Grave Consequences (19 page)

“And Fasthorse?” Charlie asked.

“I went to his home and confronted him,” DuPree answered. “He cooperated, even came to the station with me. When we arrived, his attorney was already there. Fasthorse denied everything, of course, and his lawyer challenged us to provide proof or let his client go. We had no choice. Until we get more than just Al's word—he couldn't wear a wire—we can't make an arrest that'll stick.”

“So what's gonna happen now?” Gordon asked.

“My guess is that we've put Fasthorse out of business for the time being. He knows he's being watched, and we have officers out looking for the others in the Night Crew that Al has identified. Unfortunately, even if we track them down, we're still going to need more than Al's testimony,” DuPree said.

“So we're not much closer to identifying Cordell Buck's killer than when this all started?” Gordon asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Nancy said. “I heard from Lola.”

 

Chapter Sixteen

All eyes shifted to her.

“Well, indirectly. A friend of hers—she wouldn't give her name—said Lola was staying with her and that Lola wanted to meet with me,” Nancy said. “The woman said that Lola had some information regarding the necklace she pawned, why Cordell Buck was killed, and that if she could be guaranteed protection, she'd help out the police.”

“That's great,” Charlie said, noticing from DuPree's dropped jaw that this was the first he'd heard about this.

“When the hell did you get this call, Sergeant Medina?” DuPree erupted.

“About an hour ago. I thought I'd tell you all at once,” Nancy replied calmly.

“So when is this meeting taking place?” Gordon asked.

Nancy shook her head. “Don't know. I'm waiting for a call back.”

“Lola's friend. She's an old friend of hers?” Charlie asked.

“I see where you're going with this,” Nancy said.

“I don't,” DuPree said. “Enlighten me.”

“What
do
they teach you at detective school?” Gordon asked. “If she's an old friend, others might know of that relationship too, including Lola's ex-boyfriend, Jerry. He might have passed that on to Clarence Fasthorse.”

“And Clarence might have someone watching the woman's place, hoping Lola will turn up,” DuPree acknowledged. “Our officers have been watching Lola's old apartment. No luck there.”

“The longer this nameless woman waits to call me back, the more time Clarence will have to act—if our worst-case scenario is in effect,” Nancy said.

“You get a number?” Charlie asked.

Nancy shrugged. “Yes, but it belonged to a fast-food place in the southwest part of the city. You think she'd go back there to call?”

“I can have an officer watch the restaurant, but who should they be watching for, someone who looks like Lola, or her faceless friend?” DuPree asked.

“If Lola decides to meet with you, that might be the place she'd choose, well away from the Old Town area where Fasthorse hangs out, and across the city from her old apartment,” Gordon pointed out.

“Knowing that I'd likely have the call traced?” Nancy replied.

“Probably not, then,” Charlie said. “The next call, if there is one, might come from a burner phone, made from the apartment or house where Lola is staying. Lola is smart, and will stay off the streets and out of sight.”

“When she calls, make her give you an address so you can send officers to patrol the area, for her protection. Tell her you'll approach out of uniform and with a friend, in a private vehicle. She'll recognize you, Sergeant Medina. You okay with that?” DuPree asked.

“You look too much like a cop, Detective,” Gordon pointed out. “What friend will be least threatening, Nancy?”

“Charlie's Navajo, so is Lola, but then, so are Jerry, Clarence, and a few others in the Night Crew,” Nancy said. “So I'm thinking maybe the least intimidating of you guys—Gordon.”

“Good idea. Gordon's a blue-eyed Anglo, small, charming with the ladies, and, of course, can kick ass better than most,” Charlie pointed out.

“Better than most?” Gordon joked.

“Okay, better than everyone.”

“Nobody's that tough,” DuPree answered, shaking his head. “But Sweeney's a good choice. He'll likely be underestimated.”

Nancy's phone rang just then. “Maybe we're about to put these theories to the test, boys. Stay quiet, I'm putting this on speaker.”

“Nancy?” came a woman's voice.

Nancy nodded. “Yes, it's me again. Can I speak to Lola now?”

“No, she wants to meet you in person, like I said on my last call.”

“She's doing the right thing. I can leave right now, what's the address?”

“Go to the Circle K just west of Eldorado High School. Park there and wait for my next call, a half hour from now.”

Nancy checked her watch. “Give me more details. I want to send some officers into the area to watch for anyone who might be looking for Lola.”

A half minute went by, accompanied by whispers too faint to make out. “No, just you and one other person. No uniforms. What car will you be driving?” the woman asked.

Nancy looked over at DuPree, who shrugged.

“My green Jeep Liberty—hardtop,” Nancy answered.

“Call you again in thirty,” the woman said. “Be there.”

The call ended.

“Let's get started then. Nancy, you have your Jeep outside right now?” Charlie asked.

Nancy nodded. “Gordon, you're with me. You need to get something first?”

Gordon lifted his jacket to show her his Beretta. “Nope, all packed.”

DuPree made a face. “You're with me, then, Charlie, in my vehicle. I see you're also armed. Good.”

After a quick conversation with Jake and Ruth, the two teams set off for the convenience store, which was, according to Nancy, on Juan Tabo Avenue, the major street directly west of the big public high school in Albuquerque's Northeast Heights. From the north valley, the drive would take at least twenty minutes or more on a weekday close to noon.

Charlie and DuPree arrived first, driving down the street past the store while they looked for any parked vehicles where the caller, and perhaps Lola, might be watching.

“We're five minutes early,” DuPree said, glancing east across two lanes of highway toward the high school. From this spot they could see tennis courts and a grass practice field.

“Look ahead, beyond the high school grounds to the east. There's a three-story apartment building with balconies facing this direction,” Charlie observed, raising a pair of binoculars DuPree kept in the vehicle. “Someone is standing just inside a patio door on the second level,” Charlie added. “It's a woman, blond.”

“Need me to slow down?”

“Negative,” Charlie advised. “I'm guessing that this is our caller. It's the only open door in a building that has at least thirty apartments facing west.”

“There's nobody sitting in their car on the same side of the street as the Circle K, so let's go with your gut. I'm going to circle east and approach that building from the other side,” DuPree replied.

Charlie's cell phone sounded. It was Gordon. “Putting you on speaker,” Charlie advised.

“We're pulling into the convenience store lot now. Any idea on a location?” Gordon asked.

“Yeah, that pale pink apartment building across the street. A woman was standing on the balcony of a second-story apartment, south end, looking toward the Circle K. We're going down the street fronting the apartments and approach from the east side.”

“Gotcha. Hang on, Charlie,” Gordon said as Nancy said something to him.

About ten seconds went by, then Gordon spoke again, quickly. “Hurry it up, Charlie. Get to that apartment, the one you said. The woman, Didi, just called Nancy. Says they just spotted someone watching the building's parking lot. Lola thinks it might be Jerry Benally, her old boyfriend.”

DuPree hit the gas, racing up to the apartment building. “Can't see anyone outside. We're going in through the front. Hurry and back us up,” the detective said.

DuPree slowed, easing into the lot as quietly as possible, pulling right up in front of the no-parking slot by the main entrance.

Charlie was out before the car stopped rolling, looked left and right, then sprinted toward the double-door entrance. Inside he discovered a hall leading toward stairs at one end of the building, an elevator at the other. “Take the elevator,” he called to DuPree, who was a few steps behind him.

Charlie ran down the hall, then opened the door to the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top of the first flight just as he heard two rapid gunshots, then a third and fourth spaced a few seconds apart.

His weapon out now, Charlie took the next flight in three steps. He stopped, looking through the small window in the door before opening it up. Nobody.

He stepped out and immediately saw a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian print shirt standing in his apartment doorway, holding a cell phone. “Police!” Charlie lied with a harsh whisper. “Get back inside!”

Charlie raced to the open door of the end apartment, stopped by the jamb, and looked inside. One Indian man was leaning against the sofa, bleeding from his side, aiming a pistol toward a short hallway in the apartment. The door beyond was closed.

Hearing a noise inside to his right, Charlie dropped to one knee, swung his Beretta around, and saw a bandaged Jerry Benally aiming a pistol at him.

Benally fired, striking the metal doorjamb and the wall at the end of the hall.

Charlie shot him in the center of his chest, then ducked back as the guy by the sofa snapped a round in his direction. Hearing running footsteps coming down the hall and hoping they belonged to DuPree, Charlie decided to try to save the wounded man for questioning.

“Police! Put down your weapon!” he yelled. Charlie paused, heard a curse, then decided to jump across the door opening to the far side.

Two bullets struck the wall where he'd just been standing. Looking in, pistol first, Charlie caught the surprise in the man's expression as the guy realized he'd missed.

Charlie had him flat-footed. “Put it down!” Charlie yelled again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that DuPree had arrived and was now at his left shoulder.

The idiot swung his pistol around, firing, the second of two bullets kicking up the carpet as DuPree fired a double tap into the shooter's torso.

Charlie stepped into the room, avoiding the two men now on the floor as he swept the room with his gaze. He heard a gasp behind the breakfast bar fifteen feet away and sidestepped along the far wall, weapon aimed toward the blind spot. Then he saw the blond woman, the same one who'd been looking out the balcony.

She lay flat on her back, and was trembling slightly, the tremors of death, an image Charlie knew well. There was blood everywhere, and her throat had been shredded by a bullet.

“Who's out there?” came a surprisingly familiar voice from a back room.

DuPree, crouched low, was covering Charlie, but looked over at him, puzzled.

“That you, Mike?” Charlie asked.

“Mike Schultz. You that Navajo guy, Charlie Henry?”

There was a footstep in the hall outside and a voice. “It's us, Charlie,” Nancy whispered.

“What the hell?” Gordon asked, slipping in and looking down at the two dying men.

“Yeah, it's me, Charlie. Mike, where's Lola?” Charlie said, walking toward the hall, still reluctant to lower his weapon.

“Who the hell is Mike?” DuPree whispered to Gordon.

“She's gone,” Mike replied. “I'm putting down my weapon and opening the door, okay? Don't let anyone shoot me.”

Charlie looked back at his three companions. Nancy had come in and was kneeling down beside Lola's friend—the blonde. DuPree nodded, still covering the bedroom. Gordon had come around and was behind and to his right, weapon aimed.

“Okay, Mike. Slowly. We've got three weapons on you.”

The door opened, and Mike the Pimp stepped out, hands up, dragging his right leg, which had a stream of blood flowing from the thigh down. “The bastards shot me. How about calling the EMTs before I bleed to death?” he asked, a weak grin on his face.

“First, where's Lola?”

“Gone. She managed to climb out the bedroom window and drop to the grass while I was keeping these men back.” He looked over at the woman by the counter. “Didi? She took the first bullet. Is she…”

“Dead,” Nancy said, phone at her ear.

Charlie stepped toward Mike, steadied him with one arm, and looked through the doorway into the bedroom. The window was wide open. “Where'd she go?”

“The hell away from Albuquerque, I hope. Lola said that the necklace she pawned belonged to Cordell Buck. She'd ripped it off from Jerry's boss.”

“Who was Jerry's boss?” DuPree asked.

“Clarence Fasthorse's mom, Sheila something,” Mike said, his voice trailing off and his face going paler by the second. His strength gave way and he slid on his back down the wall and landed on his butt. “Get that Sheila bitch, and her son too,” he added, his eyes closing.

“Sergeant Medina, keep this apartment clear until more officers arrive,” DuPree ordered.

“Gordon, can you keep Schultz from bleeding out? I'm going to look for Lola,” Charlie said, turning toward the door.

“Wait, Charlie! No, better yet, go and take Nancy with you. I'll protect the scene,” DuPree said, motioning toward the door.

“Find me a towel or something,” Gordon yelled as Charlie stepped out into the hall. Nancy was already ahead of him, running down the stairs.

*   *   *

Five minutes later, Charlie was two blocks away in a residential area, knocking on doors and asking anyone who answered if they'd seen a young Indian woman running or hurrying through the area within the past several minutes. Nancy had taken her Jeep and was circling the neighborhood, using her phone to set up a search grid with officers who were now entering the area.