Читать книгу Falcon's Run - Aimee Thurlo - Страница 9

Preston considered the information he’d already gathered while the medical examiner worked. At first glance it had looked like an accident, a trampling death, but there were some inconsistencies. The wound to the back of the victim’s skull showed no trace of sand, something sure to have been left by a horse’s hoof, especially in this churned-up stall.

There also weren’t any deep impressions or hoof marks near the body that would indicate the vic had been trampled. In fact, the only fresh prints near the body appeared to be from the vic’s own boots.

He’d seen plenty of cowboys injured by horses at rodeos, but the way Carl’s body lay seemed posed somehow. A cowboy kicked by a horse usually landed askew, not neatly on his face with arms laid out flat by his side. The fact that someone else had been on the premises and had attacked Abby, then tried to run her down, supported the likelihood of foul play.

That’s when he’d taken another look at the ground by the body and discovered that someone had methodically obliterated the footprints along a strip of ground leading to and from the enclosure’s gate. It had been skillfully done, but Preston was an experienced tracker and had spotted the signs.

Dr. Joanna Medina glanced up from the body. She was in her late fifties, with short silver hair and blue eyes that looked world weary and a little sad.

“You were right. This wasn’t an accident. The wound on his head appears to have come from a blunt object. There’s a second bruise on his chest, too. It’s elongated, as if made by a stick or shovel.” Joanna stood and handed him a clear plastic evidence bag. “Here’s everything I found in the vic’s pockets.”

“Do you have a time of death for me?”

“All the markers tell me he died last night between nine and midnight.”

As she prepared the body for transport, Preston, still wearing gloves to avoid fingerprint contamination, studied the vic’s possessions. There was a small notepad with feeding schedules, a ranch staff ID and a wallet with five bucks but no driver’s license. Because there was no metro bus service and only one cab company around, it was unusual for locals not to have a license. He’d ask Abby about it.

As he walked back, Preston glanced over at the parking area and saw that the ranch’s staff was starting to arrive. They all wore dark blue T-shirts with a special logo. Yet the animal handler was wearing a plaid shirt.

The door to Abby’s office was partially open, and as he approached he felt a touch of cool air coming from inside. Preston stepped into the room, and Abby, who’d been sitting on the sofa next to the Navajo boy, came to meet him.

Now that he finally had a chance to take a closer, leisurely look at her, he realized that Abby Langdon was a stunner, with shoulder-length honey-brown hair and big hazel eyes. The loose clothing she wore didn’t hide the fact that she had curves in all the right places.

“Did you figure out what happened?” Abby asked.

He shook his head. “It’s much too soon for that, but I’ve got some more questions for you.” Even as he spoke, he saw her expression turn from hopeful to disappointed. He softened his tone. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, but these things take time. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t an accident.”

The color drained from her face. “This couldn’t have had anything to do with our ranch. It has to be random…craziness.”

“What do you know about the deceased?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “You think Carl provoked this somehow? But that just can’t be. He was a gentle man. He caught spiders and relocated rather than killed them.”

“Relax. I’m just gathering information,” he said.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Sorry.”

He saw her lips tremble but she quickly brought herself under control and turned her head to smile at Bobby.

Preston liked her. It was a purely instinctive reaction, but he trusted his gut. Just past those beautiful hazel eyes and that shaky smile beat the heart of a warrior. Yet hers was a gentle toughness.

The boy rose to his feet and came over. “I’m Bobby Neskahi,” he said. Honoring Navajo ways, he didn’t offer to shake hands. “I knew…him,” he said, avoiding the name of the deceased, also according to Navajo custom. “Probably better than almost anyone,” he added.

Preston wondered if the kid had been raised a traditionalist or was simply showing him the proper cultural respect.

“I’m Diné,” Bobby said.

“We both are,” Preston said, trying not to smile. Diné meant The People and signified those of the Navajo tribe.

Bobby moved back to the couch, and as he walked, Preston realized that the kid was no stranger to pain.

“Can we talk alone—Navajo to Navajo?” Bobby asked.

“Of course,” Preston said, then looked at Abby.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said, giving Preston a wary look.

“We’ll keep it informal, not official.” At her hesitation, he met her gaze. Looking someone in the eye was considered rude inside the Navajo Nation, but he’d learned over the years that those outside the tribe found it a sign of honesty, not disrespect. Though it hadn’t come naturally to him, over time he’d adapted to the custom.

“Okay, but I’m staying right outside.”

As Abby left, Preston sat down on the couch and gestured with a nod for Bobby to do the same. “Abby told me that you were the one who found the body this morning,” Preston said.

He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah, but I stuck to the rule of three.”

“I know,” Preston said. “So tell me, Bobby, how well did you know the ranch’s animal trainer?”

“Do you want me to avoid using his name or not?” Bobby asked. “I wasn’t raised on the Rez but I don’t want you to think I don’t know any better.”

“It’s safe to use his name. I’m a police officer, so I’m a modernist.”

“Mrs. Nez has been teaching me about our ways. She says modernists are like apples—red on the outside and white on the inside.”

Preston laughed. It was an old saying, and he had a feeling Bobby was testing him. “I’ve heard it all, kid.” He gazed into Bobby’s hard brown eyes and for a moment saw a glimpse of himself at that age. He’d been so afraid to show vulnerability. The world was seldom kind to those perceived as weak. That was a lesson he’d learned in foster care quickly enough, and he had a feeling it was even more so for Bobby.

“Abby’s trying to be brave, but on the inside she’s scared. This isn’t her fault, so you need to fix it.”

“Fix it how?”

“Catch the bad guy before she freaks out. I can help. Carl and I were buds.”

“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. First of all, what were you doing here so early in the morning?” Preston asked.

“I always come in super early because my foster father—Mr. Jack is what we call him—drops me off on his way to work. He has his own janitorial company, and some of the places he cleans want everything done before they open for business.”

“Okay, that answers that. So what do you usually do when you get here?”

“I say hi to Abby, then go help Carl feed the animals. He starts work even earlier than my foster dad.”

“Tell me what you saw this morning,” Preston pressed.

“I was going past the pens when I saw him just lying there on the ground. I saw the blood on his clothes and got scared so I went to get Abby.” He paused, then looked up at Preston. “The horses weren’t anywhere near him.”

“Tell me more about Carl,” Preston said.

“Carl was really old, like sixty. What I liked most about him was that he treated me just like he did everyone else,” Bobby said, then looked away and wiped a tear from his face with a swipe of his hands. “He never gave me that ‘poor kid’ look. To him I was just me.” He stared at his right leg, which was encased in a brace.

Bobby became quiet and Preston didn’t interrupt the silence.

“Carl didn’t have a lot of friends, kinda like me at the foster home.” Bobby looked up at Preston and met his gaze. “He talked to the rest of the staff and all, but they weren’t really his friends. He only had one other friend besides me and Abby. Rod Garner, Lightning Rod, who used to be in the NBA. Carl liked going over there and playing one-on-one with Lightning. Mr. Garner’s got a huge basketball court—six goals. I’ve never been there, but Carl told me about it.”

Preston nodded, beginning to understand Bobby more. “So what else did you two talk about?”

“Stuff,” he said with a shrug. “We were always solving puzzles and riddles like real spies, you know? That was fun. Carl liked games where you had to use your head, not your thumbs, and hated games where you had to trust your luck.”

“You mean like gambling?”

“Yeah, like that. I tried to give him a buck once so he’d buy me a scratcher, but he wouldn’t do it. I said I’d split the money if I won, but he still said no. Told me gambling was like throwing your money away and I was too smart to fall for stuff like that.”

“He was telling you the truth. The odds always favor the game, not the gambler. Lottery, scratchers, casinos—they’re all the same except for the odds.”

“Don’t you think that sometimes you just have to take a chance?” he said.

Preston didn’t answer. “What would you have done with the money had you won?” he asked, trying to get a better handle on Bobby.

“Give it to Abby,” he said without any hesitation. “She needs the money to keep the ranch and help kids like me. I wish she could find a rich guy to marry—someone who could help run the ranch and pay the bills. Do you know any rich guys?”

Preston heard coughing—more like choking—and Abby walked in a heartbeat later. From all indications, she’d been listening.

“Michelle’s here, Bobby. She can give you a ride back home.”

“Not now. Let me stay and help. You’ll need to look in Carl’s office, and if I go with you I can tell if anything’s missing or been moved around.”

Abby looked at Preston. “Bobby’s got a photographic memory—really,” she said.

“Not just that. I rule when it comes to puzzles and problem solving, too.” He looked at Preston. “You don’t believe me? Okay. I’ll prove it.” He gave Preston a once-over. “Betcha you spent some time outside working earlier this morning.”

Preston smiled slowly. “How do you know that?”

“Your boots are real dusty but the dust is darker than the ground around here. You also have some red horse hair on you and we don’t have any red horses. You were probably chopping wood or weeds or working real hard without gloves, ’cause the palms of your hands are all scuffed up. Maybe rope burns?” Bobby offered.

Preston smiled slowly. “Good observations. You might be another Sherlock Holmes someday, kid.”

“Maybe. So can I stay?” he said, looking over at Abby. “Please?”

“Okay, but I need to speak to the detective alone right now. Go help Michelle feed the llamas.”

“Sure.” He turned to Preston. “We’re counting on you, okay?” he said, then walked slowly out the door, closing it behind him. Abby waited several seconds before speaking. “I was eavesdropping because I didn’t think it was a good idea for Bobby to speak to you alone. You don’t know a thing about that boy.”

“That was the purpose of talking to him.”

“I still think you should have had an adult present.”

“He found the body, but he’s not a suspect,” Preston said. “You seem to have heard pretty much everything we talked about, so why are you worried?”

“You don’t understand. Bobby sometimes comes across as a tough kid and in a lot of ways he is, but he’s been betrayed and abandoned by people all his life. Carl was one of the few adults he trusted. Now he’s gone, too. Can you imagine what he’s going through? You have to cut him some slack and be careful what kind of questions you ask him. It’s important that he continue to remember Carl in a good way.”

What touched Preston most was her protectiveness. When he’d been Bobby’s age, he, too, would have gone to the wall for anyone who’d cared enough to defend him.

“I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt Bobby. I’ll be careful around him, but I’m here to do a job. That means digging for the truth even if it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear.”

“All right. The truth doesn’t frighten me. How can I help you find answers?”

“Let’s start with some straight talk.”