Nick parked the car in front of the motel and began the inevitable process of making an argument he knew he would lose. “How does this come up on such short notice? Can’t you put this off until tomorrow? I have had a new case come up. I am in the parking lot right now, and you know how long it takes to process a scene. I’m probably not going to be home before ten.”
“You got a new case. Hmmm, what does that mean?”
Nick let it go. He knew if he was silent, it would come, and Phyllis rarely disappointed him. She could not stand silence. Hell, she could not stand not talking for more than about thirty seconds at a time.
She bridged the gap quickly. “Jesus, why can’t you be happy for me? I know you and I have handled the last three months differently, but God Almighty. What is so wrong with me throwing myself into my work? I think it’s going pretty well, don’t you?”
Sure, thought Nick, if your idea of a good time was carrying around an inflated ego with expectations that everyone and everything existed purely for you. That sounded about right.
Phyllis continued. “We can talk about this when I get back, but there’s no one else that can do this other than me. You know that. Nicky’s got soccer at 5:30, and you need to pick up Michelle from the mall at 6:00. Hang on a second; somebody’s calling on the other line.”
Nick knew it was useless to argue. If she had not clicked over, he probably would have given in anyway, out of some false sense of obligation to the relationship gods. He sat uncomfortably in the parking lot of the Lonesome Dove, conspicuous, waiting for his wife and former friend to grace him with another moment of her precious time.
“I have to go; I have a crisis on the other line. I’m going to a late dinner, so I won’t call tonight. I’ll be home day after tomorrow and we can talk then.” And she was gone. No goodbye, I love you, kiss my ass, nothing.
When he met Phyllis Goodwin twenty-three years earlier at the University of Colorado, Nick believed he had found the love of his life. Raised rich, Phyllis had everything Nick never dared dream about. She grew up on the East Coast, coming from old money. While her father was a drunk, he was a rich, entitled drunk. Phyllis was raised to be a debutante. Hers was a world of yachting, cashmere sweaters, Paris in the spring, and Palm Springs in the winter. She was taught to wear the right clothes the right way, to walk with her back stiff and shoulders back, to use the right fork at the right time, to smile appropriately. She had wealth, affluence, class, breeding, all of it. She hated it and rejected it.
When she met the handsome, witty, intelligent Nicholas Lynch, she was as smitten as he was. From their first moments together, they were inseparable. They both loved Colorado, as much in the summer as the winter, whether it was climbing all the fourteen-thousand-foot peaks, hiking the varied trails throughout the mountain regions with lunch by crystal clear alpine lakes, skiing on world class terrain, or snowshoeing through the pristine back country away from civilization.
But their passion was politics. Phyllis came from East Coast affluent liberal roots. Nick had taken a more indirect route, realizing his modest beginnings would never have afforded him the education and nurturing he was allowed had it not been for some of the more liberal programs put in place during the 1960’s.
During college, they worked on the campaign of Alice Miller, a successful entrepreneur seeking to be Colorado’s next U.S. Representative from District Six. It was a time for resurgence in the conservative agenda. Alice easily won the Democratic primary but lost in the general election to a young up-and-coming politician, James McFadden. Nick and Phyllis joked about him, calling him “don’t call me Jim” because he insisted on being referred to by his more formal first name, bristling any time someone called him Jim or Jimmy.
It was always agreed Phyllis would be the politician in the family. She was better spoken, more polished, and interacted much more adeptly in social or business settings. Phyllis, a year ahead of Nick anyway, completed her undergraduate degree in three years and finished medical school by the time Nick finished his graduate studies. They believed an MD was more credible sounding and readily accepted than an attorney or businessperson for her political ambitions.
They were on their way when Alisha, their first child, arrived unexpectedly during Phyllis’ last year at CU. With that, their plans were disrupted. Phyllis completed her medical training while Nick made most of the sacrifices, an early warning sign he missed. While they did not recognize it at the time, their relationship would never again have the magic it once did.
“Mr. Governor, Mr. Knight is here for his 9:00 appointment,” the Governor’s assistant announced from the doorway.
The Governor looked up from his desk, a serious look on his face, then smiled. “Of course. Please find out what he would like to drink and show him in.”
“Mr. Governor, so good to see you,” Gary Knight said as he was ushered into the office. “Great speech yesterday.”
The Governor stood and strode across the room, grasping Gary Knight’s hand and offering warmly, “Good to see you again so soon. And thank you for the introduction yesterday. Please, be comfortable.” The Governor led him to an alcove overlooking the park below and downtown Denver in the distance. As they settled and drinks were distributed, his assistant dismissed herself.
“Gary, I’m glad you’re here,” the Governor said, dispensing with the formalities. “Tell me what you’re finding out.”
“It’s going to be a lot of work, but we feel very good about it, Mr. Governor,” Knight said seriously. The Governor indicated he should continue.
“I’ve talked to all the Directors of the Coalition, and we are unanimous in our support for you. We believe in what you are doing for the people of Colorado and for our movement.” He paused, looking away to gather his thoughts. “Mr. Governor, we cannot imagine anyone who could better represent what we at the Coalition are looking for from a leader.”
James McFadden smiled, but his thoughts belied his demeanor. He had learned long ago that facial expressions and body language greatly impacted his ability to influence. He would give nothing away externally.
He had known Gary Knight since their sophomore year at the University of Colorado, where they met through mutual friends. CU was long known as one of the nation’s top party schools, and McFadden had run with one of the wilder crowds. But he knew he was out of his element when he met Gary Knight, a man-child who knew no boundaries.
Although Gary Knight’s upbringing read like a chapter out of a Dickens novel, McFadden knew a far different Gary Knight. Arriving affluent at CU shortly after his twenty-sixth birthday, the Knight McFadden knew took every opportunity to misbehave while keeping up appearances.
Gary Knight was the wildest of the group on Saturday nights, and the leader of the Sunday school class on Sunday mornings. It did not matter how much he drank, how many hookers he slept with, or how many drugs he took, Gary Knight never missed church. McFadden chuckled as he recalled what Knight used to tell him about picking up girls at church. “That’s when they’re weakest. If you catch them at the right time during services, you can feed them lunch and have them in the sack by 2:00.” McFadden remembered how much of a pig he used to think Knight was.
But after Gary Knight started dating Jenna Kirkland, he became a different man. They were married the Saturday after graduation, and the old Gary Knight was gone. The new Gary Knight was an evangelist, shocked at his friends’ behavior and constantly preaching that they should change their ways; he never quite mentioned his complicity or past. McFadden chalked it up to extremes. Gary Knight had simply moved from one extreme to another, swinging as pendulums invariably do.
“You know, Gary,” the Governor started, “we need to be extremely careful here. While I do want you exploring this, I do not want any of this getting out.”
“Understood, sir. And I know that, so I have been cautious in my queries.” Gary Knight was extremely appropriate. He always referred to his long-time friend in the formal, even in private settings. It
was one more thing that made James McFadden nervous about the guy.
McFadden nodded. The meeting was over. “Give Jenna a kiss for me,” the Governor said, standing.
“I will, sir, and thank you for your time.” They shook hands and Gary Knight was gone.
(two years ago)
Shit, where am I?
Victor remembered his last conscious moments. But how long had he been out? In Dallas for a Coalition of Values meeting, he had decided to take advantage of being away from his wife and kids and enjoy a night of leisure. First, he visited Mel’s, the all-nude club known throughout the city for providing connections. He met Tanya, a young, beautiful blonde with a trim waist and large, natural breasts. Shortly thereafter, Tanya, Victor, and $500 were at the Dallas West Motor Inn, walking distance from Mel’s. Of course, Victor paid the $89 room bill as well, but this was worth it. While not upscale like his room at the brand-new luxury hotel The Pavilions, this was clean, convenient, and most importantly, discreet. He would enjoy the evening and be back in time to call his wife, Vanessa, before she was asleep.
Victor drank quite a bit at dinner, so when he landed at Mel’s he was already intoxicated. With the two-drink minimum and a couple on top of that, by the time he met Tanya, struck the deal, and landed at the Motor Inn, Victor was drunk and knew it. On the way over, they also bought a bottle of champagne, drinking it from the room-provided cups. Tanya insisted on fully servicing Victor while he lay on the bed semi-conscious. And the next thing he knew he was waking up here. But where was here?
“Victor,” the voice through the intercom beckoned. “It’s time to wake up.”
Slowly the lights came up in the room, causing Victor to squint. The space was small, no more than four feet by six feet. He was lying on the floor near a drain in the corner of the room. The floor was contoured such that all liquid would drain in this direction. There was a narrow mattress on the floor and an empty bucket in the corner next to the drain, presumably serving as his toilet facilities. The walls were only four feet high, so Victor could not stand. Each of the longer walls had a floor-to-ceiling steel plate. On one of the shorter walls was another steel plate, three inches off the ground and about two feet wide. The stone floor was rough and smelled dank. Victor realized he had been tasting that floor when he woke up. The fourth wall and ceiling also seemed to be made of the same rough material.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” Victor hated that he sounded meek.
“Why, you’re in my home, Victor. Welcome. I do want you to feel comfortable here.” The voice was eerie and mocking.
“What’s going on? How did I get here? Who the hell are you, and where are you?”
“Victor, Victor, all in good time. Right now, let’s get you some nourishment. You must be famished.”
The small steel frame rose slightly, and a tray slid into his chamber. As quickly as it rose, the steel frame slammed shut.
Victor looked at the tray, mesmerized. What in the hell was going on? Had he been kidnapped? Why? He did not have much money; nobody knew who he was. Hell, he was simply trying to slouch his way through life.
A stand-out wide receiver for Eastern Michigan and an undrafted free agent, Victor signed with the New York Jets and played for two years. At 32, he maintained his physique, lifting weights three days a week and running five miles almost every morning.
Unfortunately, Victor’s NFL career was cut short because he could not get along with the coaching staff, and he was not good enough to survive the constant battles. Moving into sales, he found that his hostility worked equally poorly in corporate America. People liked him when they first met him, but quickly found him insufferable. He bounced from one sales job to the next, never lasting more than three years. And while he earned a respectable living, he struggled to support Vanessa in the fashion she expected—she had married a successful football player, not a struggling salesman with an attitude.
Why the hell was he here?
“Victor, eat,” the voice said. “It’s important you maintain your strength.”
The discordant situation confused Victor’s senses. Having not eaten for many hours, he attacked the bacon and eggs like an opposing cornerback. Finishing the toast, oatmeal, and orange juice, he once again begin to survey his surroundings. He tested every corner of his room. He quickly found there was no escape.
After making arrangements with a friend to pick up Nicky and Michelle, Nick emerged from the plain Impala, which still smelled of Jimmy Swindell’s vomit. He walked quickly to the police tape.
“Afternoon, Detective.” Patrolman Evans greeted Nick as he raised the tape for him to duck under.
“Hey Billy, what’s shakin’?”
Evans looked down at his ample belly, shrugged, and said, “other than that thing there?” Nick laughed. Evans continued. “I got here a couple of minutes ago, so I’m not sure, but it looks pretty cut and dried. Victim’s lying on the bed looking pretty comfortable, except, of course, for being dead and all. Looks like it’s going to be one more of those-hooker-gone-bad stories. Not much of a surprise out here on Colfax. I am not sure if she rolled him. We were waiting for you and the techs to get here to see if he had an ID and any valuables.”
“Okay,” Nick said, starting to head toward the nineteen dollar an hour room.
“But Detective, one thing is weird here. This guy’s dressed, but he ain’t exactly wearing normal clothes. He looks like he stepped out of Salem in the 1600’s, or whenever all that Puritan witch-burning crap happened. He’s dressed like some sort of preacher, it looks to me.”
“Do you know who found him?”
“Nope, you’ll have to ask AJ. He is in the room standing guard, waiting on you. You know how protective he is of our crime scenes.”
Sergeant Anthony Jamieson Hines. Nick remembered when AJ came to the force fourteen years earlier full of youthful enthusiasm, wit, and charm. But most of all, AJ Hines hated crime and was a stickler for making sure criminals were caught, prosecuted, and convicted. He was truly one of the good guys. He worked hard, kept his nose clean, went home and loved his wife and kids, coached the ball teams, took the kids out for ice cream, and loved life.
“Hey, AJ.” Nick provided his standard reserved greeting.
“Nick, brother, glad to have you back out on the scene. We have a weird one for you tonight.”
“Techs aren’t here yet?”
“No, but they must be right behind you. They were supposed to be here before 5:00, so something held them up.”
“What’ve we got?”
“The owner called 911 at 3:43 after finding this guy dead in the room. The two responding officers, James and Gerber, were fairly sure they were going to be finding a dead guy, so they were careful with the scene. They’re here, you can talk to them whenever you are ready. They came to the open door, yelled at the guy, banged the walls and all that. They could tell from looking at him he was dead. James moved cautiously to the bed to check vitals, careful not to corrupt the scene, but this guy’s been gone awhile. Paramedics were right behind them, so James retraced his steps with one of their guys, too, ascertaining this guy’s completely dead.” AJ Hines was his normal, thorough self. Nick had a tremendous amount of respect for him, and that did not include the athletic respect of AJ embarrassing Nick any time they played basketball or racquetball.
“What else have you found?” Nick continued.
“I haven’t interviewed anyone, other than talking to the responding officers, so I don’t have a whole lot more to report,” Hines started. “But I know you. You like every little tidbit available, so let me give you a few observations. First, it is hard to tell how this guy died. While James was over there, he looked and could not see anything discernible. There’s no trauma, no blood, no empty pill bottles or glass he drank out of, nothing.”
“Look at this room,” Hines continued as Nick peered in. “It doesn’t look like this guy occupied this room at all, except to die. The bed’s made, and he is lying on top. H
ell, he hasn’t even pulled the pillows out. There is no luggage, nothing on top of the cabinets, no toiletries, not so much as a set of car keys sitting out. It looks like this guy walked in here, laid down on that bed, and died.
“But the weirdest thing is also the most obvious. He is dressed like he just arrived on the Mayflower. I don’t know, Nick. I know this is supposed to be one of those easy, hooker did him and killed him ones, but something’s a little strange here.”
Nick thought AJ could work his way up to chief if he wanted to, but AJ loved being on patrol. Nick had learned to always believe him.
“And where are you keeping everybody?”
“We have everybody in the office. It’s a little cramped, but they’re all there waiting for you.”
“Let them know I’ll be over there in a little bit. Don’t let any of them leave. And do me a favor too if you would.”
“Sure Nick.”
“Ask the motel owner if we could use one of the empty rooms to question folks privately and individually. Let him know if we can do this, we can probably be out of here before ten. He’ll be glad to have us out of here.”
AJ nodded and headed to the motel office.
The crime scene technicians arrived at the Lonesome Dove ten minutes later. With the site fully contained, Nick decided it was best to wait while they fully processed the scene.
“Hello, Jillian.” Nick greeted Lieutenant Jillian Vargas, head of the Denver Police Department Forensics team. Her group, ever growing in size and responsibility, was on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They were responsible for processing all major crime scenes, gathering, storing, tracking, and cataloging all evidence. Her team was also responsible for packaging and transporting evidence to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation for drug, alcohol, and rape cases. Jillian tried to come to each murder scene personally to ensure evidence was properly gathered and evidentiary integrity was maintained.
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