The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  He heard someone on the phone, speaking, calling a muffled name, wondering where she was. He picked it up, ending the call, then pulled out the battery and sim card once he figured out how to get the back cover off. He tossed the pieces on the seat. When he turned his attention back to her, and tried to pick her up, which is never easy with a limp body, he heard someone coming, footsteps on the pavement, voices in the distance talking and laughing. Turning to gauge if they saw him, it was dark enough, but he couldn’t grab her with them around without being seen. Getting caught was not an option, even if it meant having to start over.

  He put her back down and went calmly to his plain Hyundai. Once inside he waited to see if they noticed the Camry door open. They did, so he started his engine, heart racing, and slowly pulled out, his license plate covered in case someone saw him. He had failed for the first time and wasn’t sure how he would explain himself. She was the one his mentor had wanted, directing The Butcher to take her for a reason. The biggest question was; would it cost him?

  Chapter 28

  Once home late in the evening from Pueblo, no one was waiting to tell me they were important and to leave the Woodleys alone. No one was lurking behind a tree to threaten or ambush me when I got out of the Mustang. It was a pleasant change of pace, though certainly a reaction was coming my way. Still I had a good night’s sleep, when the phone rang. It was Jonas.

  “The Butcher struck again,” he said.

  My heart sunk. “That was quick.”

  “He wasn’t successful though. Attacked and drugged her, but she was able to get away from him enough, that he had to leave her at the scene. It’s possible that he was interrupted in the process of the kidnapping. Some people found her soon after and called the police.”

  “Is she alright?” I said surprised at the news. The Butcher had screwed up, that had not happened before.

  “In the hospital, but they think she will be fine in a day or so. Gave her a lot of sedative. She was one tough lady to be able to fight him off. Has some cuts and bruises. Might have gotten some of his DNA under her fingernails. They are working on it.”

  It was wonderful to hear she had avoided serious harm. The chance of catching him had increased.

  “Are they sure it was him?”

  “Not a hundred percent, but they believe it could be. Seems to fit the pattern, at least as much as we know. He has been quite elusive.”

  I told him about my experience with Belinda and her son. “She still won’t discuss the kidnapping. Wants to leave it in the past.”

  “Do you think she made it all up?” Jonas sounded exited to hear what happened.

  “My gut says no. I think she is hiding for another reason. Ran into her son, too.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Son threatened me. Says his father has powerful friends, who will come after me if I don’t leave them alone. And she kept mentioning the father, but she couldn’t talk about him because of the agreement. I’ve come to an interesting conclusion.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Bill had provided Darren’s birthdate, found in the system with his license info. When I subtracted nine months, it coincided with around the time she had been taken. It could have been a coincidence, but it made for a good theory, albeit a wild one.

  “It’s a long shot, but it adds up. I’m wondering if Simon is the father?”

  Jonas took a sharp intake of breath. “Of Belinda’s son? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Possibly. And it could be hard to prove without testing. But it’s a hunch.”

  “How could that be? If he did take her, he was going to kill her.”

  “Could have been his intent at first. There is always a sexual aspect to serial killers, from what Doris has told me. In this case, maybe he fell for her, or her for him. Pleaded with him to let her live, if she gave him her body.” I knew what I was saying was out there, but you never know with these psychos.

  “Once again, I’ll say, you’ve got to be kidding!” Jonas was sharply objecting.

  I frowned into the phone. “I make this stuff up as I go along. And I could be completely off base. Wouldn’t be the first time I was totally wrong on a case. But still, think about it. She was his last victim. Wouldn’t talk about the kidnapping then and still won’t. There is some type of agreement with the father of her son, the son saying he is a powerful man, which fits Simon’s own threats.”

  “Fits many men,” stated Jonas. “Let’s say that it’s true. They come to an understanding, gives herself to him, and that is enough for the killings to stop?”

  “Maybe she satisfied that base desire he was looking for and no longer needed to butcher women. The murders stopped, and he went on with his life and got a son out of it.”

  “Wow. I think Doris would have a tough time with your theory.”

  I knew she’d have a hard time believing, as did Jonas. I wasn’t completely convinced either and it was my theory.

  “I’m not a trained profiler, but I’m good at running down the facts and taking them where they lead me. Even if it’s down the rabbit hole.”

  “Why did the killings start up again?” asked Jonas. It was a good question.

  “Who knows? She did tell me she has cancer, and he’s footing the bill. Sounded like it could be terminal. If she is dying, it might have triggered a return to his evil ways.”

  “It can’t be him. He can’t stand or even walk.” I could hear the doubt in his voice.

  “From what we know. But he could still be involved. Have an apprentice. Like I said I make this stuff up as I go along.”

  There was a long silence, the cell reception crackling as it always did.

  “What now?” asked Jonas.

  “I’m going to pay Simon another visit. Talk with him about Belinda and Darren. See how he reacts.”

  “Should be interesting. Good luck.”

  After breakfast, I took my Harley and drove to EverCare. The weather was holding up, and September summer was nearing fall. I walked in carrying my helmet and jacket. The same college aged girl was behind the counter. I smiled and asked to see Simon.

  “You came to see him a week or so ago,” she said, smiling back. “Interview for 5280 magazine.”

  “I did. Had to come back to see your happy face once again.”

  She grinned at me. “That is awful nice, though I’m sure Simon is the real reason why you’re here.”

  “True. Still doesn’t mean I can’t be happy to see you as well.” Flirting was always fun. And in this case getting in good with her, meant I might get other answers. “I’m sure Simon gets a lot of visitors,” I said. “He is such a joy to talk with for the article.” A white lie to grease the wheel.

  She thought about it for a minute. “Not really. A young man came once, though wasn’t here long. If I recall right, a reporter comes around too, though I’ve not seen him for a while. Are you two acquainted?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We are working on the piece together. Sounds like you’ve been gracing the front counter with your charms for some time now.”

  “Not too long. Less than two months now. Helps pay the bills and my tuition. I’m going to college taking a few courses, I hope to be a nurse someday.” She smiled shyly.

  “The medical world will be better off with you in it.”

  I had solicited a wide grin and a slight blush. I had her on my side, which was good. It might come in handy.

  Strolling to the courtyard, I waited for Simon to arrive, which took about twenty minutes. I found a marginally comfortable seat next to a table, with an umbrella to shield me from the harsh Colorado sun. Observing everyone and everything around me, searching and absorbing, as I often did, looking for something to use, to bring clarity. The people around me, moving at varying paces, some I’d seen on my previous visit. Patients living out their lives, some better than others; many seeming to hang onto life, kicking and screaming. Before, when I was here, I thought it was sad. Upon reflection now, I wasn�
��t so sure. They were tough people, grinding it out hoping for another day. It was sad to see, but still to capture some of that grit would be good. Unless when facing off with a possible serial killer and sociopath, who was being wheeled towards me.

  He didn’t move or appear to sense I was there. Part of the game he was playing. The orderly locked the wheels, reminding me again for him not to spend too much time in the sun before he stepped away. I stared into Simon’s eyes, but they were blank. I’m sure it would take some prodding from me to stir him.

  “Good morning Simon,” I said. The clock on my phone said it was ninety minutes away from noon. “Do you know what they are serving for lunch today?”

  He sat there, with blanket on his legs. It had to be warm wearing it in the sun, but maybe he didn’t feel it like I did. Nevertheless, I’d be interested in seeing the shape of his legs. Were they sticks or were they strong? Pulling the wheelchair out from under him would probably tell me all I needed to know. The headlines would read “PI pulls chair out from under crippled old man. News at five!” It wouldn’t be the publicity I needed.

  “How was breakfast?” I asked. “Do they serve Omelets? Ham and cheese is my favorite.”

  His breathing was steady, the tubes in his nose feeding the oxygen from the tank behind him. Today a long-sleeved t-shirt in Bronco orange was covering his arms. Between that and the blanket you’d think he would be warm. If the heat was getting to him it didn’t show. Not a bead of sweat on his exposed skin. I could try talking about the weather, but small talk wasn’t getting me anywhere.

  “I took a drive down south to Pueblo a few days ago.” There was a twitch of a reaction, some movement in his eyes. I kept going. “Met and talked with a lady I believe you know. Name is Belinda Woodley. Nice person to talk with.”

  This definitely sparked his interest. He took an unassuming survey of his surroundings and spoke softly.

  “I’m not aware of the name.”

  “Surprising. I was under a different impression.”

  “Why is that? Did she say she knew me?” His eyebrows rose slightly.

  “No.” The fear in their eyes had been real. I didn’t want to throw them under the bus.

  “How then did you come to this assumption?” He was looking at me intently, I kept my face blank.

  “Part of my investigative skills is piecing together facts of what might have brought you two together, in a rather interesting way.”

  “Go on.” He crossed his arms and was interested in what I’d learned.

  “She was kidnapped by The Front Range Butcher, all those years ago. In fact, she was the only one to escape her captor, but couldn’t tell the police or FBI much about him, to the point of refusing to talk. Their assumption over time was she made it all up.”

  “They may be right. Could be a nut looking for attention. What did you conclude after talking with her?” Simon seemed genuinely interested, his eyes almost twinkled.

  “I believe she was telling the truth but wouldn’t talk for another reason. One detail I discovered was she has a son who is twenty years old and whose birthday is almost exactly nine months after she escaped. Do you see where this is heading?”

  He didn’t seem impressed with what I was implying, shaking his head.

  “She happened to get pregnant after she escaped,” he stated with a shrug. “Needed a sexual release with a man to forget what happened. Hardly surprising.”

  “No, I think she got pregnant by being with her captor,” I said with some vigor.

  “She was raped?” Simon asked with surprise on his face. He was keeping up the act well.

  “Possibly. Or maybe she succumbed to his charms.” I played to his ego.

  “You think The Butcher was charming?” Simon almost seemed happy to hear the term.

  “Hardly. But she might have. Could have been she didn’t want to die and made a deal with the devil.”

  Simon smiled, to the point of nearly laughing. “Either way, what does this have to do with me knowing her?”

  “Because you’re The Front Range Butcher. And the father of her child.” I went with direct and to the point.

  Simon’s eyes danced around some, his right hand now tapping the arm of the wheelchair, something he had done the last time when he got nervous or agitated. I was making progress, which I enjoyed.

  “Interesting. Did you ask her if this was true?”

  “Not directly. Though I did ask her about the father of her son. She said it was part of the agreement that she didn’t talk about him or say his name. Otherwise she could lose the financial backing being provided.”

  I was laying it all out there. Maybe even a little too much. I was taking a risk but pushing might yield results.

  He frowned. “There is no tangible proof, or you would have said so. Nothing you have proves that I’m this ‘Front Range Butcher,’ in the past or the present. Conjecture will not hold up in court.” His hand stopped twitching. His comfort returning.

  “If I were to put you under the hot light of the sun, will I be able to get you to confess?” I countered.

  Another smile. “Doubtful.”

  “You’re too smart to break that easily.”

  He tilted his head slightly, as if to shrug.

  “How about I mention the son, Darren. How he confronted me, threatening me with the power of his father, if I didn’t leave them alone.” I was playing my whole hand now.

  “His father is powerful?” Simon feigned surprise.

  “So, he says.”

  “If I’m the father, then that makes me a powerful man. Do I look powerful to you, Jarvis?”

  Before he could react, I stood up grabbing the blanket from his lap, hoping for a big revelation. Underneath, I saw legs that looked like they hadn’t moved in some time. Weak with little muscle mass, the skin pale and looking lifeless. I stared for a moment, disappointed.

  “Are you satisfied I’m not this ‘Front Range Butcher?’” He seemed pleased at my discovery, a grin plastered on his face.

  “Maybe not the one doing the killing now. But in the past, yes. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was you.”

  “Prove it!” he said while grabbing the blanket back from me with a powerful pull. His legs might not work but his arms still had strength to them.

  “Don’t worry, I will. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy is for lunch today,” he said. “Why don’t you join me? I believe it’s a small stipend for guests to eat here. The food is quite good, for those who can taste it. Maybe you can get me to confess while eating. A doddering old fool like myself might blurt out something in the heat of the moment while eating his carrots.”

  He was baiting me now. Looking to turn the table in our game.

  “You’re too cold and calculating to blurt anything out. Drop a small hint or two, that is more your game.”

  “Correct. Even if I was this crazed killer, after all these years, I’m hardly going to confess. Besides, maybe the current killer is using tricks he learned from his master. A pair of geniuses smarter than the police, FBI and a two-bit gumshoe like you. You’re all overmatched.”

  He was taking glee in his superiority. His confidence would be his undoing, or so I hoped.

  “Yet our killer is not perfect,” I said. “For last night he screwed up, trying to take a victim who was strong enough to fight him off. The Butcher got away, but not before being seen. It is only a matter of time before he messes up again.”

  It was news he’d not heard and it caught him off guard, his hand tapping again, though only for a few seconds, before recapturing his cool. He reached for a bottle of water sitting in a cup holder on the wheelchair and took a long drink. There had been no clear sighting of the killer, but he didn’t know that, and I wasn’t about to tell him.

  “He still managed to escape and elude capture,” stated Simon, his cool back in place. “It would appear he is one step ahead of everyone.”

  I smiled. “It used
to be two steps.” I stood up again and left him to ponder.

  Chapter 29

  I could have eaten a cheap lunch at EverCare, but I didn’t care for the company. I was mulling over my fast food options as I reached my bike, when an expensive Mercedes pulled next to me. The window went down and inside was a man in an expensive gray suit and red silk tie. I could feel the chilly air of his air conditioning coming through the window, blasting on high. He pulled off his hundred-dollar pair of sunglasses and motioned for me to come over. I didn’t sense danger, at least in the physical sense, since I suspected he was a lawyer. But a good lawyer could do a lot of damage without laying a glove on you.

  “Jarvis Mann?” he said, with an air of confidence and a slight English accent.

  “It’s what my parents named me,” I replied.

  “I’m Torey Whitelaw,” he said while handing me his card.

  “Attorney, I would guess,” I said before looking at the card.

  “Did my name give me away?”

  “More your look and the car you drive.” I could have said lawyer stench, but I held it in reserve. “What can I do for you, Mr. Whitelaw?”

  “I’d like to buy you lunch and discuss some things.”

  “Relating to?”

  He looked over my shoulder at EverCare. “Best to discuss over a meal and liquid refreshment. I’m buying.”

  “I have nothing against eating. Where?”

  “How about Toast, down on Santa Fe Drive. On the southeast corner of West Bowles.”

  I agreed and hopped on the bike. It wasn’t real far away and I arrived in about fifteen minutes. The place wasn’t busy, and we walked right in and got a seat. The menu was breakfast and sandwiches, with a wide variety and some different options you didn’t often see. Lots of protein and calories for a working man. The waitress arrived, and I decided on juice, while Torey ordered some fancy mocha coffee.

  “Order whatever you want. So many good options.”