by Don Travis
“Damn,” Paul said.
Foxy gave his crafty smile. “But I kept one piece. A license plate. New Mexico, it was.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Back at my place. Come on. I’ll show you.”
Once we arrived back at Foxy’s cabin, I understood why he kept the plate. One wall of the shack’s front room was covered in vehicle licenses from several states in varying stages of rust. He tapped one of them.
“This here’s the one I picked up out at the shaft.”
The number, 300-BTE, looked vaguely familiar. I’d seen it in some of the reports on the Voxlightner investigation. I was pretty sure it was the plate off Walther Stabler’s Crown Vic.
Bingo! I’d found Wick’s body dump.
“Mr. Slight?” Paul began.
“Call me Foxy.”
“Foxy, why didn’t you report this to the police?”
“How come? A feller finds all kinds a things up here. Can’t call the sheriff’s office on everything. Before long they’d figure you was crazy.”
“But the whole countryside was looking for two men who disappeared.”
The little man shrugged. “I didn’t know nothing about it.”
Foxy demanded $100 for the rusty license plate. Paul and I put our wallets together and managed to come up with the ransom. I wrote out a statement for Foxy’s signature while he and Paul went back to the partially collapsed mine shaft so my companion could take pictures.
Chapter 18
PAUL AND I sat in Gene’s office while he and Roy examined the rusty license plate, now protected by a clear plastic bag. It was from Stabler’s Crown Victoria, all right. I’d checked the records the minute we got back to town yesterday afternoon. And Gene was rechecking them right now.
“Yep. It’s the plate from Stabler’s car,” he acknowledged. “I’ll need a statement from you and Paul and this Foxy fella.”
I handed over a manila envelope. “Already signed and notarized. Also Foxy Slight’s statement and a certified copy of the car rental contract in the name of William Stark.”
“How do you figure it went down? Why the dynamite?”
I leaned forward in my chair and tapped Gene’s desk. “With his world collapsing around his ears, Barron Voxlightner was at VPMR headquarters that fatal night determined to get to the bottom of what happened.”
“And he probably asked Stabler to help him figure it out,” Paul said.
“Talk about the fox in the hen house,” Roy added.
“Wick stopped by the company’s offices. Voxlightner might or might not have found something incriminating, but it didn’t really matter. The company was looted by then, and it was time for the perps to get out of town. So Voxlightner needed to disappear as well, to come in for his share of the blame.”
“Poor sap,” Gene said. “He probably didn’t take a dime.”
“That’s my take too. At any rate Wick and Stabler killed Barron, probably in the VPMR offices on Lomas. They loaded Barron into his car and arranged for Wick to drive him up to the mine shaft.”
“And Stabler followed to drive Wick back to town.”
“Or so he thought. Wick already had a disposal spot picked out. The mine shaft isn’t more than a thirty-minute walk from the Voxlightner cabin where he’d ordered a rental car delivered the night before.”
“That proves intent,” Gene said. “Think Stabler knew what he intended?”
“We’ll never know. My guess is the two of them discussed the situation and came to some sort of agreement.”
I paused to reclaim my train of thought. “Wick and Stabler drove in two different vehicles to the shaft and got the Blazer down the hole with Barron’s body inside. While Stabler looked over the side to see if the Chevrolet was visible, Wick popped him on the head and shoved him down the shaft. Then Wick maneuvered Stabler’s Crown Vic into place and sent it over the side.”
“Coulda gone down something like that,” Gene said. “But there were two of them to get the Blazer down the shaft. Wick had to get Stabler’s car over the side by himself. And that’s not easy.”
“Remember Wick’s an athlete. Even if he carried some years at the time, he was still in good shape. He probably positioned the car at the brink with the motor running, put it in gear, and tossed a rock on the accelerator.”
“That’s probably the way it happened,” he agreed.
“But I think something went wrong,” I said.
“How so?”
“I suspect Wick intended to dynamite the opening to the pit once he was done. He brought the explosive for that purpose.”
“So?” Roy asked.
“I think the Crown Vic didn’t go down right. Maybe got wedged partway down. So Wick dropped a stick down the hole, which is why Foxy picked up scattered metal and a license plate for some time afterward. That’s also why the ladder was completely gone with only some charred wood left. The stick probably drove the cars a little deeper. Then Wick dynamited one side of the shaft to send a few tons of earth down on the cars. After that he walked to the Voxlightner place, got in his rental, and came down the mountain. He parked the rental at the bar and lounge where he’d stowed his own Caddy.”
“Lotta damned theory based on an old license plate, some charred wood, and chunks of metal.” Gene sighed. “But it makes a lotta sense. How in the hell am I going to be able to tie Wick with this mysterious Stark fellow?”
“Simple. We have Brown’s testimony that Wick bought a cashier’s check at Smith’s Food and Drug in the name of William Stark.”
“Did Wick pay for it with Stark’s Visa card?”
“Nope. Cash.”
Gene leaned back in his chair. “Touchy. I gotta think on this some. Not sure I want to brace Wick with what we know without excavating the pit and seeing what’s down there.” He held up a hand to forestall Paul’s objection. “Proof of what’s down there, not conjecture.”
“Who’s going to pay for it?” I asked. “It’ll cost a bundle.”
“Might take what we have to the FBI and let them spend their money.”
“Would they be interested?” Paul asked.
“Only if they’re gonna get publicity and credit for solving a case.”
DOROTHY VOXLIGHTNER insisted on paying for the excavation needed to expose what lay at the bottom of the abandoned mine shaft in the Sandias. A few days before her crew arrived at the site, Gene put a watch on Hardwick Pillsner. Albuquerque might legally qualify as a city, but it was more like a gossipy, overgrown small town when it came to the way its citizens reacted.
For the two days it took to excavate the shaft, members of the Albuquerque Police Department, the Bernalillo and Sandoval County deputies—since no one was quite sure who had jurisdiction—and someone from the FBI were on-site. The Cibola National Forest ranger was also on hand to see the damage done their 10,678-foot high piece of rock called Sandia Mountain was kept to the minimum.
We came upon the remains of the Crown Victoria first. Damage from the explosion went beyond extensive to catastrophic. I estimated Foxy had probably carted off the entire rear end of the big car to sell as scrap.
When it came time to remove the crumpled Blazer, I called to inform Dorothy Voxlightner. She insisted on being present for the extraction. When my warnings were disregarded, Paul went to Voxlightner Castle and picked her up.
What we assumed to be Barron’s body was mostly skeletal and relatively intact. Dr. Stabler had a car dumped on him and was not so lucky. As the crane brought out the Blazer, Dorothy rested against Paul’s shoulder. Tender feelings for my lover reached new depths at that moment. I said a quiet prayer of thanks Barron’s body wasn’t evident. Once the Blazer was on solid ground, we found his grisly remains behind the rear seats of the vehicle. She insisted on taking a look, but almost immediately broke down. Paul escorted her back to the Charger while I hung around the mine shaft with Gene to wrap things up.
The Office of the Medical Investigator conducts all autopsies in the
state of New Mexico. Forewarned they had a crew on-site at the time the bodies were recovered. The doctor in charge conducted a brief viewing of the two skeletal corpses before ordering them placed into the ambulance. After Paul took Dorothy back home, Gene, Roy, and I talked with the excavation crew.
“My guess is, the vehicles lodged about three-quarters of the way down the shaft,” the red-headed crew chief said. “Somebody dumped something—probably a stick of dynamite—in the hole, and up she went. From the condition of the Crown Vic, I’d say its gas tank went off and ripped up the tail end of the car. Then it went to burning until the whole north side of the wall caved in on them.”
“More dynamite?” Gene asked.
“Coulda been. Or maybe it was weakened by the first blast. I can show you the fill we took out first. A test might still be able to find evidence of dynamite. Traces of nitroglycerin, maybe. Seven years ago? Never can tell.”
THE HEADLINE—one of Paul’s stories—in the Albuquerque Journal the next morning reported the recovery of two bodies on the east slope of Sandia Mountain believed to be the missing tycoon Barron Voxlightner and Dr. Walther Stabler. The article went on to say both disappeared on the evening of March 15, 2004 and were thought to have fled upon the breaking of the Voxlightner scandal. The discovery was forcing the authorities to rethink their conclusions about the old crime.
I could only wonder at the exquisite torture those words provoked in Dorothy. The discovery might lead to vindication… but at what price? Even if she accepted the probability of her son’s death years ago, proof of her conviction must have been difficult to face.
OMI, sensitive to the public interest in the old case, rushed the autopsies and released the results on Monday. DNA evidence proved the bodies were Voxlightner and Stabler. Voxlightner died as a result of a blow to the head by a blunt object. Stabler’s cause of death was likely the same, but having a large car dropped on him rendered the verdict less certain.
Because at least one of the murders was likely committed in Albuquerque and Gene already had an ongoing investigation, the other jurisdictions stepped back and allowed him to take the lead.
“How’s this going to affect your coming promotion?” I asked.
“Dammit, BJ, this is probably my last field investigation. At least let me enjoy it!”
I CAME to admire Wick—in a weird sort of way—after the discovery of Voxlightner’s and Stabler’s remains. He must have been aware he was under observation but made no effort to flee. He set off a minor panic once when he flew his private plane to Gallup for a business meeting. Otherwise he remained in town and went about his life as if everything were normal. Maybe it was normal to him. He’d lived with the knowledge he’d killed at least two men for over seven years. And that didn’t include Everett Kent, the lawyer murdered in his office, or Thelma Rider or Dr. Damon Herrera. Or John Pierce Belhaven, for that matter.
Was Wick technically a serial killer? Is a man who kills serially in order to keep something in his past from unraveling the same as a man who kills multiple victims out of some dark compulsion? Not to my mind. They are different sorts of evil. Of course, no one had so far proved Hardwick Pillsner killed anyone. Not yet, anyway. But I intended to correct such a deficiency.
THE FORENSICS team was still working at the shaft in the Sandias and on the vehicles when Roy, Paul, and I gathered in Gene’s office. The subject quickly became whether or not there would be forensic evidence after all this time.
“Sir,” Roy addressed his lieutenant, “you know as well as I do fingerprints can last forty or more years.”
“Provided they’re not exposed to water,” Gene said.
“It rains up in the Sandias more than down in Albuquerque,” Roy said, “but the terrain’s steeper, so runoff’s faster. I doubt moisture would penetrate very far.”
Gene turned to look at his newly minted detective and raised a thick eyebrow. “Now think about that for a minute. This is a hole we’re talking about. Rain falling in it has no runoff capability. So what does it do?”
Roy grimaced. “Soak through to the bottom of the hole.”
“And,” Paul added, “some of the rain from higher ground pours over the side to add to the moisture content.”
“Okay. I see your point.”
I let a little silence grow. “It might be fortunate Voxlightner’s body was inside the Blazer. The vehicle may have provided some protection from the water. It’s possible they may find biological and trace evidence on it.”
Gene sighed aloud. “The windows were shattered. No use wasting our time speculating. The forensics boys will find something if it’s there.”
“One of the team told me they found a length of pipe with an elbow joint at one end,” Roy said.
“If I had to guess, it’s the murder weapon. Used on both of them,” I said. “Unfortunately I’m betting it was found outside the cars.”
Roy nodded. “Yeah. It got several good soakings over the years.”
Gene picked up a letter opener and poked the blotter on his desk. “We’ll see what the lab can tell us.”
“What do you do about Wick until then?” Paul asked.
“Nothing. Beyond keeping an eye on him, that is. We don’t have anything to hang on him at this point beyond him using the name of William Stark. And even that isn’t proven yet.” Gene tossed the letter opener aside and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me again who this William Stark fellow is… or was?”
“Have you ever read William Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men?”
“Saw the movie. Good one. Won a bunch of Oscars.”
“Broderick Crawford won one for playing….”
He picked it up right on cue. “Willie Stark.” Gene sat straight in his chair. “Be damned. Willie Stark. William Stark.”
“And Sadie Burke was his devotee and sometimes lover.”
“Isn’t that the name the Rider woman used to rent the house on Georgia?”
“And we ran into other characters in the book.”
“Be damned. Wick peopled his fantasy get-rich-quick-scheme with characters from fiction.”
DOROTHY CALLED and asked me to visit her at Voxlightner Castle. Paul had developed a good relationship with what I considered to be a lonely, tragic woman, so he accompanied me. She greeted me with old-world courtesy and Paul with a broad smile. After the obligatory coffee and tea, she was silent for a very long time before finally speaking.
“For me it seems like it’s over now, but I know that to be far from the truth. Wick must be made to pay for his crimes. For… for killing Barron.” She set an untasted cup of coffee on the table before her. “I thought I would be overjoyed to finally learn what happened to my son, but this isn’t true. Not even locating him so he can be buried properly gives me much satisfaction. I simply have a different sort of emptiness.”
“In the first place, ma’am,” I said, “we don’t know for certain Wick is the killer. Everything points in that direction, but unless the forensics team can come up with something from the abandoned mine pit….”
She looked at me with a glint in her eyes and broke the silence I’d allowed to grow. “Is there any question in your mind?”
I hesitated but couldn’t lie to her. “I’m confident Hardwick Pillsner killed your son and Walther Stabler, as well as some others. But at this point I can’t prove it.”
She swiped at her eyes. “I believe you are correct in your assessment. And if you believe he killed Pierce, then you have fulfilled your assignment.”
For the life of me, I don’t know why I hesitated, but I did. “Reason tells me he did that killing as well.”
She studied me mutely. In her day she must have been a formidable woman. Still was. “But you are not certain?”
“I would like to hear what Wick has to say when the time comes. But to show you I’m not padding the bill, I’ll go off the clock as of now.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I want proof Wick killed my son. And I want proof he killed Pie
rce Belhaven.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “As perverse as this sounds, we are more likely to find proof of a seven-and-a-half-year-old murder than a three-month-old one.”
“Please get this bastard for me, BJ.”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am,” Paul said, earning a mournful smile from the widow Voxlightner.
As we drove away in my Impala, Paul glanced over his shoulder. “She’s a nice lady.”
I nodded. “But she has claws you haven’t seen yet.”
He turned back and settled in his seat with a laugh. “I’d bet on it. You seemed kinda hesitant back there when she asked if you believe Wick killed Belhaven. You have doubts?”
“Not doubts exactly. But it has a different feel about it. Wick had close connections with all the other victims. He moved in their circles. So far as I can tell, he and Belhaven weren’t connected. I’m sure they knew one another because they both revolved around the Voxlightner family, but Pierce’s killing feels different.”
“How?”
“Well, for one thing, how did Wick gain entry to Belhaven’s house?”
“Rang the bell and got invited in.”
“Think about that for a moment. Belhaven uncovered the clue about the Georgia Street address. But Abner Brown, who sold Wick the money order for rent on the place, said no one else contacted him about who actually bought the money order. Even though Belhaven probably didn’t know Wick was involved, he must have suspected. Would he have let someone he even remotely considered as a killer into his house at night when he was alone?”
Paul considered his answer. “Pierce was a strange guy. Timid at times and aggressive at others. He could have let Wick in the house in the belief he could talk him into confessing. But I’ve got a better one. What if Wick phoned him, said he’d heard an afternoon TV news program, and offered information to help solve the puzzle?”
“Could be.” I clapped him on the nape of the neck. “Good job, guy. You just poked a hole in my theory. Shows the old noodle’s working.”