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“Think about it,” I add. “The bandits have never fired their weapons. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s trying to redistribute wealth to those who need it the most.”
Carlos says that he’ll contact the foundation and see about checking the serial numbers against what was stolen during the XYZ Bandits’ crime spree.
“It’s probably a long shot,” I say. “Wouldn’t they launder the money first?”
“Maybe they can’t,” he says. “Maybe they don’t know how. If these guys are what you say, they’re not your typical criminals. They don’t have contacts in the criminal world. The way you describe Parker, I can’t see him doing business with criminals even if he did have the contacts. Maybe they can launder a little bit through their work, but none of them owns a major business. Ellis is just an employee at the bike shop.”
“Parker sure as hell can’t declare millions in earnings for his one-man furniture factory,” I say.
“Oh, man,” Carlos says, as if he’s just realized the difficulty of what he might have to do. “That foundation’s going to be pissed if I have to impound all that money as evidence.”
I can’t help but think that that is precisely the kind of red-tape rule-following Parker would hate. The foundation could do a lot of good with that money, a lot more than a huge corporate bank. I find myself having weirdly conflicting emotions. I wouldn’t condone robbery for any reason, but his intentions aren’t selfish and immoral—he’s trying to do good, even if his methods are misguided.
Carlos says he’ll do some digging and see if there have been any other unusual charitable donations over the past year.
“If that money came from the XYZ Bandits,” he says, “they’ve stolen a hell of a lot more than two million dollars. There’s got to be more out there.”
He asks what I’m going to do today.
I think for a moment, remembering Harvey’s text. I could make another visit to Parker’s house, but I won’t get any closer to the truth by wearing out my welcome with Parker and Josie.
I need to take a different approach.
CHAPTER 22
I PARK IN the wooded clearing where the old cars and other junk have been discarded into the ravine. As I step out of the truck into the shadows of the canopy, the woods are quiet except for the buzz of insects and the whispers of tree limbs swaying gently in a barely perceptible breeze.
Today I’m not wearing my typical shirt, tie, and Stetson. I’m wearing camouflage BDUs and a boonie hat, more like a soldier from Vietnam than a Texas Ranger. Except for my footwear, that is. I’ve got on my cowboy boots. And my gun is on my hip, as usual.
I turn my phone on silent and hang a pair of binoculars around my neck. As I walk through the woods in the direction of Parker’s property, the ravine levels out to a dry streambed, overgrown with thorny brush. I pass deer tracks in the dried mud, but the only wildlife I spot is a squirrel skittering from tree to tree.
After about a half mile, I spot cornstalks where the wood abuts the field. Over the short crop, I see Parker’s house and adjust my trajectory, careful of my footing after yesterday’s encounter with the coral snake. There’s no telling what might be crawling—or slithering—through the underbrush.
As I pass by the fallen oak, I notice that more of it has been sliced into rounds, and a chainsaw sits atop a large stump. The air has the distinct smell of freshly sawed wood.
The back door of the barn swings open, and Parker steps out. He’s wearing jeans, running shoes, a sleeveless muscle shirt, and plastic safety goggles. There’s a long-handled tool slung over his shoulders. A maul. With one side of the head shaped like a sledgehammer, the other a dull V-bladed axe, the unwieldy tool looks lightweight in Parker’s muscular arms.
He heads toward the tree. If not for my camouflage clothes, he could probably spot me easily. But I hope that I blend in well enough, lost among the tree branches and shadows.
Parker begins splitting logs. He has perfect form for a woodcutter, holding his hands apart at the start of his swing and drawing them together as he brings the sledge down. The oak sections don’t stand a chance, exploding apart with each swing. Parker works steadily. Sweat glistens on his brow, but he doesn’t slow down.
I’m not sure what I was hoping to see today, but this isn’t it. I thought perhaps I might finally get a look inside the barn. Also, if he’s meeting with Harvey, I hoped the meeting might happen here.
Josie exits the back of the house with a load of laundry. She heads to a clothesline by the garden. Parker stops and looks over his shoulders.
“How’s Leo?” he asks, hardly out of breath despite the mountain of firewood he just chopped.
“Just a little tired,” she says. “I’m letting them watchDC Super Hero Girls.”
Parker nods. “Recovering from a poisonous snakebite seems like a good reason to get a little extra screen time.”
Josie laughs and starts hanging wet children’s clothes.
I really like these people. It will break my heart if it turns out Parker is involved in the XYZ Bandits. I was almost sure of it earlier this morning, but now I hope with all my heart that I’m wrong.
There’s a moment of silence as Parker prepares to resume work.
I hear a phone buzz.
