The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series] (10 page)

He pulled off the gloves and placed them beside the bag. Making sure he locked the door, he hurried down the steps and around the corner of the building, then entered the bakery. Clyde glanced around the corner of one of his ovens and immediately came forward, frowning.

"I figured you'd be down here shortly."

"What'd you see?"

"Unfortunately, nothing, it's what I heard."

"Tell me about it."

Clyde wiped his hands down the front of his soiled apron, then checked his pocket watch. “About an hour ago, I had just pulled a long pan of pastries out of the oven, when suddenly, it sounded like three gun shots hit the side of the building. I dropped to the floor along with the donuts. When I didn't hear any more shots, I slowly got up, rescued what I could of the baked goods, threw the rest away, then eased myself out of the door and around the edge of the building. I didn't see your vehicle, which relieved my mind. At least you weren't lying up in your office dead or wounded. Then I saw those three arrows stuck in the wall.” Clyde raised his flour coated brows. “If word gets out that our building is being attacked, it's really going to hurt the businesses in this mall. Mr. Casey, what's going on?"

"Did you see anyone?"

"Not a soul, truck or car, nothing. The alley was completely empty."

Hawkman nodded. “I assure you this won't go on for long. You have nothing to worry about. They're after me, not you, or anyone else in the area. Unfortunately, you're right under my office and these idiots discovered I have a steel door, and their arrows won't penetrate it. So they're having their fun on the wall instead. I'm sorry it caused you to lose some of your products."

Clyde raised a hand. “That's no problem. I just don't want any of us to get killed or hurt."

"You're safe, Clyde. Believe me."

"I'll take your word, but you better be extremely careful. An arrow can hurt mighty bad if it pierces your body."

Hawkman went back to the office, keeping an eye on the alley as he climbed the steps. Once inside, he slipped on the gloves, put a couple of sheets of paper on the surface of the desk, then carefully pulled out one of the shafts by its black and yellow feathers. Resting the tip on his finger, he gently laid it down on the paper, figuring if any fingerprints showed up, they'd be on the very end with the fletching. If he saw evidence of a print, he'd not smudge it or try to take if off himself. Instead, he'd take the shafts to Detective Williams and let his lab crew use their technology to lift them. He knew anything he might find would probably be a partial print judging from the way the arrows are drawn where the fingers might grip the shaft. He turned on the gooseneck lamp he had on the desk and directed the beam onto the area around the fletching. Dusting a couple of spots where he hoped to find some evidence, a slight grin formed on his lips as he saw the outline of a print, not only on the fletching area, but in the middle of the arrow where it had probably been carried. He blew off the powder and carefully replaced the shaft into the sack. Tomorrow he'd take the three down and have the lab boys look them over and see if by some chance they could find a match in their files. He set the bag aside, removed the phone book from the drawer, then rummaged through the briefcase to find the names of the two boys, plus the phone report from Olly.

Laura had told him the college friends who'd mentioned compound bows were Jason Calderidge and Blake Russell. Thumbing through the phone book, he did find an R. Calderidge, but the Russell name seemed more common and several were listed. He copied down the Calderidge address and phone number. It would take a few calls to find Blake Russell, and even then he was only going on Laura's word that these two young men were local students.

Just as he reached for the landline receiver, his cell phone vibrated against his waist. He pulled it from the pouch and noted the call was from Laura.

"Hello."

He stiffened as he listened. “When did the call come?"

"Did you save it?"

"No, you stay home, as it will be dark soon. I'll come to your place and bring my recorder. See you in about thirty minutes."

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When he reached the farm house, he found Laura bundled in a coat, sitting on the steps of the front porch.

"Aren't you freezing?” he asked, as he approached.

"The folks are so worried, I couldn't stand to watch them fret. Even though I tried to comfort them, they're scared."

"Do you want to stay out here or go inside?"

"Let's go into the living room. I think your being here will calm them down."

Laura dropped her coat on a chair and took out her cell phone.

"Let me get set up first,” he said, removing the recorder from the briefcase and placing it on the table. Hawkman punched the button to record and at the same time gave Laura the signal to run the message.

"Hello, beautiful Laura, tell that one eyed pirate you have chasing around after you, the next arrow is for him.” A peal of cynical laughter came after the message.

Hawkman listened to it several times, then frowned. “This is not the same voice."

Laura stared at him with disbelief. “Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't even have to compare it to the other one. This is definitely not the same person who sent the other message. Too bad we don't have recordings of the previous callers. It would help us determine how many are in cahoots here."

She covered her face with both hands. “Oh, dear God, what am I going to do?"

He patted her on the shoulder. “Stay brave. We're going to get to the bottom of this mess soon. Continue your everyday life. We can't let them think you're scared."

Pointing a shaky finger at the recorder, with tears in her eyes, she muttered, “Now, they're threatening you."

"I'm used to such warnings; they don't bother me. I'm very aware they're around, but I just haven't spotted them yet."

Olly walked into the room. “Mr. Casey, what do you think of that last message?"

"There's more than one making these calls."

His eyes grew big. “How do you know?"

"The voices are different."

He shook his head. “What's going on here? A group of idiots conspiring against my daughter?"

"I have no idea why they're doing this, but I intend to find out very soon."

"Have you made heads or tails of that telephone report?"

"Not yet. I was just about to delve into it when I received the message from Laura. I didn't want her driving into town, as it will soon be dark, so decided to come to your place and check out this call."

"Violet and I are very worried. We don't want anything happening to Laura. What if these nut cases corner her and decide to rape her?"

"That's one reason I installed the tracker on her car. At the first sign of her heading off track, I could find her."

He looked at Hawkman with pleading eyes. “Can we really depend on such a device?"

"I think so. Also Laura must keep us informed of her whereabouts so we'll know if something isn't right."

Olly turned to Laura. “You hear Mr. Casey? You've got to keep us informed as to where you are and where you're going at all times."

She put a hand on his arm. “Don't worry, Daddy, I will."

He glanced at Hawkman. “Do you realize how hard it is for me to let her leave the house, knowing there are horrible people out there stalking her every move?"

"Yes, I can understand. I was in that situation at one time when someone was after me and my wife. We're going to catch them. I promise."

Leaving the Kings', Hawkman headed back to town. He hoped he might have a chance of catching Detective Williams. He stopped by his office and removed the sack of arrows from the safe, then drove to the police station. Hurrying up the steps and into the building, he turned down the hallway leading to the detective's cubby hole, waving at familiar faces as he went. Williams sat at his desk signing reports.

"One of these days your hands are going to freeze in that position, and you won't be able to shoot your gun."

The detective glanced up. “Hey, how's it going?"

"Got a favor to ask."

Williams eyebrows shot up. “Uh oh."

Hawkman placed the bag on the desk. “Do your lab guys have time to check these arrows for fingerprints? I'm not sure if they can even get a full print, but it's possible, if they were carried by hand. I retrieved them carefully and don't think I obliterated anything."

"You still getting shot at?"

"So far I've escaped, but they seem set on destroying the building where I house my office."

Williams suppressed a smile as he peered into the sack. “You want all three checked?"

"Yes, as I have a suspicion there could be different prints on each one."

"I'll get these to the lab pronto. How soon do you need them?"

"Quickly."

"Maybe there'll be a technician with time on his hands. This shouldn't be too difficult. I'll give you a call when I get the report."

"Thanks, appreciate it."

Hawkman left the station and went back to his office. He sat at the desk and scanned the Kings’ telephone reports. Going through the numbers of the last two months on Laura's part of the bill, he eliminated calls made from Violet or Olly and himself. The cell phones were not used a lot, so weeding out the extras wasn't a big chore. He soon had six incoming listed calls; two had numbers, but the others were blanks only saying a call had come in, location not available. Obviously, phone cards were used. The other two were the same number. Hawkman went into the computer, typed in his password, then the digits and discovered those two calls came from a Cindy Brown, obviously an innocent friend. He'd ask Laura about Cindy tomorrow. He shoved the report into the file. Unfortunately, it gave him no clue who'd made the harassing calls. It seemed he'd run into a brick wall.

Removing one of the flyers he'd picked up at the Arrow Point archery range, he punched on the speaker phone and dialed the number for Roy Summers.

"Arrow Point Range"

"Is Roy Summers available?"

"Let me check. I think he just finished his last class."

Hawkman could hear the mumbling of people as they walked through the lobby. Shortly, he heard the phone being picked up.

"Roy Summers."

"Hello, Mr. Summers, this is Tom Casey. I spoke with you the other day."

"Yes, I remember you. Didn't I see you at one of my classes?"

"I dropped by, but realized it wasn't a good time to talk with you. I need about an hour's appointment as soon as you're available."

"Is there a problem?"

"Nothing about you. But I need information and I think you're the only person who can help me."

"Let me check my schedule. Hold on just a second. I need to get my appointment book out of my back pack."

"No problem."

After several minutes, Summers returned.

"Sorry about the delay, I got stopped by one of my students."

"I understand."

Hawkman could hear paper rattling.

"Mr. Casey, could you come to the range tomorrow at five-thirty? We usually take an hour and half for our dinner break before I start the evening classes. I often bring a sandwich and eat here. I don't have another large space of time available until next week."

"I can certainly come to Arrow Point. Where should I meet you?"

"At the indoor range, where you were earlier."

"Saturday, five-thirty at indoor range. I'll see you then."

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When Hawkman stepped out the door, a frigid blast of wind hit him in the face. The cold front he'd heard about on the radio, coming from the North, had finally made it into the area. He pulled up the collar of his coat, and hurried down the stairs to his vehicle. Just as he opened the driver's side, he could hear the rumbling of an idling motor. Glancing up and down the alley, he saw nothing, so climbed into the SUV.

Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, he pulled onto the main street, and continued toward the freeway ramp. He exhaled in relief when no one pulled in behind him. Once on I-5, he kicked up his speed and headed for Copco Lake. The overcast sky hid the moon, so the highway appeared black as pitch. Glancing into the side mirror, Hawkman could see the faint silhouette of a pickup, with no lights, gaining on him fast. He shoved his foot on the accelerator, causing his 4X4 to leap ahead.

Reaching across his chest with his right hand, he loosened his shirt buttons and flipped up the Velcro flap on his shoulder holster that held his weapon. Leery of what to expect, he braced himself for some sort of impact as the vehicle gained on him.

Suddenly, a cracking sound vibrated the hull of his SUV. Peering into the rearview mirror, he could see the back window had shattered. It hadn't fallen out, but one more arrow piercing the surface would send glass flying onto the freeway in a million pieces. He watched the pickup behind him veer off onto a ramp and disappear into the darkness. They'd never gotten close enough for him to identify the make or color of the truck.

In the distance, through the side mirrors, he noticed the headlights of a vehicle pull back upon the freeway going the opposite direction. They'd had their fun and were now heading back to town. These were dangerous people and he worried about Laura. What if they forced her out of her car and into theirs. Then he couldn't track her whereabouts. He might have to rethink the tracking system and have her put one on her body too, a thought he'd better take seriously.

Hawkman didn't like driving with a broken back window that obscured his vision of the road. He'd have to get it replaced first thing in the morning. His tension relaxed when he rolled across the bridge spanning Copco Lake. Nothing made him smile like the sight of bright lights shining from his home. He pulled into the garage, got out and examined the broken rear window by the glow of the garage door light. The arrow has fallen out and probably lay crushed on the freeway by people driving over it. To assure the glass would hold together for the trip into town for repair, he put several strips of duct tape across the hole, then hurried into the house out of the cold weather.