Perverted Justice
Page 15
“Amen, sister,” I said. “Good night, all.”
I took the shuttle from Glenwood to Aspen then caught a cab from the bus station for home.
-o-o-o-
The sun was setting when I reached the house. Sandoval, one of Alex’s huge hulking guards, greeted me. He wore full body armor and a helmet that included night vision goggles. Not that he needed them yet. The man carried an AR-15 and packed a Glock and mace on his belt.
A large, wary Rottweiler padded up to me and sniffed.
“Is this Chomper?”
“Yep. No need to be nervous. He’s very well trained. But as usual, when you take Boomer out during the night, let us know.”
“You bet.” Sandoval was also a former Marine, and I had faith in him and the others. Alex seemed to have lured away the best of the men and women working for their former employer, Executive Security. “Thanks again for your help. Semper Fi.”
He gave me a fist bump and returned to his duty.
I walked to the front door and unlocked it. Boomer bayed. Willow beamed at me. She’d already eaten, but she’d saved me part of a steak she’d grilled and several side dishes.
While I ate, I caught her up with what I’d learned since last checking in.
Then, I asked, “How’re things around here?”
“Quiet, thank the Virgin. One of the women on Alex’s staff, Cleo, is in our office monitoring the cameras and sensors they set up outside. Today, they spotted a couple of deer and a coyote in the woods surrounding the property.”
“I’m sure we’re well protected. Looking forward to a good night’s rest.”
“I don’t understand how you can sleep when there’s so much to worry about,” she said.
“Gotta compartmentalize. Otherwise, you go crazy.” That was life as a cop. Long stretches of boredom broken by a few moments of sheer terror.
After my busy day, I was whipped. Headed upstairs early. Boomer had the run of the house, as usual.
To sleep, I dressed in my favorite Rockies jersey, Todd Helton. Although he’d retired, he was my favorite team member. I didn’t wake up when Willow joined me, but I sensed her there anyway.
-o-o-o-
At 4:19 a.m., the walkie-talkie I’d put on the nightstand clicked three times in fast succession. That was the signal for a possible intruder. My phone was also on, and a text arrived from Gretchen. She and Juan had taken over guard duty at ten p.m. Motion detected at southwest corner. Infrared indicates likely human.
Juan texted, Am investigating with K9.
“What’s going on?” Willow whispered next to me.
In a low voice, I read her the two texts. “We sit tight and let them do their jobs. That’s why you’re paying Alex his ridiculous rates.”
“He swears I’m getting the good buddy discount, twenty-five percent off.”
Even so, she was paying three grand a day. I was definitely working on the poor end of the gunslinging business.
The bedroom window overlooked the area where Juan and his guard dog were presumably moving around. I crouched down and peeked out at the corner of the window. Couldn’t see either in the moonless night.
Willow knelt next to me.
I heard a strangled cry in the distance. “Mon Dieu. What was that?” she whispered.
“A fox’s alarm call.”
A moment later, Gretchen texted, The fox must’ve scared the guy off. Infrared shows him leaving at a fast clip, going the same way he came.
A moment later, Juan texted, Found signs of human intruder. Definitely gone now.
I took Willow by the hand and led her back to bed.
Before I got comfortable, she punched me in the ribs. In a loud whisper, she said, “That’s it? You’re going back to sleep?”
“You betcha. Tomorrow’s likely to be a big day. If anybody else drops by, your guards will let us know.”
-o-o-o-
No more alerts. My phone’s alarm went off at six-thirty, and I got ready for another fun-filled day. At breakfast, Willow and I met with Juan and Gretchen. He showed us photographs he’d taken of fresh boot prints back in the trees.
“The fox raised enough of a ruckus to warn the intruder off for the night,” Gretchen said, “but I doubt he’s aware that we’d spotted him. I expect him to return tonight and strike again.”
“We’ll be ready,” Juan said.
We reviewed the night’s activities in more detail, like we’d go over any military or cop operation for lessons learned. Willow listened with her hands trembling.
At the end, I said, “Great work. Let’s use the same procedures going forward. Willow has to make a quick trip to Kansas City. They’re sending a private plane to pick her up. She should be home tonight.”
Gretchen nodded.
We were still talking about their various high-tech gadgets when my cell rang. Dispatch.
“Hank, we’ve got another body with your name on it. Literally. Little Annie’s Hotel.”
That took my breath away for a second. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “When did it happen?”
“First report came in six minutes ago.”
That meant whoever had snuck onto our property could’ve had plenty of time to switch to Target B.
I wolfed down the rest of my breakfast, grabbed the mutt, and headed out. Juan promised to escort Willow to the airport.
But before I left the house, it occurred to me that this latest murder might be a trap. What better way to isolate me than by luring me straight from home to the hotel? I called Randy and mentioned our overnight guest and my thoughts about an ambush.
“Good point,” he said. “Aspen PD has already sent an officer and lab tech to the hotel. This is really their case unless they want us to take it over. I was going to check it out, but I’ll swing by and pick you up first.”
Actually, Randy and Linda came in separate vehicles at the same time, lights flashing. Boomer and I rode with Linda, and I filled her in.
When we entered the hotel’s airy, modern lobby, their fountain caught my eye, as usual. It was a miniature version of the famous tourist attraction in Rome, showing a merman standing on the tails of four upside down dolphins.
This gaudy thing was completely out of place in the sleek, modern building, and it’d always brought a smile to my face.
But not today. That was my life recently—one jarring contradiction after another.
The hotel’s head of security was Lucy Ralston, a former Denver cop and a member of the sisterhood.
She rushed up to me. “Thank God, you could come personally, Hank. It’s the weirdest murder I’ve ever seen.”
Folks milled around the lobby, laughing and chatting as usual. Obviously clueless to the crime she was describing. Randy and Linda connected with the Aspen PD cops in the lobby.
“Well, the DB obviously isn’t here,” I said to the security chief. “Take me and the dog there and tell me what you know.”
She herded me and Boomer toward an open elevator. Stopped a young couple from getting on with us. “I’m sorry, official police business. Please take the next car.”
When the doors closed, Lucy said, “The body of Herman Caldwell bled out on his king-sized bed. Killed by someone dressed as a Colorado state trooper.”
That explained one mystery—namely why so many people had let him get close. He was impersonating a cop. In this part of the world, folks usually trusted law enforcement.
But I wanted to start at the beginning. “First, tell me about the vic.”
She did a double take, like she was surprised I didn’t know him. “He’s the CEO of one of the oldest banks in the country, Overland Express. They just paid a five billion-dollar fine to the Feds for screwing their customers.”
“Oh, those bastards. I heard about them from my girlfriend. Caldwell runs that gang of thieves?”
Lucy nodded. “To be honest, I’m surprised he was never indicted. Won’t be now.”
&nb
sp; “Hopefully his kids will enjoy their inheritance. What about security? I assume you have cameras, but I haven’t seen any.”
“Yeah, we’ve got ‘em. Video from at least sixteen vantage points. My assistant is collecting it all.”
Sixteen! Christmas has come early this year.
We exited the elevator and walked halfway down a plushy carpeted hallway to a room with a hotel staffer standing outside. The security chief waved at him and used her key card to unlock the door.
The room was a large, lushly furnished suite. Jerry Newton, a middle-aged, male police detective I’d met a dozen times, motioned me over. I could already smell blood over the scent of oriental lilies in a vase on the breakfast bar. Kept a good grip on Boomer.
The detective stood over a young woman’s body. She was lying on a white leather sofa splatted with plenty of the bright red liquid.
The woman was a local escort I’d seen around in recent months. Both Aspen PD and our office ignored most sex workers. It was a financially rewarding job for the young and charming, except on rare occasions like this when they got their throats slit.
“Gal should’ve left a little earlier,” Jerry said. “Five hundred in cash in her purse and a couple of small baggies of coke. Robbery obviously wasn’t the motive.”
“Interesting,” I said, “but why do you think your two murders are related to the vigilante case?”
The detective said, “Could be a coincidence, but being the astute detective I am, I believe there’s a link.”
Lucy pulled my arm. “Let’s go in the bedroom, Hank. You’ll see. This is the sideshow.”
A couple of crime techs were working the room, but my gaze went straight to the king-sized bed. A sixtyish, pale white male with a beer gut was lying on his back, naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. His mouth was stuffed with a dark sock. He’d been tied spread-eagle to the bed’s corners. Worse, Caldwell’s face and torso were covered with brown and purple welts. A black baton lay next to him on the bed.
If that wasn’t gruesome enough, one cut on each limb at a major artery had bled him dry. The sheets were literally drenched.
I already had a substantial collection of gruesome cop memories, but here was one more I could treasure. That was part of the job.
Boomer uttered a low whoo-whoo sound which indicated he was happy. The mutt loved dead things, and the bloodier, the better.
Oddest of all, a small, white card covered with fingerprint powder rested over the man’s heart. In hand-printed text, it read, For Detective Henrietta Morgan. You’re welcome!
I tamped down my anger at him assuming I wanted this. Glanced at my two companions, but they refused to look at me. “What the fuck am I supposed to make of that?”
“No idea, Hank,” Lucy said. “I warned you that this was weird shit.”
“If you want to take the lead on this case,” Jerry said, “you won’t get any argument from us.”
I shrugged. “Randy and your chief can work that out. As peons, we just do our damned jobs. Is the coroner sending somebody?”
“Sure,” Jerry said.
I took a closer look at the baton. It was covered with fingerprint powder. “Any luck there?”
The detective shook his head. “Lots of prints in the room, but not on the baton, the card, or on any of the door handles. The killer was careful.”
But not particularly smart. This was the first crime committed in a place with extensive surveillance and a number of human witnesses. Even with a great disguise, the guy had to have revealed himself much more than before.
This was a turning point for him. He must’ve changed his behavior for a reason, but damned if I could figure it out. “What else have you found?”
“Not much…yet,” one of the lab guys said. “We’re just getting started.”
I wasn’t optimistic about them finding the murderer’s fingerprints or DNA. “Jerry, I’ll leave you and your team to do your work. But here’s how I see things played out. The killer knocked on the door, looking like a trooper. One of the room’s occupants opened it, probably Caldwell. Once the perp entered and closed the door behind him, he pulled a weapon and took control of the two vics. Probably slashed her throat first as a warning to the CEO to cooperate. Then, likely dosed him with a Seconal-tequila combo like the others. Took him to the bedroom and tied him up. Anybody disagree yet?”
They all shook their heads.
“That’s when the fun began,” I said. “The killer beat the shit out of Caldwell, and the poor bastard couldn’t do a thing about it. I don’t see an obvious killing blow, so most likely, the perp opened the CEO’s veins while he remained alive and drained him dry. Death was probably welcome by then.”
Once again, I looked at everyone for a comment.
“That’s how it reads to me, too,” Jerry said. “We’re dealing with one sick son of a bitch.”
-o-o-o-
Lucy and I headed back to the lobby. Boomer padded along reluctantly.
“Just wondering out loud,” I said. “I’m wondering why an asshole who’s been so careful to hide his identity up to now would expose himself to your modern surveillance. Something has changed.”
“You can’t explain the crazy, Hank. Part of him might want to get caught, and it pushes him into more dangerous attacks. Another part of him, his ego, probably thinks he’s invincible. What I can’t believe is that he’s taunting you—and for not arresting this guy. He should know local cops don’t have jurisdiction over financial crimes.”
Maybe he didn’t. In any case, this murder had taken a turn for the wild. Most of all, I prayed he’d exposed himself more than he thought.
Down in the lobby, I checked in with Randy and Linda. He’d focused on coordinating the investigation, and she’d worked with Lucy’s assistant.
“We’ve got video out the wazoo,” Linda said. “He dressed as a Colorado state trooper. The uniform looks perfect. Unfortunately, the perp was surprisingly successful at avoiding cameras.”
“Where are the pretty pictures?” I asked.
Chapter 16
The security chief led us to the back offices. Her assistant, a slim man in his early thirties, introduced himself and explained how he’d collected every bit of video showing the killer. He stood in front of a bank of eight large monitors.
Next to him, a goth guy who looked to be about twenty was typing like mad on a laptop.
Lucy waved at him. “Taurus, here, is my nephew. Plans to be a movie director. He’s taken several classes on editing and modifying digital images. Our raw video feed from outside is grainy, because it was dark. I’ve asked him to clean things up as much as he can.”
He waved at me and petted Boomer. “Aunt Lucy, you need specially designed cameras for low lighting conditions. In the meantime, I can enhance these images.”
The kid wore the usual Doc Martens, funeral garb, tattoos, and chains. Weirdest of all, he had a three-inch-long safety pin stuck in one cheek. I couldn’t imagine what the point of that was, other than to prove his mental instability or his incredible tolerance for pain. Whatever. The guy looked completely out of place in a modern office next to four professionally dressed adults.
“Hank, let my assistant show you the raw feed while Taurus does his magic,” Lucy said.
He pointed at the topmost display on the left side, and it flashed on. The timestamp said 5:41 a.m. It showed a bulky man barely visible in the dim street lighting as he approached the main entrance to the hotel. He passed a Ford minivan, and that gave me a reference point to judge the man’s height—about average.
As he came closer, the image quality improved considerably. His uniform became visible. The blue shirt and tan pants of a Colorado state trooper. His black tie was tucked into his shirt the way they usually wore it, and his badge was pinned over his left breast pocket. He also wore the traditional black, flat-brimmed hat with a silver decal pinned to the front. He’d pushed it down on his forehead.
On his belt, he carried the usual cop gear, including a service pistol. As best I could tell, the uniform looked exactly right.
The only thing that seemed off was his facial hair. He wore a thick black beard. I’d never seen a state trooper with a mustache, much less full-face fuzz.
“Son of a bitch!” I said. “Other than his beard, it’s a fantastic disguise.”
The killer carried a briefcase in one hand, and he kept his head tilted down as he approached the doorman. The hat’s broad brim shielded the top half of his face.
As soon as the vigilante reached the revolving glass doors, Lucy’s assistant switched to a monitor right of the first one. It picked up the video from inside the hotel. The man strode straight to the front desk. The video quality was excellent.
It hit me—he not only looked the part but acted it. The bastard used a typical cop strut that we all seem to learn by osmosis early in our careers. His arms swung wide, giving him a swagger, because he needed to avoid hitting the gear on his belt.
The front desk was staffed by a short, carefully manicured brunette. A third monitor came on, showing the view from the camera behind her, and this camera included audio. The clerk welcomed him to the hotel and asked how she could help him. The man’s voice was low and hard to hear, but he seemed to ask for Caldwell’s room number.
“I’ll be happy to dial his suite and ask him to come down,” the woman said.
“No, ma’am, thank you anyway,” the killer said. “I have papers to serve, but he’s been avoiding us for several weeks. Don’t want to give him another chance to bolt.”
The murderer offered to show her the papers, but instead of saying yes, she dialed someone and explained the situation.
The person on the line must’ve given approval, because the clerk told the man Caldwell’s room number.
Lucy motioned to stop the video. “That was a substantial deviation from our standard security protocol. The early-morning manager was dealing with a crisis in the breakfast café’s kitchen, and he didn’t want to come to the front desk to review the papers supposedly being served. He’s been suspended pending a review by our New York headquarters.”