Chapter 74
Tuesday, February 16, 2100 Hours
They finished the pizza in silence, though Pierson did mention that she was planning to go to the next Nuggets home game and did Mac want to come with her? MacFarland shook his head, not really focusing on what she was saying. He wasn't much into watching sports. He found his mind coming back to the role Peterson played in this whole scenario. He kept trying to recall something Pierson had said, but he could not quite get his mind around it. Oh, that’s right, she had said that Ashland was tying up loose ends.
And then, suddenly, he saw how the whole drama had played out.
Otto Freeman had discovered that Brian Newsome was embezzling money from the store. There were conflicts between them, undoubtedly with Freeman threatening to go to the police, and possibly with Newsome trying to find someone else to blame--Maureen Freeman, perhaps. But Newsome needed a more permanent solution to his problem, one that would eliminate the threat of Freeman taking him to court and breaking the partnership. He needed a solution that would get rid of both Freemans. Killing Otto and framing his wife would be the ideal solution.
But how? Newsome was not the kind of guy to get his own hands dirty. Of course, he would hire someone else to do his dirty work. So he goes to Chicago to find a hit man...
No, that didn't make sense. First, Newsome hadn't been to Chicago in more than a year.
But, but…suddenly MacFarland had a flash of insight. A brain fart! Peterson had been to Chicago. Peterson spent a lot of time in Chicago. In fact, MacFarland recalled several trips Nicole had taken to Chicago because Peterson needed his administrative chief of staff with him. Had Peterson hired the Chicago-based hit man?
Again, the question came to why. One possible idea was that Newsome went to his cousin for money and Peterson suggested a more permanent solution to Newsome's partnership problems. MacFarland found himself enjoying that idea, because then it would clearly make Peterson responsible for all the murders. Unfortunately he had to admit that he had no proof of Peterson’s involvement.
He needed evidence. He needed Peterson’s confession.
MacFarland smiled.
If Peterson had really suggested the hit man, or even hired the hit man, then Peterson was another loose end. "Maybe he is tying up loose ends."
As soon as he made that connection, MacFarland understood why Ashland had not left Denver yet. It wasn't to kill him. It was because Ashland had to kill Peterson!
"Would you take the garbage out to the dumpster?" asked Pierson.
"I know where Ashland is," said MacFarland. "Or at least where he is going to be."
"Fine. Tell me after you take the garbage out."
"I thought you were a cop," he grumbled.
Pierson smiled condescendingly. "I am a cop," she said, "but I’m a cop with a dirty kitchen and a bag full of garbage. Get your priorities straight, Mac."
Still grumbling, MacFarland put on a jacket, grabbed the garbage, and took it out to the dumpster. As he walked to the back gate of the yard, he saw his trailer piled with the debris of his shopping cart. Maybe tomorrow he would salvage what he could and throw the rest of the pieces in the dumpster. Or at least put them in the alley for large item pickup. As he stared at the shadowed pieces of debris, he wondered what he was going to do with his life. You can’t sell hot dogs without a cart. Go back into law enforcement? Take up Bob Chamberlain's offer?
If he had just followed Pierson's advice, his cart would not have been destroyed. He would know what he was doing with his life.
He went back into the house. Pierson was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her and one by the empty chair. "Okay, Mac, sit down and tell me where we're going to find our fugitive."
MacFarland sat down and began to sip the coffee. "Something you said just earlier tonight, it just put all the pieces in place for me. I think I figured out where Ashland--well, the suspect who I think is Ashland--is going to be."
Pierson looked at him impatiently. She was not very tolerant of dramatic pauses. Being interrogated by her was like going through a hurricane. "Where the fuck is he going to be?"
"At Peterson's house," said MacFarland. Somehow the revelation had seemed more dramatic in his mind. "I think Ashland is blackmailing Peterson, because I’m convinced that Peterson is more than just involved. Like maybe he is the guy who put this whole thing in motion."
Pierson pursed her lips, her brow furrowed, then shook her head. "I honestly think you are searching for some reason to get even with Peterson, Mac. You have to keep in mind that your obsession with Peterson could just as easily be used by a prosecutor to explain why you killed the Newsomes."
MacFarland looked surprised. "I didn't kill the Newsomes."
"I know that, asshole! I’m just saying that your suspicions of Peterson are as well founded as the prosecutor's case would be. But since you have an alarming habit of being right more often than not, usually for all the wrong reasons, I think we should put a watch on Peterson's house. You wouldn't by any chance know where Peterson lives, would you?"
MacFarland nodded. "He lives in Lakewood also," he said. "Newsome lived east of the Country Club, Peterson lives on the other side."
"Lakewood again," she said. "Okay, let me go call this in."
"Great," said MacFarland enthusiastically. "See if you can get assigned to it, Cyn. I can go with you."
Pierson laughed. "No way, asshole! You're a civilian. I'm not taking you with me on anything. Besides, it won't be us who watches Peterson's house. It will be the Lakewood police. I'll call this into them."
MacFarland watched forlornly as Pierson went off to find her phone. Somehow this had not worked out as he had hoped. This looked like the murder trial of Norris Peterson all over again.
No, not this time.
Once again, he would have to handle this himself. Well, if Cyn gets pissed at me, it’s her own damn fault, he thought to himself.
Chapter 75
Wednesday, February 17, 1545 Hours
MacFarland was fairly certain that going back out to Lakewood was a bad idea. The police there had not taken kindly to Commander Chamberlain stepping in taking control over their case. Police were funny that way. Even if they did not have the resources, they wanted control over crimes committed in their jurisdictions. Competing jurisdictions were one of the things that made police work challenging. Cooperation and teamwork solved many of the disputes, but like world peace, cooperation and teamwork were often in short supply.
The Lakewood Police force was as professional and competent as any other police force in Colorado. But Lakewood was a fairly large city and the Police Department only had four hundred employees. MacFarland was hoping that it was unlikely that they would be able to position a squad car outside of Peterson's house for any extended period of time.
Assuming the Lakewood police weren’t there, then MacFarland only had to worry about whether Peterson would be at his home or at his office. If he were in transit, he would be harder to locate and keep an eye on.
Just after lunch, MacFarland placed a call to Peterson's office. His secretary, Joyce Hill, answered, her voice friendly and helpful. "Mr. Peterson's office. How may I help you?"
"Is he in?"
"Mr. Peterson is at an offsite all-day meeting, sir," she said, somewhat mechanically. "May I take a message?"
MacFarland hung up. Her voice had sounded hesitant, uncertain. MacFarland wished he had been able to watch her when she answered the phone. He would have been certain that her throat had tightened, often a sign of deception. Clearly, Peterson wasn’t in the office, but he wasn’t at any off site meeting either. Had anyone notified Peterson of the possible danger from Ashland? It seemed strange to MacFarland that Peterson would remain at home if he had been warned that Ashland would look for him there. Perhaps Peterson felt safer in his home. Having lived on the street for several years, MacFarland didn't feel safe in a home. He knew that
four walls offered no protection--the walls just made it harder to see the dangers that surrounded you. In that respect, he and Rufus weren't so far apart.
At three forty-five, MacFarland grabbed his jacket. On his way downstairs, he passed the library, then paused. He had hidden his gun in there, in a place where it was unlikely to be found, yet easily accessible. He considered taking the Glock with him, but then he considered the consequences of violating the court order. His court release forbid him having it in his possession. He could end up back in jail if he had the gun with him. On the other hand, going to see Peterson is a violation of the court order too, he thought to himself. In for a penny, might as well be in for a pound. He retrieved his gun, slipped the holster onto his belt, then got into his truck and headed out towards Lakewood.
Peterson lived on Reed Street. MacFarland had been to his house a couple of times with Nicole, mainly to attend parties hosted by Peterson and whatever woman was currently his girlfriend. As far as MacFarland knew, Peterson lived alone, though he sometimes had houseguests. The house was fairly isolated, hidden from its neighbors by trees and shrubbery, which even in winter still provided considerable concealment. The Lakewood Country Club was on the opposite side of the street, and at this time of year, no one would be out on the golf course.
As he raced west on Sixth Avenue towards Wadsworth, he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and put it on the hands free holder. He glanced at the screen and scowled. Damn! It was Pierson!
Chapter 76
Wednesday, February 17, 1555 Hours
He pressed the talk button. "What is it, Cyn?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm out for a drive," he said, as innocently as he could.
"Where do you have to drive to? You're not supposed to go anywhere, Mac."
"I got tired of sitting around the house. So I’m out for some fresh air."
There were some vaguely dangerous sounds from the phone that could only have been Pierson growling. Clearly she was not in a good mood. This was a call that MacFarland realized he should end as quickly as possible.
"Did you go over to Peterson's house?"
MacFarland wondered if she had GPS tracking on him. Knowing Pierson, she didn't need it. She had a strange instinct for knowing when people she cared about were in trouble. "Why would I go over to Peterson's house?" he asked.
"Because you're an asshole," snapped Pierson. "I just got word that Peterson told the Lakewood Police not to harass him. They tried to insist that there was a possible danger to him, but he got rather nasty about it. So they have backed off. My friend in Lakewood let me know, so I’m heading over there just to look around."
The concept of having Pierson showing up almost caused MacFarland to gag. "Isn't Lakewood out of your jurisdiction?" he asked pointedly. "What about your rules?"
"Fuck my rules. Since when have you ever been concerned about rules?” There was a slight pause as her instinctual radar kicked in. "Holy shit! You're there! Mac, get your ass out of there right this minute!"
MacFarland hesitated, then finally said, "I need to know, Cynthia. I need to ask Peterson directly. I think he is the person who framed me. I’m pretty sure he is involved with all of these murders. I just want to get some answers from him."
The phone went silent. MacFarland stared at it for a few seconds, then turned it off. He put the phone back in his pocket and continued driving.
There were three approaches to Peterson's house. He could take the frontage road that bordered Sixth Avenue and turn north on Reed, or take Wadsworth to Highland Drive or come south from Eighth Avenue. If the police were patrolling the neighborhood, they would probably enter from Highland, follow Reed south, then take the frontage road back to Wadsworth. He drove to Highland, turned north on Crescent Lane, then east on Eighth. He parked his truck, and got out and walked down the street towards Peterson's house. He looked around. There was no sign of police, no indication that Ashland was here, no hints of danger. He smiled to himself. It looked like he lucked out. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, MacFarland walked up to the front door and knocked loudly.
The door opened. Norris Peterson stood there, staring in surprise at MacFarland. "You! What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.
Chapter 77
Wednesday, February 17, 1615 Hours
"Are you going to invite me in?" asked MacFarland. Peterson was expecting someone, just not MacFarland. That meant he expected Ashland. The fact that he didn’t have a gun in his hand was a strong indicator that he expected his meeting with Ashland to be a friendly one. The idiot didn’t know that Ashland was coming here to kill him!
"No, get out of here!"
"You certainly invited me in often enough when you were fucking my wife," said MacFarland, pushing his way inside. Once he was through the door, he pushed it closed behind him. He looked around, primarily to see if anyone else was in the house, but also because that was what he was trained to do. He was in a large hallway, a red oriental print runner rug stretching down the hall. A living room with a large domed ceiling lay off to his left side; doors opened up to a dining room on right side. The hallway had a sidebar table in it, decorated with an expensive looking Oriental vase. There was also a small sports bag sitting at the far end of the table. A cell phone was on the near end of the table.
Peterson backed up, surprised by MacFarland's aggressiveness. "You never give up, do you?"
"I'm not here about you killing Nicole, Peterson. You've been up to other things lately, haven't you?"
Peterson spied his cell phone lying on a sidebar table and reached for it. MacFarland was faster and swept the phone away. It slid off the table and along the polished wood floors of the hallway and into the adjoining dining room. MacFarland stepped out of the hall and backed into the dining room, preventing Peterson from getting close to the phone. Peterson backed up against the wall, looking back behind him and trying to judge if he could get away before MacFarland would be able to stop him. Apparently he decided that he couldn't move fast enough. He quickly regained his customary bravado. "Get out of my house," he demanded once more. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, MacFarland.”
"I’ll leave soon enough," said MacFarland, "but only after you answer a few questions for me."
"I don't have to answer any of your questions."
MacFarland ignored him. "Why did you kill Otto Freeman?"
Peterson scowled in disgust. "I didn't kill anyone, you prick. If anyone killed Freeman, it had to be my cousin, Brian. The guy’s always been a bit unstable."
"Why did you kill Brian Newsome?"
"I thought you were the one arrested for that that crime," said Peterson.
MacFarland nodded. "Funny thing about honest forensics, Peterson. It tends to prove that I didn’t kill the Newsomes."
Peterson scowled. "Don’t be too sure, MacFarland. I am pretty sure a good lawyer can get a jury to buy a version of the truth that shows you are guilty.”
MacFarland nodded. “You’re right, Peterson. I can’t afford the high priced lawyers you can. I can't buy off a jury the way you can. But you will slip up one of these days, and I will put you away for good. You're not above the law, no matter how much money you have."
"Good luck with that, MacFarland. You’re a loser, and losers like you just don't know what's going on in the world. You think the law will stop me? The law is a tool I use to accomplish my goals, MacFarland. You're an idiot if you haven't learned that lesson yet. The law is on my side, not yours. Now get the fuck out of my house!"
For once in his life, MacFarland was not sure what to do. What Peterson said was true, in one disturbing sense. He was a loser. Peterson not only has money on his side, thought MacFarland ruefully. He has brains on his side. I should have listened to Pierson.
He was about to turn and leave when the front door exploded open and Ashland burst into the house.
"You better
have my money, Peterson," shouted Ashland, pointing a .32 semi-automatic in Peterson's direction.
Chapter 78
Wednesday, February 17, 1625 Hours
MacFarland realized that Ashland did not know he was in the house. He reached behind him to pull his gun out, but MacFarland's slight movement must have alerted Ashland to his presence. He whirled to face MacFarland, his face registering recognition. He raised his gun to shoot MacFarland, but he had to duck as Peterson grabbed the vase from the sidebar and threw it at Ashland. Ashland's shot went wild as he dodged the vase. MacFarland pulled his gun loose from his holster, but as he pulled his gun around in front of him, Ashland got another shot off. This shot hit MacFarland in the shoulder. A sudden pain streaked down his arm. He lost his grip and dropped his gun. MacFarland realized that he had to stop Ashland from getting another shot off. Before Ashland could shoot again, MacFarland leaped across the short distance between them, crashing into the heavier Ashland. MacFarland hoped to knock the man down, but his larger size gave him an advantage. MacFarland had a vision of the man standing in rushing streams, maintaining his balance. Too late now! Ashland fired again, fortunately this time missing MacFarland. MacFarland grabbed hold of Ashland’s shooting arm and tried to dislodge the gun. The two men struggled for what seemed like a long time, as MacFarland shouted for Peterson to help him.
Peterson stood mutely off to the side, staring in shocked silence as the two men wrestled. Apparently too afraid to help MacFarland, he was also too afraid to run. MacFarland thought he was about to wrest the gun from Ashland's hand when the gun discharged again. MacFarland felt a searing burning sensation in his leg, and then he started to lose his balance.
Ashland felt MacFarland teetering and pushed him away. MacFarland fell back onto the floor. He lay there, staring up at Ashland who pivoted and shook the gun in Peterson's direction.
"My money, Peterson," shouted Ashland. "You said you'd have it!"
"What did you have to shoot him for?" yelled Peterson.
"I'm going to shoot you if you don't get my money! I told you, no cops! What is he doing here?"
MacFarland saw his gun lying on the floor near the door jamb of the dining room. He estimated how far it was from him and whether he could get it and shoot Ashland before the man noticed what he was doing. Everything depended on Peterson keeping the man's attention.
The Avid Angler - The Hot Dog Detective (A Denver Detective Cozy Mystery) Page 22