Divided Sky

by Jeff Carson

  Special Agent Rushing and Jackson of the CBI were also inside, standing next to a metal table with Kyle Farmer’s flayed open body lying atop it.

  “Special Agent Rushing, Jackson,” Roll said, looking like he was keeping his eyes well away from the brightly lit spectacle in front of them.

  Nobody seemed comfortable with the sight. Sobeck hung back, keeping a few feet behind Rachette, who was always at the fringes when a corpse was involved.

  “What did we find out?” Roll asked.

  “You can see his insides are pretty torn up,” Dr. Fingston said. “We found two hollow point .45 caliber slugs, one in his upper chest, one destroyed his heart. That’s the one that did him in.

  I believe you’ll find it interesting that rigor mortis had already set in for a number of hours before the body was buried.”

  Special Agent Rushing nodded and pointed at the side of Kyle’s body. “You can see the bruising on his side. That’s where the blood pooled when he fell after being shot. Or, at least the blood that didn’t end up on his porch.”

  “So he was killed, left for a few hours on his porch, and then moved to where he was buried,” Detective Milo said.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Let’s talk about the bracelet,” Special Agent Rushing said. He looked at Agent Jackson, who

  picked up an evidence bag containing the bracelet and brought it back to the group.

  “Agent Rushing tells me he thinks the bracelet was wrapped around Kyle’s finger before he was wrapped in the tarps and buried, and I concur. There is minimal blood on this bracelet, and there’s just no other explanation.”

  “Mr. Burton told Detective Wolf this morning that the bracelet was Jesse’s,” Milo said.

  The two CBI men and Dr. Fingston looked at Wolf. Sobeck stepped away, looking at his phone.

  “That’s right,” Wolf said, and he told the backstory of Burton giving the bracelet to Jesse’s father.

  Sobeck came back with his phone and turned it toward the sheriff. “Sir, take a look at this.”

  He tapped the screen and a video started playing with sound.

  “… Sons of Righteousness and Light—”

  Sobeck tapped the screen and the video paused. “Look.”

  Jesse and Kyle were sitting on the side of a hill, staring into a camera. Jesse had his hand up to his face, and the bracelet was clearly fastened on his wrist.

  “I remember that bracelet now,” Sobeck said. “He’s always worn that thing.”

  Triplett leaned down over the screen. “Yeah. I remember him wearing that, too. Now that I think about it.”

  Roll nodded. “All right, what else? If you don’t mind, I’d rather get this over with as quickly as possible. Not exactly my favorite place to hang out. Time of death?”

  “Impossible to be certain. But, judging by the larvae found in his wounds, it’s looking like Friday night.”

  “And Kyle’s phone?” Milo asked. “Is that providing any other clues?”

  “He received a call from Hettie Winkle a couple hours before the fight happened,” Rushing said. “A call from Jesse earlier that morning. Other than that, Kyle’s phone’s GPS coordinates place him at the bar, then home. And that’s that.”

  “What about the tarps wrapped around Kyle?” Roll asked. “Any prints on those? Anything there?”

  Rushing looked at Jackson.

  Jackson shrugged. “There’s a lot of blood on the interior of those tarps, as you can imagine. But no prints.”

  “And on the exterior?” Roll asked. “Any trace fibers, say, a glowing orange hair or two?”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “How is it the killer wrapped him in the tarp and doesn’t leave a single print?” Roll asked.

  “It’s not the best fabric to begin with to retain fingerprint oil.” Jackson shrugged. “He could have been using rubber gloves if he was smart.”

  “And on the bracelet?” Roll asked. “How about prints on that?”

  “Just a lot of Jesse Burton’s,” Rushing said.

  “Prints in blood?” Wolf asked.

  “No, sir.”

  They stood in silence for a beat.

  “You know who wears rubber gloves?” Triplett asked the room. Nobody answered. “Weed growers, when they’re picking their product.”

  Roll nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind, deputy. We’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You guys want to head out to the garage and check out the vehicles now?” Dr. Fingston asked.

  “Yeah, sounds great,” Rachette walked out the door and up the hallway.

  “The other way!” Rushing called after him.

  “Whatever.” Rachette about-faced and marched back to them as they poured out of the room.

  Rushing led them down the hallway and outside of the building, into warmth that felt like a nurturing blanket on Wolf’s skin. The scent of onions growing in the fields smelled like the most succulent dessert Wolf ever compared to the building they’d just left.

  “I don’t care what anybody thinks,” Rachette said, although he kept his voice low, “I’ll never get used to that shit.”

  They walked along the edge of the building toward an open roll door, where Jesse’s Jeep Rubicon stood inside, doors open. Next to that, a black Chevy pickup that looked like a relative of Jed Farmer’s vehicle stood parked, its doors also ajar.

  At Rushing’s request, they stopped at a rectangle of light spilling into the smooth floor of the open garage. He walked to Jesse’s Jeep and pointed at the driver’s side door. “We found a number of fingerprints, in blood, on the exterior handle.”

  “Whose prints?” Roll asked.

  “Jesse’s.”

  “Whose blood?”

  “Jesse’s.”

  Roll looked disappointed. “So, probably blood from the fight.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking.”

  “What else?” Roll asked.

  “Some more on the steering wheel, seatbelt, stick shift. Again, all Jesse’s own blood, which we assume is from the fight. Trace amounts of GSR on all of it, too.”

  “That’s not good for Jesse,” Roll said, perking up.

  Rushing gestured to the back of the vehicle.

  “There’re also trace amounts of gunshot residue in the rear cargo area, which we would expect to find in anyone’s car who frequented a gun range. And as you probably know, GSR can stick on skin and clothing for many days, weeks. So, the steering wheel GSR could have been from some point earlier. At least, that’s what any good defense attorney would say.”

  “There must have been GSR found on Kyle from getting shot,” Roll said. “And we have the GSR from the trees out back of Alexander Guild’s place. Can’t you match the GSR signature to this here on the steering wheel?”

  Rushing nodded. “If the GSR found on Kyle or at Alexander Guild’s was somehow tagged with special elements.”

  “And was it?”

  Rushing shrugged. “No. And, keep in mind, there was significant environmental degradation to the GSR samples everywhere. On the steering wheel, it was smeared in blood. Behind Mr. Guild’s house, it was doused in rain for hours. To definitively put a match on the GSR on the steering wheel with either the gun that shot Kyle, or Mr. Guild, is beyond our capabilities. We’ll have to send the samples to Denver and get a specialist to look at everything.”

  Roll shook his head. “Okay. What else?”

  “We’ve found Jesse’s orange-dyed hairs on his driver’s side, and we’ve found long strands of blonde hair on the passenger side, along with another set of fingerprints, which we’re assuming are Hettie Winkle’s, but we’re going to need a copy of her prints from you guys to confirm that.”

  “We’ll get you that,” Roll said. “What about microscopic fibers?”

  “I’ve found nothing that stands out with my initial look at the fibers. We’ll have to wait for the Denver lab for a thorough analysis. And that’s about everything we have on Jesse’s vehicle.
”

  “What about Kyle’s?” Milo asked.

  “We found a bit of blood, Jesse’s blood, on the steering wheel. And Kyle’s prints. Suggesting he had Jesse’s blood on him when he left the scene of the fight Friday night. Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary as far as we can tell.”

  Rushing rounded the pickup. “We found Jesse’s fingerprints, and what we’re assuming are Hettie’s, all over the passenger side. But there’s no trace of Kyle’s blood with either of them.” Rushing shrugged. “Kyle and Jesse were friends. Hettie was Kyle’s girlfriend. It would stand to reason that they rode in his truck from time to time.”

  “So, waiting for Denver lab results aside, what are we reading from this?” Roll asked.

  Milo cleared his throat. “When we look at Jesse’s Jeep, at least from the point of view of a defense attorney, it looks like Jesse got bloodied up in a fight, then drove himself home. There’s no evidence here tying him to dumping Kyle’s body. But as Agent Rushing said, they scraped the seats. There could be trace fibers from the tarps, found inside his car. That could put him at the scene.”

  Rushing nodded. “That’s something I looked for. But I didn’t find anything. That’s not to say the labs in Denver won’t.”

  “The killer stomped around in that blood,” Wolf said, “how about on the foot pedals? Any blood there?”

  Rushing shook his head. “None.”

  “No mud that matches that soil near the mound?”

  “No, sir.”

  Milo cleared his throat. “Pete told us those boot prints found behind Mr. Guild’s house, and the ones going up the hill from the trail below to Kyle’s house, were completely different than those found stomping around in that blood on his porch. You agree with that?”

  Rushing nodded and pulled out a smartphone with an oversized screen. He tapped it and brought up some images. “I agree with your tracker’s analysis of those footprints. He’s right, as you can see here.”

  Rushing showed the screen, which had digital drawings over photographs of the two footprints side-by-side. Next to each print was a measuring stick.

  “You can see the two prints are different treads, and slightly different sizes. The ones we found in the blood on the porch, and inside and behind the gun shed, are bigger.”

  A car passed outside, its tires crunching on tiny pebbles as it disappeared around the corner.

  “So, there’s two different guys,” Roll said.

  “Or one guy, two pairs of boots,” Milo said.

  Roll looked at him. “Why change boots?”

  “Maybe the killer did all the killing the first night, Friday night,” Milo said. “And then he came back and did the stomping, and the burying of Kyle’s body the next day.”

  “With different sized boots,” Roll said.

  Jackson lifted his index finger. “Those boots stepped in that blood when it was still wet, which suggests everything we’re seeing, the two murders, and Kyle Farmer’s burial, all happened Friday night.”

  “How long does it take for a puddle of blood like that to dry?” Triplett asked.

  Jackson shrugged. “It’s very difficult to say. One would have to account for environmental factors and the depth of the pool of blood. A droplet of blood left to dry on a surface would probably take around an hour to completely dry. But it was raining Friday night, so it was humid, and there was a lot more than a drop of blood on that deck. I still only give it three, four hours tops, for it to still be wet enough to make those footprints.”

  “What about fingerprints on that headlamp?” Wolf asked. “You said you found a partial, but it didn’t match anybody?”

  Agent Rushing smiled with exasperation. “That partial wasn’t complete enough to match in IAFIS. But, in my opinion, under the microscope, I’m not seeing the print matching Kyle, Jesse, or the third set we’re calling Hettie’s prints. I don’t want to seem too confident on this, and I’ve included the prints in what I’ll send to the lab in Denver, but,” he shook his head. “It’s not matching any of the prints we’ve found. It’s a completely different pattern.”

  Roll sighed. “We’re looking for somebody else.”

  “Somebody with Jesse’s bracelet?” Milo asked.

  The silence dropped down on them again.

  “This is making a frick-all of sense to me.” Roll said eyed his watch. “Okay, thanks everyone. Right now we’re just blowing smoke up each other’s asses. We have an appointment with Jesse Burton. He wants to talk? Maybe he’s the magic key we’ve been waiting for.” The sheriff walked out of the garage.

  “What do you think?” Rachette asked, walking next to Wolf as they followed the group through the parking lot.

  “I think the sheriff’s right. Maybe Jesse’s ready to talk for a reason. And maybe something will start making sense.”

  Chapter 27

  The Montrose Detention Center was a parking lot away. Too far to walk, too close to take more than thirty seconds driving.

  Wolf and Rachette finished the drive, parked near Roll’s FJ and Triplett’s cruiser again, and climbed out of their vehicle.

  Outside, Sheriff Roll and Detective Milo stood close to one another, with Triplett and Sobeck keeping their distance.

  “What’s going on?” Rachette asked Triplett.

  “I think they’re discussing their interrogation strategy,” Triplett said.

  A few minutes later, Roll’s and Milo’s huddle was over, and they were all on their way inside.

  Milo entered first. He was carrying a cloth bag. Roll held open the door for everyone, and Wolf streamed in last.

  “Need a hand in the interrogation room?” Wolf asked on the way by.

  Roll stepped next to him as they walked down a long hallway toward a waiting room.

  “No, I don’t need your help, detective. You just remember this isn’t your case. If it weren’t for you being such a scumbag and blackmailing me, you’d be on your ass up in Rocky Points.”

  “You’re not being blackmailed,” Wolf said.

  Roll looked at him. “The hell I’m not.”

  “You can’t blackmail somebody with information that everyone already knows.”

  Roll went quiet.

  “If you think you’re hiding anything from anybody the way you’re acting with Cassandra Windell, then you’re mistaken.”

  Roll studied the hallway floor as they walked.

  “Sorry to break the news.”

  Roll slowed to a stop. “Okay, smart guy. Then if you’re so sure everyone knows, then why don’t I just kick your ass out of here now?”

  Wolf shrugged. “Because, once a cheater, always a cheater.”

  “The hell are you talking about now?”

  “I’m saying, you met your second wife by cheating on your first wife. You said she was married at the time, too? That she left her current husband for you?”

  Roll nodded. “Yeah. And?”

  “And I’m saying once a cheater, always a cheater. It goes for everyone. You. And Helen.”

  Roll’s eyes went blank.

  Wolf slapped him on the arm and continued down the hall. “Glad I could help.”

  They all gathered in the reception room. Roll was last to join them, his face looking redder than usual. Sobeck announced their presence to the man on duty and the warden appeared a few minutes later.

  They were led through a pair of locked doors, and down a set of corridors to a darkened room with a single window looking into an interrogation room beyond. The building was as arctic as the morgue had been but smelled like chemical cleaner instead of embalming fluid.

  “Here they are,” the warden said, gesturing through the tinted window to a table where Jesse sat with his lawyer. They were on the right of a table, facing left. Two empty chairs sat opposite them, waiting for interrogators. “He gives you any trouble in there, just shout.”

  Wolf eyed the warden, wondering if he was joking. Jesse was slouched in his plastic chair with his hands cuffed in his lap. The only p
art of him that showed any sign of life was his hair, which stood up at all angles. Next to him sat his lawyer, dressed in a three-piece suit and tie.

  A man in uniform sitting behind a desktop computer introduced himself as Sergeant Conroy. “We’re rolling camera and audio. You can head in whenever you’re ready.”

  Roll and Milo entered. Milo sat, placing the cloth bag in front of him while Roll rested in the other chair. Rachette and Wolf took up next to Sobeck and Triplett at the one-way glass looking in.

  Rachette sidled up next to Triplett, accentuating his below-average height next to the tall lanky man.

  “Jesse,” Sheriff Roll said. “We heard—”

  “My client chooses to not answer your questions at this time.”

  Their voices were tinny, coming out of a pair of speakers mounted on the wall on either side of the observation window.

  Roll ignored the lawyer. “Jesse. We found Kyle’s body yesterday.”

  “My client chooses to not answer your questions at this time,” he repeated. “And we demand you either charge him or let him go.”

  “It was our understanding you wanted to talk to us, Jesse,” Roll said.

  “You were mistaken,” the lawyer said. “I want you to charge my client or let him go.”

  “We found Kyle’s body, Jesse,” Roll said. “We found what you left with him, too. You wanted us to find it, right?”

  Jesse raised his head. Tears escaped his eyes and streaked down his cheeks. “He’s dead?”

  Milo and Roll eyed each other. “Yes, Jesse. He’s dead. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Jesse, you don’t need to engage these men.”

  Wolf noticed for the first time the tattoos creeping out of the collar of the white t-shirt underneath Jesse’s orange jumpsuit. Flames licking his neck. Apparently, his hair was the tip of the fire.

  “We found what you left in his hand,” Milo said.

  Jesse shook his head and said something unintelligible.

  “What?” Rachette leaned into the glass. “Hey, can you turn this up?”

  Sergeant Conroy held up a thumb and the hiss of the speakers increased in volume.