Perverted Justice

by Michael Arches

  “Absolutely not. Never seen him before.”

  “I need to make a call,” I said and dialed Randy. I went immediately to voicemail. “It’s Hank. Urgent that I talk to you immediately.”

  I dialed his secretary.

  “Sorry, he’s in a meeting with the county commissioners over some budget overage.”

  “Bust him out,” I said. “Do whatever it takes. It’s about the vigilante.”

  She huffed and put me on hold.

  Celestine said, “I hope I haven’t made a mistake. This sounds terribly important.”

  “You got that last part right. But if we’re starting down the wrong track, it should become obvious very quickly.”

  Randy picked up, and his voice had a sharp edge. “This had better be good.”

  “Actually, it’s not. Bad, real bad. Unless I’m crazy. Always a distinct possibility. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who the vigilante is, and you’re not gonna like it.”

  “You’d better not tell me it’s John,” he said.

  Interesting that his mind had gone to the same place mine had. “Nope, at least I don’t think so. Celestine Leclerc created a drawing showing the likely appearance of the fake trooper at the hotel. Actually, she created three drawings, but her favorite one looks damn close to your most recent hire.”

  I’d expected screaming, but no sound came from his end of the line for a long moment. Then he exploded. “Simon? Oh, come on! He’s just a kid. Very mild-mannered. Polite and respectful, unlike you.”

  “Hey, I don’t like this anymore than you do. He’s always been great to work with. But you know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones.”

  Randy’s voice went up a couple of notes. “Who the fuck are ‘they’ anyway? You need to get back here now, and bring the lady. Don’t say a word about this to anybody.”

  Although the news was terrible, I felt some relief. At least, we had a decent suspect for a change. The PR for the office would be horrible, but more murders would be even worse.

  “Celestine, it would be a big help if you could come to the sheriff’s office with me and explain your reconstruction process. We might even be able to swing some kind of payment for your time.”

  “Okay, but I have to be back here in ninety minutes for a rehearsal.”

  -o-o-o-

  By the time we arrived back at my office, the commissioners had vanished. Randy sat in our main conference room with a frown on his face. Next to him, Jenkins sat with a red face, mumbling his customary insults about me. Skip and Linda sat across from our two bosses. Both of them wore furrowed brows and remained perfectly still.

  I introduced Celestine and explained how I’d showed her my portfolio photographs. She took it from there, describing how she picked out certain features from the pictures and created her three drawings. One by one, she went through them, pointing out how she decided how the man looked underneath the disguise.

  When she flipped the page to the third, and preferred sketch, the others in the room gasped and groaned. They obviously saw the same likeness I did.

  Skip and Linda looked at me and nodded.

  Jenkins, on the other hand, yelled, “You’re going to crucify a good cop based on this? I can’t believe it. He doesn’t look anything like that. I think you’re setting him up. Because you can’t solve the case, so you’re framing him. You make me sick.”

  I was about to fire back, but Celestine’s mouth opened wide, and her face turned red.

  “Wait just a damned minute, Monsieur,” she said. “I didn’t come here to be insulted. You asked for a favor, and I did my best to help you. I’m happy to leave—”

  “Whoa!” Randy said. “Celestine, John’s not talking about you. We’re very appreciative of what you’ve done. It’s been extremely helpful.”

  Jenkins pointed his finger at me. “You’re the bitch at the bottom of this, not her. What did the kid ever do to you?”

  My face warmed to the boiling point. “Nothing. I’m just as shocked as the rest of you. As far as I can tell, he’s been a terrific deputy. Haven’t worked with him much, but during the few times I have, he’s been very professional. Great guy. So, if you want to ignore this evidence and take the case in a different direction, be my guest.”

  “This isn’t evidence,” Jenkins said, “it’s crap. This office is not going to impugn the reputation of a good cop because you can’t do your damned job.”

  For the first time, I saw Randy stand up to the asshole. “But on the other hand, quietly, we are going to check out our suspect’s whereabouts when the various murders were committed. Nobody says a word to anyone outside of this room about the suspect being in law enforcement. Got it?” He pointed to each person, one by one, and we all agreed, including Jenkins.

  The sheriff stood and waved his arms in the air. “You all better be damned careful. If you’re wrong, or if word gets out about this, I’ll fire the lot of you. To hell with the consequences. I can still run for office as a write-in candidate.”

  With that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  What a prick. To Christine, I said, “I’m really sorry you had to sit through that. Your help has been invaluable.”

  Randy looked at her and forced a smile. “Exactly right. John’s obviously just very upset. We all are, but we have a job to do. Celestine, please keep what you’ve heard here completely confidential. Let us do our jobs, sorting out the truth. The impact of a false accusation on this suspect’s career could be horrible.”

  She blew out a deep breath. “I will stay quiet, at least until you determine that the person you recognize is guilty or innocent. I’ll tell you one thing, though. I won’t work for this office again while that man is sheriff.”

  As she got up to leave, I thanked her over and over for helping us out and walked her out of the building.

  When I got back to the conference room, the others stared at me.

  Finally, I said, “Yeah, this sucks. I hope she’s wrong, but I doubt it. And I absolutely didn’t do anything to hint to her about Simon before I saw her drawing. She claims she’s never met the man she drew.”

  Randy wiped his face with his hands. “Fuck, what a disaster. He seemed like such a great hire.”

  I couldn’t disagree.

  -o-o-o-

  We divided up the work with Randy finding Simon and reviewing his background again. Skip and Linda agreed to compare Simon’s known whereabouts with the murders to see whether he could’ve possibly committed all of the crimes. We remained convinced that one vigilante had killed all four victims.

  I agreed to go back to Carbondale. Couldn’t wait to get Angie’s reaction to the photos from the hotel and Celestine’s drawings. Jenkins had been right about one thing— we had to be damned careful about smearing Simon’s reputation before we were sure of our facts.

  -o-o-o-

  Boomer and I hadn’t gotten ten miles down the highway to Carbondale before I got a call from Randy.

  “Something’s fishy. Simon was due to report for duty this morning but called in sick. Claimed to have the flu. Supposed to be in bed resting. I called the landline for his apartment. It’s been disconnected.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “Folks are dumping landlines like crazy these days. Everyone has a cellphone.”

  “God, I hope you’re right. Anyway, Jason’s patrolling the west side of the county at the moment. You and he need to drop by Simon’s place and check on him. His sickness could be legit, but be careful. Tell Jason a question has arisen about Simon’s work history, but no more details.”

  “You got it. God, I hope we’re wrong, but he could be in the wind already.”

  I called Jason and agreed to meet him at a burger joint a block from Simon’s apartment.

  “What’s going on, Hank?” he asked.

  “I can’t be specific yet. Just a routine check.”

  “Damn, I hope he’s okay. Seems like a nice guy. Quiet, which is f
ine.”

  He didn’t have to convince me about that. I was as introverted as anybody.

  Jason and I met at the fast food place. I told him we needed to be very cautious with Simon for now. That raised Jason’s eyebrows, but he nodded and followed me in his SUV to the apartment building. I cruised the lot first, looking for Simon’s yellow Camaro. Couldn’t find it. Another bad omen. They were piling up.

  I left Boomer in the car. Jason and I quietly walked up an outside stairwell to the second floor. I unstrapped my service revolver and held the grip, but left the gun in the holster. We each stood on opposite sides of the door.

  I rapped sharply with my free hand.

  No response.

  Knocked a second time, harder, and yelled, “Simon, it’s Hank. Are you okay?”

  Still no response. No noise from inside the apartment either.

  I whispered to Jason, “Get the manager. Tell him we’re concerned about Simon’s health. We need to enter long enough to make sure he’s okay. I’ll keep an eye on the door.”

  Jason hustled off and returned a few minutes later with a bald older man.

  “You got a warrant?” he asked me.

  Shut the fuck up! Nothing I hated worse than amateur attorneys. “Don’t need one for a welfare check, sir. Open the door, please.”

  The manager gave me a sideways sneer but did as I asked. I stepped through first, my hand still on my pistol’s grip.

  No need for caution. This bird had flown. No TV or personal belongings in the living room. Ditto with the bedroom. All of Simon’s clothes were gone. He’d even stripped the sheets from the bed. In the kitchen, he’d left behind a microwave and a coffee maker but taken all the food, silverware, dishes, and pans.

  “Son of a bitch!” the manager said. “I should’ve known something was fishy when he didn’t pay his rent on the first. He’d asked for an extra week. Him being a nice young cop, I said yes.”

  I shooed the manager away.

  Before I could call Randy, Jason asked, “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Afraid so, but sorry. I’ve been sworn to secrecy for the moment. Needless to say, I doubt Simon’s sick or just happened to get a sudden urge to switch apartments.”

  I called Randy. “He’s gone. Apartment’s cleaned out.”

  “Dammit!” the chief deputy said. “It’s beginning to look terrible for him. Give me a minute to call his cell.”

  I hung on until Randy came back on. “It’s disconnected. No new number. We’re going to have to put out a BOLO for him as a person of interest. He must’ve lost his mind.”

  “There’s an outside chance he’s been kidnapped. I know it’s a stretch.”

  “Better than the alternative. Tell Jason to stay at the apartment until we get a warrant. You should continue to Carbondale, like we talked about.”

  What I couldn’t understand most was how a seemingly stable young man could secretly go so far off the rails. The bastard had tried to kill me at least twice.

  -o-o-o-

  It was too early in the day for the Bonnie Lass to open, but I tracked down Angie at home. She stood at her front door, holding a toddler on her hip. “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Looks like. Do you have a few minutes to look at some photos?”

  She set the kid down in a playpen and motioned for me to come in. We sat on an old, threadbare sofa covered with toys. I showed her the pictures from the hotel security cameras.

  “Yeah, that looks like the shorter guy who met with Alfred a few times at the bar. What’s he done?”

  On the way to her place, I’d heard Jasmine broadcast the news of Caldwell’s death on Aspen Public Radio, so that was no secret. “He might’ve murdered someone at a hotel in Aspen.”

  “All that talk about fighting the government was bound to end bad,” she said. “And I heard from a friend who’s a nurse at the hospital in Glenwood that Alfred’s dead. So much killing.”

  “We’re trying to stop anybody else from getting hurt, including the guys who met with Gregor. Have you remembered anything about them since we last talked?”

  She shook her head. “They weren’t plotting to hurt anybody, not that I overheard. Just the usual talk about how the government sucks. Heck, I’ve said it myself more than once.”

  “Me, too. We got a right to gripe about stupid public officials and insane laws. This goes way beyond that. Any idea where those two tall guys were from?”

  She paused for a minute before saying, “No clue. Obviously Westerners, based their accents. Sorry, I can’t say more.”

  I showed her copies of the three sketches Celestine had made. “It’s possible,” I said, “one of these sketches shows what the burly one looks like without a beard. What do you think?”

  When I revealed the third sketch, she tapped it. “That’s got his eyes and nose. Brown eyes, I think, but the lighting’s terrible inside the bar.”

  Things definitely weren’t looking good for Simon.

  Chapter 18

  By the middle of the week, things weren’t looking good for us either. Simon had vanished into thin air, and so had his fucking yellow Camaro.

  Old mining districts like Aspen contained plenty of hidey holes in the form of abandoned mines. We spent three full days searching everywhere, including my property. Nada.

  The cops in Garfield and Mesa Counties looked, too. No luck. And none of Simon’s friends or relations in the Walden area had heard from him in weeks, or so they said.

  GJPD was kind enough to send their police artist to meet with Angie in Carbondale. The two generated sketches of the tall thin guys, who did look like brothers. We circulated the drawings widely on Colorado’s Western Slope but got no hits.

  Willow and Linda worked together to track the fugitive electronically. In particular, they collected information from his cable company and his cellphone provider. That was an eye-opener. He’d been involved in several conspiracy-oriented Internet forums and used the handle Enraged22.

  That got my heart pumping, but according to Willow none of the other forum members he communicated with were from Colorado. Nor had any of them bragged about hiding a vigilante from the law.

  Simon’s cellphone was nowhere to be found, and his provider told Linda he hadn’t turned it on since early Monday morning. That would’ve been before he’d attacked Caldwell. Our deputy had seemed to know that he wouldn’t be able to stay anonymous after striding through Little Annie’s.

  I let Jenkins and Randy worry about what to tell the press. There was a tiny chance that someone had set Simon up as the fall guy and kidnapped or killed him to keep him from proving his innocence. Unfortunately, that theory had one big flaw—someone who’d looked very much like Simon under the disguise had definitely slaughtered the bank CEO.

  Jenkins loved the idea that someone was trying to frame Simon, and it was at least theoretically possible. So, out in public, we took the position Simon must’ve been a victim of foul play.

  The news media outlets seemed skeptical, especially Jasmine and one of the Denver news hounds I’d met a few months ago, Angelina Esteban. They kept leaving messages for me asking uncomfortable questions Jenkins told me not to answer. For once, I was happy to follow his orders. I was a detective, not the office’s PR person.

  After our searches fizzled out, Randy allowed everybody time off. We’d worked enormous amounts of overtime over the last two weeks, and our budget couldn’t cover that expense. Instead, the department was granting comp time. And until some new lead turned up on Simon’s whereabouts, we were at a stalemate anyway.

  -o-o-o-

  My turn for a day off came on Thursday. Willow and I’d wanted to ride up into the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness near her new home. I rented an old pickup and a two-horse trailer from one of my outfitter friends, Barney Jeffers.

  Barney would’ve been happy to let me use the truck and trailer for free, but I didn’t want to get into t
he habit of accepting favors. That had gotten Jenkins into trouble, and I’d centered my campaign for his job around the slogan No special favors for special people.

  Late in the morning, Willow and I rode along one of the trails near Capitol Peak. Boomer came along to check out all the fall smells in the high country. The views of the snowcapped fourteener were spectacular, and a lot of the vegetation had turned bright red, orange, or yellow. Fall here was glorious.

  We found a nice spot along the creek to eat lunch and talked about how we wanted to spend more time hiking up high before the mountains snowed in for good. The crisp air made me feel more alive than usual. Boomer bounced around in the surrounding meadow like a puppy.

  But part of my mind stayed focused on Simon. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He could be anywhere. Just in case, I’d brought my .357 Magnum in its holster, and all day, I’d kept an eye out for sudden movements around us or strangers approaching. But no trouble.

  The only thing that made me nervous for an instant was a blue jay who started chattering nearby in a spruce. That gave me a jolt, but it turned out, a squirrel had gotten too close to him.

  The ride back was quiet and didn’t include any pissed off blue jays. Our relaxing day reminded me of why I lived in a cabin up high in the Rockies rather than down lower. The mountains were sparkling and colorful, while the lower valleys seemed dull and dry, even in the summer.

  As we drove home, we stopped at Willow’s new property, a two-story old farmhouse on a ten-acre ranch southwest of Old Snowmass. Capitol Creek, which we’d rode along earlier, flowed right through her land.

  The ranch was mostly pasture, but trees and shrubs did grow thickly along the creek and in a windbreak on the north side of the property. That screened the house from folks driving by.

  For security, Willow had installed an eight-foot-high, wrought-iron fence around the ranch. That fence would include cameras every hundred feet, but they hadn’t been installed yet.

  When we reached the gate, I punched in the access code. Fortunately, the workers inside the house were keeping the gate closed as we’d requested. After I pulled in, I confirmed that the gate closed behind us.