Murder on Sagebrush Lane (22 page)

61

Colin Crider unlocked the door of the non-descript, East Central motel room, and looked around before he opened it. Except for his own truck and a van belonging to the landscaping company who maintained the grounds on the property, he had seen no other vehicles. In this part of Albuquerque, he had a good chance of going unnoticed. He checked the inside of the room, made sure the bathroom and closet were not hiding an intruder, and went back outside.

The man in the passenger seat of Crider’s truck leaned back against the headrest. Crider had given him a hoodie and sunglasses to hide the bandages and most obvious signs of the beating he’d taken. At a casual glance, he looked like any other guy waiting in a truck. Crider opened the passenger side door, and the man roused.

“Where are we?” The words came out slurred, and the man’s mouth moved cautiously as he spoke, mindful of the cuts and bruises on his lips.

“Don’t try to talk,” Crider said, as he helped him out of the truck. The man leaned heavily on him while he closed and locked the door. Once inside the motel room, Crider eased him onto the bed and arranged the pillows under his head.

“I have to leave you alone for about two hours,” he said.

“Where . . . you . . . going?” The man attempted to pull himself up to a sitting position.

“Don’t try to get up,” Crider said. “I’ve put a glass of water here on the bedside table, okay?”

The man nodded slowly and sunk back into the pillows.

“We need help,” Crider said, “and I think I know who to ask. Just stay put, and don’t answer the door. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

When he locked the door behind him, Crider once again surveyed the parking lot. Still no other cars. The landscape company van had moved a few yards farther to the back of the lot. Two men lifted out flats of brightly blooming flowers from the back of the vehicle. They took no interest in Colin Crider or the big black truck he drove away in.

Once out of sight of the motel, he pulled over to the curb and took out his cell phone. He punched in a number and waited. When the person on the other end answered he said, “I need your help. I think you’re the only one I can trust. Can you meet me?”

He listened and nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

Crider checked his rearview mirror and eased the truck back into traffic. If he hadn’t given up smoking years ago, now would be a good time for a cigarette. Instead, he breathed in a lungful of clear, desert air, and relaxed.

They might just get out of this mess yet.

62

DJ had been speaking softly into his cell phone just outside the interview room. When he finished, he snapped it shut, opened the door, and motioned to Swannie. Swannie nodded and said, “Excuse me.”

They went into the hall and Swannie motioned for the uniformed officer standing close by to watch their visitor.

“What’s up?” Swannie asked.

“I’ve just had the strangest call,” DJ said. He frowned and looked at Swannie. “That was our friend, Colin Crider. He wants me to meet him. Says he needs help, and he doesn’t trust anybody.”

Swannie narrowed his eyes. “And you believe him?”

DJ shrugged. “I don’t have any reason not to. Besides, what could it hurt to meet with the guy?”

“I don’t know.” Swannie shook his head. “Seems like this guy’s been operating a con since the beginning. What makes you think you can trust him?”

“I never said I trusted him. I just want to see what he’s up to. I think he knows more about the murder than he lets on. I don’t know who he’s working for, but I intend to find out.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

DJ shook his head. “No, I think I’d better meet him alone.”

“Can you at least tell me where you’re supposed to meet him?”

“Have you ever heard of Hidden Park?”

Swannie wrinkled his forehead. “You mean McDuffie Park? The one surrounded by houses backed up against it?”

“That’s the one.”

“Jeeze, I haven’t thought of that place in years. It used to be a hangout for the kids from Jefferson Junior High. But you can’t even get to it unless you know where the entrances are. Why there?”

DJ smiled. “Because we lived in the neighborhood when I was a kid. I spent many an hour in that park. It was one of my favorite places to hang out. It’s quiet, secluded, and very private.”

“Yeah, except for all the neighbors hanging out their back windows, watching you.”

DJ chuckled. “These days, most people are at work during the daytime. Not many people left to watch out the window. Anyway, we can’t be seen by cars passing by, and that’s the biggest advantage.”

Swannie shrugged. “If that’s what you want to do. But I want you to call me just before you go in and as soon as you leave, okay?”

DJ grinned. “Worried about me—Dad?”

Swannie blushed. “Oh, get out of here, will ya? I have work to do.”

63

“Why shouldn’t I go? It’s safe now.”

Harrie had been busy since the drama with Randy Lynch earlier in the day. Ginger had suggested they work through lunch. They sent out for sandwiches and were finishing up in the conference room.

“Why is it so important that you go home right now? Why can’t you wait until tonight?”

Harrie frowned. “Look, Katie will be turned over to Alexis by tonight. Randy Lynch is in jail, and we’ve been living out of suitcases these past four days. I’d like to go home, check the refrigerator, and see what I need at the grocery store. It’s time to get back to normal.”

“Honey,” Ginger said, and reached over to pat her hand. “I know you’ve been on an emotional roller coaster this entire week. You found a darling little girl and for a while, thought you might get to keep her. And besides that, the creepy caller was bugging you and making threats. I understand you want things back the way they were. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

Harrie frowned. “What? There’s nothing else to be resolved.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, they still don’t know who murdered the fellow they found in the Rinaldis’ living room. You could still be in danger.”

Harrie shook her head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. We didn’t even know the Rinaldis, and the odds we would know the murderer are astronomical. It simply doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

Ginger tilted her head and studied Harrie. “What are you not telling me? That brain of yours is cooking up trouble.”

“How do you do that?”

“Ah . . . do what?” Ginger said.

“That thing you do—getting in my head and uncovering my thoughts.”

Ginger laughed. “Oh, you give me way too much credit. I
never
know what’s in your head. That’s what scares me. I can tell you have a plan, and since you haven’t already told me what it is, that means you know you shouldn’t do it.”

Harrie paused, then said. “It’s no big deal. We got sidetracked yesterday when I made that phone call. Consequently, we didn’t talk to Winnie Devlin. I’m convinced she has information about all this, and I want to find out what it is. Come with me?”

“I don’t know,” Ginger said. “I’m betting DJ wouldn’t like us going anywhere near the murder scene.”

Harrie’s eyes blazed. “I don’t want to put too fine a point on this, but I’ve gotta tell you, I’m getting pretty tired of everybody coddling me and treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“Wow, I think I hit a nerve.”

Harrie’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t mean to be so touchy, but for the past four days, everybody’s been acting like I can’t be trusted to take care of myself. I’m smothering in all this unwarranted concern.”

Ginger’s eyes were wide, her look that of one who’d been rebuked by her best friend.

Harrie groaned. “Oh, Ginger, I’m sorry.” She hugged her, then stepped back and smiled. “If you’re so worried about my talking to Winnie Devlin, come with me and stand guard. I think between the two of us, we could easily take her down if it came to that.”

Ginger grinned. “Well, since you put it that way, let’s go.”

They locked up, and Ginger started for her car. “Aren’t you going with me?”

Harrie shook her head. “I don’t want to leave my car here. Let’s park them both at my house, and we can walk down to Winnie’s.”

They left Harrie’s car in her garage and Ginger’s in the driveway, then walked the block and a half to Winnie Devlin’s house. Harrie noticed an unmarked car parked in the Rinaldi house, and assumed it was related to the murder investigation. As they walked up to the front door, Harrie thought she saw the curtain on the front window move. She’d had the sense of being watched since they started up the sidewalk. The door opened before they rang the bell, bearing out her hunch.

“Mrs. Scott. I’m delighted to see you. Did you bring me something?” A smile bathed Winnie Devlin’s face.

“I beg your pardon?” Harrie frowned.

“The DNA test. You brought it to me, didn’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Harrie and Ginger looked at each other. Harrie said, “No, Mrs. Devlin. I didn’t bring it. I sent it to a private lab to be processed. Do you mind if we come in?”

Winnie opened the door wider for them to enter, and led the way to the living room. “Then why are you here if you didn’t bring the DNA kit?”

Ginger and Harrie sat, and Harrie said, “I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Winnie eyed her suspiciously, the earlier smiling face now guarded. “What sort of questions could you possibly ask me?”

Harrie attempted a smile. “The police are still trying to figure out what happened at the Rinaldi home, who came into the house and murdered . . . ah Mr. Rinaldi. You said you’ve been in the neighborhood from the beginning. I thought you might have valuable insights about what goes on around here. You might even have seen something that you didn’t think to tell the police about.”

Winnie frowned, her face a portrait of conflicting emotions. Harrie could tell that the thought of dishing more gossip intrigued her. But it appeared to be in conflict with her annoyance at Harrie for not bringing the DNA kit. Harrie watched her and waited.

“Have they caught the guy yet?” Winnie said.

“Not yet,” Harrie said. She leaned forward in the direction of Winnie. “Is it possible you saw someone around the Rinaldi house early Monday morning?”

“Are you insinuating I’m nosey?” Winnie’s eyebrows arched.

“Not at all,” Harrie soothed. “I just had the impression you pay attention to what’s going on in the neighborhood. Your instincts probably tell you when things aren’t right. I suspect you have opinions about what went on in the Rinaldi household.”

Winnie’s face relaxed, “I guess you could say that.” She warmed to the subject like the news gatherer she was.

Harrie sensed Winnie was ready to crack, and reeled her in. “As you know, my husband and I walked up to the house early Monday morning with Katie. We wanted to find out where she lived. At that time, we saw a figure through one of the upstairs windows. I’m wondering if maybe you saw that person leave the Rinaldi house that morning after we were there.”

A smug look crept across Winnie’s face. “As it happens, I did see a fellow.” She leaned in, as her pleasure in having information to reveal kicked in. “He was tall and blond. I saw him come right down the driveway and walk away.”

Harrie’s skin felt chilled and prickly. “Oh? Did you notice the direction he took?”

Winnie looked very pleased with herself. “I certainly did. He went in the same direction as you and your husband.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

“Looked to me like he was out to follow you.”

64

DJ turned off Lomas Boulevard onto one of the streets whose homes backed up to Hidden Park. He drove slowly, memories flooding back of all the summer evenings he and his friends had spent riding their bicycles all through this area. He hadn’t been here in years, and he was shocked at the changes. Possibly his memories of those golden days were clouded by time, but the houses looked smaller than they did to a boy of ten.

The park occupied land set aside by the builder of that square block of homes. The houses bordering the park gave up larger front and back yards in exchange for the beauty of the tree-lined park. Many of the residents, over the years, added small gates in their fences for easy access to the lush grass so close to their back doors.

He drove to the north end of the block of homes and found a space to leave his car. The afternoon was hot, but the cool shade of the park beckoned him with the promise of relief from the sun. He walked on the path between the houses and entered the quiet oasis just a couple of blocks away from the buzz of city traffic. The trees had grown so much taller than he remembered, and the grass was mostly clover now. Honeybees buzzed around the blooms, and DJ remembered getting stung once when he tried to find a four-leaf clover.

He saw Colin Crider seated on the bench at the other end of the park and strolled over to join him. They were the only two people in sight, but DJ couldn’t help but think of what Swannie had said about being watched from one of those many windows. They looked like glassy sentinels, keeping eternal vigil over their secret.

“Thanks for coming,” Crider said after DJ sat beside him.

“I’m a bit surprised to hear from you,” DJ said. “What is it you need from me?”

Crider leaned forward at a 45-degree angle, his forearms resting on his thighs. He had been scanning the park, but now he looked down at his feet and the bare ground around the bench. “I’ve decided to let you in on what I’m doing because events have transpired that changed the original purpose of my assignment. The situation has become critical, and I’m not in a position to handle it properly.”

DJ sat in the same arms-resting-on-thighs position. He alternated looking straight ahead and down at the ground around his feet as Crider spoke. He listened then said, “Did you have anything to do with the murdered man found at Michael Rinaldi’s home?”

Crider briefly looked at DJ, then resumed gazing at the ground. “No, I didn’t. At least not directly.”

DJ leaned back against the bench, “What, exactly, does that mean?”

Crider looked out across the park, and then he, too, leaned back against the bench. “I got into this mess to help Michael Rinaldi.”

“Help him do what?”

Crider hesitated, then said, “He had been approached by an individual, and he didn’t know what to do about it. So, he contacted me and filled me in on the situation. I was supposed to make sure Rinaldi got safely through this.” He leaned his head back and looked up at the vivid blue sky. “Obviously I didn’t do too well with that part of the assignment.”

“Did Rinaldi tell you this individual’s name?”

Crider turned to look at DJ. “His name is Vince Weber.”

DJ said, “We know that Michael Rinaldi is not the man we found murdered in his home. We know the identity of the victim, but we don’t know where Michael Rinaldi is. Can you shed any light on that?”

“Yes, as it happens, I can. I have him stashed in a motel room on East Central.”

DJ shook his head. “Of course you do. I should have known.” He looked over at Crider. “How long have you had him?”

“I brought him back from an Urgent Care facility in Grants this morning.”

“You . . . Grants? What was he doing in Grants?”

“I can tell you all about that later, but right now, I need your help.”

“Yes, you said that on the phone. What is it you want
me
to do?”

Crider focused on DJ. “Rinaldi was pretty badly beaten. He needs to see a cosmetic surgeon at the very least. His face is a mess. For many reasons, I can’t be the one who takes him to see such a doctor. I want you to handle that.”

“You want me to . . .” DJ looked at Crider in confusion. “I fail to see why you don’t just call an ambulance for the man, and let them take him to a hospital. Why all this cloak and dagger stuff?”

DJ looked over at Crider and was stunned at the expression on his face. It could only be described as despair. “What else are you not telling me? I need to know who did this to Rinaldi and why you’re involved.”

Crider stood up abruptly. “If you won’t help me, I need to get going. I’ll have to find another way to take care of Michael.”

DJ stood and grabbed Crider’s arm. “Wait. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. But I have to know if he’s been involved in a criminal act. Can’t you give me any information about who did this to him and why?”

Crider looked at DJ for a long minute before he nodded. “Michael was approached by a man who said he knew security had been breached at the Lab. He knew Michael was a computer forensic specialist at the Lab and thought he would help him.”

DJ said, “You’re talking about Vince Weber.”

“Yes,” Crider said, “and you see what happened to him.”

“So why didn’t Rinaldi just call us? Vince Weber contacted the FBI almost a year ago. Rinaldi could have done the same thing.”

“He told Michael about going to the FBI. He said they agreed to investigate, but right after that, he received a phone call. The caller identified himself as ‘Falcon’ and told him if he talked to the FBI again he, Falcon, would see that evidence surfaced showing Weber was the one who breached security.”

“Then why contact Michael?”

“Because Falcon called him again a month ago. Weber was told he must serve as a go-between in the sale of government secrets. Falcon outlined a complicated scenario where Weber was to drive down to Los Huevos and meet a guy in a particular bar. This would be the buyer, and Weber had the task of making the arrangements for exchanging the data for the money.”

DJ frowned. “I still don’t see why Michael Rinaldi got involved in this mess.”

“It’s a long story, which I will go into later. Let’s just say the original buyer met with an ‘accident’ and Weber panicked. He believed Rinaldi could be trusted.”

“The question remains: what did he want Michael to do?”

“As I understand it, he wanted Michael’s help in figuring out what to do. Michael convinced him they should call me instead.”

DJ remained quiet for a moment. “So, there’s a lot more going on here than I realized. What’s the relationship between you and Michael?”

Crider looked down at the ground, and for a moment, DJ thought he might not answer. Then he took a good breath and sat up straight. “I assume by now you know I was with the CIA.”

DJ nodded, and Crider continued. “So was Michael. He decided to leave the agency when he and Laura got engaged. He thought it was no life for a family man. But we had become friends, so we stayed in touched. Then, when Laura got cancer, he contacted me.”

“Okay,” DJ said. “I definitely need to hear the rest of this, but for now, just tell me how all of this was supposed to go down.”

Crider looked out across the park. “I supplied the money. I marked it, gave it to Michael so he could hand it over to Vince. Then Vince would take it to the drop, and Falcon would pick it up.”

DJ whistled softly. “Then how did Vince Weber end up dead in Michael Rinaldi’s living room?”

Crider’s piercing blue eyes drilled into DJ. “That’s a question you should ask Michael Rinaldi.”