It was time to pack up and leave. Darroe was a project that had to happen. I had second thoughts about what I felt needed to be done, yet Darroe had to be stopped. This project would be riskier. I stood the chance of alienating my newfound friend, Anna Sasins. She might not understand my reasons and see it as a vicious criminal act. Maybe even worse, contacting Detective Ware with information she had acquired from me.
Ware was not likely to respond to the killing of a high-profile lawyer like Darroe unless forensics found a connection. If so, the heat would be dramatically increased. Killing sex offenders and perverts caused concern for the police but would be nothing compared to the panic amongst law enforcement agencies should the killing of a big-time defense lawyer be connected to a vigilante. This would be especially true for an attorney successful in defending sex offenders who had already died at the hands of a vigilante.
Admittedly, I had focused on lower-level criminals but there were plenty of richer, high-profile types that were just as guilty. On the flip side, there were plenty of victims and victims’ families with resources enough to hire a professional to make the hit. Nevertheless, law enforcement, fearing where such vigilantism might lead, couldn’t afford to allow it to continue. The business executives, politicians, and Hollywood producers were no better than any others if they committed the same crimes. In many cases their money bought their way out and that didn’t sit well with Walter. But for now, I settled for the ones I could get.
Darroe’s law office was located in Salem, Oregon. He advertised extensively and was easy to track. From sitting in the courtroom when he was performing I knew exactly what he looked like and would recognize him in any situation. I knew at least one car he drove. I knew he worked all over Oregon and was frequently on the road. It would take time to map out this very special project. Unlike others, I had questions I wanted answers to. Responses that could only be discovered face to face, at the point of death.
First order of business upon my return was checking email. I was surprised to see an email from Sasins. In the past I had initiated the contact.
Scythian,
It has been a few weeks since we last corresponded. MCSD task force that I mentioned before has released information from profilers assigned to the force. They believe evidence suggests an evolving criminal complexity. Profilers have identified the person of interest as middle-aged male, religious, lives alone, and probably a victim or a close family member of a victim of a violent sexual crime. I thought you might find it interesting.
Archangel
I didn’t find it especially interesting. The more I killed and the more dots they connected the closer the profile would resemble me. Yet, I found myself thankful Sasins was willing to provide me with information she felt I needed to know.
Archangel,
Profilers play percentages based on collective evidence. As far as some greater complexity to what I do, I don’t know about that. I would say they have a ways to go to paint a clear picture of who I am. Thank you for your input. I will finish a project very soon and will explain my actions in the aftermath. You will have the scoop.
Scythian
The planning stages for this project would come after considerable reconnaissance. I devoted the first week to observing the law office in the North Lancaster area, learning who the employees were. It also revealed when Darroe visited the office and that wasn’t often. I didn’t know what to expect from an attorney’s schedule. During that week he visited his office once or twice a day. His stays were usually short, less than an hour in most cases. He had two females employed. Few other people visited the office. Darroe’s residence was originally unknown to me. His frequent comings and goings at the office gave opportunity to follow him until I was able to locate his house southeast of Salem. A two-story upper-end cedar home nestled back from the frontage road in a stand of trees.
The second week I set up observation on his home. There was no evidence anyone lived with Darroe, although he could have private security or a paralegal employee. I had caught glimpses of a silver Lexus with tinted windows near Darroe’s place. I felt they might be aware of my presence as well, perhaps even had me under loose surveillance.
Within a few days I was able to confidently say Darroe lived alone. He stayed at his residence a great deal of the time and appeared to leave only when he went to the office. Occasionally he stopped by a store on his trips to work or back; otherwise, he stayed at home.
A man in his position I suspect had few real friends and fewer people he could trust. Penetrating his home to take care of business was too risky. He had the resources to have security systems in place and there was the issue of the unusual vehicle traffic in the area. Killing him would not be the difficult part. Finding the right place was more complicated. I’d have to wait it out for a better opportunity.
Three weeks into this cat-and-mouse game, Darroe was out front of his home loading his older Volvo 240 wagon with suitcases. I felt encouraged. This was exactly what needed to happen. I needed him exposed.
Darroe pulled out early in the morning and instead of heading north toward his law office, he turned south. I lay back a short distance and cruised the frontage road until reaching Interstate 5. As we pulled into the heavy traffic I was amped with excitement.
As I adjusted my rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a gray or silver sedan behind me. I tried to slow my Avenger and force the car to pass but heavy morning traffic compelled me to stay in line, keep up my speed, and go with the flow. People riding up on my bumper and honking their horns took away from the idea of stealth pretty quickly. Now, to complicate my tail on Darroe, I had lost sight of his car. I was going to have to step on it and regain my positioning.
The traffic on Interstate 5 had its advantages. I could tail at a relatively short distance behind Darroe and yet stay hidden. After passing through Grants Pass and onto Highway 199 all that changed. There was the occasional vehicle, more semi-trucks hauling logs and freight than automobile traffic. We dropped down into Northern California as we made our way toward the coastline. We passed through the Six Rivers National Forest; it had been a long time since I was in the midst of the giant redwoods.
A road sign indicated the next gas station on this route was Smith River, a likely place for Darroe to pull over I thought. I’d lost sight of his wagon again. It was sometimes necessary in the hilly area we came through to back off farther than I’d like to. Now I was tasked with locating him, again. Twenty miles or so south of Smith River a rest area came into view. The Volvo Darroe was driving was parked near the restrooms. As I pulled into the rest area he was out of his car and nowhere in sight. I stopped short of the rest area highway return ramp and watched the parking area with my mirrors. A couple of large trucks pulled in behind me blocking much of my rear view.
I waited for a few minutes but when he had not shown, I exited my Avenger. I was becoming antsy. In front of the restrooms a small footbridge crossed a creek and led to a series of scenic trails going in different directions. I could see signage marking trails and someone walking along one of the trails. That someone was possibly Darroe. My binoculars confirmed my target was moving away from the rest area signifying to me this remote spot alongside the road was as opportunistic as it got.
Quickly, I pulled out the case containing my AR15, and headed down to the bridge. After crossing the footbridge the trail separated into three paths. One headed south along the river embankment, another traveled west with a warning sign of a rocky incline to a saddle between two peaks and the last went north westerly around the base of the peak. I chose the peak. It was a climb onto the rocky crags, but from the top I could see areas along all three paths intermittently.
As I moved from side to side of the rock outcroppings, Darroe came into view. He was sauntering. Absent was his cocky walk and arrogant appearance. Maybe he was thinking about his destination or a defense strategy he would use in the next trial. I had no idea and it really didn’t matter. My plan
was to interrupt the thought process permanently.
Darroe slowed his gait and looked in my direction, it was less than a 100 meters but I doubt he could see me. I was slightly above his position, prone; my AR15 resting on its bipod stand aimed in his direction. As I looked into the face of a different type of evil my thoughts were conflicted. I couldn’t explain it, but now it felt wrong to kill him. I was in position, all I had to do was pull the trigger, but once I did, there was no changing the outcome. Besides, Darroe owed me something. I wanted a face-to-face encounter to ask him one question, why he did what he did. Until he answered I wouldn’t be satisfied killing him. Maybe that was the reason I couldn’t justify the shot.
Destiny had not accompanied me on this trip. I felt very much alone. No glimpses of chaotic visual perceptions or pain resided with my intentions. I only felt a strong prompting of my heart to kill. That wasn’t enough.
I kept my scope trained in Darroe’s direction as he made his way back toward the rest area, but I continued to struggle with the idea of killing him. This was easy to do. Pull the trigger! Pull the trigger! I kept telling myself. Do it! Alas, I could not. I packed up the rifle and headed for my car.
As I approached the footbridge, I watched Darroe as he slithered into his Volvo. Minutes later he drove away in the direction of Smith River. I sat quietly in my car, a bit dazed. The two parked trucks fired up and pulled out together onto the highway. A vehicle had been parked between the trucks was now exposed to my view. Moments later, the silver sedan pulled out in the same direction as Darroe and was soon out of sight.
This whole trip had taken on an eerie, uncanny nature. What seemingly should have been a simple task had resulted in confusion for me. I needed time to reflect. Darroe went about his business and I was headed home. I’d relegated Darroe to a meaningful part of the game. He was a star performer; through his efforts he put targets back on the street. Then it was my turn. It was in my estimation our cycle of life. Perhaps the sequence cannot be interrupted.
After a few days back home I started my routine again. Part of it now included checking email. I wasn’t expecting anything but wasn’t overly surprised to see an email from Sasins. She no doubt wondered what became of her scoop I had promised.
Scythian,
I am concerned. I haven’t heard from you. You identified Hartigan as your work and I have no reason to think differently, but was his attorney, Ruben Darroe, your work as well?
Archangel
Darroe! What does she know about Darroe? Why would she refer to him as my work? If it had been my work, he would be dead. It didn’t make sense.
Archangel,
I believe Darroe is as guilty as his clients and deserves to die for his part. But with that said, he’s no different than a hundred other defense attorneys. It’s true I don’t like his courtroom antics but it’s the way it is. Look at his record, do some digging, use your resources and you will have plenty for a scoop.
Scythian
With that I hoped she would once again bring to light in her article the kind of low life he really was. I wanted her to use her resources to paint an ugly picture of Darroe; especially if it was the truth.
I didn’t have to wait for Sasins to respond to my email to find out why she was asking about Darroe. It was all over the news. Evidently, Darroe was shot and killed north of Brookings, Oregon, on Highway 101. According to authorities Darroe’s destination was Gold Beach, Oregon, where he was scheduled to meet with a client in police custody. Oregon state troopers were still in the beginning stages of their investigation and little else was released on the event.
Wow! It was only hours after I was tailing him that he was killed. Was this a sign to me? It was a question that would remain unanswered. It clearly wasn’t his day.
Now that I knew what Sasins was talking about I needed to get back to her and clear up any miscommunication on the issue. Pulling up email I found Sasins was quick to respond to my last note.
Scythian,
My sources have revealed information I plan to use in a feature article on Attorney Darroe. I have been told child pornography was recovered from his home. I don’t have a clear picture of what the contents may have been but it is clearly videos and photographs of underage foreign children of Latin descent. Police are also investigating financial deposits from one or more pedophile organizations advocating legalization of children’s rights to choose consensual sex with adults. Evidently, police have been sitting on this lead for a while and haven’t done anything with it. I will keep you informed. Watch for the article.
Archangel
While Sasins was working on Darroe’s posthumous feature article, I was rifling through my files looking for a new project. Oregon state troopers were likewise busy, hypothesizing what transpired with Darroe. The current rumor circling about a mob hit was exactly that, a rumor. In his profession he may have been in cahoots with organized crime, who knows the truth. In Walter’s book the issue had been settled.
Chapter 13
Darkness had become my friend.
I honed my skills to take advantage of the night.
—Walter
I love the night—more than that, I love the darkness the night brings. It is a natural cover and concealment for the kind of work I find most appealing. I remember as a youngster I was deathly afraid of the dark. Not that fear of the dark is uncommon, it is an instinctive trait connected to our survival response, but it can be overcome. Any response trigger can be conquered. Finding value in the darkness was my first step in this quest. Value dispels misunderstandings associated with fear. A lesson I would learn.
I was like most ranch kids of the day, we didn’t have handheld game consoles and computers, we played hide ’n seek in the barn when friends visited. It was in this setting I learned to overcome my scary surroundings in order to have fun. It was during these times of play I found darkness to be an ally. My friends could be concealed but so could I.
A lesson of this nature takes time to develop. There are applications of pressure you can choose to bend, or allow to temper your mettle. At the homestead, creatures of the night, such as bears and cougars roamed through the woods and would be dangerous if by chance I encountered one. Honestly, I don’t think I thought about them. It was mythical creatures brought to life in my imagination that haunted my darkness.
I grew up during the dawning of horror movies and TV shows that imbedded thoughts in my mind only to pop out when I least wanted or expected them. Werewolves, vampires, mummies, and the headless horseman weren’t real and I knew it but it didn’t stop the imagination from working against common sense. As well as I knew these things were phony, they became real to the point of my being able to feel the threat in my emotions. Then I’d run like the dickens until I got to the house.
Thinking back, the headless horseman was one of my favorites. During the summer months one of my ranch chores was to turn on the field irrigation system at night. Around ten o’clock, I made my way out to a valve located in the center of the alfalfa field. When the moon was full and the sky cloudy and windy, the field took on a life of its own. The swaying alfalfa made it hard to identify shapes and the trees moaned from the blustery winds. A skunk light mounted on a line pole usually helped illuminate a portion of the field, but added confusion to the night. Its light dancing about through two large pine trees cast eerie shadows to further stimulate my creative imagination.
Toward the end of my senior year in high school and for a few months after I graduated, I worked for a wildlife conservation society. I was a camp hand with various duties of assisting visitors with setting up tents, gathering firewood, and packing equipment as needed. It was interesting to watch these city slickers fumble their way around in the darkness. They literally understood nothing about the night. Sitting around the campfire you could hear the natural sound of the woods. A bull elk would bellow in the distance and everyone would be quiet as a mouse. Coyotes would begin their song and again the people would grow quiet, not to
appreciate the singing but in concern for their safety. Birds, bugs and frogs were all lending their voices to the fireside symphony and the people expressed their fears of all of them. Abruptly, when every creature of the night went silent, an eerie chill could be felt. The visitors would relax in the quiet, thinking everything was now safe while I kept a close eye out. Something was out there and had disrupted the serenade. I realized my comfort was in the natural understanding of the dark.
Soon afterward I enlisted in the military. In Air Base Ground Defense School I found reconnaissance missions carried out more easily in the dark of night. During search-and-destroy missions, a dawn raid carried out more precisely if we moved into our positions under the cover of night before executing our mission.
Now, I employed these things learned in a new mode. I engaged the dark rather than shunned it. Darkness had become my friend. I honed my skills to take advantage of the night. I had become the predator hunter and protector of the prey.
Portland weather could be downright hot in the dog days of August. It was not humid, just hot, and it stayed hot until the early hours of the mornings. My stakeout had begun a few weeks before, during the dark of night, and had proven profitable. The late summer heat was a viable factor in my success. Phillip Graves, West River Heights Mortuary, was going about his custodial work; it was disturbing to say the least.
The mortuary basement contained corpses awaiting cremation and embalming. The basement windows were tinted, slightly inset, and approximately a foot above ground level. They opened only a few inches at the top to a maximum width of about four inches but enough to see through. Using the cover of night and the tree-lined yard I moved about freely observing my target’s activity.
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