Murder on Sagebrush Lane (25 page)

70

DJ finished writing his report of yesterday’s activities with Colin Crider and Michael Rinaldi. He printed it out, signed it, and distributed it to the appropriate files. He had already briefed SAC Williams early this morning. He looked over the reports of the agents on duty with Rinaldi last night. He’d spoken with Agent Durrett shortly after midnight when his shift ended. So far, all seemed well with Michael Rinaldi. He came through the surgery better than expected, and DJ planned a visit with him this morning.

He placed a call to Colin Crider and asked if he would meet him at the hospital. Crider agreed, and DJ left for Presbyterian.

After Rinaldi had left recovery, they had placed him in a private room in the surgical wing. Located at the end of the hall, the FBI agents guarding him took turns sitting outside his room. DJ nodded to the agent currently in the chair beside the door.

“How’s it going?” He looked through the window in the door. Rinaldi seemed to be asleep. Crider sat in the chair at his bedside.

The agent nodded. “Pretty quiet, except for the constant trill of call buttons, clanking dishes, and visitors flooding this floor all day.”

DJ grinned. “Why don’t you take a twenty-minute break? I’ll be here with him for the next hour or so.”

The agent gave DJ a crooked grin. “Thanks, Scott. I owe you.”

Crider stood when DJ entered the room. “He woke up a few minutes ago. He didn’t last long, though. He seems pretty tired.”

DJ frowned. “I would be, too, if I’d been through what he has.” He looked down at Rinaldi. His nose sported a stiff sort of bandaging, and several neatly stitched wounds decorated his face. The left arm had a blue cast on it, and he wore a brace around his rib cage.

“I told him Katie is safe. When he came out of the anesthesia, that’s the first thing he asked about.” Crider walked over to look out the window. “He’s still in danger, isn’t he, and I don’t mean medically?”

DJ blew out a breath. “That’s the assumption. Whoever did this obviously wanted to get rid of him, and dumping him out in the desert was the method they chose. What I can’t figure out, though, is why they didn’t finish him off before they left him there.”

Crider turned back and studied DJ. “During my career, I went through a lot of pretty unusual training. So did Rinaldi. We learned how to play dead.”

He walked back over to the bed and looked down at Rinaldi. “It’s my guess that whoever did this doesn’t have the benefit of that sort of training, and didn’t know what to look for. A person can play dead pretty effectively by controlling his breathing. And if you can get into a meditative state, you can even make it difficult to find a pulse.”

Rinaldi stirred and groaned softly. DJ and Crider instantly leaned over him. Crider said, “Michael? Can you hear me?”

Rinaldi’s eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Focusing seemed to be difficult for him. Then he saw Crider and tried to sit up. “Where am I?”

“No, don’t try to get up. You’re at Presbyterian Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?” Crider eased him back down, and pushed the button to elevate the head of the bed. “Do you want water?”

Rinaldi nodded his head, wincing as he did so. He turned to DJ. “Who are you?”

DJ introduced himself and showed Rinaldi his badge and credentials. “Do you feel like answering a few questions? You must be in a lot of pain.”

Rinaldi winced. “It’s a lot better than yesterday.” Then he slowly and gently shook his head. “I don’t know what I can tell you.”

“Let’s start with who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

DJ looked at Crider, who registered surprise.

Rinaldi said, “I’ll take the water now.” Crider handed it to him, and he sipped cautiously through the straw.

Crider said, “Do you mean you never met the person who did this?”

“No,” Rinaldi said. “I mean I never got a look at the person who attacked me.”

DJ pulled up one of the chairs and sat beside the bed. “Do you think you could tell us what happened in the early morning hours when Vince Weber came to your house?”

Rinaldi laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. For a moment, DJ thought he might have gone back to sleep, but then he opened his eyes again and turned toward him.

“Vince said he needed to talk. I had gone to bed, planning to finish a book I’d borrowed, and he called a little after midnight. I suggested that he come on by my house, so I got dressed and waited for him. When he arrived about 1:30 a.m. he was agitated. He had convinced himself that he’d been followed.”

Rinaldi reached for the water and took another sip. “Sorry,” he said. “My mouth is so dry.”

“You’re doing fine,” DJ said. “In fact, I’m impressed at how well you can speak considering the beating you took.”

Rinaldi sipped more water. “Colin told me you’ve been taking care of Katie since . . .” he stopped and looked down at the glass. “I . . . I really . . . thank you.” When he looked at DJ there were tears in his eyes.

DJ nodded. “She’s a remarkable little girl. My wife and I were delighted to have her with us.”

Rinaldi wiped his eyes, and continued. “So, anyway, uh . . . Vince didn’t come directly to my house. He drove around for a long time, making sure no one was on his tail. He even parked his car several blocks away and walked to my house. He said that way, he’d know for sure, especially at that hour.”

“Then what happened?” Crider pulled up the other chair and sat.

“We talked for a long time. He told me about what happened to the guy who was supposed to be the buyer. It seems he was there when it happened.”

Crider raised an eyebrow. “He never said anything about that before, did he?”

Rinaldi shook his head, then winced. “Ooh. I guess I shouldn’t do that.”

Crider said, “Just lie back on the pillow, and I’ll crank you up a little more. You need to rest as much as possible right now.”

“Anyway,” Rinaldi continued, “Vince finally admitted how this entire plan had gone bad. It seems Falcon had a phone number for the buyer. He wanted to keep distance between himself and the buyer and didn’t want direct contact with him. That’s why he blackmailed Vince into taking part in the scheme. So Vince called the buyer and set up a meeting. It sounded pretty crazy, too.”

“Why?” DJ looked up from his notebook.

“Well, Vince said it sounded like a dumb rip-off of ‘007’ or one of those other spy movies from the Sixties and Seventies. In the first place, the buyer had a Russian accent, and second, he called himself ‘Goldfinger.’”

DJ smiled. “I see what you mean. So, tell me about the plan.”

Rinaldi sipped more water. “Goldfinger told Vince to meet him at this bar in Los Huevos—The Silver Slipper, The Silver Dollar—something like that. He described how he would dress, how he looked, and that he’d be sitting at a small table near the front door. Vince was to come in, sit at the bar, and wait for the signal.”

“What signal?” Crider asked.

“Goldfinger would order a Manhattan with two cherries. When the drink was delivered, Vince should watch until Goldfinger ate both of the cherries, then go to the table and join him. Meanwhile, Goldfinger would wait to be sure no one had followed either him or Vince to the meeting place.”

“Is that when everything went to hell?” DJ made more notes.

Rinaldi nodded. “Completely off the rails. Two men came into the bar, looked around, and walked straight over to Goldfinger’s table. They both sat down, and Vince saw one of them pull out a pistol and set it on the table. When Vince saw that, he panicked.

“He was sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. Close by was a hall leading to the restrooms and an outside door. So he decided to leave while he could, and slipped out. He had parked his car beside the building, and when he drove around toward the front, he heard shots. He stopped, turned off his lights, and waited. Then he saw the same two men run out of the bar and get into a waiting car. They peeled out and headed south toward Belen. Vince went in the opposite direction, and hightailed it back to Albuquerque. The next day he called me.”

DJ said, “Is that the first time you’d heard his story?”

Rinaldi nodded. “The first time I heard it in that much detail. Previously, Vince had told me the buyer died in a bar fight in Los Huevos. He said he became worried the guys involved in the altercation might realize he saw them with Goldfinger.”

“Why didn’t Vince just tell Falcon what happened?”

Rinaldi looked down at his hands. “Because that’s when he called me, and I told him not to.”

DJ frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Rinaldi shot a look at Crider, who nodded his head. Rinaldi turned to DJ. “Colin told you about my previous job?”

“Yes, he did.” DJ went back to his notes.

“Then you can understand why I couldn’t let him do that. I may not be active with the Company any longer, but I couldn’t let Vince pass that data to another buyer. I decided to contact Colin and the two of us would get the data and hand over marked money to Falcon. With any kind of luck, we would have discovered Falcon’s identity, and the FBI would have had another spy to take into custody.”

DJ shook his head and stuck his pen back in his pocket. “See, that’s where I have a problem with all of this. If you’d contacted us from the beginning, we could have handled it. Maybe Vince Weber would still be alive, and you wouldn’t be in here recovering from a beating.”

Rinaldi closed his eyes again. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s never exactly been our practice to turn over our best stuff to you guys. Anyway, it’s a moot point now.”

DJ looked at Crider. “And you knew this all along, from the day we met, and you didn’t think it would be a good idea to fill me in—on all of it?”

Crider stiffened. “I told you, I thought I was handling it. Remember, when I first met you, I thought that dead body was Rinaldi. I didn’t know where Vince was, and I didn’t know the identity of Falcon. Furthermore, I couldn’t find the data anywhere.” He looked down at his shoes and shook his head. “I still don’t know where that is.”

DJ smiled. “I have good news for you on that front. The FBI has it now.”

Crider’s eyes blazed. “What?”

Rinaldi reached out and touched Crider’s arm. “Relax, Colin. I hid it in Katie’s bear. It was the best place I could think of, and since Agent Scott and his wife ended up with Katie, he must have found it.”

“Actually,” DJ said and stood to leave, “my lovely, inquisitive, adventurous wife found it. And she risked a lot to trap the guy who was after it.”

Crider eyes widened. “You mean you already caught Falcon?”

DJ shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. It turns out the guy we thought wanted the flash drive, actually wanted Katie.” He held up his hand to stop the beginning of a protest from Rinaldi.

“Don’t worry. The creep didn’t get Katie, either. In fact, that little lady is now safely with her grandmother.”

Rinaldi closed his eyes and said, “Thank God. Alexis is very close to Katie.”

“Your mother-in-law is quite a lady. I phoned her last night and told her you were in the hospital, alive and safe. She wants to see you as soon as you feel up to it.”

“How can I ever thank you?” Rinaldi said.

Just then, the nurse entered with a tray of instruments. “Sorry, fellas. That’s enough for today. I need to change this man’s dressings, and he needs his rest. I suggest you hold off on this inquisition of yours until he’s in better shape, okay?”

It wasn’t a question that expected an answer. It was an order, and she would brook no argument.

Crider looked at DJ, and they both shrugged and bid Rinaldi goodbye. The nurse hovered over Rinaldi until they headed for the door.

As he started out, DJ turned back to Rinaldi. “Just so you know, it’s not me you need to thank. It’s my wife, Harrie, who fought like the very devil to keep Katie from being placed in foster care. She deserves the credit for keeping Katie safe.”

71

Harrie’s heart pounded. She waited for the adrenaline to subside and still held the cordless phone in her hand. The 9-1-1 operator had said they would send police and rescue as soon as they could. What if that’s too late? What if Winnie Devlin’s hurt?

She thought about phoning DJ but knew he was at the hospital this morning, and most likely had his phone off. Instead, she dialed the number for Lieutenant Swanson. It went immediately to voice mail. Damn. This couldn’t wait.

Her ears strained for the sound of sirens. Nothing. Maybe she should go check. They would be there soon, wouldn’t they? In the meantime, she could make sure Winnie was okay.

But wait. What if this was another stupid fantasy cooked up by Winnie to get attention? If emergency response got there and nothing was wrong, Harrie would feel awful that she had put in the call.

Harrie grabbed the house keys and headed out, locking the front door behind her. She pocketed the keys, looking around the neighborhood for signs of activity. The entire block seemed deserted. She’d thought of snagging one of the neighbors to help check out the situation. But it didn’t look like that would work, so now what? She pushed her brain to come up with a plan.

Harrie walked toward the end of her block. Still she heard no sirens. Then a thought occurred to her. As far as she could tell, there had been a continued police presence at the Rinaldi home all week. She could go there and tell the policeman on duty about Winnie’s call. Maybe he’d go with her to check it out.

As she crossed the street to the next block, the lack of a siren in the distance bothered her. They had to be on the way. Didn’t a 9-1-1 call put in motion an immediate response? Harrie spotted the same car she and Ginger had seen in front of the Rinaldi house yesterday. It was now parked on the street a few houses away. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was the same car. The officer must be there again. She hurried up to the front door and started to knock. Then she noticed the door standing ajar and eased it open. She called out.

“Yoo Hoo! Anybody here?” Stepping inside, she looked around the entry hall. There was no one in the living room, only the bloody mess that still saturated the carpet where the body had been. She shivered and looked in the dining room. No one there, either, and the door leading to the kitchen remained closed. She opened it and glance around the kitchen. Deserted.

Where was the officer on duty? Surely they wouldn’t leave the house unlocked and without someone to watch over things. She went through the dining room again and headed down the hall to the den in back. “Excuse me, officer,” she said loud enough to alert anyone in the house. “Sir, I need your help. There’s a woman next door in trouble. Could you come with me to check on her?”

Harrie stood uncertainly in the doorway to the den and looked out on the backyard of the home. The sliding door from the den to the patio stood open. The flowers were in full bloom and looked cheerily unaware of the tragedy that had occurred here on Monday. A tiny pinprick of unease inched it’s way along her spine. What was going on here? Something was not as it should be. The refrigerated air was on, she could hear it running. You’d think whoever had the duty today would know to keep the doors and windows closed with the air conditioner running full blast.

Then everything happened at once. A noise came from behind her, and before she could move, a cloth-like material covered her mouth and nose. She breathed in a sickly sweet, unpleasant, chemical smell, and felt herself sliding down through a dark hole of oblivion.