The sheriff radioed his office to say the scene was secure and asked for an ambulance to remove one injured man. Then, he whispered to me, “Hank, you can interrogate these men if you want.”
I shook my head. “You’re doing great. Mainly, I’m just asking you to hold onto the two tall ones. If we can get one of the others to flip to our side, that’d be even better. Maybe try the young guy.”
The sheriff walked up to the five men and mirandized them. Next, he said, “We have reason to believe you were harboring a fugitive, a serial killer out of Colorado. That’s a serious felony. Could easily get you each a dozen years in prison.”
He paused to let that sink in. All of them looked worried, with wide-open eyes, but the Hispanic guy’s lips also trembled.
“Ian,”—he pointed at the injured man—“sit over on the far end of the sofa and wait for your ride to the hospital.” We couldn’t interrogate him. A defense lawyer might later argue that he was under duress or incapacitated by extreme pain.
The wounded man shuffled off muttering.
To the others, he said, “In addition to harboring a fugitive, we plan to charge you with accessory after the fact on four premeditated murders in Colorado. That could easily get each of you another twenty years.”
The Hispanic guy began to cry.
“But I’m in a forgiving mood,” Isaiah said. “One of you—and only one—will get the chance to convince me to cut you a tremendous deal. If you have information about the Colorado vigilante, and you’re willing to cooperate fully, I can probably convince our district attorney to dramatically reduce your charges.”
Ian on the sofa yelled, “I’ll go for that!”
“Shut up!” the sheriff roared. “I’m not talking to you, am I?”
He pointed at the other tall man. “Eric, go sit with your brother. And keep your mouth shut, too.”
The man did as he was told.
The sheriff glared at the Hispanic. “You get the first chance to grab this great offer. But if you’d rather stay silent, I’m happy to talk with one of these other scumbags. Do you want to help yourself, or not?”
The Hispanic stammered, “Y-yeah, yeah!”
“Wait a damned minute,” one of the stocky guys said.
The sheriff put up his hand. “Hank, take this smart guy to the kitchen and see if he can help you out.”
I did, and we sat at a small kitchen table. His name was Joaquin Menendez. He claimed to be working odd jobs for this ranch’s owner. Said he earned five bucks an hour plus room and board.
I asked, “Have you seen Simon here?”
“Don’t know.”
I showed him Simon’s mug shot from the folder I’d brought.
“Si, but he called himself Doug.”
“What’s he drive?”
“A yellow Camaro. It’s hidden in town because the road here is too rough. Doug was here for a couple of days this week then left again.”
I glowed inside with happiness. The last pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place. “Did he say anything about killing anyone?”
“Yeah, a woman junkie. He said she’d killed her little boy. She didn’t deserve to live but a judge had let her off.”
Pay dirt. “Did he talk about other murders? A retired doctor living in Aspen.”
“A doctor who killed a tame lion in Africa.”
I nodded.
“Doug made him pay. Took him hunting for elk and shot him with an arrow in the gut.”
That seemed to wrap things up. I knew we had him already for slaughtering the CEO. My heart went pitter-patter. “You’re going to have to come with me to Aspen, but you shouldn’t face any charges. We’ll arrange for a free lawyer to represent you and get your formal statement.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t want no trouble with the law.”
I led him by the arm and went to find the sheriff. He looked at me quizzically.
“He’s working out great,” I said. “Joaquin here will be a great witness.”
Chapter 22
I took Joaquin with me in my Rubicon, and the sheriff promised to hold Eric and Ian pending extradition to Colorado. When I got back to Moab, I found a glass repair shop that replaced my windshield.
We made it back to Aspen in time for me to catch Tyrone’s latest rap sing-off in his reality show. Three contestants remained, including my personal favorite, Katrina.
Willow and I were allowed to watch everyone perform at the B&B Tyrone had taken over. That was followed with a great party. God willing, my life would return to the boring normality I’d known for most of my ten years as a deputy.
-o-o-o-
To finish off the week, Mom and I met for lunch at a barbeque place in Carbondale. The restaurant was about halfway between Gunnison and Aspen. We had a comfortable chat, until she began to nag me about conversion therapy again.
“No chance, Mom. If you really want a relationship with me, you’re going to have to forget that voodoo.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she said with a frown. “Your lifestyle keeps me awake nights.”
“It’s none of your business, Mom. Let’s try, don’t ask, don’t tell, just like when I was in the Marines. Neither one of us are going to talk about it. Or, I can get up and head home right now.”
After a pause, she said, “Okay, okay. Don’t go. I’ve lost you for too long already.”
“I thought you were proud of me.”
She smiled. “I am, incredibly. You’re so brave and smart. I can’t understand how you figured out all those murders. People in Gunnison tell me all the time how thrilled they are to know you.”
Her praise meant the world to me, but I was skeptical about the folks in Gunnison. It was one of the most conservative towns in Colorado and even the country. Lots of folks had been hostile to LGBTQ rights when I was growing up, and I’d hidden my feelings for women until I met other lesbians in the Marine Corps. Too ashamed of myself from having grown up in such a traditional community.
“Mom, the people in town had to have been shocked when they heard I was a lesbian.”
She shrugged. “Wouldn’t talk to me about something so sensitive. In fact, they don’t need to say a word about you, but they do. We hear about your great work. Lots of folks would love to see you again. They tell me that all the time.”
There was damned little chance I’d go back to Gunnison anytime soon. That would be too awkward. “If they want to see me, tell them Aspen’s not that far. They can even knock on a few doors while they’re in the area and ask folks to vote for me.”
She froze for a second then said, “That’s a wonderful idea. As your proud mother, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a few days before the election to campaign for my soon-to-be-sheriff daughter. I’ll be more than happy to tell people how lucky they are to have you protecting them.”
She brought tears to my eyes, and my throat tightened so much I couldn’t speak. I reached over and hugged her, so grateful to have my mom back in my arms.
~Finis~
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Hank’s adventures continue. If you would like to read the first chapter of the next book in this series, Sacrifice, please turn the page.
Book 3 Excerpt—Sacrifice
Some women in Aspen think I’m their personal cop, particularly the ladies in the sisterhood. So, I wasn’t surprised when bright and early one Monday in early December, Patsy Peters called me instead of 911.
“Hank, girl, you’ve got to come right away! There’s a bony hand trying to pull itself out of the river!”
I’d only had one cup of coffee before leaving the house, and it was
n’t enough. “Whoa. How about you start at the beginning. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sorry. I was out on my morning run with Trixie. We usually jog through town to the campground. You follow?”
“Yep.” Trixie was her constant companion, a little Manchester Terrier. They usually ran east of Aspen on a path next to Highway 82. The path ended at the access road for Difficult Campground, which was situated along the Roaring Fork River.
“We usually turn around at the water’s edge. This morning, I saw something weird sticking out of the ice in an eddy. Trixie went nuts. Pulling on her leash trying to get at it. When I inched closer, I spotted five bony fingers sticking out of the ice, like a skeleton was trying to drag itself onto the riverbank.”
I fought a laugh. That was definitely not something I heard every day. Patsy was usually a down-to-earth gal, too. She ran a local Western art gallery. A clear-headed businesswoman who happened to enjoy the outdoors.
“Sounds like a toy fell into the river upstream and got trapped in the ice,” I said.
“I thought that at first, but nope. Got closer. Hand is real. Nasty. Some of the skin’s still there. Totally yuck. You gotta come.”
I wouldn’t miss it for the world. “Already on my way. Someone is obviously in real trouble. Maybe dead.”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Just passing through Old Snowmass. It’s not quite seven, so shouldn’t be much traffic. I can get there in fifteen minutes. Where are you?”
“Back at the highway. Couldn’t get a signal by the river.”
“Fine. How about you stay there? We don’t want to compromise any evidence that hasn’t already been disturbed.”
“I’m not getting close to that thing without you. Hurry.”
I hung up. What a creepy way to start the week. Ski season was always weird—everyone scrambling to make enough money in a few months to carry them through the rest of the year. But this was different. Someone might’ve lost their life.
Willow Higgins, my girlfriend, had flown out yesterday for Tokyo, so I’d left for the office early. She had some International Monetary Fund emergency meeting.
I called the county coroner’s office and left a message explaining what little I knew. The coroner himself, Doctor Dan Longfellow, called me back and promised to send someone to collect the human remains.
-o-o-o-
By the time my bloodhound Boomer and I arrived at the campground’s access road, Dr. Dan was waiting with Patsy at the closed gate. The bright, cloudless morning gave no hint of trouble. Both of my friends were in their sixties and slender. Patsy was short, and Dan tall. They had deeply tanned faces, but hers was pale.
The temperature was about fifteen degrees. I got out of my departmental SUV and put on a long, black parka with a hood.
“You get the weirdest cases,” Dan said. “I’ve got to see this icy hand for myself.”
“All will be revealed soon, I’m sure,” I said, glancing at Patsy.
She nodded.
While we walked down the long access road, we caught up with each other’s news. I hadn’t talked to them in a month, not since the victory party for my election as county sheriff. They’d been two of my earliest and most vocal fans.
Our first confirmation of Patsy’s story came when Boomer froze and stuck his nose in the air. He smelled something, and his tail wagged furiously. There were few things he liked better than the delicate aroma of decaying flesh.
Trixie began barking. Patsy held her back with a taut leash. With her shivering free hand, she pointed at a small eddy filled with floating debris and edged with ice. “Right there. Just like I said.”
“Keep the dogs back,” the doctor said. “Since you got your crazy mutt, Hank, I’ll take the pictures.”
He grabbed a camera out of his backpack and took several shots of the area. I approached close enough to see the hand’s bony fingers sticking up out of a thin shelf of ice about six inches wide. That and the floating debris in the eddy made it impossible to tell how much of the arm was attached, but the eddy was shallow. No chance that an entire body lurked below the water’s surface.
The hand definitely wasn’t a toy. Boomer tugged like a maniac to get at it, but I’d expected that. I planted my good foot forward to take most of the strain, and my new fake foot remained solid. Willow had dropped an obscene amount of money and bought me the best prosthetic she could find.
My stomach turned queasy as Dr. Dan cleared away the debris around the hand. Nobody in town had been whining about losing one of their extremities lately. That meant the rest of the victim’s body was probably nearby, just as dead. We didn’t get many murders this far from any big city.
Every so often, he took more pictures. Finally, he said, “I can see the entire thing. The hand and forearm were cut off below the elbow. Clean cut. I’m going to break up the ice to remove the body part.”
First, he took more photos.
I appreciated that. We never seemed to have enough. “Need any help? I could tie Boomer to one of the trees.”
“No need,” he said, “got it.”
He lifted the hand and forearm and slipped it into a large zippered plastic bag. Once it was closed, he brought it to me. Patsy turned away.
The arm was white, pink, and puffy, at least where it hadn’t been chewed away. Disgusting, but unfortunately, I’d seen worse. The lower arm’s two bones had been cut through cleanly. “Looks like somebody used a meat saw, at least that’s what my parents called ours.”
“Sure,” he said. “Surgeons use something fancier for amputations, but it’s basically the same.”
Patsy gagged behind us. I realized this wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted to be part of. “Hang on, doc.”
I walked over to the white-faced woman. “Thanks so much for your help. We can take it from here. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find the attacker or the victim?”
Her lips quivered as she shook her head.
“Let me drive you back to your condo,” I said. “You’re in no shape to be walking that far.”
“It’s okay. Millie’s on the way. May even be at the campground gate. I called her after I spoke to you.”
Boomer and I walked with Patsy and Trixie to the road, just to make sure. Her wife was waiting there. I thanked our witness again for all her help.
Once they left, I called for backup, specifically asking for Jason Riddle. He was our most experienced deputy when it came to working around water.
I had my own theory of what was going on, but I wanted to get Dr. Dan’s. When Boomer and I returned to the river, I asked, “What do you make of this?”
“I’m not the detective, just the doctor for the dead. I can tell you this wasn’t a surgical procedure gone wrong. In any amputation, the skin on the forearm would’ve been saved. And we have very specific protocols for disposing of severed limbs.”
I nodded. “Looks to me like someone cut up a body to make it easier to get rid of. The ground is frozen, so no digging without heavy duty equipment. Maybe somebody thought they’d slice and dice then toss parts in the river.”
He shrugged. “Seems lazy. I’d drive to Glenwood and dump the remains into the Colorado. That’s a much bigger river.”
“Good point. My only other idea for easily getting rid of a body this time of year would be to find a steep cliff and toss it over the edge.”
I thought for a moment where I could find a steep cliff nearby. The answer was nowhere. All of the roads into the high country were snowbound.
That raised another question. “How long do you think this hand’s been decomposing? Maybe it was dumped before the snow began falling.”
He scrunched up his face in thought. “Really hard to say. Don’t have enough experience to make an educated guess. Definitely weeks, but when it’s this cold, the remains don’t decompose much. I can’t say any more specifically than that. I’ll research
it back at the office. If I come across anything helpful, I’ll let you know.”
That was the best I could hope for. “I’ve got reinforcements coming. We’ll check the area for more body parts. Also, we’ll look upriver in places where there’s access. Not that many spots where someone can reach the river, even in summer.”
“You’d know better than me. I’ll take our new puzzle piece back to the morgue. Call if you find the rest of him or her. A fairly small hand, so probably female, or God forbid, a child.”
The doctor took off. Boomer and I searched along both sides of the river near the campground. Unfortunately, a lot of the area was thick with trees and bushes. Although my mutt wasn’t trained for cadaver work, he loved the smell. I figured that if the rest of the corpse was nearby, he’d find it.
But no luck.
-o-o-o-
Boomer, Jason, and I searched the accessible stretches of the river down to the town limits. We didn’t find any other human remains. Highway 82 was closed east for the winter, but I wondered whether the pieces might’ve been dumped over the summer or earlier in the fall. That brought to mind one stretch of Highway 82 where the road climbed a mountainside almost directly over the Roaring Fork. The road even had a large turnout at the turn I was thinking of. It was a popular spot for tourists to stop and take pictures. And at night, it would be easy for someone to park and toss body parts over the cliff. Some might land in the river.
Jason and Linda Kingsley were our only trained climbers. I asked him about my hunch. He agreed it was worth a look at the turnout.
We headed back to the office to get snowmobiles, climbing gear, and Linda.
-o-o-o-
Ninety minutes later, we stood on the snowy turnout just west of the trailhead for Weller Lake. The Roaring Fork rushed through a series of icy rapids a hundred feet below us. A stiff, cold breeze from the east chilled my cheeks and nose. I was wearing plenty of warm clothes, but my face froze each time I stood facing the wind. Couldn’t be helped.
I tossed a rock my boot had kicked up from under the snow. The rock landed in the trees on the far side of the river.
Perverted Justice Page 20