by Philip Jett
“What about school?” asked Brooke.
“We’ve already talked to your schools. They understand. You can keep up with your homework at your grandparents’. They’ll see that you get your assignments.”
“Daddy’s going to be okay, isn’t he, Mama?”
Mary suddenly felt dizzy and tired. Maybe it was the sedatives, or the gin, or the worry. She became befuddled and upset.
“I hope so, honey, but we may never see your father again. We have to be prepared just in case.”
“What do you mean, Mama? I thought you said everything is going to be okay.”
“Oh, Brooke, you know what I mean. He might be, your father may be…”
Mary passed out, falling to the floor. Fainted in front of her children, just after telling them their father might not ever be coming back. She’d meant to be strong, to protect them from the pain and sadness.
“We had an ideal family and were living the American dream,” Spike recalled as an adult. “We had the home in the mountains, wealth, social success, and parents who loved us and took time to let us know their love. My life was almost everything a boy could want. Then on February 9, 1960, our world was ripped apart.”
* * *
The door opened with a jerk and slammed shut. Corbett twisted the night latch, locking the door behind him. He glanced at the windows and rushed to pull the cord along each side, closing the blinds. He poured himself a beer and hurried into the bathroom, where he crammed his clothes in a laundry bag and showered.
With the room completely dark, he stretched out on the couch to calm himself. When that didn’t work, he sat up and switched on the television set. The glow of the picture tube lit up the room and reflected off his eyeglasses. It was too late for the evening news telecast, so he reached for his transistor radio and began thumbing the dial.
… near his home in Morrison. FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Scott Werner says the FBI will enter the case in the morning. According to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office, blood discovered at the scene is en route to the FBI Laboratory in Washington, D.C., to be analyzed. Adolph Coors III is the grandson of the founder of the Adolph Coors Company in Golden, Colorado. Established in 1873 …
Corbett turned off the television set and lifted one of the blind’s metal slats. He watched for several minutes. A few cars drove by, and three or four people walked past on the cold night.
He plopped on the couch and sipped his beer as music played on the radio. He stretched his legs, and without intending to doze off, did. Nearly two hours passed. Corbett awakened, took a sip of warm beer, and ambled to the kitchen table, where he’d placed a blanket. He unfolded it to reveal a pistol inside. He pulled the clip and emptied the chamber. Slowly, he raised the barrel to his nose. The smell of spent powder filled his nostrils. The gun was dirty and gritty, powder residue formed a film around the tip of the barrel, and the stock was covered in mud and perhaps more.
He returned to the couch with a clean towel from the bathroom and a small can of machine oil. He switched on the television once again and began cleaning his pistol. He’d pour a little oil on a towel and gently rub the oily cloth along the barrel and around the chamber, intensely observing his handiwork.
Soon he got up for another look out the window. Peeking under the blinds, he saw only a car pass and then a truck. And then—
A draw on a cigarette glowed red inside a car across the shadowed street. Corbett watched for several minutes before he sprang from the couch, spilling a half-filled beer glass on the floor.
He grabbed a cloth from the bathroom to soak up the mess. His movements were jerky, in bursts, darting here and there.
A suitcase stuffed full of clothes already stretched across the floor. Empty drawers were pulled from a small chest lodged in the closet. Grocery sacks and empty liquor boxes scattered about the floor were filled with clothes, books, pens, and papers.
He opened the refrigerator and cupboard doors and dumped the foodstuffs into paper sacks—frozen TV dinners, a loaf of bread, crackers, frozen strawberries, fresh bananas. He carried the bloated sacks down the hallway and dropped them into a garbage chute.
After he’d emptied the refrigerator and freezer, he continued with the pantry. Everything had to go. But he was drawn to the window and peeked out once again.
Still there, just sitting. What is he doing?
Corbett grabbed cleanser from beneath the kitchen sink and began wiping door handles, cabinets, lamps, light switches, even the toilet seat and tank handle. Finished with one object, he’d search the room for another to wipe. He caught himself trotting from one object to the next, pausing long enough to brush his sweaty face with the back of his forearm. He was cleaning the metal lever on the window when the urge to peek out struck again. He switched off the light.
Where is he? He’s gone! Good.… Wait a minute. There he is. Corbett sighed. Why would he move his car three parking spots and just sit there? He’s gotta be on a stakeout, watching me.
Corbett stepped away from the window and exhaled. He picked up his pistol beside the couch, cracked the blinds with the tip of the barrel, and peered out again into the darkness. His secret plan was unraveling, and so was he.
* * *
Captain Bray and Undersheriff Hawley drove to Ad and Mary’s house with Bill to interview Mary and apprise her of the latest on the search and investigation. Sheriff Wermuth was on his way from Golden to meet them. The headlights of Bray’s patrol car shone up the gravel driveway as the car came to a stop. The two investigators stepped out of the patrol car with Bill just as Wermuth pulled up the drive.
Joe met them outside. The eave lights lit up the sidewalk. “Anything?”
Bill shook his head and glanced past Joe toward the house. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s holding up pretty well. The doctor came by and gave her something. But she’s worried sick.”
“Is she able to talk to us?” asked Wermuth.
“I think so,” Joe replied.
“You call Father?” asked Bill.
“Yeah. He’s mad as a hornet. He and Mother are flying out tomorrow morning. It’s three hours earlier there, so they should arrive in Denver tomorrow night. Said they’d try to call when they land in Los Angeles.”
The men entered the house. Mary recognized Sheriff Wermuth in his mackinaw and Stetson, and Captain Bray, a longtime friend of Ad’s, in his county uniform, something he rarely wore. She didn’t know Lew Hawley, who was wearing a salt-and-pepper tweed coat over his suit with a dark green alpine hat that he had removed.
“There’s still no word from Ad,” Joe said before Mary could ask. “This is Sheriff Wermuth and Undersheriff Hawley. I think you know Harold Bray. They’d like to talk to you.”
“Yes?” said Mary, deflated by the lack of news.
“Please sit down. We want to tell you what we’ve found and ask you a few questions,” Wermuth said.
“I want to help any way I can,” said Mary, who then stood. “Would you gentlemen like some coffee?”
The lawmen reluctantly accepted the kind offer.
Mary entered the kitchen. She gripped the edge of the counter and steadied herself. She felt woozy, like she could faint again. She inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times and then retrieved mugs from the cupboard and poured from the same percolator Ad had used that morning, though that morning seemed like a lifetime ago. Mary was determined to put on a good face for her guests. She handed them cups of coffee.
Bill sat on the couch beside Mary while Joe leaned against a wall as Sheriff Wermuth began. “Mrs. Coors, first, I want you to know we’re doing everything we can to find your husband.” He informed her about how the investigation had gone that day, and he summed up by saying, “It seems to me like your husband was forcibly removed from the area.”
Mary gave no reaction. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She and Joe had already discussed that possibility. “You mean he’s been kidnapped?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m afr
aid so,” answered Sheriff Wermuth, a bit surprised by Mary’s calmness, though he’d been told she was taking sedatives. “I know this sounds strange, but the way I figure it, a kidnapping can be a good thing in this situation. It’s gonna fall well below freezing tonight. The kidnappers have your husband in some kind of shelter, with a stove and blankets. They probably have—”
“You say they. Do you know how many?” interrupted Mary.
“No, ma’am. I don’t. It could be a single kidnapper, but usually there’s more than one. Again, I can’t even say for sure it’s a kidnapping till you’re contacted, but that’s the theory we’re working under. It makes the most sense.”
“Excuse me,” injected Captain Bray. “I think there’s only one kidnapper, because knowing Ad like I do, he might’ve fought one man, but if there’d been more, especially with a gun, I think he would have been smart and gone along with them.”
“Joe says it looked like the kidnappers may have hit Ad and dragged him to their car,” said Mary. “Is that what it looked like to you?”
Bray and Hawley glanced at each other.
“Could be,” Bray said. “We don’t know anything for sure right now.”
“You got to think the kidnappers planned this and didn’t hurt your husband bad enough to miss out on the ransom,” said the sheriff. “I’d expect the kidnappers to call tonight or tomorrow. We’ll need to hook up a recorder to your telephone, and I’ll post two deputies to spend the night and listen in case they call. Is that all right?”
“Of course. But they may call Ad’s office, or his father, or Bill or Joe.”
“We’ve thought of that,” said Captain Bray. “We’re gonna set up recorders on all telephones used by Ad’s father and his brothers, whether at their homes or the brewery, just in case. But before we do that, I need to ask you a few questions to help us in our investigation. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“Ask me whatever you need to,” Mary said.
Captain Bray scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned toward Mary. “Okay, first, what time did Ad leave home this morning?”
“It was after the kids went to school. A little before eight o’clock. The news was on when he left, so I’d say closer to five till. My husband is always punctual and leaves the house about the same time every morning.”
“I see. How was Ad feeling this morning? I mean, did he seem nervous or troubled like something was on his mind? Did he say anything that made you think he might be in some kind of trouble?”
“No, he was fine. Same as always. He exercised, showered, and ate breakfast. He was cheerful, in a good humor.”
Hawley took notes as Bray continued questioning Mary.
“What was your husband wearing when he left home?” asked Bray, who decided to use a more professional appellation and stop using the more personal “Ad,” despite being his friend.
“He has on a white shirt with green check stripes and a buttoned-down collar.”
“Was the shirt monogrammed?”
“No.”
“Go on,” said Bray.
“He’s wearing a dark blue necktie he bought at the Aspen Country Store. He usually wears a silver ski-shaped tie clasp with his initials on it. I believe he was wearing it this morning. I’m not sure. It was a gift for ushering at John and Vivian Sweeney’s wedding. Oh, my, what else?” Mary paused to think.
“It’s okay. Take your time,” added Bray.
“He wears brown high dress shoes, size 10½ AA. They’re Wright Arch Preserver brand. He had on a pair of Hickey Freeman slacks I bought him, they’re gray, with a plain brown belt. Oh, yes, he wears a Patek Philippe Genève silver wristwatch with a brown leather strap.”
“How do you spell that?” Bray asked.
Mary obliged.
“What else?” asked Bray.
“He carries a silver key chain with a small penknife on it. I bought it for him last November as an anniversary present at the 14 Karat Shop in Cherry Creek Shopping Center. I had it engraved with his initials ‘AC III.’ He keeps his car key, house key, a key to the safe, and keys to the plant and the barn on it.” Mary paused again. “It was an anniversary gift.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“A navy-blue windbreaker with gray quilted lining. It’s Abercrombie & Fitch. It has a wide waistband and zips up the front. He wears it almost every day to work. And a pair of white deerskin gloves from Gokey he usually wears in the winter. I think he took those this morning. And a brown belt. Oh, I think I said that already, didn’t I?”
“Does your husband wear eyeglasses?” Sheriff Wermuth intervened, already knowing the answer. Bray glanced at Wermuth, and Bill gave him a look of concern.
“Yes, he does.”
Wermuth reached inside his coat and withdrew a plastic bag. “Are these your husband’s glasses? It says ‘Paul Weiss, Optician’ right here.”
“That’s where he goes, but Ad can barely see without his glasses.”
The sheriff handed Mary the bag.
“They look like his. One of the lenses is … broken,” said Mary, looking up. “Did you notice? The left lens is cracked!” Mary said, her eyes filling with tears.
“They were in the creek. They—”
“They probably cracked when they fell,” Bray snapped, interrupting his boss.
Mary was stirred by the sight. A soft whine could be heard as she raised one hand to her face. Her shoulders shook.
The room grew silent.
“Excuse me,” said Mary as she stood and rushed out of the room. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she hurried down the hall.
“I had to ask,” the sheriff said to the others.
Bill stood. “I’ll go check on her.”
Bill found Mary in her bedroom’s bathroom, crying, trying to stop the tears by placing tissues against her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mary.”
“Oh, Bill!” Mary bawled as Bill uncharacteristically, but gently, reached his arms around her. At the moment her emotions reached their lowest, Mary caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Pull yourself together, she thought. Ad wouldn’t want you falling apart like this. And the children … Mary released Bill and straightened. She wiped her eyes and then looked at Bill. “Ad’s going to be okay.”
“Of course he is,” said Bill.
“No, I mean it. Ad is going to make it through whatever this is. He has to … for the children’s sake. And when he walks through that door, I don’t want him to hear about how the mother of his children wilted on the vine while he was away. Now, go and tell them I’ll be right out.”
Though Mary and Bill weren’t particularly close, Bill admired her strength and dignity at times. That evening was one of those times.
“Okay,” Bill said and rejoined Joe and the sheriff and his two investigators in the den. “She said she’ll be out in a minute.” As soon as Bill spoke the words, a composed Mary strode down the hallway.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m fine now. Please continue.”
“Are you sure?” asked Joe.
“Yes, please. I’d like to help if I can … please.”
“Okay,” said Captain Bray. “Does your husband carry a lot of money with him?”
“No. I’d expect he had less than twenty dollars in his wallet.”
“And what kind of wallet?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a brown leather one.”
“Thank you. One more question, Mrs. Coors, and we’ll let you rest. Was your husband acting strangely the past few days, or did you notice anything odd or see anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, like I said before, my husband was the same as always. We’d just gotten home late Saturday from a brewers’ convention in Miami. Ad was here Sunday working about the place, taking care of the horses, riding. The children and I went hiking, but Ad didn’t come along.”
“Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Coors. I guess that—”
“There was this one thing.”
“Yes?”
Mary nodded toward Joe. “I told Joe about it this afternoon. I don’t think it was anything, but I’ve seen men in a yellow car driving up and down the road. They parked not far from the house. I saw them two or three times in January.” Mary’s recollection garnered the lawmen’s attention.
“How many men? Can you describe them? How about the car?”
“No, they were too far away. Sometimes it was one man, other times two. Once, one of them had a rifle, because I saw it sticking out the window toward some deer on the ridge. Ad saw them once, too, and said they were probably deer poachers and he was going to have a talk with them next time he saw them. This is a game preserve, and there’s no deer hunting even during deer season, but we still have a problem with poachers out here a lot.”
“Did your husband speak with the men?”
“No. He was going to, but I don’t believe he got the chance. Leastways, he didn’t mention it to me.”
“And the car?”
“It was yellow. Thelma Coffman—she’s our maid—she saw it, too, and I believe she said it was a Lincoln—no, I mean a Mercury. But there’s been other cars and trucks out here, too. I know one was a gray Ford. The other was dark green. I think. I don’t know the kind. You can ask our ranch hand, Bill Hosler. He probably knows.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Coors. We will. Thank you very much. That’s all we need for now,” Captain Bray said as he stood.
“Yes, Mrs. Coors. We know this is difficult for you, and we appreciate you talking to us tonight,” said Sheriff Wermuth.
“I only want to find my husband. That’s all I care about.”
“That’s all we care about, too, ma’am—that and catching whoever’s done this,” Wermuth said. “You get some rest, and we’ll contact you as soon as we find out anything.”
“What about the FBI?” asked Mary. “Joe said the FBI will be finding Ad, too. Are they? Working on it, I mean?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re in contact with the FBI office in Denver. They’ve already sent some men, and they’ll be out in full force in the morning. Probably will come by to interview you tomorrow.”