by Blake Banner
I smiled. “You’re pretty tough, huh? You tough enough to come here and get her without the help of your nanny goats there?”
He was laughing. He turned to his pals with a mock Texas accent. “Hold my beer, boys. We gonna party.”
I heard Dehan whisper behind me. “Stone, don’t…”
He was strong, but he had a big belly and he was drunk. He took two running strides at me, swinging a huge right cross. If it had connected, it would have taken my head off. But he was as slow as a sloth on Prozac. I stepped in and easily blocked the punch with my left while I simultaneously drove my right down onto his belly, putting all my two hundred and twenty pounds behind it. His eyes bulged and his tongue stuck out. His cheeks flushed purple and he made a horrible, wheezing, choking sound.
He staggered back a bit, but it wasn’t enough to get him away from the three venomous crosses I delivered to his face, right, left, right. By the time he hit the ground, I already had my piece in my hand. They heard me cock it. My voice was real cold with anger when I asked them, “Is he worth dying for?” They didn’t move. “I didn’t think so. Now, pull your pants down and lie on your bellies with your hands behind your heads.” They hesitated. I shrugged. “Alternatively I blow your kneecaps off. You choose.”
They chose to pull down their pants and lie on their bellies with their white asses in the air.
I put Dehan in the car, slammed the door and climbed in the other side. They were still lying there as I pulled out onto Lefthand Canyon Drive and headed back toward Seven Hills.
THIRTEEN
For a while, the only sound was the growl of the engine. I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror, waiting for the headlamps to appear, trying to think what I would do if they came after us. But all there was was blackness, and ahead, the hazy funnels of light, casting the blacktop into sharp relief, and making demons out of the tall pines that loomed over the road.
Pretty soon, we came to Lickskillet Road. I slowed, killed the lights, and crawled onto the dirt track, climbing slowly, bumping and grinding, until we came to the crossroads at Gold Hill. There I turned left and headed for Seven Hills at a steady twenty miles per hour. After five minutes, I put my headlamps on again and accelerated.
I glanced at Dehan. She had an idiot smile on her face that made me laugh. She said, “That was so cool.”
“What was?”
“You were like, a hero, defending my honor. Nobody has ever done that for me, Stone.” She giggled. “You are my hero.” She giggled again.
“Glad to hear it, kiddo.”
She turned her dopey smile on me. “Am I your princess?”
“Sure. You know it.”
“Like a fairy tale.”
“Yup.”
She heaved a huge sigh. “All I ever wanted.” I didn’t answer and we drove in silence. “Does that sound weird to you?”
“What?”
“All I ever wanted.” Before I could answer she said it again, exaggerating all the vowel sounds. “Aall Aye Ehvah Oo-On-tEd. Aall Aye Ehvah Oo-On-tEd. It’s so weird.”
She started giggling again. Soon, the giggles became helpless laughter, which eventually subsided into a blissful sigh. “Aall Aye Ehvah Oo-On-tEd… Have I let you down?”
“Not at all.”
“Coz that’s the last thing Aye Ehvah Oo-On-tEd.”
She subsided into helpless laughter again.
Ahead, the soft glow of Seven Hills appeared over the wooded slopes. I said quietly, “We’re almost there.”
She returned to her dopey smile. “Hmmm…that sounds nice. Almost there. There. There is that place where we all want to be. And that is where my hero is taking me. There. Almost there.”
I pulled into the lot and helped her out of the car. She embraced my right arm and rested her head on my shoulder as we climbed the steps to the reception. It dawned on me that Ned had not given us a second room yet. We had been out all day and he had obviously forgotten in the evening. There was no one on reception when we entered and, looking at the state she was in, it struck me it might be wise not to leave her alone.
We got to the room and I sat her on the bed to take her boots off, then helped her to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was unsteady on her feet.
“How many puffs did you take, Dehan?”
“Three.”
“Is that all? How come you’re so stoned?”
She giggled. “Stoned. That’s your name. Three for every one that everybody else took.”
She made her way unsteadily back to the bed while I brushed my teeth. I could hear her voice through the open door.
“We’re friends, Stone. More than friends. Pals, buddies, compadres, partners… You’re my hero. I’m your princess…”
I was chuckling to myself, thinking how embarrassed she was going to be in the morning. I stepped out of the bathroom and froze. She had her blouse off and was pulling off her jeans. She grinned at me and waved a finger in a negative gesture. “Oh no, mister. I am leaving my bra and panties on. No funny stuff, Mister Hero.”
She rolled back onto the bed and slipped under the covers. To my relief, she seemed to go straight off to sleep. I took off my shoes but left of the rest of my clothes on and got in under the covers. I switched off the light and closed my eyes.
That was when she flung her arm around me, snuggled up and murmured, “Aall Aye Ehvah Oo-On-tEd.” And began softly to snore.
Dehan slept like a log. I slept little and fitfully. At six, I slipped out from under her arm and went into the bathroom to shower. I shaved gratefully and restored order to my hair, then dressed in my usual clothes. I checked my messages on my laptop, but there was nothing yet regarding Kathleen’s credit card, phone, and email records.
At seven I went down and ordered bacon, eggs, and a gallon of coffee. I didn’t expect Dehan before nine, possibly later, but she appeared at half past seven and ordered the same as me, with extra toast and a jug of fresh orange juice. She sat at the table without saying anything and finally looked at me. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Good morning, princess.”
“Stone, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
The waitress came with her orange juice and coffee and refilled my cup while she was there. When she’d gone, Dehan asked, “Stone, did we…?”
“What?”
“I was… I was undressed. Did we…?”
“Oh!” I laughed. “No! No, of course not.” I shook my head for good measure. “Not at all.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “OK. Good.” Then she frowned. “Not that that would be awful! I mean… It wouldn’t be right, but…”
“Dehan.”
“What?”
“It’s cool. We’re cool. We’re good. Eat, drink. We need to review what we learned last night, and where it leaves us.”
“Where it leaves us…?”
I laughed. “I mean about the case. I need you focused.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
She drained a glass of orange juice and refilled it, pulled off half of that, and I started talking.
“OK, let’s look at what we know so far. We know that on Friday, 6th July, at three forty in the afternoon, Kathleen left New York by train. It takes about forty hours, by train and bus, to get from New York to Boulder.”
I sipped my coffee while Peaches and Cream delivered Dehan’s breakfast. I was accustomed to seeing the intense concentration with which Dehan attacked good food. But this morning was kind of special. I gave her a moment, till I saw the color returning to her cheeks. Eventually, she glanced at me and I carried on.
“Now, we don’t actually know where, when, or even if Kathleen arrived in Colorado—alive. All we know is that having boarded her train in New York, she turned up dead in Lefthand Canyon.”
She nodded her agreement, dunked toast into a fried egg, and stuffed it in her mouth. Then she spoke with difficulty.
“Bud we mush ashoom she awibed at reesht in Jenba
.”
“We must assume she arrived at least in Denver. Agreed. And that would have happened at about eight A.M. on Sunday. Now, either she rented a car or she was picked up.”
Dehan nodded. “Mhm.”
“We’ll be able to confirm from her emails whether she rented a car, but I am pretty sure she didn’t. No abandoned cars were found at or near the scene. Either way, I am going to trouble my dear Watson to check if any rented cars were reported stolen at that time. For now at least, let’s proceed on the assumption that she did not rent a car.
“That means either Ingrid and/or Alfredo picked her up, Greg picked her up, or Sly or one of his men picked her up. Which brings us to last night.”
I paused. She was stacking bacon and fried egg onto a piece of toast. She skewered it all with her fork and maneuvered it into her mouth. She chewed, watching me. “Kib gobbing,” she said, with difficulty.
“Keep going?” She nodded. I kept going. “OK, Greg. Greg is prosperous. From his own admission, we know that he was sweet on Kath at one time, and we know that he resented her getting hitched with Mo. We also know that he was unwilling to be helpful in our investigation and claimed that we were wasting his time. We know, again from his own admission, that he has visited the Shack in the company of Pat, Kathleen’s sister. This last confirmed by Saul.”
Dehan mopped the last of the egg from her plate with a piece of bread, stuffed it in her mouth, and sat back in her chair with a comfortable smile on her chewing face. She sipped coffee and sighed.
“Everything keeps coming back to two points, Greg and the Shack.”
I nodded. “And Kathleen was not involved with either of them. But hold your horses. Let’s not start analyzing yet, Little Grasshopper. There are more facts. We know, for example, that Pat took the left-hand path and got involved in drugs, and we can safely infer that the Shack and its patrons played a part in that process.”
“Its patrons in the form of the man Sly and El Coyote.”
“Precisely so. Now, here is where it gets a bit tricky, because a lot was implied last night, but very little was actually said. Saul said he thought Pat had some kind of arrangement with Sly to sell dope in New York. But Sly never actually confirmed that. Equally, Sly said he had access to large quantities of cannabis, but he never said he grew it himself. I think it’s safe to assume that he does grow some, but we don’t know for a fact that he does, how much, or where.”
Her eyes and her mouth made three large Os as realization began to dawn. “Oh, mamma. I see where you are going.”
“Maybe. It’s something we should look into.”
“You think Greg is growing cannabis for Sly.”
“Think is too strong a word. It’s a hunch. Greg has a lot of money and a lot of land. He was sweet on Kath but he was hanging out with Pat. He was a clean-living, clean-cut cowboy hanging out with a dope head in a joint like the Shack. What would make him do that?”
“Son of a gun.”
“Pat’s known him most of her life. What happens? She’s the black sheep of this Irish-Italian Catholic family. Maybe she decides to make a bit of money and get her independence. So she talks to Greg about growing dope on his land. She talks to Sly about selling it in New York.”
Dehan was nodding as I spoke. “Starts out in her mind as a small-scale deal between friends, but it gets out of hand. Before she knows, it they’re dealing in tens of thousands of dollars. She’s in the Big Apple, with too much money and an addictive personality. Next thing, she’s spending all her money—and Sly’s—on blow and anything else she can get her hands on.”
I sighed. “From there, it plays out like we thought. He threatens to send some boys out east to collect his money, and she begs Kathleen to come and either bail her out or plead for time. We saw last night how that might have worked for her. A pretty, vulnerable woman in the hands of Sly and his Angel friends is not a nice thought.”
“Jesus…”
“So while we wait for the records, I suggest we talk to the Sheriff and ask for the semen sample to be sent to Frank to be tested again. We also get him to check on car rental thefts at the time of the murder, and then we drop in on Public Records and see exactly how far Greg’s ranch stretches, and where Sly and Coy live.”
FOURTEEN
Dehan rested her ass on the hood of my car and gazed up at the vast, cold, blue Colorado sky, while I phoned the sheriff of Lee County.
“Good morning, Detective Stone. I see you’re up nice and early. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon, I confess.”
“I know that, Sheriff. I am trying to save you trouble and bother. Here’s the situation. The way it is, we might be looking at a major drugs trafficking syndicate operating out of Gold Hill.” I heard a squeak down the line that might have been a ‘What?’ but ignored it and plowed right on. “Now, because the operation would involve the sale of drugs in a state other than Colorado, we might be looking at pulling in the FBI, and believe me, once those boys start turning over your laundry, nobody’s Y-fronts go un-scrutinized, if you take my meaning. And influential people tend to remember that kind of inconvenience when the elections come around.”
“Holy…!”
“Now, here’s the thing. Maybe we can avoid all the bother of a federal investigation, and quietly close down the operation, while solving a murder at the same time and keep everybody happy, and share out the kudos, if you catch my drift…”
I heard him swallow. “Any way I can help…”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say. Cars rented from car hire firms in Denver and Boulder between Friday 6th July and Monday 9th 2012, that were reported stolen. So: stolen car rentals for those dates, from Boulder and Denver.”
“Got it.”
“Also, I need to know the exact extent and limits of Greg Carson’s ranch, and any other land he might own in this district.”
“That’s easy. You’ll find that right there in the library at Seven Hills. Tell Polly I sent you and to give you anything you need.”
“Also…”
“More?”
“More, where do Sly and El Coyote live? And do they own or rent any land?”
“… And all this will prevent the Feds coming up here?”
“Yup.”
“Well, I’ll get my boy lookin’ into the stolen vee-hicles right away. You can find Greg’s ranch where I told you, and Sly and Coy, they’re a bit weird, but they ain’t bad folk. They got a house just at the back of a club called the Shack. How can I explain…?”
“We know where the Shack is.”
“You do? You don’t waste time, do you? Well if you turn left just after the Shack and follow the track for a mile and a half, that’ll bring you to their house.”
I thought about it for a moment. “And that same road will bring me to Gold Hill.”
“You got it. That’s right.”
“And I’m going to hazard a wild guess here, Sheriff, but is their house right on the edge of Greg Carson’s land?”
“Well, now you mention it, it’s on Greg’s land. Why?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Now look here, Stone, I hope you ain’t thinking that Greg and Sly and Coy is involved in drugs trafficking! They’re stand-up, law-abiding folk. I run a peaceful county and I don’t want you upsetting people…”
“Thanks Sheriff. You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be in touch.”
Seven Hills Library was a small, modern building that tried to emulate Frank Lloyd Wright without taking any of the risks. There was a squat, three-story central tower in white, with two lateral wings made of local stone. The ceilings were high and there were lots of wooden staircases leading to mezzanine floors. The windows were vast and panoramic and there was an organically shaped lake at the side of the building with a selection of local trees. However, unlike Lloyd-Wright, this architect had kept the forestry on the outside of the building.
The librarian, a woman in her thirties whose smile declared she was determined not to regre
t wasting her teens and twenties in demure propriety, looked both pleased and surprised to see somebody in her library. She was delighted to lead us to the maps and show us the exact extent of Greg’s ranch. It was a full one thousand three-hundred hectares of land. It stretched four miles east to west from Gold Hill to well beyond Sly and Coy’s house, where Lefthand Canyon Drive turned north. In the south, it was bordered by Four Mile Canyon Drive, giving it a mile’s depth in the west and two miles in the east.
“Three generations of Carsons built up that ranch.” She said it with all the vicarious pride of one who longed to be a Carson. “Good folk,” she added, for good measure, in case we’d missed it.
I offered her the smile of an impressed tourist. “And is there likely to be a fourth generation of Carsons, Polly?”
She simpered. “Well, so far he ain’t married, and there doesn’t seem to be anybody on the horizon.”
I winked. “Maybe he’s waiting for a pretty librarian.”
She went scarlet with pleasure and hurried back to her desk. We looked at the map. Sly and Coy’s house was clearly marked as part of the Carson Property, with a good mile of wilderness to the back and to the west, and three miles of mixed pasture land and pine woods to the east. A little over a mile to the north was the Shack.
“Let’s see if we can rent a truck somewhere, take a trip down to Four Mile Canyon Drive, and walk up. Two gets you twenty we’re going to find a plantation within walking distance of Sly’s place, plus a drying and storage shed.”
Polly told us that Larry at the gas station had a couple of trucks he lent out to tourists during the season. We thanked her, stepped out into the chilly, sunlit, organic garden and took a stroll down Main Street to the gas station. There we bought a local map and rented a Dodge truck from Larry. Larry was wearing blue dungarees and a blue cap, and managed to make words in spite of the odd mismatch between his remaining teeth and his mouth. He grinned a lot and seemed to be buoyed by some secret source of happiness.