Grave Consequences (29 page)

It was time to illuminate the target. Raising his shotgun, Charlie aimed and turned on the light. A ball cap and the woman's head appeared for a split second at the edge of a tree trunk, thirty feet away.

He fired just as Gordon did and bits of tree bark exploded from the tree. But Melinda had ducked down and was already on the move again. He'd been a bit slow and she'd seen him raising his weapon.

Quickly he and Gordon backed up, covering their previous positions, watching their flanks. Sometimes the best offense was a good, active defense, and they usually succeeded when they stuck it out and remained patient. They waited, guessing that she'd be circling, stalking them now that she thought she knew where they would be.

Charlie unhooked the flashlight, set down the shotgun, and drew his Beretta. If it ended up close and personal, he wanted a more familiar weapon, one he aimed instinctively. It offered better penetration than the buckshot, held more rounds, and he also didn't like the idea of having his head so close to a flashlight beam. Melinda knew his setup now, so it was time to make a change.

It seemed like an eternity before he heard someone take a breath. He recognized the wet rattle from a throat or chest wound. The woman was hurting, running out of time, and that forced her into action. But it also made her even more dangerous. She was close, to his right, and though he'd put his back to a tree, there was a chance she'd already seen him.

Charlie extended his left hand and turned on the light. There she was, fifteen feet away, blood on her neck, pistol steadied in a two-hand grip. He sidestepped just as her weapon flashed. His left arm suddenly stung, and he realized he'd been hit. The flashlight slipped from his hand.

Gordon shot her twice in the side, just under the raised arm and above the protective vest. She collapsed, her legs giving away.

“Dude, you hit?” Gordon asked, his flashlight out and directed at the target on the ground as he approached, weapon aimed.

“Not much,” Charlie replied as he holstered his pistol and picked up the flashlight with his right hand.

He aimed the beam at his forearm and discovered blood dripping down from the torn sleeve of his jacket. “Glad she was packing a .22 instead of a .45. I could have lost my arm.”

“Or worse. Looks like she's not going to be getting up,” Gordon announced. His eyes never left the target. “Let me secure her weapon, then take a closer look at your injury.”

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, under the glare of floodlights and several law enforcement vehicles, Charlie sat in the back of the EMT vehicle as a bandage was placed over the deep scratch in his neck. Nancy was standing there, grimacing as she turned her torso from side to side slowly.

“I haven't hurt this much since last year's cop-fireman softball game,” she grumbled.

The EMT turned to check out his work, and Charlie stood. “Get hit by a line drive?” Charlie asked.

“No, I was the catcher and a dumb-ass fireman threw the bat after striking out. The bat bounced up and popped me in the ribs,” Nancy replied. “Chest protector didn't help that much.”

“Shoulda stomped him with your cleats,” Gordon offered, looking over from where he was standing.

“What cleats? I had on pink Nikes.”

Charlie laughed. “We ready to go?” he looked over at the faux FedEx vehicle parked on the ditch road about twenty feet away.

“Yeah, any longer and the cat will be out of the bag,” Nancy answered. “DuPree told me a minute ago that Sheila had been picked up at her home by Leroy Williams about the time Melinda arrived at Jayne's house. They went to the restaurant, spoke to a few employees, then Leroy dropped her at home and took off. Williams was followed to his apartment and officers are watching the place. At least we won't be running into him at her house. You sure you're good to go, Charlie?”

His left arm was pretty much useless, but the EMT had bandaged it carefully and he was able to raise it to chest level. “The hit was a through and through, just two small holes and a two-inch tunnel. She missed hitting any major veins and arteries. I'm going to be fine, isn't that right?” Charlie said, looking at the young medic.

“Most likely. But the doctors will probably recommend you spend the night in the hospital, Mr. Henry,” the EMT answered skeptically.

“My neck hurts more than my arm,” Charlie replied. “But thanks for the first aid and the aspirin.”

The medic smiled, and began packing away his gear as Charlie, Gordon, and Nancy walked over to Melinda's cargo van.

“You've got bruised ribs. Want me to drive for a while?” Gordon offered as they reached the vehicle.

“Thanks, but I'll manage,” Nancy responded, opening the driver's door. She'd already removed the wig, wiped off most of the heavy makeup, and tucked her hair into the cap worn by the late Melinda Foy. Her blouse was now beneath a dark blue APD raid jacket that would pass for a FedEx blue uniform shirt at a distance.

“I'm riding shotgun,” Charlie announced, holding up the weapon.

Nancy shrugged. “Then remind me to stop before we reach the neighborhood. If she's looking out and happens to see I have a passenger…”

“You're right. No sense in wasting time making another stop,” Charlie said. He stepped over to the side door, which Gordon had already opened.

“You first, wounded one,” Gordon ordered, stepping aside.

Minutes later, they were across the river, heading south down Fourth Street, when Nancy got a call. “Putting it on speaker, Detective DuPree,” she announced, setting the phone on the center console so all three of them could hear.

“I have some interesting news, which could explain some of what's been going down lately. I'm looking at a restricted access file on Melinda Foy compiled by the FBI office in Las Vegas—Nevada, not New Mexico.”

“Why was the Bureau interested in Melinda Foy?” Charlie asked. “Is she a car thief too?”

“Worse than that. Melinda's maiden name is Giordano—and her father is Tony Giordano, a Vegas hood connected to several homicides and assorted acts of violence. Her mother was a showgirl at one of the casinos, but the FBI thinks that Melinda followed her father's career path instead.”

“Wait, you're saying Melinda does wet work for the mob?” Gordon interrupted. “No wonder she was so … controlled.”

“She's rumored to have made her first hit before she was eligible to vote. But law enforcement has never been able to get enough evidence to even make an arrest for any of that. Her record is clean—except for those Albuquerque prostitution busts,” DuPree added. “Her mom and dad dropped out of sight around then. The Bureau thinks they're in Central America somewhere, maybe Costa Rica.”

“What happened to Melinda's husband, Mr. Foy?”

“The man moved to Alaska after the divorce and has since remarried. The divorce wasn't contested and there was no settlement.”

“Do you think he knew what his wife did during her formative years?” Gordon asked.

“I doubt it,” DuPree replied. “He's apparently still alive.”

“Good point,” Nancy said. “Clearly, Melinda was working for Sheila now that Clarence is out of the picture.”

“If my theory counts for anything, I'm thinking Ms. Foy has been working for Sheila a lot longer, doing her wet work,” Gordon said.

“Like killing Cordell Buck?” Nancy asked.

“And taking out Bitsillie's killers the other night with the bomb,” Charlie concluded. “That woman in the pickup might not have been Sheila.”

“There's more. Here's something that may explain how Al was made,” DuPree responded. “According to the file here, Melinda worked briefly for a company that caters university workshops, events, and ceremonies. Sergeant Medina mentioned the other day that Al Henry attended a law enforcement seminar at UNM last year.”

“And Melinda was one of the servers. Damn, she must have finally seen my brother around Clarence or his crew and recognized him as a cop,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Knowing Al, he probably hit on her, and that stuck in her head.”

“Makes sense,” Nancy said. “We need to get someone to conduct a search of Melinda's apartment. Maybe we can find something tying her to Clarence and his mom.”

“The feds are already there. Let me get back to you on that,” said DuPree. “We also need to scoop up anything that might link her to the murders. By the way, I received a tip via the Bureau about the same time I got access to Melinda's Vegas file. An inside informant wanted to warn us that Melinda was planning to retaliate against the Henry family on behalf of Sheila Ben,” he added.

“By then she was already shooting at us,” Charlie replied. “Too little, too late.”

“Any idea who this slow-motion informant might be?” Gordon asked.

“Not at all, and when I asked, I got the runaround,” DuPree responded. “We may never know.”

“We're getting close to the Ben residence now, Detective,” Nancy announced, turning up the street.

“I see you. I'm in the sedan one block south of the residence.”

“If we can get inside, you need to move in with your units and seal off the block,” Nancy said, looking over and Charlie and Gordon, who both nodded.

“I've got plenty of backup in the area, but hold off for now. You need to wait for a warrant,” DuPree warned.

“Not if we get an invitation,” Charlie said.

DuPree groaned.

“Trust us, bro,” Gordon piped in.

“Bro?” DuPree nearly gagged.

“It'll work. Need to go now, Detective,” Nancy added, reaching over and ending the call. She pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the tall metal gate. She honked the horn lightly.

“Stay out of sight, guys, I'm supposed to be alone,” Nancy warned, looking toward the house.

Several seconds went by. “She's looking out the window,” Nancy whispered through sealed lips. “All she can see is my outline, and I'm trying to look shorter.”

“Gordon knows how to do that,” Charlie whispered.

“Careful, one-armed man. I've got a gun,” Gordon replied.

“Boys. Stay on task,” Nancy mumbled.

Another half minute passed. “Get ready. The gates are opening.”

From where he sat on the floor in the back, Charlie could barely see the top of the garage roof as Nancy eased the Nissan forward.

“She bought it!” Nancy whispered. “Sheila's opening the garage door. A light came on in there. Scrunch up against the driver's side panel and stay down until I give the word.”

Charlie heard a faint mechanical buzz, saw the overhead door, then, as Nancy drove into the garage, noticed rows of large white cabinets along the passenger-side wall of the double garage interior. “No Mustang or SUV,” Nancy whispered. “Just a big green Mercedes to my left.”

“Just?” Gordon whispered.

“She's closing the garage door,” Charlie whispered, watching and listening as the overhead door cycled back down. He reached up and grabbed the handle to the rear compartment sliding side door, ready to move.

“Quiet!” Nancy uttered. “I'm turning on my lapel camera now.”

Only a few seconds went by before Charlie heard Sheila's voice.

“What the hell are you doing here, Melinda? I told you to dump the Nissan before you come back for the rest of your money. Don't tell me Henry's sister wasn't home.”

Nancy waited silently, her arms crossed to hide the pistol below her left arm.

“Roll down that fucking window and answer me!” Sheila yelled. Charlie heard footsteps on the concrete floor as the woman walked out into the garage.

“Now!” Nancy whispered harshly, throwing her door open.

Charlie slid open the back door, covered by Gordon, who had his pistol out and up.

“Shit!” Sheila yelled, bolting around the front end of the Mercedes, racing for the open door leading into the house.

“Halt! Police officer!” Nancy ordered. She was out of the van a second before Charlie, moving down the passenger side of the Mercedes, chasing after Sheila.

“Gun!” Nancy yelled, ducked down below the high-end sedan.

Two gunshots echoed into the garage, accompanied by shattering glass.

Charlie circled around the back of the Mercedes as Gordon moved forward and took a position by the bullet-pocked windshield of the German car. Nancy was crouched below the hood, already on her handheld, calling for DuPree's team to close in.

Charlie edged along the interior wall of the garage, approaching the door leading into the house from an angle, pistol aimed at the opening. He was relying on the Beretta now—a shotgun was no weapon for someone who could only use one arm effectively.

“Cover me,” Nancy replied, slipping around the front end of the Mercedes, pistol aimed at the interior. “Laundry room just inside,” she called out, advancing to the opening. “I hear running.”

“Can't see anyone beyond,” Gordon said.

Charlie noted two shell casings on the floor, established that Sheila was using a self-loader 9 mm pistol, then moved to the door. He looked inside before signaling Nancy with a nod.

She inched forward, low, and worked her way through the tiny laundry room to the next doorway, which led into a much larger space.

Charlie followed, taking a position on the opposite side of the doorway. Taking a quick look inside, he realized this was one of those updated houses with the kitchen and living room all in one. There was a wall to his right lined with big stainless steel appliances interrupted by counter space and a double sink. This area was separated from the rest of the room by one of those islands topped with some kind of stone, probably granite. Beyond, he could see a big interior space with couches and chairs, and a set of French doors leading to a patio or backyard. The doors were closed. He pointed toward them and Nancy shook her head.

“Could she be hiding behind that island thing?” Charlie whispered.