Adios Angel Read online

  “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.

  CHAPTER TEN

  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 cent
er 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.

  When Josh walked through the swinging doors to get the ammunition, Zeb got a clear view of the back office. A professional could have easily staked out the inside of the building. An eerie feeling came over him as he thought about Josh Diamond, expert tracker and man hunter, having his office space and business stalked by someone with a devious and clever eye for plotting a crime.