“I would’ve called you directly,” she said, “but the dispatcher told me you were next on her list.”
“No worries. I’m sorry for the distress that sight must’ve caused you. Somebody wants to annoy me. God only knows why, but I’ll find out.”
She nodded.
“The good news is that whoever killed the man is long gone. How about we head inside and chat over a cup of coffee?”
“Good idea,” she said with a grimace. “My ass is freezing on this metal chair.”
She patted Boomer, and waved for us to follow.
I talked to her at length, but more to settle her than to learn anything. In the first light of day, she’d seen some weird object at my gate and had approached close enough to figure out what it was. Then she’d hightailed it back home, worried that the killer might come after her next.
Sally owned a rifle and a pistol—and knew how to use them—but hadn’t bothered to take either on a quick trip to find baking powder.
Thankfully, nothing seriously bad had happened to her. I asked Randy’s question about her hearing anything.
“Nope, I slept like a baby. Conscience clear, as usual. Zippy didn’t notice anything, either, or she’d have woken me up.”
That was the more telling detail. Sally adored little dogs, and her current bestie was a female Cairn Terrier, just like Toto from The Wizard of Oz. Zippy was a terrific watchdog, young and spry. Good ears, and she barked like crazy at strangers.
For some reason, she’d always gotten along great with my giant, overenthusiastic mutt. While Sally and I talked, the two were playing tug-of-war with a hunk of rope. Despite his much bigger size, Boomer didn’t drag the little one all over the house.
As partial compensation for Sally’s worry, I promised her a steak dinner at her favorite restaurant, Chandler’s Steak Emporium. It was the least I could do for someone who dropped by my cabin every few days to check it.
-o-o-o-
By the time Boomer and I returned to my property, Rodriguez’s body was gone. Our crime techs were scouring the area, but they hadn’t found anything interesting. My pooch and I returned to Aspen to learn what we could about the latest victim.
Our first stop after the office was his home. Simon was already there, arguing with Federico about searching the premises. Our young, sandy-haired deputy was about five-ten and the same height as the Mexican, but he outweighed the playboy by fifty pounds.
Fortunately, Simon kept his cool and his hands to himself. The right approach. We could let our lawyers fight for us.
Federico, on the other hand, was white with anger and waved his arms around wildly. He stood in the doorway and kept us out while swearing nonstop in a mixture of Spanish and English. Maybe he was just upset about losing his dad, but I suspected something more. The kid was acting like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Manuel was well beyond objecting to any search, but I wanted to know whether Federico had good reason for holding us off. I called Sarah from my vehicle and described the situation. She promised to push through a warrant as soon as possible.
Until it came, Simon and I insisted that Federico stay where we could keep an eye on him. Boomer took a nap just inside the marble entryway to the fabulous house.
Willow called me, I assumed to make sure I was still alive. Since all we could do there was to wait for the judge to sign our warrant, I stepped out into the front yard and told my lovely what I’d learned so far this morning.
“Would you like me to check out this Manuel and his son?” she asked. “I’ve got access to many federal databases, including some the FBI can only use with special permission.”
“Great, but don’t get into trouble for using the databases inappropriately.”
“Not a problem,” she said, “as long as I’m working on an official police investigation.”
She definitely was helping with our criminal investigation, but I didn’t have the formal authority to hire her. Probably couldn’t get it either, even from Randy, but I’d sort that out later. Time was critical. “Find out what you can.”
-o-o-o-
It took Sarah another hour to get the warrant. While we waited, one of my least-favorite local land sharks showed up. The high-priced defense attorney took Federico outside so they could chat in private but not disturb any evidence in the house.
Finally, Linda brought us a signed copy of the warrant. While the lawyer and his client reviewed it, we three deputies roamed the place. Linda headed for the office, she being our most tech-savvy officer.
Federico tore off in a red Ferrari, leaving the lawyer behind to deal with us.
I suspected someone had stashed drugs. Boomer and I searched in all the usual hiding places. He wasn’t formally trained for that work, and he’d flunked out of two police dog academies, but he loved strange smells.
Unfortunately, all he turned up was a bag of buds in a kitchen drawer. No treats or congrats for him this time.
I found a half-dozen oxy tablets in an unmarked bottle in the dad’s bathroom. Not a surprise. I had a bottle exactly like it in my bathroom that was left over from treating an old injury. I kept it just in case.
After a couple of hours of searching, we turned up nothing incriminating. Linda had obtained access from Google to Manuel’s emails, but she couldn’t get into his laptop in the office. She took it and headed back to our office where I suggested she call Willow.
Boomer, Simon, and I followed a little later, our hands empty.
-o-o-o-
Shortly before noon, Special Agent Jim Carson showed. I explained the new development with Rodriguez’s death, but he said, “Not my problem. I’m obligated to concentrate on the threats that your chief deputy reported to us, namely the emails, texts, and attempts to kill you. Can I start by reviewing your files on your open cases?”
Most of our stuff was in electronic form, but Linda arranged a temporary account and password to our network for Jim.
Luckily, Willow had been happy to help. She called me. “It turns out, Manuel is legitimately rich. He was a senior executive for Xanadu, one of the largest Chinese cellphone manufacturers. They operate a huge plant near Juárez.”
Lots of companies made products in Mexico, but I hadn’t heard about Xanadu. “So, why was the kid acting so squirrely? The criminal defense shark he hired charges five hundred bucks an hour.”
“The plot thickens.” She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Anyway, I’ve learned that the Department of Homeland Security placed Manuel’s brother Pedro on a watch list for being a major human smuggler. Actually, Manuel and Pedro are twins, very similar in appearance but not identical. And here’s a surprise. Naughty Pedro was arrested two years ago for travelling to the US on his brother’s passport.”
She hadn’t been kidding about things getting complicated. “Pedro might be our DB, not Manuel.”
“Exactly. For some reason, the Feds never filed charges against Pedro for immigration fraud. Very suspicious.”
“No shit. Did you learn anything about the kid, Federico?”
“I confirmed that his uncle Pedro was one of the most successful human traffickers along the Rio Grande. Federico definitely has been a big part of that success. He’s one of Pedro’s chief lieutenants.”
That gave me another idea. “It’s possible the nephew might’ve assassinated his uncle to take over the business. If you can, find out whether either Manuel or Pedro has been seen in Juárez over the last couple of days. We have to figure out whose body is in the morgue.”
“I live to serve, mon petit chou. I’ll call when I have something.”
I wasn’t little or a cabbage, but I let that go. French terms of endearment were so weird.
After I hung up, I began to wonder whether Blatter was somehow connected to Rodriguez. As far as I knew, the two men lived in completely different worlds, but we needed to confirm that.
I spoke to Randy. “We might’ve been t
oo quick to assume the deceased’s identity.” Then I told him what I’d had learned from Willow without mentioning her name.
“I’ll head over to the morgue,” he said, “to check more closely. ICE must have Pedro’s fingerprints, but it might take a couple of days to compare them to our stiff.”
“Federico could tell us, but he’s lawyered up. The kid told me originally that Manuel owned the Starwood place, and Linda confirmed that with the county clerk’s office. Federico didn’t say his dad was here with him on this trip, though, but I assumed that.”
“Maybe the killer dropped the passport as a subtle message,” Randy said, “but we were too busy looking for other clues to recognize the big one.”
I groaned.
He chuckled. “Let’s keep that between ourselves, okay? We’re equally guilty, so no effect on the election.”
I agreed and hung up, but Willow already knew. She was my semi-secret weapon.
One way to find out who was in the morgue would be to force Federico to testify under oath. Although he could take the Fifth, we could provide immunity for that question alone.
I called his lawyer, who said, “I’m afraid Mr. Rodriguez isn’t available for an interview at the moment.”
“Work me into his busy schedule.”
The attorney paused. “That could take quite a while. He’s no longer in the area. In fact, I believe he’s no longer within the United States.”
Damn, that was fast. The Mexican must’ve headed straight from his dad’s house to the airport and taken the first flight out. He was in such a hurry to leave that he’d left behind all his personal belongings and thousands of dollars’ worth of fancy liquor, clothes and electronics. “Where’s the car?”
“At the airport lot. The family has asked me to sell all of their property here, real and personal. They don’t expect to vacation in Aspen anymore, not after such a shocking death in the family.”
“Leave the car alone,” I said. “We’ll be impounding it. Whose body do we have at the morgue?”
“Sorry, Detective, I haven’t been authorized to speak on that subject. When you’re ready to release his mortal remains, I’ll make arrangements to ship them to Juárez. Good day.”
He hung up before I could ask more questions. I called Sarah for another warrant, this time for the vehicle. While we were waiting, I made arrangements with a local towing company to bring the Ferrari to our impound lot.
I’d just hung up when Willow called again. “Manual Rodriguez is currently at the Xanadu facility in Juárez. He has a full schedule of meetings today, and this morning, he attended both of his earlier appointments in person.”
“Any idea where Pedro is?” I asked.
“According to a text Federico just sent out to certain business associates, Pedro is dead in Aspen. Federico will be taking over the smuggling business on an interim basis until the family decides on a long-term leader.”
“Thanks for the info,” I said. “What puzzles me most is how the killer figured out that Pedro was here secretly, and why did the bastard care enough to brutalize the man?”
She sighed. “It’s confounding, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll discover the truth.”
Everybody was sure, except me.
-o-o-o-
In the morning, I switched back to investigating Blatter’s death. At least, there I had a few rabbit holes to fall into. Although I saw similarities between Shermie’s murder and Rodriguez’s, namely the violence of the attacks and their ability to avoid prosecution, they could just as easily be unrelated. And we needed to find the source of the three horses and the trailer. Linda was expanding the geographical scope of her search.
With regard to Shermie, my only viable theory was that someone had killed him in a jealous rage. A warrant for the Glickmans’ financial records had failed to turn up any unexplained payments for a hitman, and Zack had a great alibi. That was a dead end.
Pauline Catalano was the last woman we knew about that Shermie had been sleeping with recently. Boomer and I headed for her sports bar in Basalt, about a half-hour northwest of Aspen.
The hound stuck his head out of the front passenger window the whole way, letting his huge ears flap in the wind. While he was having his fun, I drove the speed limit in the right lane. That pissed off plenty of other drivers on Highway 82. They wisely decided against blasting by a marked sheriff’s vehicle. Within a few miles, twenty cars were bunched up behind me in the left lane waiting for me to stop or leave the highway. Life’s a bitch when you’re always in a hurry.
A few miles past Old Snowmass, our long caravan passed Jason Riddle on the right side of the road. He’d pulled someone over, probably for a traffic violation. Boomer bayed when he recognized our coworker. He looked at us and waved.
The mutt and I made it to Basalt, but then a call came over the radio. A theft at the stop-and-shop in Old Snowmass.
I could’ve turned around, but Jason was closer. He took the call.
Boomer and I continued toward Pauline’s bar, Slugger’s Heaven. The name was a double entendre based on her fondness for man meat and her customers’ fondness for slugging down beer.
As I turned into the parking lot, Jason came back on the radio. “Suspect left the premises at high speed heading south on Snowmass Creek Road. An intoxicated white male about thirty dressed in blue jeans and an AC/DC T-shirt. Height about six-foot-four, slight build. Driving an older model blue F150. Colorado plates.”
That was odd. Snowmass Creek Road led south to a warren of other roads surrounding the north side of the spectacular Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, but there were only two ways out. The first was how the thief had driven in, and the second was a long and winding way via East Sopris Creek Road. That county road ran several broad, dry valleys filled with pastures but eventually popped out again onto Highway 82 west of Basalt. I sat in my SUV for a few seconds, waiting to hear which way the thief went.
A moment later, Jason said, “Suspect turned west on East Sopris Creek Road. Appears to be travelling the back way to El Jebel or Glenwood. Requesting assistance from any units close to that area.”
I grabbed the mic. “Acknowledged. Officer Morgan heading from Basalt to intercept.”
I hit my lights and siren. The tires spun on the gravel as I hit the gas. A couple of people I recognized on the front porch of the sports bar waved and yelled something at me.
Timing was critical. If the thief drove quickly enough, he’d reach a spot where East Sopris Road branched in several directions. I needed to get there before he did. Luckily, Boomer and I had the shorter distance to travel.
Ten minutes later, we reached the junction where the suspected thief could go various ways. The intoxicated driver was trapped. Now, all I had to do was find a suitable spot on the dirt road to lay down tire puncture strips I carried in the back of my SUV.
The ideal place would be a spot where some natural obstacle encroached on the shoulder on one side of the road, or even better, on both sides. I thought I knew the perfect place.
I’d traveled this way a few times recently because Willow’s new house was close to Old Snowmass. She’d spent over three million bucks on an old house and gutted it. A thought that still boggled my mind. Over the last few weeks, we’d made several trips down East Sopris Creek Road to the hardware stores and garden shops in Glenwood Springs.
For once, luck seemed to be on my side. I arrived at the spot I had in mind before the F150. A steep hillside rose on the north side of the road, and on the south side, a drop off of about twenty feet ended in a thick band of scrub oak at the edge of a large pasture.
I quickly laid the tire puncture strips across the dirt road, but they didn’t go far enough. I parked my SUV next to the strips to fill the gap, and I left my lights and siren going to warn any innocent passersby and our suspected thief. Turned on the dash video camera, per office regulations.
To stay safe, Boomer and I walked a hundred feet back from my SUV. If
the guy tried to drive over the strips, he wouldn’t make it this far before his tires shredded and immobilized the pickup.
All the while, Jason provided me updates on their location. He was hanging well back from the pickup to discourage the driver from going too fast. In the past, so many innocent bystanders had been killed during cop chases.
As soon as Boomer and I stopped walking, the blue F150 zoomed around a corner east of us. He had to see the reception I’d prepared.
The idiot’s options to avoid the strips were limited. First, and most likely, he could stop and give up or run away on foot. But this was arid, open country where we’d find him easily. No ranch houses nearby to hide in or grab hostages.
Second, he could turn around and try to get past Jason. But we were trained to end a car chase as quickly as possible, including crashing into the other vehicle if necessary.
And third, the thief could fly over the strips. I would’ve paid good money to see that.
But I’d failed to consider another option. Instead of slowing down, he sped up. Pointed his truck at my SUV on the road’s south shoulder.
I grabbed Boomer’s harness and pulled like hell to get us farther away.
A deafening crash told me the thief had decided on a variation on that perennial favorite among lowlifes—namely suicide-by-cop-car.
Something whirred through the air behind us and slammed into the center of my back. Knocked me into the dirt on the south side of the road.
I almost tumbled over the steep drop-off. To stop myself, I put my hands out—including the bandaged one from two days ago. The pain was incredible, but Boomer and I managed to stay on the road’s shoulder.
Chapter 11
Thank God, my hound had survived uninjured. He licked my face and whimpered as I sat on the side of the road and tried to ignore the burning on my palms and knees.
This time, my navy blazer came through the fall fine, but another khaki skirt got torn at the knees. My wounds there also ripped open. Flashing lights approached from the east. I struggled to my feet. The Ford emblem from the F150’s grill lay in the road near me. That must’ve been what hit me. I flexed my shoulders and rubbed my back. Thankfully, the impact didn’t seem to have caused any lasting damage there. But my hands and knees hurt like a bitch.
Perverted Justice Page 10