Adios Angel (6 page)

“I thought maybe you just wanted to see me,” replied
Kate.

“Then maybe after I talk with them, I’ll have a reason
to come back and see you again.  Or maybe you’ll have a reason to stop by and
see me.  It’s been a while since you’ve been up to the Rez.”

Helen’s knock on the door interrupted what had become
a far too infrequent personal moment between the pair.

“Deputy Steele, Josh Diamond is here. He’s asking to
talk with you.”

“Tell him it will be just a minute.”

“Official business, I presume?” asked Eskadi.

“Don’t get jealous.  He is a very good man, but not
necessarily my type.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Besides, someone’s already got their designs on
me...or so I’ve been led to believe.”

Eskadi’s deep ebony eyes smiled as broadly as his
lips.

“I will call you.”

Eskadi cast a stern expression in the direction of the
ruggedly handsome Josh Diamond as they passed.    

“Josh, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Deputy Steele.”

“Call me Kate, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josh Diamond’s soft southern accent puzzled her. 
Sheriff Hanks had mentioned that Josh had moved to Safford from Bisbee, a small
town near the Mexican border in central Arizona.  The sheriff had also said
they had served together as young men working for the border patrol.  Before
that, Josh had enlisted in the Marines and had served in Desert Storm, the
first Iraqi war. 

In the few short months he had lived in town, rumors
about his past were plentiful.  He had allegedly been a member of the Special
Forces in Iraq and Kuwait, a military operative behind enemy lines in Bosnia,
and a Texas bounty hunter.  Most of them were just that, rumors.  The serenity
and calmness in his face deeply contrasted with the image of a man possibly
involved in such a vast array of human hunting endeavors.

The truth, in fact, was that he had worked with bomb
sniffing German Shepherds in combat and non-combat situations in Kuwait.  He
trained, handled and ultimately was deployed in the field with these dogs.  He
referred to himself as a military dog handler when asked by those close to him.

“The county has arranged to take care of your hospital
bills.”  Kate slid an official form across the desk toward him.  “Just sign on
the dotted line.  Press hard, it’s in triplicate.”

“Thank you,” said Josh sliding the form back at Kate. 
“It’s not necessary.  I have health insurance and I never get the chance to use
it.  I might as well get something for all those premiums I pay,” laughed Josh.

“Are you certain?  All I have to do is send this form
over to the hospital and everything will be taken care of.”

“I’m sure it will.  But let’s keep the taxpayers from
footing this bill.”

“Then let me extend my official thank you from the
sheriff’s department and the citizens of Graham County for helping us.”

“For getting in the way of flying debris?”

The injured man raised the arm cast and beamed
broadly.   

“And the broken bones,” added Kate, returning the
smile.

“Your thanks is officially noted and accepted,” said
Josh.

“Fair enough.”

Sheriff Hanks walked past Deputy Steele’s office and
stuck his head in the doorway, interrupting what was quickly becoming a
flirtatious encounter.

“How you feeling, Josh?” asked Zeb.

“Doing all right,” replied Josh.  “Even better now.”

Zeb looked at his old friend, looked at his deputy and
looked back at Josh. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Reporting a crime.”

“You’ve only been out of the hospital for a couple of
hours,” said Zeb.  “What’s happened?”

“While I was looking for bombs and getting patched up
in the hospital, somebody broke into my store.  Five handguns, a fair amount of
ammunition, some merchandise and a personal item, a flak jacket, were stolen.  
I made a complete list of the missing items.  The guns are all registered to
the store.  I need you to come check it out.  I already left a message with the
Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.  They told me to talk to you.  Here is
the list of what is missing.” 

“The ATF was here yesterday looking at the bomb site
at the grade school. They are still around.   I imagine they will add the
break-in at your store to their list of work to do.”

Josh nodded and handed a meticulously typed note to
the sheriff.  He briefly studied the list, handed it to his deputy and glanced
back at his friend.  With his hand in the cast, he must have pecked the list
out one key at a time.  The stolen handguns included four .38’s and a .22.  The
ammunition included 24 boxes of one hundred count NyClad HP for the .38’s and
one 250-count box of .22 cartridges.  The holsters were a special type of
military issue that each held two guns, shoulder variety.  The flak jacket was
standard police issue. The gun cleaning kit was top of the line, Otis Elite.

“You have an alarm system.  How did they bypass that?”

“I do.  And it was armed.  But ultimately it didn’t
make any difference.”    

“What do you mean?” asked Zeb.

“Somebody used a bolt cutter on the padlock on the
electrical box. They cut the wires to the alarm system and to my cameras.”

Zeb immediately assumed the job was done by a
professional.  Very likely it was somebody from out of town as he would know
any locals with that kind of skill and mindset.

“What do you make of the specific stolen weapons? Are
any of them antiques or collectibles?” asked Zeb. 

“No,” replied Josh.  “From the looks of it someone
knew exactly what they were after.  They passed over many more expensive guns
to get to the ones they took.  My guess is, five handguns and that much ammo,
it isn’t about collecting.”

“You’re probably right about that,” replied Zeb.

“What about the holsters?” asked Deputy Steele.

“They are a specialty item fast draw competitors use
in an event called the double draw.”

“What about the flak jacket?”

“That was mine.  I picked it up at a gun show.  A guy
owed me some money.  When he couldn’t pay me back, I took it as collateral.  It
wasn’t for sale.  I know better.”

“A flak jacket and that many hand guns add up to
trouble.  Any suspects come to mind?” asked Zeb.

“When you sell guns for a living like I do, it’s
pretty easy to get suspicious about anyone and everyone who walks through your
door.  Sometimes even little old ladies who buy cap guns look like criminals. 
If I ever get that paranoid, I’ll get out of the business.  ”

Zeb and Deputy Steele nodded. They had both seen
plenty of criminals who didn’t look the part.

“I’ve only lived in Safford for a short time. I don’t
personally know all the people who walk in the door.”

“But you’re suspicious of our seasoned citizens?”
asked Zeb with a smile.

“I wasn’t being glib when I made the remark about
little old ladies.  When my dad had a store down on the border, two
grandmotherly types robbed him.  One stuck a gun in his craw and pistol-whipped
him while the other cleaned out his till.  My old man was in the business for
twenty-five years.  They were the only people who ever got the upper hand on
him.  He got kidded about that until the day he died.”

The image of a pair of blue haired grannies knocking
over a gun shop brought a silly grin to Kate’s face.  What she had heard was
true.  Josh Diamond could spin a yarn.

“Is that really true?” Kate asked.

“With God as my witness,” said Josh raising his
uninjured arm.  “Worst part was they hog tied him.  He had to lay there all
trussed up for a couple of hours before anyone came in.  When he finally was
rescued, it was by the biggest gossipmonger this side of the border.  It wasn’t
long before the neighborhood was talking about how Big Ed Diamond was made a
fool by a pair of grandmothers.  He took a lot of razzing.  His store traffic
doubled on the curiosity factor alone.”

Zeb was familiar with his old border patrol buddy’s
style, and Josh’s easy-going manner was beginning to grow on Kate. 

“We had better go down to your business so I can have
a look around.  Is now a good time for you?” said Zeb.

“Yes, Sir,” replied Josh.  “Never better.”  

“Don’t ‘Sir’ me,” said Zeb sternly.

“Okay, boss,” said Josh sarcastically.

Kate knew that Josh had served under Zeb’s command as
a United States Border Patrol agent, so she figured that was an inside joke.

“I’ll meet you at your gun shop in fifteen minutes.”

From the corner of her eye, Kate watched Josh Diamond
amble out of the office.  Even in his injured state he carried himself with a
uniquely dignified panache.  

“Helen, Josh Diamond’s gun shop was robbed when he was
in the hospital.  Could you put the paperwork together and put it on my desk? 
I’m headed over there to have a look around.  Here’s the list of stolen items.”

“Certainly.  Do you want me to type in the particulars
I already know?”

Zeb knew Helen’s ears had acted as sonar detectors
during his conversation with Josh. 

“That really would be helpful.”

Sheriff Hanks slipped into his office to finish off a
bit of paperwork.  From his office he listened as Helen spoke to his deputy.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Helen.  “Eskadi left this
for you.”

Helen handed Kate a sealed envelope.

“If you ask me, I think Eskadi Black Robes is jealous
of Josh Diamond.”

Kate’s response to Helen’s statement was to examine
the envelope.  If Helen had tampered with it, there were no obvious signs. 
Even though she had been civil to Eskadi Black Robes, Helen’s independent
nature would not allow her to forget the run-ins she had with him over the
years. 

Kate opened the envelope.  Eskadi had drawn a single
star at the top of the page.  Beneath it he had printed the Apache word
Son-ee-ah-Ray--Morning Star--the Apache name he had given her at a gathering
less than a year earlier.  Maybe Eskadi did have a bit of a jealous streak in
him.  She wished her mother was alive so she would have someone to talk with
about the strange ways of men and how they express their affection.

Kate tucked the letter into her desk drawer.

During the four-block walk to Diamond Gun & Ammo Zeb
concluded mind that the words spoken in the bomb threat did not jibe with the tone
of the caller’s voice.  A man calling in a bomb threat…two bomb threats…would
have no regret in his voice. Yet, the voice of the caller was seemingly full of
remorse.  His job was to figure out why. 

Josh Diamond’s gun store  was on Second Street, just
past Jilberto’s Mexican Eatery and a pair of abandoned buildings.  The old
livery stable, dilapidated when Josh took it over, had been freshened with a
new coat of paint and security doors. 

“Yo, Zeb,” said Josh.  “That was quick.”

“I hardly recognize the place,” said Zeb. “It looks
great.”

“Thanks.   I’m converting the upstairs into a deluxe
apartment.  The future of Safford looks bright, wouldn’t you say?” asked Josh. 
“I mean for a businessman like me.”

“If we can keep the downtown alive, the mines open,
the price of cotton up and keep the young people from moving away, I’d say
Safford will thrive.”

“I hope it does. I like what I see so far.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about Deputy Kate Steele. 
I saw the way you two were eyeing each other.”

“She is quite a gal,” said Josh.  “Don’t know her that
well yet, but I’d like to.  That is just between us boys, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll keep it on the down low, but you’ve got
competition,” said Zeb.

“I’d be surprised if I didn’t,” replied Josh.

An art deco clock, a series of first edition Zane Grey
novels and a signed, framed Picasso were among the many new additions since Zeb
had last been in the store.   

“Is that a Picasso?” asked Zeb, eyeing the painting. 
“What kind of money is there in the gun business, anyway?”

Josh laughed.   “Not that kind of money.  My dad got
it in a swap a long time ago. I don’t think the owner knew what he had. 
Coffee?”

“I’ve got time for one cup.  I would prefer tea if you
have it.”

Josh eyed his old pal and said, “Sounds like someone
is domesticating you at last.”

“Kiss my ass, amigo.  My guts are acting up.  Tea
calms them.”

“Good, but I still mean what I said.  One tea coming
up.”

“I see you’re making this a fancy gun store,” said
Zeb.

“I prefer
eclectic
,” replied Josh.  The men
chuckled. 

“Eclectic ain’t exactly what got us through some tight
circumstances along the border now did it, or kept you alive during your time
in Kuwait,” said Zeb.

“I’m a complex man,” replied Josh.  His comment caused
both of the men to laugh uproariously.

“Maybe we should get down to the details of the
robbery,” said Zeb.

Josh stood, taking his coffee mug in hand, and
strolled behind the counter.  He thumped the top of a glass enclosure with the
first finger on his good hand.  He pointed to a small hole in the glass, not
much bigger in diameter than a softball. 

“The handguns were taken from this case.  They managed
to break the glass fairly cleanly.  Hardly left a mess at all.  The
neato
bandito. 
How about that for an m.o.?”

“I’ll note it in my report,” replied Zeb.

Zeb pointed to a hunter’s display created from an
impressive collection of antlers.

“That’s a unique gun rack.  Did you make it yourself?”

“Hell, no.  I bought it at a bankruptcy sale over in
west Texas,” replied Josh.  “Some phony oilman claims to have shot every one of
them himself.  I suspect he was full of b.s.”

“I bet there’s a story behind that.”

“He was the fattest human being I have ever seen. 
When I met him, I wondered if it would take a stick of dynamite to blast him
out of his chair.”

Zeb shook his head.  Same old Josh.  Always full of
bull.

“Most of these horns are from mountain animals that
would require a fair amount of walking to get to.  The schmuck even had a bunch
of phony photographs with himself dressed in a safari outfit standing by
freshly killed animals.  He couldn’t remember where he had been hunting and
couldn’t match the animals with the horns in his collection.  It doesn’t
matter.  I bought them for display purposes.  I like the way they look.”

Josh had a keen eye and a clever tongue.  Zeb eyed the trophy
horns and the tersely worded sign hanging just below them.

ALL EXPLOSIVES REQUIRE PROPER
PERMITS.

NO EXCEPTIONS!

DON’T EVEN
ASK!!

“What about the ammunition?  Where was it taken from?”

Josh motioned the sheriff behind the counter and
through a pair of swinging doors into the back half of the store.

“Those old doors came with the place. I think they’re
originals. I fell in love with them the minute I saw them.  They give the
building an honest to goodness old west flavor. They make me feel like a kid
again.”

“Like you ever grew up,” said Zeb.

“This is my business office.  That’s being a grown-up,
isn’t it?”

Zeb shook his head.  The room, lit by the bright glare
of incandescent bulbs, was divided in half.  Toward the front was an
old-fashioned green bank safe with
SANTE FE STAGECOACH COMPANY
written
in faded black lettering.  Next to the safe was a roll top desk with several
piles of neatly stacked paperwork and a small number of framed pictures. 
Against the back wall, on either side of a massive door, in padlocked metal
lockers were cases with hundreds of boxes of ammunition. He already had what he
needed.  The weathered oaken door had two locking mechanisms--a dead bolt and a
two by four piece of wood in a U-shaped bracket.  It appeared fairly
impenetrable. The rest of the room was bare except for an area rug and a
calendar.  The calendar was headlined FRENCH LIVERY and STABLES with the date
1914. 

“Did the calendar come with the building too?”

Zeb walked over to the calendar and took a look at the
pictures sitting atop Josh’s desk.  One of them was of Josh wearing a cowboy
shirt, hat and holster.  He looked to be about four years old.  Next to it was
a wedding picture.  The man looked happy, beaming broadly and not looking at
all uncomfortable in his ill-fitting suit.  Darkened skin and a tan line across
the forehead made it obvious the man worked in the sun and wore a hat.  The
stunningly beautiful bride looked radiant in her wedding dress.  

“Yes, it did.  The French family put up this building
in 1906.  They used it as a livery stable until the Second World War.  I
checked it out at the library.  I found some early pictures of the building at
the Safford Historical Society.  I’m thinking of having them enlarged and framed. 
I think they would look great hanging in the store.”

“Hell, you know more about my hometown than I do,”
said Zeb.

“People are paying homage to the past more and more
these days.  My dad used to tell me you can’t know where you’re going unless
you know where you’ve been,” said Josh.

“A philosopher too?” said Zeb.

“Well rounded.  This is where the ammo was taken
from.”

“It doesn’t look like anything else was disturbed.”

“I didn’t touch a thing.  If I hadn’t just completed
an inventory, I might have not missed it at all.”

“How did they manage to enter the building?  I didn’t
notice any damage to the front door,” remarked Zeb.

“Stay right where you are and look toward the back of
the building,” replied Josh.

Josh flipped the lights off.  The overly bright room
became instantly darkened.  For half a second, while his eyes adjusted, Zeb
could see almost nothing.  Then he noticed a crack of light streaming in
through the doorframe.  Josh flicked the lights back on.

“Watch your eyes.”     

Zeb walked to the back door.  His eyes winced from the
sudden change in light.

“Here’s what I think happened,” said Josh. “There’s
enough of a crack in the door frame to stick a thin piece of metal through and
lift up the two by four.”

“What about the dead bolt?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t pay attention to it.  But
it’s an old lock, a flip down style.  Look at it closely.”

Zeb reached up and put the bolt through its normal
positional changes.  It slid easily having been recently cleaned and oiled.  He
left it in the open position.

“The dead bolt could be opened with a second piece of
metal, an angled one--insert through the crack--flip up--pull back--and voila,
you’re in like Flynn.”

“Two people, you figure?  One for the lock and one for
the two by four?   Maybe a thief and a lookout?” suggested Zeb.

“That’s the way I had it figured when I first thought
about it,” said Josh.  “But I changed my mind.”

Using his right hand and left elbow, Josh deftly
removed the large beam from the back door and leaned it against the back wall. 
He pulled the door open into the natural light of the sun.

“I found only one set of footprints that weren’t mine in
the alley around the door.  They go from the back door to near the dumpster,
where he must have parked his vehicle.  One distinct set of prints coming.  The
same exact footprints going.”

Josh gave Zeb minute details of the distance between
the prints, the toeing out of the right foot, an approximated foot length and
size, even the number of steps the person had taken.

“Have you ever been burgled before?  I mean at your
other store.”

“No.  A few times teenagers have tried to shoplift. 
Never a burglary.”

“Robbed?”

“Never.  It takes a desperate fool to rob a gun shop.”

“I’ll come back and make some impressions of the
footprints.  Was anything else disturbed on the outside?”

“Nothing that I noticed.”

A cowbell hanging over the front door clanged loudly
signaling Josh that a customer had arrived.

“I’m going to have a look around back.  Bar the back
door behind me.  I’ll come through the front when I’m done.”

The dead bolt clicked and the wooden crossbeam clunked
into the U-hooks.  Zeb’s hand rested against the adobe wall of the old
building.  The French family had built a respectable building, one that would
stay cool in the pre-air conditioning era. 

Following the footprints in the hardened dirt from the
back door to the dumpster he imaged the route of the thief.  It was a short one
that could have been covered in mere seconds.  Entry into the building with the
right tools would have taken a professional less than a minute.  Across the
street were railroad tracks and a pair of empty, dilapidated industrial
buildings.  Directly across the alley was the back of a windowless storage
shed.  Zeb had been standing there for over three minutes and not one vehicle
had come by.  If the crook cased the alley, he might have guessed he could pull
off the break-in even during broad daylight. 

The building next door had a boarded up window.  The
plywood cover was stained with pigeon droppings.  In the center of the excrement
was a dried, brown stain.  A thin trail from the center of the stain ran down
the wood.  Overhead, the tin roof slanted toward the alley.  In a metal eave at
the corner of the roof was an abandoned pigeon nest.  Zeb marked the imprints
with orange flags, walked down the alley and around the corner onto the
street.  He kept his eyes open for other clues but saw none.  He re-entered
Josh’s gun shop through the front door.

“Find anything useful?”

“Maybe.  Mind if I take a closer look at the gun
case?”

“Be my guest.  The sooner you have a look at it the
sooner I can replace the broken glass.”

Zeb touched the ridge of the entry point on the glass
case.  It had been etched, leaving only a smooth cut.  Inside the case were
ultrafine shards of glass.  The thief had been quiet, clever and obviously
experienced.

“Would I be likely to find anyone else’s finger prints
on this cabinet?”

“On the top glass you’re going to find anyone’s who
leaned on the cabinet.  You know how people are.  They put their finger on the
glass and point at something they want to have a look at.  I clean the glass
every day.  I’m certain I cleaned it the day before I ended up in the
hospital.  I was only open a short time on the morning of the robbery.  I don’t
recall anyone browsing this case, but I could be wrong.  If there are any
prints there, they could be from my unwanted guest.  My prints should be the
only ones on the back side of the case.  I keep it locked and have the only
key.”

“Can you keep people away from it until I can get Deputy
Steele over here later to dust it for prints?”

“No problem.  In fact have her come over as soon as
she can.”

“You seem eager to see her.”  

The men exchanged a knowing smile as the cowbell above
the entry door clanged again.  Zeb turned to see a local man whom he
recognized.  He tipped his hat to the man and they exchanged hellos.  He had
come for a box of twelve gauge shells and some .22 cartridges.  He mumbled
something about varmint hunting which caused Josh to laugh and make a quip
about it being varmint season.