by R Weir
Swallowing down the last of the candy bar, I stood up and tossed the wrapper in the trash. I could have used some water, but I figured I’d be pushing my luck.
“You mentioned rules you wanted me to follow. Since you gave me the Snickers bar, I’m willing to hear you out.”
“Leave the families of the current victims alone,” she said seriously. “They are a mess right now, and you talking with them only makes it harder. If you want to talk with the families of those killed by The Butcher in the past, you’re more than welcome to.”
“What if I needed to ask questions, and check in with you first? Is that acceptable?” I countered.
She contemplated my compromise. “Depending on the circumstances, I’d be willing to think it over. If there is merit to the request, I might be willing to grant it.”
I thought it over for a minute. It wasn’t ideal, but I could, for now, live with that restriction. I nodded my head in agreement.
“Keep me informed of what you discover. We need to reel in this bastard and anything you learn could go a long way in catching him.”
Sharing wasn’t my strong suit. Especially with feds who normally had an agenda. I had a deep-seated mistrust of anyone in power, which gave me pause. I would agree verbally but reserved the right to hold back if it was for my benefit. Catalina might have been on the up and up, but time would tell.
“I know you’re working for Jonas,” she added, with a warning tone now back in her voice. “I’m not a huge fan, but I understand his involvement and what he brought to the case in the past. Still he needs to not trample on my crime scenes and neither should you. If you do, then I’ll lock you both up. I don’t care what Doris says. Her job is to profile and nothing more. I’m still in charge.”
“Gee. I thought we were pals now!” I said with a grin.
The warm fuzzies had worn off, as her tense look returned. She picked up the phone and made a call for someone to come in. The taller of the two men who drove me here walked through the door.
“Please show Mister Mann out,” she said, while returning to her paperwork.
I wanted to prod her and get under her skin one last time before I left, but I resisted. The man in black led me down the elevator and out the building beyond the gated security fence.
“You can find your own way home,” he said.
I looked around, thinking someone was going to drive me back to my Harley.
“It’s a long walk,” I stated.
“Call a cab!” Was his answer and he walked back through the gate.
I pulled out my cellphone and made a call. It would seem my humor hadn’t been well received, as Catalina had the last laugh.
Chapter 23
I was sitting in a car in Aurora watching a house. The brand new white Corvette sparkled in the sun, not a scratch or speck of dirt to be seen. Behind the wheel was Rocky, his hands drumming the steering wheel to the modern jazz music he was listening to, waiting for who knows what. His broad shoulders fit well in the large car, and I looked small sitting next to him. He had called me early that morning. I had been grumpy when answering, being I’d had only a few hours of sleep, thanks to my friends at the Bureau. But I was there providing him the assistance he requested, no matter how tired I was.
“Who are we watching again?” I asked, trying to keep my mind active and stifling a yawn.
“One of Vicente’s girlfriends,” Rocky answered absently.
“What are we looking for?”
“She has a visitor. I believe it’s one of Vicente’s men. I have a suspicion he is not there to protect her.”
“Shacking up?”
He looked at me, if I’d spoken a foreign language.
“How old are you?” His look was stern.
“Not the proper term for someone my age?”
“Hell no. If you had said the horizontal mambo I might have hit you.”
I had to laugh.
“How about screwing. Does that work?”
“I’d have accepted that. I might have given you a free pass if you said doing the nasty. But I’m pretty sure he is laying the wood to her.”
“Are we to assume Vicente doesn’t know about this?” It was rhetorical, but I was enjoying the back and forth.
“If he did, he would have cut his wood off with a chainsaw from what I’ve heard about him. Nobody fucks his women and lives.” Rocky said it matter of factly, with little emotion.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We bust in and get him to talk. Fear might encourage him to tell us Vicente’s current location. From there we can track him down and have a conversation.”
I had already put in a call to Neil and learned vice wasn’t watching this house, making it clear for us to go in.
“Will I then find out what this is all about?”
“Does it matter?” He sounded slightly agitated at the question.
I wasn’t sure it really did. Rocky had backed me up on several occasions without questioning or wanting to know a motive. He had been paid well, but so was I. At the very least I could do the same.
We got out of the Corvette, the tones of the car alarm being set. I pitied the poor souls that messed with his vehicle. Outside was a pair of older large Cadillacs, one a bright burgundy, the other a metallic blue, the latter one a convertible. When we approached the door, Rocky pulled out his Glock, holding it at his side. I had my Beretta with me today, on the off chance extra firepower was needed.
He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Pressing the doorbell, he stood smiling at the peephole. When he heard the door open, he kicked it in, tearing off the chain, pushing back the woman who had answered. She screamed as Rocky rushed past her. I shut the door, pointing the gun at her, telling her to be quiet. Her fear was real, and I could see her shaking. I got her to sit down, trying to assure her no one would get hurt if she cooperated, even though I really wasn’t certain that was true.
Noise came from the back bedroom, including a voice that wasn’t Rocky’s and the sound of someone getting punched. In a mere minute Rocky dragged a man out by his hair and dropped him on the floor, his gun pointed at his head. The man’s mouth was bleeding, spitting blood and what looked like a tooth followed onto the carpet. While Rocky watched them, I checked the rest of the two-story house to make sure no one was lurking to shoot us. Finding no one else home, I stood away from everyone, my gun ready in case I needed it. Rocky had control of the room.
“Scoring with Vicente’s woman,” he stated bluntly. “Not the best way to ensure a long life.”
The man on the floor looked up with fear in his eyes before becoming defiant. He wiped the blood from his mouth. He was tall, probably 6’3”, and skinny, with brown skin and long black curly hair. He was in his underwear, with no shirt, while she was wearing his shirt and no underwear. Apparently, we had interrupted them.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled, trying to sound tough. “If I had my gun, I’d blow you away.”
Rocky stepped over and pointed the gun at his head. “I doubt that very much. Even with a gun you’re no match for me. But that isn’t why I’m here. I want to know where Vicente is.”
“What for?” He spoke loudly, still trying to sound tough.
“He and I need to have a conversation.”
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because, my friend, you’ve been screwing his lady. One way or another I’ll find him. When I do, I’ll tell him in graphic detail what was going on here. And we know what will happen when he learns this. You tell me where he is, and I conveniently forget all about this.” Though his voice was calm, Rocky was in command.
“You can’t tell him,” cried the lady on the sofa, tears running down her cheeks. “He will kill him and make me watch. And then God only knows what he’ll do to me next.”
“From what I’ve heard, I have a pretty good idea what he will do to you. Cut off his nuts and make you eat them,” Rocky said without any emotion.
She d
idn’t appear surprised by what Rocky said. “You don’t have to tell me, because I’ve seen it before,” she stated, her body shaking. “He thinks doing that makes him virile and macho. He gets a hard-on torturing someone.” She stopped to look at Underwear Man. “Please let us go so we can be together. I love him. Once we get enough money we are going away. Some place where that pig can’t find us.”
Rocky lowered his gun and holstered it. He grabbed the underwear man by the shoulder and tossed him on the sofa next to her.
“Then you need to tell me where he is,” Rocky explained. “Who knows, maybe something will happen to him and you won’t have to worry about running away.” He was trying to sound reassuring.
The two looked at each other, as their hands touched and then clasped together. It appeared there really was love, or at least lust, between them. Even with the fear of death, two people often would find each other. Lost souls, looking for something better.
“You can do that?” she said in a hopeful tone. “Kill him for us?”
Rocky’s head twitched as if to say “maybe.” I knew he could do it, I’d seen him kill several people in the past. The question was, what was Vicente to him that he would want to kill him?
“He is putting together a big score,” said underwear man finally. “Bringing in some drugs to flood the street with. Meth and heroin from some dealers from the west coast. Working on a gun deal as well. Semi-automatics to arm anyone willing to pay. He is staying with his main squeeze right now.”
“Slut!” she said viciously. “Main slut. I can’t stand the bitch.”
“Give me an address,” said Rocky. “Then we can leave you two to continue your cohabitation.”
The man hesitated, but she didn’t. She blurted out the address and gave him some other pertinent details, like layout, security and even which rooms he usually slept in.
“Sounds as if you’ve lived there,” Rocky said.
“I did. It was my home until a year ago, until she came along. Now I live here and see Vicente maybe every couple of months.” She paused, anger and hate building in her tone. “Stops by to fuck me until he can’t get it up no more and then leaves. If it weren’t for the money, I’d have left him a long ago. Vicente allows me to buy what I want, within reason. And I don’t have to work. But it’s not a life I want anymore.”
“How did you two meet?” asked Rocky. I wasn’t certain why he wanted to know.
They looked at each other again, still holding hands.
“I was protecting her. One thing led to another,” he said, and this time the love was in his voice.
“He treats me so much better than Vicente. I deserve to be happy, don’t I?” She looked sad and trapped. I almost felt sorry for the two of them.
Rocky looked over the scene before him, then without saying another word turned and walked for the door. I slid behind him, my gun now at my side. As we were about to go outside, Rocky turned and crossed his strong arms, showing a strength, I doubted anyone would want to face.
“If word of this visit gets back to Vicente, I’ll be back and won’t be as kind. Is that understood?”
Together they both nodded, a combined state of fear and hope of a better life told me they wouldn’t talk.
“The place is well guarded,” warned the underwear man, his mouth still bloody. “Men heavily armed, gates and cameras. You better have more than you two busting in.”
“Don’t be fooled by him,” chuckled Rocky, while slapping me on the back. “He is tougher than he looks.”
Either sarcasm or truth, it didn’t matter how macho I was. I had no plans of going on a suicide mission without talking it through. We headed out to the Corvette and climbed inside. I had no idea what scheme Rocky had next to deal with Vicente, but I planned to ask.
“I need to know what I’m getting into before I go any further,” I said bluntly.
Rocky started the engine and sat thinking, his favorite music playing in the background. I gave him some time to respond, but nothing was said.
“If we go busting in there, we both will get killed,” I stated firmly. “I’m not ready to die just yet.”
I must have hit a nerve, as he got fired up.
“They weren’t ready to die either!” he said, grabbing my shirt in anger. “I must get answers, no matter what it takes. I’ve waited long enough. Do you understand?”
It was the most passion I’d ever seen him display. His hand twisting my shirt, veins bulging from his arm. And as quickly he released me, the anger flowed away. It was clear this was personal, to a degree of cold blooded vengeance. A rage I’d experienced myself. There was little doubt I had to see this through with him. As he looked away, thinking of who knows what, I put my hand on his shoulder for a brief time, letting him know I understood.
Chapter 24
After a long discussion, at times heated, Rocky had agreed to do some recon, before doing anything rash. In that vein, I decided to take a few days and think over where I was at in my pursuit of The Front Range Butcher. I reviewed all my notes and combed through the paperwork again that Jonas had provided. I was grasping at straws so far, with not much to go on. Talking with family members had given me details about the victims, but nothing that was leading me anywhere. Interviews with authorities involved with the case had revealed nothing new or relevant. At this point I was stuck. The best place to start is at the beginning, which I did, up to the last case, when he stopped all those years ago. Going through case after case, trying not to skim, which is easy to do when you’re reading through lots of material.
Starting again the next day, I took an hour at a time, then stopping for thirty minutes or so, then starting back up again. When my brain got weary I would take a longer break. I wanted to absorb as much of the information as I could without missing or forgetting anything.
As I got to the third day, I came to the last murder, when I discovered something I’d missed. The last one wasn’t a murder. She had escaped from the killer before he could complete his task, after being held for about ten days. I was mad I overlooked this. I called Jonas up to ask.
“I remember that last one,” he said. “Got free of him somehow. Said she never saw his face, as she was blindfolded. She was so distraught. When they found her, she couldn’t remember where she had been. Kind of a panic type of amnesia. What the hell was her name again?”
“Belinda Woodley.”
“That was it. I remember listening to her responses. She was pretty messed up. Had some skin removed in several places when they found her, but nothing fatal. Seemed a little off to me. Not sure why. The shrinks said it was from the trauma. I thought maybe she was a flake. Others surmised she made it all up, for the attention, and was never held by him”
“And cut her own skin?” I queried.
“People have been known to do it. Self-injury or cutters I believe it’s called. Or it could have been a boyfriend and she was too afraid to blame him. There were a lot of theories.”
“You interviewed her?”
“No. Only saw them talk to her from a recording. She had a lawyer, if I remember right, protecting her. Some sleazy ambulance chaser, but nevertheless he was counseling her. Over time they cleared her, with nothing solid to go on.”
“What about you? Did you dig in and follow her?”
“Everything I was getting that late in the case was second hand through my contacts. I tried to talk with her, but her lawyer blocked access. It was a few months before they knew she was the last victim. By that point she walled off, as was my access since I was no longer working for The News.” He stopped, remembering something. “There was one other woman who claimed she was taken but was exposed several days later as lying. Looking for her fifteen minutes of fame. Belinda never admitted she was lying, but in the end I figured she was like the other woman. The feds and the police were pretty well convinced as well, though couldn’t prove it.”
“Any ideas where she is today?”
Jonas stopped for a minute, the
line silent.
“If I recall correctly she moved away. Couldn’t take the hounding from the press, who thought she was lying, and the authorities. No idea where she is now.”
“How about the lawyer. I don’t see him mentioned in your paperwork. I’d like to see if he is still around. Maybe he can get in contact with her.”
“Let me call you back.”
As I waited, I decided to make a sandwich. I had been holed up for three days, so I needed to do some shopping but hopefully I could find something to put between two slices of bread. Fortunately, I still had some Boars Head Black Forest ham left and a couple of slices of whole wheat bread. Deciding on hot ham and cheese, I warmed the ham up in a pan and once it was hot enough, put the cheese between the slices so it melted. I’d had just two bites, along with some ice-cold one-percent milk that challenged my macho image but made for strong bones—I needed them strong for when someone was beating on me—when Jonas called back.
“Evan Green was the lawyer’s name,” he said. “I looked him up and he is still around. You see his commercials on late night TV claiming he’ll get you a hundred grand from those greedy insurance companies that don’t like to pay up when you’re in an accident.”
“Wonderful,” I replied dryly. “Always fun to talk with a minor celebrity.”
“Do you think there is something there to find?” stated Jonas.
“I really don’t know,” I replied. “Right now, I have nothing. And this maybe more to add to the pile. Still I need to look at everything and if necessary look at it again. Having to see one more bag of flesh isn’t going to improve my sleep.” It was hard to admit I was stumped.
With information in hand, it was time for me to take a drive. I needed fresh air, and a visit to the offices of Evan Green might do the trick.
I finished my sandwich and milk, and gathered up a list of food I’d need, for the shopping I’d do after hearing what the lawyer had to say. It was raining so I took the Mustang and headed to his office, in a not so great neighborhood in Northwest Denver on Osage street. On the outside the brick building looked like it had been standing for a hundred years, worn and appearing its age, sections of the brick crumbling. The inside wasn’t a whole lot better, as the brown carpeting had no pile left, and the white walls weren’t white anymore and in need of new paint and lots of patching to fix holes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were rats in the basement.