Murder on Sagebrush Lane (23 page)

65

DJ became aware of an antiseptic odor in the motel room when he shut the door behind him. The man on one of the queen-sized beds stirred when Crider leaned over and reached for his wrist. DJ came closer to the bed and saw the bruised face.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“I told you it was bad,” Crider whispered. He motioned toward a small table and chairs in front of the window. They sat down and continued the conversation in quiet tones.

“Have you been able to talk to him?” DJ asked.

“No, he’s been pretty much out of it since I first saw him yesterday evening.”

DJ studied Crider. “How did you know where to find him?”

“I got a call from an old rancher south of Grants. He found Michael Tuesday morning lying in a field on his property, and he was in bad shape. He took him to his home, and he and his wife tried to fix him up the best they could. The next day it became obvious he needed medical help, so, with his wife’s assistance, the old man got him into his truck. He drove him to the clinic in Grants. When the old rancher was getting Michael out of the truck, Michael asked him to write down my number. He asked the rancher to call me, and tell me where he was.”

“And you didn’t think you should share that with me or Lieutenant Swanson?”

Crider frowned. “Hey, I didn’t know what was going on. I thought Michael was dead, and until I saw him in Grants I didn’t know who it was that had summoned me. Once I knew it was him, I realized who the dead guy had to be. I figured by the time I picked him up this morning, he’d be awake enough to tell me what happened.”

“He wasn’t?” DJ asked.

“He came around briefly when I first got him in the truck this morning. He had a hard time talking. He could only tell me the data had been safely hidden. He said the attacker didn’t get it.”

DJ looked over his shoulder at Michael Rinaldi, asleep in the bed. He had not stirred again since they first came into the room. “Did he tell you who did this to him?”

“No,” Crider said, “he passed out after that and hasn’t said much since then—certainly nothing about what happened.”

DJ said, “I spoke with my SAC on the way over here. He contacted a physician who does work for the government from time to time. He’s arranged for a private hospital room and an admission under a different name. Michael will get the care he needs, and nobody will know who he is.”

“When will this doctor be here?” Crider asked.

DJ looked at his watch. “In about ten minutes. While we wait, tell me how Rinaldi got into this.”

Crider shook his head. “We had a plan. I thought it was relatively safe, or I never would have agreed to it.”

“Do you have any idea who Falcon is?”

“I don’t know,” Crider said. “If he’d followed the instructions he, himself, set out, I would have been there to intercept him. As it was . . .”

“As it was,” DJ continued, “he outsmarted you. Maybe he knew Vince Weber wasn’t really on board.”

“Maybe,” Crider said, “but I suspect he always intended to kill Weber.”

“Tell me exactly how it was supposed to work.”

Crider said, “Vince Weber was really scared when he contacted Rinaldi initially. He’d received another phone call from Falcon. Weber said he felt sure the voice had been electronically disguised. Falcon gave Weber a post office box number to use for correspondence. He told him he would receive a key to it in the mail. Weber didn’t know what to do. He’d met Rinaldi at Sandia and knew of his reputation. Last year he went to a forum on cyber security, and Michael was there. They reconnected and really hit it off.”

“So Rinaldi agreed to help a man he’d only gotten to know at a seminar,” DJ said, and shook his head.

“There was a little more to it than that,” Crider said. “Rinaldi and Vince Weber worked together briefly before the data breach incident. Then when news of the data breach and Weber’s part in reporting it came out, there were hushed whispers around the Lab. Michael had spoken with several people there who believed Weber had discovered a serious flaw with security and didn’t deserve to be fired.”

“So Rinaldi agreed, for whatever reason, to help Vince Weber pass stolen classified data.”

“That was the plan.”

“How did Falcon react when he discovered the original buyer had this ‘accident’?

“As far as we know Falcon never found out. It was kept quiet because this buyer was connected with a group of very bad people. In theory, Falcon never knew that Michael was involved in the deal.”

DJ leaned back in his chair. “What happened that caused it to go wrong?”

“Call it bad luck, or failure on my part, whichever you choose. Vince had told Falcon he would deliver the stolen data to the buyer on Monday morning at 7:00 a.m. I planned to be there about 5:30, with the money, and the switch would have taken place. Afterward Vince would have delivered the cash to a drop site. Falcon had come up with a cockamamie operation where the money would be placed in a canvas bag and put in a trash can at Montgomery Park over on Comanche and Alvarado in the Northeast Heights.”

DJ nodded. “So what changed everything?”

“Hell if I know. I arrived at 5:15 a.m. and found the front door open. I saw the bloody body and went upstairs to check on the little girl. Much to my surprise, I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t find the stolen data, either. Then I looked out the window and saw you and your wife about to come up the walk, holding the child. I thought you probably caught sight of me looking out the little girl’s bedroom window.”

DJ grinned. “You’d be right about that.” Then he grew serious. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Didn’t think I needed to.”

DJ frowned. “Meaning?”

Crider’s ice-cold blue eyes bored into DJ. “You looked like a Fed, and I figured you’d take care of it. I had to stay in the background until I knew what happened.” He looked away. “Unfortunately, I still don’t know the answer to that.”

A soft knock on the door had DJ on his feet, hand resting on the butt of his Glock. He looked through the peephole. “It’s the doctor.”

The doctor and the two attendants accompanying him brought in a gurney. Together they loaded Michael Rinaldi into the back of an unmarked van, and headed for the hospital. Crider and DJ got in their respective vehicles and followed the van.

A light blue car parked at the curb just before the motel driveway, started up and slowly followed the caravan. The traffic light a few blocks down the street turned red just before the light blue car reached it. The driver inside slammed the steering wheel with a balled up fist.

Damned traffic light.

66

“Where are we going now?” Ginger hurried to keep up with an almost running Harrie.

“I need to call DJ.” Harrie charged ahead.

Ginger grabbed Harrie’s arm. “Will you slow down? Where’s the fire?”

“I’ve been an idiot,” Harrie said. She stopped and turned to Ginger.

Ginger tilted her head. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“It’s so obvious now.” Harrie started walking again. “I always thought that guy sounded odd.”

When they arrived at Harrie’s driveway, she headed for her front door. Ginger walked faster and reached the door seconds before Harrie. “Will you please stop and have a conversation I can understand?”

“Don’t you see,” Harrie attacked the front door lock until it gave up. “That guy, Colin Crider—John Smith—whoever he is at the moment—he’s the murderer.”

“Whoa there, Sherlock. Aren’t you jumping to a pretty wild conclusion with no evidence?”

Harrie led the way to the kitchen and tossed her purse on the desk. Ginger followed suit.

“You heard Winnie. He followed us Monday morning after we saw the figure at the upstairs window. It had to be him up there, watching us.”

“You said yourself, she’s a nut job. Why would you give credence to anything she says?” She shook her head. “Okay, then. What’s next?” Ginger grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the refrigerator.

“I have to tell DJ. He needs to know before anything else happens.” She went to the phone and dialed his cell number. She waited through three rings before it went to voice mail.

“Damn,” she said and waited for the beep.

“DJ, call me as soon as you can. I have news.” She disconnected the phone.

“Do you have an alternate plan?” Ginger leaned against the counter, sipping her water.

Harrie shrugged. “I need to get back to Caroline’s. I think I’ll phone Alexis and see when she’s coming to pick up Katie. At least then I’ll know how much time we have.”

“Oh, Harrie.” Ginger went to her.

“No, it’s okay.” Harrie shook her head. “I told you, it was a crazy plan from the beginning. I realize now what an impossible scenario I devised for myself.” She picked up her purse. “Besides, her grandmother and her father are much better caregivers than I could be.”

“Don’t short change yourself, Sweetie. You’d make a great mom.”

Harrie felt a lump forming in her throat. She tried to swallow around it. “Thanks, but it is what it is. Katie has family. Obviously she belongs with them. Last Monday, after they found the body, I thought she didn’t have one, and she looked so sweet and vulnerable. I still think we were a better choice to care for her during this period than having her put in a foster home. Can we talk about something else?”

“You’re absolutely right,” Ginger said. “I’m like a dog with a bone. I can’t let things go. I’m being insensitive, and that’s the last thing you need.”

Harrie closed her eyes. She felt like the insensitive one. She never wanted to make her dearest friend feel bad. “Ginger, you’re so sweet and generous. I’m being difficult today, that’s all. It’s not your fault I wasted my reproductive years avoiding relationships.”

Ginger took her by the arm. “You were right in the first place. We have other things to talk about. I’ll follow you over to Caroline’s. Aren’t we all having dinner there again?”

They arrived in Caroline’s neighborhood, and both headed down the alley. Harrie swung into the driveway, and Ginger turned the corner and parked her car on the side street. Harrie managed to get into the house just as Ginger rang the bell. But Caroline got to the door first and admitted Ginger.

“Come on in,” Caroline said. “I thought you might be Alexis Kane.”

Harrie joined them then and said, “Did she call?”

“Yes.” Caroline looked at her watch. “She said she’d be here by 4:00. That’s five minutes from now.”

Harrie said, “I’ll go get Katie’s things together.”

“I’ve already done that,” Caroline said. “How about you just go in and spend time with her. Ginger and I will be in the kitchen, having coffee.”

Harrie nodded, and went down the hall to Katie’s room. The little girl was holding a book open on her lap, jabbering away as though she were reading it to herself. Harrie sat down on the floor beside her.

“Want me to read this to you?”

Katie rewarded Harrie with a big smile and a nod. Harrie took the book and began to read, with Katie pointing to the pictures as Harrie named the animals. A peaceful ten minutes passed before the doorbell rang again.

Harrie tensed and looked at Katie. The child said, “Gamma?”

67

DJ disconnected his call. He had reported to the SAC that Michael Rinaldi was currently in surgery. The doctors had given him a thorough going over. They determined that he had a broken nose, several broken ribs, a fractured arm, and numerous contusions over his face and body. Several specialists had been called in and were working together to repair the damage.

Meanwhile, they still had a problem. A vicious murderer was out there, and at the moment, DJ had no clue who it might be or where he or she could be found.

He phoned Swannie next and filled him in. They decided they would discuss things further tonight at what had become their regular dinner meeting at Caroline’s. When he completed that conversation, he toyed with the idea of calling Harrie, but rejected it almost immediately. He would see her in person as soon as he finished here.

Colin Crider sat in the surgical waiting room, looking immensely out of place, reading a well-worn copy of Field and Stream magazine from the pile of publications on the coffee table in front of him. DJ couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“I see you found reading material.”

Only Crider’s eyes moved when he changed his focus to DJ. “I think this issue came out the year I was born.” He straightened up and tossed it back on the pile.

DJ sat in the chair next to Crider. For the moment, they were alone in the waiting room. Apparently Thursday was a slow day for surgeries. They continued their conversation in muted tones.

“I’ve asked the boss to send an agent over to keep an eye on things. We’ll have one of our agents with Rinaldi at all times as soon as he’s out of surgery. When the first agent arrives I’ll be leaving. How about you?”

Crider shrugged. “I’ll stand by a little longer. Will I be able to talk to him when he wakes up?”

“Not without one of our agents in attendance. We need to make sure we get all the information we can from him, as soon as he is able to communicate.”

Crider nodded. “I expected as much. I’d do the same thing in your position. I assume the other agents have been briefed about my involvement.”

“They have,” DJ said. “They also understand that you rescued Rinaldi, and that the two of you are friends.”

Crider leaned back against the chair, his head resting on the wall behind him. “I feel I let him down. I should have been prepared for what happened.”

“I don’t see how,” DJ said, “especially since we don’t know what actually happened.”

“Maybe,” Crider said and blew out a breath, “but I still think I should have spent time figuring out who Falcon is. You can’t predict how an adversary will behave if you don’t know anything about him.”

“Hindsight is a great training tool. But it’s not of much use to you before you have it. So stop beating yourself up.”

For the first time since he’d met him, DJ saw the smallest of smiles flicker across Crider’s face. It was gone almost before it happened, but it was a tiny crack in the man’s armor.

As if on cue, Special Agent Rollie Durrett walked into the waiting room and looked around the area. He nodded to DJ. “Anything new?”

DJ introduced him to Crider and filled him in on the latest news from the operating room. “Mr. Crider wants to hang around until Rinaldi gets out of recovery. He would like to talk to him, in your presence of course. It might make Rinaldi more comfortable to have Mr. Crider in the room.”

“Sure thing,” Agent Durrett said. “I’ll give you a call and fill you in when Agent Kelly relieves me.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be here until midnight. Shall I call your cell number?”

DJ nodded. “Works for me. But if anything develops before that . . . .”

“I know.” Agent Durrett grinned. “We all know. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll take off.” DJ turned to Crider. “You have my number. Use it if you need it—for anything.”

When DJ got on the freeway for the drive back to his mother’s house, he thought about the developments of the past few hours. How quickly things can change. He turned on the radio to an FM station that played light classical music. His attention was on his driving and the traffic around him, but his inner self was soothed by the music. By the time he arrived at Caroline’s house, he thought he was ready for anything.

Then he remembered the woman he married, and reminded himself not to jump to conclusions.