Home Invasion (5 page)

Dave Rutherford called Alex late that afternoon. “The judge granted bail to Navarre,” he told her without any preliminaries.

“Damn it,” Alex said with heartfelt anger. “How much?” The best she could hope for was that it would be a large enough amount to keep Navarre in custody.

“Five million dollars.”

Alex relaxed a little. “Well, I’d rather there was no bail at all, but I guess—”

“He’s out,” Rutherford interrupted.

For a second, Alex could only stare. She was sitting in her police car in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church, where she had pulled in to answer her cell phone. When she found her voice again, she said, “He made bail? Five million?”

“He only had to put up ten percent of that. A bonding company put up the rest.”

“That’s still half a million dollars,” Alex protested. “Where does a lowlife like that come up with …” Her voice trailed off. She gave a frustrated sigh. “The same place he gets a high-powered lawyer who flies in from San Antonio on a private jet, right?”

“That’s right,” Rutherford agreed. “Chances are, Navarre works for one of the Mexican cartels.”

“The cartel didn’t send him up here to burglarize the home of an old couple like the McNamaras.”

“No, I imagine he and his friend did that on their own. For kicks, maybe, or just for something to pass the time. But the cartels inspire such fierce loyalty in the men who work for them in two ways: through utter fear, and by standing behind them to the limit when they get in trouble.”

Alex’s mind worked quickly. “Navarre is still in the hospital here in Home.”

“He won’t be for long. Cochrum is on his way to get him in a private ambulance.”

“We’ll see about that,” Alex muttered.

“Wait—” Rutherford began, but Alex closed the cell phone and cut him off. The police car was still running. She put it in gear and headed for the hospital. Visions of barricading the hospital doors and not letting Clayton Cochrum in went through her head.

That fantasy didn’t last long. She had sworn to uphold the law, not break it. If she was the vigilante type, she never would have become a cop in the first place.

But she could be there to tell Cochrum what she thought of him. There was no law against that.

Alex had no doubt that Emilio Navarre would flee the country and escape justice for his part in Inez McNamara’s death. The only remotely good thing about Navarre being granted bail was that it meant the lawsuit Cochrum had filed wouldn’t proceed. The judge was sure to throw it out when Navarre didn’t show up for the trial.

All the media crews had flocked back to the hospital, Alex saw when she got there. They must have gotten word from the county seat that Navarre had made bail, and they wanted to be here to capture the event when he left the hospital. Alex parked on the side street and went in through the back of the hospital again. As she did so, she wondered if she could persuade Dr. Boone to refuse to release Navarre on medical grounds.

That wouldn’t work, she decided. A doctor couldn’t actually
force
a patient to stay in the hospital. Navarre would have to sign a release saying that the hospital and its personnel couldn’t be sued because of his leaving, but that wouldn’t be a problem. The lawyer could probably even sign it for him.

There was just no way to keep him here if he didn’t want to stay, Alex thought with a sigh. Like it or not, Navarre was getting out.

Dr. Boone was standing at the nurses’ station with several of the nurses. A middle-aged man with the face of a weary basset hound, he said, “There’s quite a commotion going on outside, Chief Bonner. Is there anything I should know about?”

“You’re going to be losing a patient, Doctor.”

“Mr. Navarre?”

“That’s right. A judge granted him bail.”

Boone nodded. “I’d heard rumors to that effect on the news. There’s nothing you can do to stop it?”

“Not a thing. It’s legal.”

“This man Navarre isn’t a U.S. citizen.”

Alex shook her head. “Forgive me for being blunt, Doctor, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing anymore. With all the changes in the law over the past fifteen years, illegals have just as many rights in this country as anybody else. Maybe more.”

“Yes, I know. I never refused to treat anyone who needed help, no matter where they were from, but so much of this other … It’s not right, Chief, it’s just not right.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex said over her shoulder as she started down the hall toward Room 108. “Just lie low, Doctor. The circus will be over soon.” Under her breath, she added, “I hope.”

Jerry Houston was young, stocky, and fair, with only a few years of experience as a police officer under his belt. He turned a worried gaze on Alex as she came into the room. Nodding toward the smirking man in the bed, Jerry said, “This guy claims he’s gettin’ out of here. That’s not right, is it, Chief?”

“I’m afraid so, Jerry,” Alex said. “Mr. Navarre, I take it you’ve heard that you were granted bail?”

“My lawyer called,” Navarre said with a sneer. “I tol’ you you couldn’t keep me here.”

“Pete McNamara was my Little League coach,” Jerry said. “Mrs. McNamara always brought snacks for us. You … you can’t just let this man go!”

“There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jerry put his hand on the butt of his gun and muttered, “There’s something
I
can do about it.”

Navarre’s eyes widened a little in fear. He could see his own death on Jerry’s face, just as plainly as Alex could.

“Jerry,” she said sharply. “Go out in the hall. Now.”

“But, Chief—

Do what I told you,” Alex snapped. “In fact, go down to the entrance and help Lester. He’s liable to need a hand keeping order down there.” She paused. “That’s an order, Jerry.”

He sighed and finally nodded. “All right. But sooner or later, somebody’s got to stand up and do what’s right, Chief.”

“Our only concern is what’s legal.”

Jerry gave a contemptuous grunt on his way out of the room. Alex felt a flash of anger and thought about calling him back to give him a few choice words about respecting the chief of police, but she let it go.

Right now, she didn’t have much respect for the legal system herself, and she was part of it, after all.

Navarre relaxed after Jerry was gone. He grinned at her again and said, “He’s a hothead, that one, no?”

“He’s just fed up, like the rest of us are when we see—” Alex stopped herself. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with Navarre.

He wasn’t going to let it go, though. “When you see what?” he demanded. “A dirty Mexican? A spic? You’re a racist, lady, like the rest of this Texan trash.”

She knew she ought to ignore him, but she couldn’t. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Navarre,” she told him. “I’ve lived and worked with Hispanics all my life. The mayor, my boss, is named Ruiz, and my best officer is named Delgado. I’d trust him with my life. I don’t care what color your skin is. You’d still be a vicious animal if you were black or white or yellow.”

“You gonna get what’s comin’ to you one of these days,” Navarre blustered. “All you damn rednecks. Texas will be back where it belongs, as part of Mexico!”

“You tried that a few years ago, remember?” Alex said, referring to the infamous Second Siege of the Alamo. “It didn’t work.”

Navarre settled back against the pillows propped up behind him and glared at her, but he didn’t say anything else.

A short time later, a wave of noise in the hall outside warned Alex of what was coming. As she turned to face the door, it opened and the man she had seen on TV earlier that morning swept into the room. He stopped, took his sunglasses off, and smiled at her.

“Chief Bonner?”

“That’s right.” Alex didn’t return the smile.

“I’m Clayton Cochrum. I represent Mr. Navarre, and I have an order here for his release.”

“He’s been wounded,” Alex said. “He ought to stay here in the hospital.”

Cochrum’s smile disappeared, to be replaced by a look of grave concern. “I’m well aware that my client has been wounded, Chief. That wanton shooting spree by one of your citizens is the reason I’ve filed suit on Mr. Navarre’s behalf, to try to redress the wrong that’s been done him.”

Alex opened her mouth to say something, but Cochrum held up a hand.

“As for his medical condition,” the lawyer went on, “I have a fully-equipped, state-of-the-art private ambulance waiting outside, along with a crack team of doctors and nurses to provide care for him until we can get him to an adequate private facility. This … little country clinic … is hardly the sort of place where he needs to be.”

“The staff of this little country clinic saved his life,” Alex pointed out.

“Which wouldn’t have been in danger if you hadn’t turned a blind eye to the presence of an armed maniac in your town, Chief.”

Alex wasn’t sure whom Cochrum was playing to. The news crews were all still outside. Maybe the guy was just in the habit of being a sanctimonious asshole.

“Let’s see the paperwork,” she snapped.

Cochrum handed over the release documents. They were all in order, no doubt about that. Alex handed the papers back and said, “All right, take him.”

Cochrum motioned to the men who had wheeled in a gurney behind him.

Alex stood to the side with her arms crossed as Navarre was unhooked from the IVs and the monitor and transferred to the gurney. A couple of private nurses moved in and reattached him to IVs that they carried. The whole group moved out with the precision of a military unit.

Alex followed them down the hall. They went out through the lobby, into the crowd of reporters and cameramen that had gathered just outside the hospital entrance. Armed rent-a-cops kept the crowd from getting too close. A tumult of shouted questions went up at the sight of Navarre on the gurney.

Cochrum had put his sunglasses back on. He held up his hands for silence and called, “Please, please! We have no statement at this time! Let us through, please!”

It was all for show, which Cochrum proved by turning back to the reporters as soon as Navarre had been loaded into the private ambulance.

“Mr. Navarre will now be transported to a secure private facility where he can receive the proper care. On behalf of my client, I’d like to thank the doctors and staff of Home Community Hospital for their outstanding efforts on his behalf.”

One of the reporters managed to say, “Were you worried about your client’s safety while he was here?”

“I think that was one of the main factors in deciding to transfer him, yes,” Cochrum replied.

“You don’t think the local police could protect him?”

“Well, it’s a small department, isn’t it?” Cochrum asked smoothly. “And to be honest, I’m not certain that my client’s safety was at the top of their priority list.”

Alex saw some of the cameras swing toward her. She knew the reporters wanted her to react to the lawyer’s provocative statement.

She kept her face as stony and expressionless as she could.

When they didn’t get what they wanted from her, they turned back to Cochrum. “Do you believe that Navarre is a flight risk? “ a woman asked.

“Absolutely not,” Cochrum answered without hesitation. “My client
wants
to answer all the absurd charges against him. Even more than that, he wants to be on hand when the lawsuit that I have filed on his behalf comes to trial. You see, ladies and gentlemen, while my client may not be a citizen of this country, he is a great admirer of it and wants to see its system of justice in action. He wants the man who is truly responsible for this tragedy to have to answer for what he has done. To that end, once again I call on the local authorities to arrest Mr. Peter McNamara and charge him with the crimes of which he is guilty …
the murder of Jorge Corona and the attempted murder of my client, Emilio Navarre!”

Once again the cameras turned toward Alex, staring at her with their lenses like the eyes of hungry scavengers. A man called, “What about it, Chief? Are you going to arrest Pete McNamara?”

Alex knew she couldn’t get away with a “No comment.” She said, “The Home Police Department will take all appropriate action, I assure you.”

“Chief Bonner, aren’t you friends with Pete McNamara? Is there a conflict of interest here?”

“There’s no conflict of interest,” Alex said. “My officers and I will follow the law. That’s all.”

She ignored the other questions they yelled at her and backed toward the glass doors leading into the hospital. Clayton Cochrum stood beside the ambulance, smirking at her.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Home had been such a nice little town, Alex thought as she retreated into the building. Inez McNamara was still alive, and the streets weren’t clogged with vultures masquerading as reporters. She had never even heard of Clayton Cochrum, let alone had to endure his smarmy grin.

Now everything had been turned upside down. A monster was claiming to be the wronged party, the victim of the evil that he himself was responsible for, and he had people lining up to support him. Alex had no doubt that the cable news shows would be full of pundits talking about all those crazy gun nuts down in Texas. If they could get in a few jabs at organized religion, they would do that, too. And all too many of the viewers would sit there, openmouthed, ready to be spoon-fed that poisonous claptrap.

Maybe someday things would settle down. Maybe someday the world would be right again, and people wouldn’t be punished for being hardworking and honest.

But as she stood there watching through the glass doors as the private ambulance drove away with its lights flashing, Alex wasn’t sure if that would ever happen. She wasn’t sure at all.

Two months later

“Who’s this guy supposed to be, anyway?” Brad Parker asked as he sat at the umbrella-shaded table and watched the bikini-clad lovelies strutting their stuff around the pool.

“Hell if I know,” Lawrence Ford replied. Like Parker, he wore sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, and lightweight trousers. Also like Parker, the long tails of the shirt Ford wore served to conceal the butt of the flat, deadly little automatic that was holstered at the small of his back.

A mandatory accessory for the well-dressed tourist in Corpus Christi, Texas, Ford had called the weapon earlier.

The warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico rolled up on a beautiful white sand beach on the other side of a strip of lush green lawn dotted with palm trees. Despite the nearness of the Gulf, the pool here at the hotel was doing a brisk business. It didn’t have any sand or fish in it, and besides, a lot of the beautiful young people gathered around the pool were more interested in being seen and in hooking up with somebody than they were in actually swimming.

“My God, we’re a couple of dirty old men,” Ford said as two lovely twenty-year-olds in tiny bikinis strolled past their table.

“Speak for yourself, Fargo,” Parker said. “I’m still young.”

“You just keep on deluding yourself that way.” Ford took a sip of his drink. It had a tiny umbrella in it, which he tried to ignore. It was embarrassing for a grown man to drink a drink that had an umbrella in it, he thought. But he and Parker were supposed to look like typical tourists, which meant they were beyond embarrassment.

Both men were in their forties. The tall, burly Ford was from Fargo, North Dakota, hence the nickname, and despite being raised in such a cold climate, since going to work for the Company he had most often found himself on assignment in hot places: Pakistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Central America, now Texas…. He had thought more than once that his bosses were engaged in some bizarre conspiracy to make him sweat.

Parker, on the other hand, had been born and raised in Southern California and had the blond good looks to prove it. His face had a rough-hewn quality that kept him from being too pretty, though. A few years earlier, he had been hurt badly during a mission in Afghanistan, and even though he had fully recovered and gone back on active duty, the carefree look he’d had in his eyes as a young man was gone forever.

Nobody who knew the truth of what really went on in the world could be carefree. And nobody knew that truth better than these shadow warriors.

“So what are we supposed to do here?” Parker pressed.

“Find the guy, grab the guy, hold on to him until somebody picks him up,” Ford replied with a shrug of his brawny shoulders. He had a little paunch he struggled with, but like the shorter, more slender Parker he was a very dangerous man in a fight.

“Then he must be somebody important.”

“Importance is in the eye of he who pays the bills.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of putting on that cynical act?”

“Who says it’s an act?” Ford smiled lazily. “Don’t look now, but there’s our pigeon.”

Parker didn’t react other than to ask, “Where?”

Smiling and nodding, Ford said, “Sixth floor balcony.” He counted the balconies from the corner of the building and matched it up with the floor plan he had studied. “Room 627.”

“Very good.” Parker finished his drink. “What’s he doing up there?”

Ford threw his head back and laughed as if his fellow agent had said something funny. That gave him a chance to look directly at the man who had ventured nervously out onto the balcony. The target was small, almost boyish looking with a mop of blond hair.

“Just looking around, as far as I can tell. Watching these nubile young lovelies parade around the pool.”

Parker ran a thumbnail along his jawline as he frowned. “So they knew he was in Corpus Christi and even knew what hotel he was staying at, but they couldn’t find out his room number?”

“They wanted to leave
something
for us to do,” Ford drawled. “You know, so we’ll feel like we’re earning our wages.”

“I feel like it every time the weather turns cold and those busted ribs of mine start aching.” Parker shook his head. “Something’s not right here, Fargo.”

“Something’s always not right in this business. If everything was right, they wouldn’t need us, now would they?”

“I suppose not.” Parker stood up. “There’s no point in wasting time. We might as well get started on this babysitting job.”

Ford finished his drink and got to his feet as well. “Farewell, ladies,” he said to the girls around the pool, quietly enough so that none of them heard him.

The two men strolled into the hotel, went to the bank of elevators, and Parker pushed the button. A family with several kids in tow came up behind them. As the bell rang to signal that the elevator was there, Ford glanced over his shoulder and stepped aside, motioning for the family to go ahead.

“We’ll get the next one,” he said.

“What did you do that for?” Parker asked when the door had slid closed.

“I didn’t like the looks of that little boy. He looked like a farter to me. We didn’t want to be trapped in there with him for six floors.”

“You’re always looking out for our safety, aren’t you, Fargo?”

“Of course. It’s my job.”

As a matter of fact, Ford had saved Parker’s life a couple of times in Pakistan. Neither of them was going to mention that, though. Like Ford said, it was just part of the job.

They took the next elevator and got out at the sixth floor. Signs on the wall told them that Rooms 620 to 640 were to their right. They turned in that direction. The fourth door on the right would be 627.

They had almost reached it when they heard the crash and the cry of pain from inside the room.