Snuff

by E. L. McKenzie

  They all scrambled out of the room to prepare for the call.

  The Zoom call started promptly at 9:00 p.m. Nick provided the appropriate pleasantries, thanking everyone for their hard work, being on the call, taking time away from family.

  “We have now narrowed the list of suspects down to five. We are confident The Doctor is one of these five. In the interest of time and resource deployment, we wanted to see if we could narrow the list further. If we could get it to two, that would be ideal.”

  “The reason for those numbers is because we plan to have team members from the task force on each raid to preserve evidence and field any questions you might have before we go in. Our belief is that we should not go beyond two at one time, so if we cannot narrow the list further, we’ll go after the first two. If he is not amongst this group, we will immediately reconvene and go after the next two, and then, if we don’t have him, the fifth one.”

  To Nick’s surprise, there were few questions. No one quibbled with the logic or approach.

  “Now, I would like to ask each of the five sheriffs if they think there’s anyone on the list who definitely should be eliminated,” Nick started. “If there is, let’s talk through this and see if we can knock someone off the list.”

  Sheriff Roy Schroeder from Huerfano County was the first to speak. Huerfano County is in southern Colorado, near the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. “I’ve spent some additional time on the guy we have on the list down here. The last time I talked to the task force was almost four hours ago. I’m confident our guy doesn’t need to be on the list. I didn’t know this, but evidently he is importing himself a Russian bride. He even went over to Russia to pick her up. He’s been gone for the last six weeks, so at a minimum he couldn’t have had anything to do with your last several incidents.” He talked for some time more, and when he was finished, they all agreed his suspect should be eliminated from the list. Schroeder then disconnected from the call and the investigation.

  The sheriff of Summit County provided an equally compelling argument about the suspect in her county. After a brief discussion, they all agreed, and she disconnected.

  Down to three, Nick thought.

  Sheriff Bob Dawson from Gunnison County spoke next. “Folks,” he started in a twangy voice that sounded more like west Texas than western Colorado, “I’m pretty sure our guy is the guy. His name is Robert Scratch. He has a doctorate in mining engineering and insists on being called ‘doctor.’ He’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, has quite a bit of money, is completely reclusive, and lives secluded in the mountains near Granite. Nobody ever sees him; he only comes into town to restock supplies.” Dawson talked on for some period, and all agreed he sounded like a prime suspect.

  The sheriff from Pitkin County expressed similar convictions about her suspect, Dan Hill. “Mr. Hill is a special kind of horrible. He’s been a drunk since he was fifteen. His dad was a rich widower, so he sent Dan off to school to get a mining degree. Dan worked in the mines around here when he wasn’t in jail for one violent offense or another. His dad died under mysterious circumstances twenty years ago. Give his untimely death, he had no will, so Dan inherited everything the state didn’t take. He built a mansion outside of Whetstone. It’s beautiful up there, but remote and all but impossible to get to. This mansion is fully off the grid. This guy is a rich creep like few others.” Sheriff Caroline Munson continued skewering Dan Hill for some time, and finally concluded her monologue, “While I hear Sheriff Dawson, I’m guessing our guy is the guy.” Nick had to admit both made compelling cases.

  Sheriff Vance Watson of Delta County weighed in on the third and final suspect. “I don’t know about Nicholas Linn. I’m hesitant to take him off because I don’t have anything compelling to offer. I don’t know this guy personally, but several folks around the department do, and they all think he’s harmless. He keeps to himself, minds his own business, and is always nice. He’s a pretty decent guy. I don’t know, this one does not feel right to me.” Watson talked for some time more providing further specifics on why his suspect did not fit. Nick’s ears tingled, but before he could say anything, Chief Detective Bosworth took the lead.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Bosworth began. “We’re going to take down the two prime suspects as the sun comes up, let’s say 7:00 a.m. Sheriff Dawson and Sheriff Munson, we will form two teams here in Denver.” They all agreed the folks from Denver would caravan and meet at the sheriff’s offices at 5:00 a.m. to make final preparations for the raids. The two sheriffs rang off to prepare their local teams.

  “Now, Sheriff Watson,” Bosworth continued, “we need to prepare to raid your guy’s place, too, as a contingency.” Again, they talked for a little bit and agreed Bosworth would update Watson as soon as the first two raids were completed. If neither was successful, the two Denver teams would meet in Delta, and they would move on the suspect there. It was estimated it would be noon if it occurred.

  As Watson rang off, Nick pondered the sudden turn of events. Only seconds after the conference call completed, Bosworth pulled Nick outside. Out of earshot of the others, he said, “You’re not going on either of these raids. I’m not going to argue with you about this. You would pose more of a liability than an asset.”

  Nick said nothing. He simply walked out of the building.

  Bosworth returned to the conference room. He would deal with Nick later, but right now he had to finish this business.

  “I’ve asked Nick to step aside now on this investigation,” he announced. Eyes darted around the table. “He’s done a great job on this, but has a clear conflict with Phyllis involved. I felt he would be more of a hindrance than a help as we finalize this. I am taking the lead to finish this off.” The group as one nodded acknowledgement.

  “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. Rhodes and Burleson, I want you two in Granite. Kelly Barela and I will head to Whetstone. If my Colorado geography is right, Delta is about the same distance from those two places. It’s about an hour with lights on. If you figure out you have the wrong guy, get out of there and head to Delta. We’ll do the same thing.” They talked for a few more minutes, then split up to call back the respective sheriffs.

  Nick arrived home a little before midnight. He backed his Explorer up to his garage door. He loaded it with clothes and toiletries for both him and Phyllis, guns appropriate for various situations with ammunition for each, food and drink, hiking, snowshoeing, and survival gear. Nick had no idea what he was about to face, but he would be prepared.

  Before leaving, Nick forced himself to eat two sandwiches and drink a substantial amount of water. He did not want any failures because his body was unprepared. He almost laughed at this absurdity given his weight, age, and general lack of physical condition. “That’s one more thing I’m going to fix when this is all over,” he thought.

  Nick was on the road at almost exactly 1:00 a.m.

  Sunday ⌁ day 21

  As with the others, when the door opened, Phyllis Lynch compliantly slipped through into the larger room. She stood and took in all that was around, almost oblivious to the other three people entering the room at the same time.

  It was difficult for her not to be clinical at this moment. The amazing story she had heard from Christine Crawford was not only true, Phyllis was destined to be part of it. “Amazing,” she muttered to herself. Little did she know the other woman in the room was Christine.

  The sets and costumes were the same as the prior show, something that disturbed The Doctor greatly. He had not repeated a performance since the earliest days of developing the new genre. Given the timing, it could not be helped.

  The one change he did make was to Phyllis’ outfit. He had her wearing burka-type headgear. In the instructions, he indicated this was a little known relic of the era. In actuality, he did this to keep Dr. Crawford from recognizing Phyllis. It worked. He also assumed Phyllis would not recognize her colleague. He was correct on that assumption as well.

  The Doctor fol
lowed his lines closely from the prior rendition. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you have all studied your parts closely. You have been given adequate opportunity to learn your lines. I have, however, made arrangements to ensure this will be a most professional rendition of our play.” The visual came up on the wall, and the four participants turned as one to view it. “Your directions and lines will appear on the wall as the show progresses. If you have a momentary lapse, you may look over here and find your lines and directions. At this time each of you should move to your marks.” As with all others, the four complied.

  “And ACTION,” The Doctor voiced.

  Phyllis was tapped in this to be provided the knife first, playing the role Gary Knight had originated not so many days earlier. The Doctor had intentionally cast smaller men, hoping Phyllis would prevail. Like Knight, Phyllis stabbed and killed the man on top of the woman. The action played out similarly, with the surviving male and Dr. Crawford huddling in the corner.

  She walked over to the two. Naked except for her head covering and splattered in blood, she looked evenly at the man and said, “My instructions are to kill one more person, then to have sex with the other, my choice. You’re stronger than her, so if you’ll help me kill her, then you and I get to live.”

  The man looked at Phyllis, stunned. Crawford began to slink away from him, but he stood, grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up, and pushed her violently into the table. She hit it hard with her right side and slumped against it. Phyllis did not hesitate. She stabbed her repeatedly, and life fled Christine Crawford in a matter of moments.

  Then Phyllis explained to the man they were required to have sex multiple times before they would be released. Both were crying almost uncontrollably. The Doctor yelled, “Cut!”

  “Listen, you two,” he said, “if you want to get out of here alive, you cannot carry on this way. Pull yourselves together. You’re going to live, but only if you follow the script.”

  A tray slid through the opening with two paper cups of water and two groupings of pills, one set for Phyllis and one for the man. “I have provided each of you pills to help you continue, to finalize this. You both have been given valium to help calm your nerves. For the gentleman, there are also three Viagra, to help you perform. Taking these pills is not negotiable.”

  They both moved to the pills and quickly swallowed them. As part of her instructions, this part had also been scripted. The man’s pills were to help him perform and to sedate him so she would have a better chance to succeed. The instructions explained this was what was required to even out the strength discrepancy, because, if they got to this point, the element of surprise would be gone. Her pills were placebos. Phyllis did not trust him, but she had no choice but to hope the instructions were true. They were.

  After periods of rest and performance, stretching over what felt like an eternity to Phyllis but was actually only five hours, the sordid sexual encounters were completed. Phyllis retrieved the knife, walked to the man slumped on the table with his eyes closed, probably asleep, and stabbed him to death. As the last strokes fell, the opening to her room rose, and she crawled back into it.

  As Nick drove to Delta County, he pondered the wisdom of his actions. He was not sure exactly what Sheriff Watson said that made him dubious. It seemed all the reasons Watson felt the man shouldn’t be a suspect were exactly the reasons he should be. Maybe it was the fact the guy’s name was Nicholas Linn, and it was too close to home.

  In any event, he reasoned, the two primary suspects would be taken down at 7:00 a.m., and there was no reason he couldn’t cover the contingency at the same time. The risk was minimal, because if Linn was the guy, then the reinforcements would not be far behind. He had decided it was imprudent to inform Watson of his decision.

  Nick reached Delta shortly after 5:00 a.m. Without clear directions, it took Nick almost an hour to find Linn’s house. As he stood at the gate with the ‘No Trespassing’ sign, Nick assessed the situation. The gate was automatic and locked, so he suspected if he broke it down, some kind of alarm would sound at the residence. There was also likely secreted surveillance of the gate and long driveway. It had snowed heavily two days earlier, and Nick noted that there were no tire tracks down the road to Linn’s house. As he attempted to better understand the situation, he saw that the road disappeared into a forest of evergreens, pines and blue spruces. Since the moon was full and overhead, he could get a lay of the land. He had also viewed it from Google Earth briefly before he left Denver. The land rose gradually for the better part of a mile, finally meeting one of Colorado’s innumerable Rocky Mountains. If this was the place, he suspected the house would be at the foot of the mountain, back against it. It was not visible from the road.

  Nick pulled the Explorer off the road into a secluded area to minimize attention. It took him fifteen minutes to load his various weapons, pack his backpack, and put on his snowshoes. He checked his cell phone for a signal, and, surprisingly, found it was strong. He changed the setting to ‘vibrate,’ stuffed it into his coat pocket, and headed out to meet Nicholas Linn.

  At 7:02 a.m. in a rural part of Pitkin County, Sheriff Caroline Munson banged on the door of Mr. Dan Hill, shouting loudly, “Sheriff, open up.” A few moments later a bedraggled and surprised Dan Hill opened the door to find almost fifty people surrounding his property. Hill heard very little of what was said to him. He invited them in without even asking about a warrant, wandered to the couch, laid down, and those observing would have sworn he slept through the whole process, other than when he was rousted so they could search the couch.

  After almost an hour, the group concluded Mr. Hill liked to smoke marijuana and could make very effective use of a cleaning service. Other than that, Dan Hill had nothing to hide. He did not even get off the couch when they left. Rhodes and Burleson immediately began speeding toward Delta, working through intermittent cell service to try to reach Bosworth.

  At 7:05 a.m. in the mountains beyond the tiny town of Granite, Sheriff Bob Dawson banged on the door of Mr. Robert Scratch, shouting as Caroline Munson had, “Sheriff, open up.” Unlike Mr. Hill, within seconds Robert Scratch hit the back door running. He was surprised when a forearm whipped across him and knocked him down. Dawson was taking no chances. Every window and door was secured by two officers. Covered in snow, Scratch was handcuffed and carried back into his home. Against violent protests, Dawson executed the search warrant, more certain than ever this was the man. Bosworth was pleased.

  In stark contrast to Dan Hill’s abode, Scratch’s was immaculate and well presented. In the basement, they found what they were looking for—a secret room. While it was cleverly hidden, Bosworth found it, almost smelled it. The back of the house was built into the side of a mountain, so if earth was removed, it would not necessarily be apparent like a panic room in a suburban home. However, Scratch had made an amateur’s mistake. The carpet and other markings around the hidden room were worn well beyond that of the remainder of the room, indicating significant comings and goings. To an untrained eye, it was almost unnoticeable. To Bosworth, it could not have been more obvious if a neon light had been hung above it.

  As they entered, they viewed in awe what they had found. The room was large, probably thirty feet by forty feet, and elaborate. Scratch had finished the walls and floor, leaving the ceiling raw as a decorative touch. He had ventilation dropped from the ceiling and exposed.

  As Barela surveyed the room, he quickly concluded this was not where any of the filming had occurred.

  “Boss,” he said pulling Bosworth aside, “this ain’t it. The floor in the video is raw, not finished like this, and the ventilation is completely different. If it’s here, it’s in another room somewhere.” Barela spent some time dissecting the differences.

  Bosworth stood nonplussed. “Barela,” he said firmly, “this may not be the room, but this has to be our guy. How many people you think are finishing out caves?”

  Kelly Barela had been thrilled when Chief Detective Bosworth selec
ted him to come to this scene. Now he was having second thoughts. Each of the other detectives understood these crimes much better. They were all in the field all the time, dealing with unusual situations. Bosworth had been sitting at a desk for some time now. He struggled with how to tell this guy Robert Scratch was probably not The Doctor, at least not based on anything they had found.

  “Come look at this,” one of the sheriff’s investigators called excitedly from across the room. Barela had no doubt Robert Scratch was up to no good. You don’t run like he did, nor do you carve a room illegally out of the side of the mountain, hiding it from everyone, without having some things to hide.

  As he and Bosworth walked over, the young investigator was starting a video. They watched in horror at the unseemly acts of child pornography. Sheriff Bob Dawson walked up and shut off the video. Barela groaned silently, believing he was going to have to talk down both Bosworth and the sheriff.

  Dawson said, “This guy is in big-time trouble, there is no doubt about it.” He looked directly at Bosworth. “But he’s not your guy. There is nothing here to incriminate him in those crimes. I knew he was up to no good, and turns out I was right. But it was a different flavor. With that he turned back to the investigator. “Don’t touch anything else. We’re going to back out of here and get another warrant. I do not want this pedophile to walk on this one.”

  Bosworth was stunned and walked disappointedly out of the secret room, out of the basement, and out of the house. He sat wordlessly in the car with Barela momentarily, then cranked the engine and pointed the car toward Delta.

  During the hike to the house, Nick decided if he was doing this alone, he could not bang on the door. If Linn was innocent, then he’d be pissed and potentially call the sheriff. He did not care much about that. Worst case scenario, he might pull a gun, but Nick believed he could work his way through that. And, of course, if he’s guilty, no reason to warn him I’m coming.