Chris Zapata stopped in front of Jack’s parents’ house in south Albuquerque and tapped on his phone screen. “I’m here.”
The gate slid open. He drove in and parked in front of the stuccoed home with a red tile roof. Eloy Gallegos hurried out, shook his hand and led him into the family command center, the kitchen.
“It’s been too long.” Lorena Gallegos gave Chris a hug.
Over coffee, he politely responded to their questions. “With everything that’s going on, I thought I should be here.” He made no mention of the wild plan he’d cooked up. He hoped Cait and Jack would go along with it.
His phone chimed, and he glanced at the text: “Ready to go w/ the dogs. Where do I meet yu?”
Chris typed in a reply: “Jack in the Box in Belen. Call when you get to Socorro.”
Then he sat back and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “Where’s Jack?”
Lorena shot a look at her husband. “He went to his office. He seemed preoccupied and didn’t tell us anything.”
Eloy spread his hands on the table. “Jack has a good head on his shoulders. He’s always made good decisions. But he’s been through hell, and I’m concerned he’s not thinking straight. Cait and him being attacked like that. I wish I knew what to do.”
Chris called Cait, got voice mail and hung up. He brought up a city map on his phone screen. “Jack’s office is downtown at Roma Avenue and Fourth Street?”
Lorena nodded. “That’s it.”
“Why don’t I tag after them? I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll call you when I get there.” Phone in hand, he headed out.
He parked his truck on Fourth and jogged toward police headquarters. Outside the entrance, he called Cait, then Jack, reaching voice mail again. Now he was getting peeved. It was rude of his sister and her fiancé to ignore him, especially in such a perilous time. What if there was an emergency involving their families?
Chris stomped inside and over to the reception desk window. The clerk behind a barrier of bulletproof glass made a call, then told him Detective Gallegos was not answering his phone. “I can leave him a message for you.”
“Forget it.” Chris started to turn away, changed his mind. He wrote his name and number on a receipt in his pocket, and pushed it under the window slot. “Tell him to call me right away.” Back outside, he headed for his truck. It’s not like those two to ignore me. What if they got into some kind of scrape?
***
Cait and Jack took an elevator to the third floor, trooped down a hallway and stopped outside a modest door that looked like it might open into a storage closet. A small nondescript sign failed to convey the career-busting power that internal affairs investigators wielded. They could boot a cop down to parking enforcement, or recommend that he or she be stripped of their badge.
Jack opened the door for Cait and followed her in. A smartly dressed woman sat behind a desk stacked with files, eyeing them over her computer screen. “Yes?”
A name badge became visible when she scooted her chair back: Dolores Canelos. She winced when she saw Jack’s face.
He showed his badge and I.D. “I’m here about an urgent matter with an ongoing investigation.”
“You’d best talk to Captain Odero. He’s out at the moment, but I’ll let him know. He’ll get in touch with you as soon as possible.”
“No one I can talk to now? My fiancé and I almost got killed because someone in my department is crooked. It’s a life and death situation.”
Dolores held her ground. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for him. Mike Odero heads IA. He’s the person you need to see. I will contact him right away. What’s the best number to reach you?”
After they left the office, Jack appeared downcast. “So we wait.”
“For the sake of argument, what if someone else did answer Mac Spitzer’s phone when he went for coffee?” Cait asked. “We could have it all wrong, and it’s worth looking into that. Let’s go back to your parents’ place. Sit tight until Odero calls.”
He scuffed a boot tip on the hallway floor. “Maybe we’ll never figure it out. It’s like trying to dig a hole in a sand dune. I’ve been thinking about applying elsewhere. You’ve talked about moving back to Zuni. I could work out of Gallup with the state police or sheriff’s department. It’s not that far a commute from Zuni to Gallup.”
There had been a time when Cait would have been overjoyed to hear Jack explore those options. Now she was alarmed by the sound of defeat. “We’ll talk about it.”
They walked out of the building in silence. As they reached the parking lot aisle where Cait’s jeep was parked, he glanced back and stopped.
“Hey, Cory. What’re you up to?” Jack stepped into the path of a man coming up behind them. Cory Marsdon, gang and drug task force leader, shouldered a duffel bag. Both men faced each other. Cory smiled politely. Jack didn’t reciprocate.
“Got a dentist appointment.” Cory sidestepped around Jack and continued down the aisle.
“Before you go, I’ve got a question.” Jack dug his hands in his pockets. “Were you in Mac’s office last night, when Cait called him for help?”
Something flickered in Marsdon’s eyes—Surprise? Fear?—before his expression turned deadpan.
“That was a long night. A lot going on. I did stop in to see Mac for a few minutes.” Marsdon glanced at Jack, then Cait. “Everything ok?”
The couple stayed quiet. Cory hurried by, the soles of his running shoes squeaking on the concrete. A digital door key chirped. A well-tuned engine purred.
“What do you think? He seems in a bit of a hurry.” Cait watched Marsdon drive off.
“I wouldn’t expect him to come out and admit anything,” Jack unlocked the door of the jeep and climbed in behind the wheel.
“He seemed to react when you asked him. He knows something. Or maybe I’m imagining things. Where does he live? Let’s follow him,” Cait said.
“In the far north east somewhere. Check the tax assessor’s office for his address.”
He paused to show his I.D. at the garage attendant’s booth. Ahead, Marsdon’s sedan had already turned onto Roma Avenue.
Jack kept Marsdon in sight all the way along eastbound I-40, while Cait tapped away on her phone screen. “Got it. 10159 Deer Creek Court. Off Tramway Boulevard, north of Paseo Del Norte. Wow, his property taxes are almost eight thousand a year. How can a detective afford a place like that?”
“He hit some kind of jackpot, legal or illegal.” Jack’s eyes were glued on Cory’s vehicle, which merged onto the fast lane and stayed there until the Tramway Boulevard exit.
Jack followed. On Tramway, he dropped back but kept Marsdon’s vehicle in sight. The light turned yellow at Montgomery Boulevard coming up; Jack punched the gas and sped through the intersection as the signal turned red.
“What’s the story with Mac Spitzer?” Cait asked.
“Lives for his job. His wife died of cancer years ago. After that, he became a workaholic. I don’t know what his personal life is like.”
“What about Cory?” Cait watched Marsdon take a right onto Live Oak Drive. Jack braked to let the sedan get ahead.
“He’s married, that’s all I know.” Marsdon was gone when Jack took the corner. They passed by Deer Creek Court and glimpsed large homes behind walls and gates. “Fancy places,” Cait said.
“Those photos you took when we bailed from Para’s ranch. Did you look at them?” Jack asked.
“You mean the guys outside the burning building? My phone was on video mode, but it’s hard to make them out in that bad light. Want to see?”
He turned down the next street, u-turned and parked. “Let me see.”
Cait handed him the phone. “I zoomed in on their faces, but it’s still blurry.”
Jack peered at her phone screen. “Remember when we hid from that SUV at a stop sign by Rio Del Oro Loop? The passenger window was down. I heard a guy talking. He sounded familiar but I couldn’t place the voice back then. Now I know who it was.” He jabbed a finger at a freeze-framed image on the screen. “Cory Marsdon.”
“You’re kidding.” She squinted at the image. “Maybe Mac Spitzer told the truth, and someone else did answer his phone. That someone is Para’s pet cop.”
Jack looked up. “Speak of the devil.”