon, I left my room to get a Coke. I saw some guys driving slow around the parking lot, like they were looking for someone. Turns out it was me they wanted. They saw me and started shooting. I ran away and hid, but I couldn’t go back to my room. So yes, I stole some cars. One in the desert and this one in Tucson. How else could I get around? So here I am.” Jason’s shoulders sagged, as if hands were pressing down on them.
“Something occurs to me,” Como said. “You know what goes on in that warehouse I work at?”
“I have an idea.”
“When the drug trucks leave, Tafoya puts a tracking device on each one, so he knows exactly where they are. Maybe he tracked your car to L.A. the same way.” Como raised a scraggly eyebrow. “But Sonny Para’s people found you a second time, in Tucson, when you had no car? Either they got very lucky, or the cop who gave you a ride to the motel isn’t your friend after all. Maybe he tipped them off.”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t think so. Detective Gallegos is a good man. He wants to put Para away and help me out.”
Como Rico gave him an appraising look. “I’m certain Sonny Para pays off the police. That’s why he’s never been busted. It makes sense. And that’s why we can’t go to the cops.”
“Leave it to me.” Jason picked at his sandwich. “I’ll think of something. How do you know Para pays off cops?”
“Because one came to the warehouse. An older white guy. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was a cop.” Como made a face. “He wasn’t in uniform, but he was wearing a shoulder holster under his suit jacket. He dressed like he worked in a nice office.”
“How often do the shipments go out?” Jason asked.
“Once or twice a week after we get deliveries. Some weeks nothing happens, and they have me taping up boxes, sweeping and vacuuming the warehouse. Some days I go home early or don’t come in. Then Tafoya calls me and when I get there, a truck is waiting in the back area. The candy is already unloaded. I put on my safety equipment and start weighing the candies, bagging and boxing them.”
“Why doesn’t Tafoya do it himself? They wouldn’t have to hire someone who might rat them out.”
“It takes hours to divide up all the candy into sealed bags. While I work, he’s in the office on the phone. Maybe making arrangements for wherever it’s going, I guess. I can’t make out who he’s talking to or what about.” Como kept his voice low, periodically glancing at the teenager behind the counter, engrossed in his cell phone.
“I’d like to know where the shipments come from. Can you let me know when you get a call to come to work?” Jason asked.
“What happens to me when the police come barging in? Regardless if I show up at work or stay home, if there’s a raid, Tafoya will come after me.” Como looked at Jason with dull eyes.
“I’ll ask Detective Gallegos what he thinks.” Jason held out a cheap cell phone. “Call me on this if you learn anything or just need to talk.”
“I’d rather not get involved.” Como got up. “Even if he’s a good cop, he can’t safeguard us all the time.”
“You are involved, whether you like it or not.” Jason scowled. “I thought you had more fire in you than that.”