The Front Range Butcher: A Jarvis Mann Private Detective HardBoiled Mystery Novel (Jarvis Mann Detective Book 7)

by R Weir

  Burton was Logan’s partner and co-founder at WANN. They both equally were guilty, though often one will rollover on the other to save jail time.

  “Any information you can get me would be much appreciated.”

  She licked her lips. “How so?”

  “How about I buy you some flowers and chocolates.”

  “Nice but does nothing for a woman’s needs.” She acted disappointed.

  I smiled. “I’m sure you have men at your beck and call to tend to them.”

  She laughed. “Of course, I do. I have two handsome men wooing me, spending lavish amounts of money and when the mood strikes, I give them the desire they want. But nothing like the night I spent with you.”

  “April might not be too happy with me. But we will see. I may have to take a trip out there to talk with them. If that happens, and I have some time, I may stop by for a visit.”

  “Well on the possibility of seeing you, I’ll text you Burton’s address. If you have second thoughts remember how my lips felt covering your entire body. I certainly can’t forget how yours felt on mine. Maybe that will spark a desire in you.”

  I smiled and said goodbye, the ding of the text coming through with the address. I’d certainly consider her offer, but planned on staying committed to April, no matter how tempting. I gathered myself and headed to Boone’s, finding a seat at the bar. Nick spotted me and soon had a cold mug in front of me.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “I was wondering if you heard the news.”

  “Is it good or bad?” My interest was piqued.

  “Not good for those employed here. The owner is selling. After the incident with Milani, and the city breathing down our necks threatening to pull our liquor license, he decided to get out. Got an offer he couldn’t refuse. The place is going to be turned into an upscale dinner club, catering to an older crowd from what I understand. We’ll be closing in a couple of weeks and then a total remodel, before they open under a new name. All of us are out of work.”

  “That sucks,” I scowled. “You’ve worked here for some time. What is your plan?”

  “Nothing right away. Owner is giving us all good severance based on how many years we’ve been here. Mine will cover me for six months. Shouldn’t be an issue getting another job around this area more to my liking.”

  “Sorry I won’t get to come in and chat,” I said, while shaking his hand. “Cheap therapy coming in and unburdening on you. Maybe you can open up a hotline and charge by the minute. Otherwise let me know where you end up and I’ll stop by and reminisce.”

  Nick said he would and walked down to one of his other customers. I wasn’t sure where I’d be going now to unwind. Sounded like the new owner’s business idea was not my kind of place. I’ve been coming here for several years now, so it would be hard finding somewhere else to cool the jets.

  As I sat there and contemplated my next move, a Hispanic man in a blue jacket and beige slacks, hustled in through the front door, spotted me and sat down. He tossed his leather satchel on the bar and pulled out a business card, handing it to me. I glanced at it to see that his name was Hector Gomez, with the Colorado Public Defender’s office. He looked a little disheveled and out of breath.

  “Damn I could use a beer,” he panted.

  I waved for Nick to come over. After getting the list, he decided on an ale, which Nick promptly sat down. He drank it straight out of the bottle not wanting a mug, swallowing a third before speaking.

  “Jarvis Mann,” he said, while putting out his hand for a quick shake. “Recognized you from the info the FBI and Denver police provided. It would seem the feds don’t care for you much.”

  “I’m not on their ten most wanted list, so I must be doing something right,” I joked.

  He ignored my statement. “I came here to take a couple of minutes to discuss my client. He wants to talk with you at your earliest convenience. He feels you may be of some assistance in getting the charges dropped.”

  I scoffed at the notion I’d want to help. “Not sure why. I was there. He was caught in the house, with the dead body, his fingerprints and DNA all over the scene. As far as I’m concerned he is guilty.”

  “He feels if he explains, you might think otherwise. I would ask you give him an hour to talk with you.”

  “I’m not sure what he can say to convince me. Do you have any idea?”

  “Some. But he wants to talk with you himself. Hear his words, read his face and make your own decision. Honestly what would it hurt?”

  I thought for a minute. My first reaction was to say, “Hell no!” and be done with it. But nothing about this whole case had ever followed any type of form. And that nagging feeling I had after it was over was back.

  “I can give him an hour. But it will have to wait a few days. I have other business to attend to. Can I contact you when I’m available, so you can arrange a sit down with him? I’m sure the FBI will be interested in why I’m talking with him.”

  “Not to worry. You call me at the number on the card and I’ll handle it all.”

  “For my information, why is Darren using a public defender?”

  “Why does anyone use us? Generally, they are broke and can’t afford a lawyer.” He finished up his beer and grabbed his satchel. “Thanks so much. I must run, as I have another client to meet with. Looking forward to your call. And nice to meet you.”

  With that he ran out the door, leaving me with the tab for his beer. So much for hopes of a free meal. I ordered up wings, a burger and another beer, counting them as the last food and drink I’d ever have here. I spent the evening saying goodbye to patrons and employees, all of which I considered friends, for the last time before heading home.

  Chapter 62

  It took an extra day to get everything arranged, but I was now in the California Bay area, having survived the cramped flight, and resisting kissing the ground when we safely landed. With my carryon packed to get me by for a day and maybe two if necessary, I found a cheap hotel in San Jose and a compact car rental to drive on the crowded west coast roads. I was on my own dime, as I didn’t expect the promised reimbursement from the Chinese to happen, so I tried to keep the costs down, but the prices here made that difficult.

  Logan Albers was being held in a Federal Minimum correction facility in Mendota, which was 120 miles south and east of San Jose. To see him required assistance, since I had to be on the list of those he could see. But law officers and lawyers were exceptions, so I called in a favor with Detective Mallard, who contacted a local officer involved when Logan was arrested. Fortunately, I was able to get him to drive us to the facility which saved me on precious mileage on the rental. And his car was larger than mine, which he likely wouldn’t have fit in since he was about 6’5”. The meeting was at eleven, and we arrived twenty minutes early, having to go through a security screening process before we were allowed in.

  “Can you get me tickets to the Warriors game while I’m here?” I asked.

  “Because I’m tall, you assume I play for them or have connections?” he replied dryly with a raised eyebrow.

  “Exactly. Or maybe work security at the arena as an off-duty cop. Need someone tall to see over them and watch for threats.” I don’t think he thought I was funny. Apparently, my sense of humor didn’t work on the West Coast. At least I didn’t ask him how the weather was up there.

  “Mallard said you had some questions for Albers. What were they covering?”

  “I’m trying to get some answers on some people he used. Russian mobsters.”

  “Why would he talk? What do you have to offer him?” He didn’t seem impressed.

  “Nothing other than my smiling face and winning personality.” I showed him my full force grin.

  He snorted. “I’m sure he’ll cave then. You won me over on the drive down. Put you in my will you’re such a great guy.”

  “I’ll be sure to give you my wish list for Christmas and watch for it to arrive in the mail,” I joked back.

/>   “You will be greatly disappointed,” he replied shaking his head.

  We were led into the waiting area, just outside where we would talk. Once the prisoner showed up we’d be brought in, a glass partition between us, a handset for us to talk on. It was maybe twenty minutes before we were led in. On the other side sat Logan, all dressed in orange, looking unshaven. Time had not been kind to him, as he appeared to have aged in his days behind bars. When he saw me, he shook his head, anger radiating on his face. He picked up the handset, his first words eloquent.

  “You motherfucker!” he yelled. “Why the hell are you here wasting my time?”

  “Good to see you, too, Logan,” I replied. “Is your one-bedroom jail suite comfortable?”

  “Asshole!” His face turned red with rage.

  “Have you recovered from your wounds? I’ve heard that type of injury rarely heals properly.”

  He just grunted. He had been shot in the groin by a woman he had used to kill three people, in his attempt to try and keep his company secrets hidden. I had to kill her to save his miserable life, something I regretted.

  “I have some questions for you, Logan,” I said. “I hope you can answer them and then we can all go merrily along back to our utopias.”

  “Why should I help you? You ruined me.”

  “I think you ruined yourself. Still I saved your ass from Bronwen. Otherwise you might be dead right now instead of only being neutered. If I had to do it all over again, I’d have let her finish you off and headed back to Denver with a smile.”

  “Death might be better.”

  “Are you saying prison is not the country club life you’re used to?”

  “It’s a hell hole,” he glowered.

  “Yeah, but I hear the food is to die for.”

  He grunted again.

  “I’m trying to track down the Russians you sent after me,” I said, changing the subject. “I was wondering if you had some avenue to them. It’s important I contact them, specifically Aleksi Platov.”

  Logan wasn’t pleased when I said the name. It didn’t look like fear, only anger and all of it directed at me.

  “Are you trying to get me to admit to knowing them?” he said bitterly. “I’m not admitting a damn thing to you. My lawyers are still trying to appeal the sentence and I don’t need anything to come back and bite me in the ass.”

  “Come on, Logan,” I replied. “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting out of this mess you’re in. Why waste what little money you have left on a fruitless endeavor. You manipulated Bronwen to kill those three people all in a vain attempt to hide what your company was doing.”

  “Maybe. Still, you never know. Burton isn’t spending any time in jail and he was involved in most of it.”

  “That must chap your hide, him getting off with no jail time. Of course, he made a deal to save himself and put a final nail in your coffin. Maybe I should check with him about the Russians. Was he the one who made the call?”

  Logan stopped to think for a minute. He was brushing at his hair, which had grown longer while in jail, trying to get it out of his eyes. Maybe he thought it made him look tougher, along with the new stubbly beard.

  “All I’ll say is he knows more than he lets on. Some of those backdoor deals to help save the company were his. And he hired Kyle because of his connections.”

  “What type of connections?”

  “Guess.” Spit hit the glass before as he said the word.

  “Powerful connections, like the Russians and Chinese?”

  Logan didn’t answer, just leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. His facial expression answered my question.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Go screw yourself!”

  I laughed as I got up from my chair and walked out. Always the eloquent one, was he.

  Chapter 63

  It was a quiet drive, which was fine because I was thinking. I had Burton’s home address and would pay him a visit, this time alone.

  After eating a late lunch, I went to his house. His wife answered the door, a solid oak one, at their mansion-sized home. She wasn’t dancing with joy about talking, but finally gave in when I pestered her enough, telling her I was a detective that needed to talk with him about his case.

  “He doesn’t live here anymore,” she said bitterly. “I threw him out about a month ago. When I learned what was going on, I tried to forgive him, but I couldn’t even after a lot of effort. I want no part of him. As it is, we probably will have to move too, as there is no money to pay the mortgage. My lawyer is working on it, but with the company in ruins, we may have no options.”

  I leant a sympathetic ear and got her to tell me where he was staying. It was one of those extended stay hotels further in the city, in San Jose, Edenvale. I found the address and headed straight over. She had even given me the suite number he was in.

  The do not disturb sign was on his door when I found it, but I ignored it and pressed the doorbell. It took three times before he finally answered, peeking his head through. With the hotel door security latch in place, I stood there looking as non-threatening as I could manage, as it took him a minute to recognize me. When he did, his expression turned dark.

  “What do you want?”

  “Burton, we need to talk.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say.” His tone was cold, which wasn’t surprising.

  “Let me buy you dinner. I’m sure you’re tired of eating out of the vending machine.”

  “Go away.” He started to close the door.

  “If you don’t come out, I’ll camp here outside your door until you do,” I yelled.

  He hesitated, then finally gave in. It must have been a family trait. I followed him out and he climbed in my rental car. We drove to a restaurant, El Amigo, which was only a half a mile away. We got a table and he immediately ordered a Margarita, while I stayed with a beer. When chips and salsa arrived, he dug right in, as if he really hadn’t eaten much. He looked frail, a small man, about 5’9”, dressed today in green polo and black slacks. His weight was down from what I last remembered, his short naturally curly black hair showing some gray. When his drink arrived, he took several long sips.

  “Not living the life you thought you would?” I asked.

  He looked morose. “No. I’m barely getting by. My life is completely a mess right now.”

  “Could be worse. You’re not in jail.”

  “In jail they at least feed you. I hardly have any money for food.”

  I could have told him it was of his own doing, but that wouldn’t get out of him what I needed.

  “Splurge tonight,” I said generously. “This meal is on me.”

  Which he did. He ordered enchiladas and Mexican rice, while I ordered the one American food option on the menu, a steak. I wasn’t a huge fan of Mexican food.

  “How did you find me?”

  I debated on saying but figured it wouldn’t matter. “Your wife.”

  “She told you she dumped me?” He looked sullen.

  “Yes.”

  “So much for better or worse.”

  “What you were involved with was pretty bad. Tied to murders, and software designed to steal people’s personal information.”

  He nodded. “I know. We were just trying to stay afloat by any means necessary. It got out of hand.”

  Out of hand seemed a rather simple description, but I let that pass.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision for her. From what she told me it’s been a hardship, both mentally and financially. Maybe in time you can work things out.”

  Burton didn’t answer. He was busy finishing off the chips and margarita. He waved his hand to order another drink. It wouldn’t take long for it to start hitting him if he didn’t slow down. And I didn’t need him getting sick in my rental.

  “Burton, I need some information from you. It is quite important. I need to track down the Russians that were sent out to persuade me not to investigate the Aaron Bailey m
urder. What do you know about them?”

  They brought him his drink. When he reached for it, I put my hand over it and dragged it to my side of the table. He didn’t look pleased.

  “What the hell!” he said.

  “I don’t need you passed out before you answer my questions. This one will have to wait until you have more food to balance out the alcohol. Once we are done talking you can drink yourself silly if you want.”

  “Fine. What do you want to know?” His eyes still were staring at the drink.

  “Were you the one who contacted them for Logan?”

  “No. Kyle always handled that.”

  “But you were involved in bringing them into your company to help save it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. But again, Kyle had the contacts. He had done some mercenary work years earlier. Told Logan and me about this Russian group, Vlast. They wanted to invest in American companies. Diversification of their business interests.”

  “Laundering money most likely.”

  “Probably. Didn’t matter to us where it came from. It was capital we needed to stay afloat.” He was still eyeing the drink like it was the love of his life.

  “Do you know how to get ahold of them? I’m specifically wanting to get in contact with Aleksi Platov.”

  He sighed. “Not anymore. They cut off ties with us when the scandal went public. I was worried they might come and kill me, or worse. Kyle told me they were some nasty people.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t. Still might if it suits them. What about Kyle? Where is he these days?”

  The food arrived, and Burton dug in. He asked for some water, so he could take some pills. I didn’t ask what they were but wondered how they would mix with the margarita in his belly.

  “I’m not sure I should tell you. Kyle is pissed enough at me these days.”

  “How are you at washing dishes,” I said, leaning forward, looking him straight in the eye. “I can walk out now and leave you with the check. I’m not so sure you have money to pay for it. Give me the answer and we can finish our meals, and you can enjoy this last margarita. Hell, I’ll even pay for to go food for you to take, so you don’t have to worry about a meal for tomorrow.”