9 More Killer Thrillers

by Russell Blake

  Carl’s voice broke and his hands shook, and Weber said, “Take your time. Do you want a glass of water?”

  Carl nodded, and Weber went to the big double sink and filled a glass, noting the single plate and coffee cup in one side, and the frying pan on the stove, with grease and bacon residue in it. He brought the water to Carl, who took a long drink and then continued with his story.

  “First he said maybe he should tie us up and that he’d be back if I had lied about the PIN. Then he said that was too risky, maybe we’d get free and call the cops. He said maybe it would be better if he took Abby with him. He said he needed some feminine companionship.”

  The last words were spit out bitterly and Weber could see the man’s anger. He waited patiently until Carl was ready to continue.

  “Finally, he said he had decided, that he was going to tie me up and take Abby with him. I told him that wasn’t going to happen except over my dead body. He said that wasn’t a problem and waved the knife at me. Abby told him it was okay, she’d go with him, just not to hurt me. She was willing to do whatever she had to do to protect me Sheriff, but I just couldn’t let him take her.” With that Carl broke down and cried, burying his face in his arms on the table.

  Weber looked at Dolan and saw his deputy’s clenched jaw, and knew that faced with the same threat to his own wife, Dolan would have done whatever it took to keep her safe. Any man would.

  It took Carl a few moments to compose himself, but finally he looked up with red eyes and said, “I begged him to tie up Abby and take me instead, but he said she was a lot prettier and that he liked older women with some experience. He laughed and put his hands on her and told her maybe she’d like a younger man for a change.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a long time before he let it back out again. “So I shot him.”

  “Where did the gun come from?” Weber asked him.

  “I bought it at a swap meet down in Tucson a few years ago. Back when we had all those break-ins going on. Abby didn’t want me to have it, but I told her I wasn’t letting some punks burn our place down around us.”

  Weber knew the incidents he was referring to, when a couple of teenaged brothers had ransacked and vandalized a number of summer cabins around town. While none of them had been occupied, a lot of residents were angry and ready to defend their homes. Weber and his deputies solved the case and charged the twin sons of Juliette Murdoch, the director of the Chamber of Commerce, with the crimes. She had never forgiven the sheriff, blaming him for destroying her sons’ futures.

  “Where was the gun at, Carl?”

  “In the bookshelf in the living room, behind some books. My Zane Grey collection. He was holding that knife on Abby and told me he knew old farts like us would have more than fifty bucks laying around and I had one last chance to give it to him. Told me if I had enough, maybe he’d leave her here after all. But I knew that sick son-of-a-bitch wasn’t going to do that, no matter what I did. So I said I had some old coins stashed in the bookcase and he told me to get them. That’s when I got the gun and shot him.”

  “Let’s go in the living room.” Weber said, “Show me where you were standing when you shot him.”

  Carl led them back into the living room and walked to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase across from the fireplace. Weber noted several hardbound books pulled out of place.

  “I was standing here,” Carl said, “and the gun was back there. I got it and turned around and shot him. I think I shot twice. He fell and Abby ran over to me, and I kept the gun pointed at him while she called 911.”

  Carl seemed to be drained by the time he was at the end of his story, and began to shake as he came down from the adrenalin rush that had carried him through the home invasion and shooting. His legs started to buckle and Weber moved quickly to his side and led him back in to the kitchen, where he sank back into his chair.

  “I never wanted to kill him, Sheriff. But I couldn’t let him take Abby. I just couldn’t!” Deep, ragged sobs wracked his body, and Weber put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The sheriff knew very well what Carl Weston was going through at that very moment. He wondered how many sleepless nights the white-haired man had ahead of him.

  “Jimmy?”

  Robyn walked into the room and said, “Pete and Mary are here.”

  Pete Caitlin had been sheriff before Weber, and was the younger man’s mentor. While he may have been retired, he had been there for Weber to turn to many times over the years. As Administrative Assistant, Mary ran the day-to-day operations of the Sheriff’s Office. They were also close friends of Carl and Abby Weston, and their concern showed in their faces.

  Weber stepped out onto the porch and Mary asked, “How are they?”

  “Pretty shaken up,” he told her.

  “What happened?”

  “It looks like a home invasion, Pete. They don’t know who the guy is, but he broke in and took them hostage. He was threatening to tie Carl up and take Abby with him, and the old guy got a gun he had stashed away and popped him.”

  “Was it anybody from around here?”

  “I’ve never seen him,” Weber told him. “Come take a look.”

  “Where’s Abby?” Mary asked. “I need to be there for her.”

  “Around back,” Weber told her, and Mary hustled away to be with her friend.

  Weber knew that the informal way things were done in Big Lake probably violated a lot of different official protocols, but he trusted the older couple, who were like parents to him. He knew that their combined experience was far more than he would ever hope to acquire in his time as sheriff.

  Inside, Pete studied the dead man’s face and shook his head.

  “Nobody I ever saw, Jimmy. But that ink on his arms comes from prison.”

  “That was my first thought,” Weber agreed.

  Pete looked at the bullet holes in the man’s shirt and said, “Damn good shooting. What did he use on him?”

  “A Kimber .45,” Weber told him. “Loaded with Glasers.”

  “Well,” Pete observed, “If you’re gonna dig a hole, use a shovel, not a spoon.”

  Chapter 6

  “It looks like a clear cut case of self-defense to me, based upon what I’ve seen so far,” said Bob Bennett, the lawyer who served as the town’s attorney, as he finished reading the crime scene reports. “How about you, Jimmy?”

  “No reason not to think so. Carl and Abby Weston are good people, and I have no reason to doubt their story. I’d just like to know who the victim is, and what brought him to Big Lake.”

  “Nothing back on his fingerprints yet?”

  “Chad is running them right now.”

  “He didn’t have any identification on him?”

  “No. All he had was $54 in one pocket. The money Carl Weston had given him.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Pete and Mary took them to their place,” Weber replied. “They go back quite a few years.”

  Chad Summers knocked on Weber’s door, then came in with several papers in his hand. “I got a hit on our dead man. He was definitely a real bad guy. His name was Jerry Lee Chandler, age 35. He busted out of the Federal Penitentiary at Florence, Colorado, three days ago. It says here he was four years into a 30 year sentence without parole, on a bank robbery charge. Before that, he pulled a three year stretch in the Ohio State Penitentiary for armed robbery after knocking over a credit union in Toledo. He also did time in Tennessee for armed robbery, grand theft auto, and attempted murder. It says here that he was being transported to a medical facility after complaining of chest pains, when he stabbed a guard with a homemade shiv, knocked out the paramedic and jumped out the back door of the ambulance before the driver even knew anything was happening. The guard is still in the hospital in critical condition.”

  Parks whistled and said, “Holy shit, Batman!”

  “So how did he get here from there?” Weber asked. “And why our little corner of the world?”

  Chad
shrugged. “Who knows? I suspect somewhere around here we’re going to find a stolen car. Unless he hitchhiked in. And I don’t see a savvy guy like him thumbing a ride. Too easy to get noticed by a local cop thinking he’s just busting a transient.”

  “Yeah, but why here?” Weber asked again. “We’re not exactly on the beaten path. You have to go out of your way to get here.”

  “Maybe because it is off the beaten path?” Bennett suggested. “Who would look for an escaped convict in Big Lake?”

  “There was a time when a stranger stuck out like a sore thumb around here,” Chad said. “But these days? Hell, I don’t know the people who bought the place next door to me a year ago, except to nod to.”

  “A guy like him, I don’t see him coming to a place like Dogpatch,” said Parks, using his favorite term for Big Lake, one that had not endeared the newcomer to some of the locals. “He’d head for a big city where he could get lost in the crowd.”

  “So maybe he was just passing through, got lost or something, no money, he needed a quick score, and just happened to pick the wrong place?”

  “Makes as much sense as anything else,” Bennett agreed.

  “But why here?” Weber asked again. “How does a career criminal pick Big Lake on the map and show up here? We’re not on the way to anyplace. And just like Chad’s hitchhiker, why would he get on these back roads, where any county mountie might spot a stolen car? If it was me, I’d stick to the interstate highways where I could blend in with the rest of the traffic.”

  “Well, that’s why they call them dumb crooks,” Bennett said. “The only man who can tell us is laying on a slab over at the medical center. Does it really matter why he showed up here? The fact is that he did, and Carl Weston did society a big favor, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Parks said. “Since he was a federal fugitive, I’d better call the main office in Phoenix and let my boss know.”

  ***

  Weber wanted to call the Caitlin house to see how the Westons were doing, but as soon as the meeting broke up, Judy Troutman handed him a telephone memo slip and said, “Mr. Page from the Forest Service office in Pinetop said he needs to talk to you the first chance you get free.”

  Weber called the number she gave him and got connected with Page, the Assistant Director of the Forest Service office for the area. “Gregory? Jim Weber here,” the sheriff said when he came on the line. “What can I do for you?”

  “I thought I’d give you a heads up,” Page said. “A group called the Enlightened Love Movement has obtained a permit to hold a gathering in the Bugle Meadow area near you.”

  “Never heard of them,” Weber told him.

  “Some kind of hippie group that’s still stuck in the 60s,” Page said. “I guess they want to commune with nature and soak up the starlight or something. I don't know. All I know is, they got a permit, so they are legal. But I thought you might want to know.”

  Weber remembered the waitress at the Wagon Wheel talking about hippies before his lunch was interrupted.

  “Thanks Greg, anything else on them I need to know?”

  “Their permit is good for a week, starting this Sunday. They said they expect about 200 people.”

  “200? That's a bunch of hippies,” Weber said.

  “Well, you have fun with them,” Page told him. “And let me know if they start burning down the forest.”

  After hanging up, Weber dialed another number, and Mary Caitlin answered. “How are Carl and Abby doing?”

  “They’re coping,” Mary told him. “I'm not sure it's really hit home yet. They both seem pretty subdued, and Carl won't leave Abby’s side for a minute.”

  “If some thug like that had threatened my wife, I’d be feeling pretty protective, too,” Weber said. “I’m going to have to talk to them again, just to follow up on everything. Is this a good time?”

  “I was just fixing dinner,” Mary replied. “Are you hungry? I’m making fried chicken.”

  Weber realized that he was famished, having skipped breakfast and only getting a bite or two of his lunch before the call came in about the shooting.

  “Set me a plate,” Weber told her. “I never miss a chance to get some of your fried chicken.”

  “You never miss a free meal, no matter what it is,” Mary said with a laugh.

  “Not when it’s you doing the cooking,” Weber agreed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  ***

  Pete and Mary Caitlin lived in a big, old two story house that they had bought when they first moved to Big Lake, the same year that Weber was born. The young deputy and his bride had hoped to fill the home with kids, but when they learned that Mary could not conceive, they held on to it and filled the empty rooms with books, antiques, and mounts of the fish Pete pulled from the lake and nearby streams. And over the years, more than one youngster in need of a safe haven had found refuge and comfort with the Caitlins.

  “You’re just in time,” Pete said, when Weber knocked on the door. “We’re just sitting down to eat.”

  Weber followed him into the kitchen, where he shook hands with Carl Weston and kissed Mary’s cheek before sitting down at the table.

  “How are you folks doing?” he asked, as Mary sat a plate down in front of him that was laden with a crispy, browned chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and thick gravy.

  “We’re okay,” Carl told him. “It almost seems like a dream. Like it all happened to somebody else.”

  Abby nodded, and said, “More like a nightmare. I just can’t believe it’s all real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, but I don’t.”

  Mary patted her friend’s shoulder and leaned close. “It's okay, hon. It’s all going to be all right. You guys will get past this. Pete and I are right here, and we’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

  Abby reached up to hold onto Mary's hand for a moment and looked up at her, saying, “What would we do without you two? I just don't know...”

  “There, there,” Mary told her. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “What happens next, Sheriff?” Carl asked.

  “At this point it looks like an open and shut case,” Weber told him.

  “What do you mean looks like?” Pete asked. “That son-of-a-bitch broke in and threatened these good people, and he got exactly what he deserved.”

  “Easy there, old man,” Weber told him. “I just want to make sure that all the T’s are crossed and all the I’s are dotted.”

  “Well that's fine,” Pete said. “You do what you have to do. And who the hell are you calling old man?”

  “Man, you're getting feisty in your old age,” Weber teased his friend and mentor.

  “You listen to me you little...”

  Before he could continue, Mary cut them both off and said, “I didn't stand here at the stove for hours cooking this meal just to listen to you two delinquents banter back and forth. Eat!”

  Weber and Pete nodded, and smiled in surrender as they picked up their forks.

  As they ate, Weber observed Carl and Abby sitting across from him. He didn’t know the older couple well, but had always enjoyed their company when they were together for one of Pete’s famous cookouts, where he grilled up huge slabs of beef that were so tender you could almost cut them with a fork, and seemed to melt in your mouth. They were both intelligent, friendly people with good senses of humor, and Weber had always noticed how solicitous of his wife Carl was, making sure her iced tea glass was topped off and that she was seated in the shade on hot days. The sheriff had admired how close their relationship was; they frequently touched as they passed by each other and were often holding hands. Carl always opened doors for his wife, and Weber hoped that someday he could have that kind of deep, mature love with a woman. That sent him off in thought about Robyn and he missed it the first time Carl spoke to him, only coming back to the present when Mary nudged him in the ribs.

  “Hello? Are you in there, Jimmy?”

  “I’
m sorry,” Weber said. “My mind drifted.”

  “Carl was asking you a question.”

  “I’m sorry Carl. What was it?”

  “I was asking when we could get back into our house.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I can ever go back there,” Abby said. “I just don’t know if I could do it.”

  Carl had just bitten into a drumstick and shook his head as he chewed. He swallowed and said, “Darling, we can’t let that animal drive us out of our home.”

  “I just don’t know,” Abby repeated. “And besides, just the thought of cleaning up the…. I’m sorry, Mary, that’s not exactly dinner table talk.”

  Mary leaned across the table and took Abby’s hand. “Don’t you worry about that. You two can stay here as long as you need to. And Pete and I will take care of any cleaning that needs done.”

  “Oh, Mary, I couldn’t ask you to do that!”

  “Nonsense,” Mary told her. “It sure wouldn’t be the first time. I wasn’t a sheriff’s wife for all those years without getting my hands dirty a time or two.”

  “Back to your question, Carl. I just need to get some more photographs of the scene, and we want to dust for fingerprints. But I think we can wrap that all up tomorrow and let you back in the day after.”

  “And like I said, you can stay right here,” Mary told them.

  Carl swallowed the last bite of his drumstick, then picked up a thigh off the platter and said, “We sure appreciate your hospitality, Mary. But with cooking like this, if it’s much longer than that, I’ll have to take up jogging just to make sure I can still buckle my britches.”

  “Well, I don't want you to get out of shape like old Pete here,” Weber said, “so we’ll get it done as fast as we can.”

  “Out of shape? Why boy, I can still out work you any day of the week! Any time you want to see who's the better man, you just let me know.”

  “All right, that’s enough, you two. If you want peach cobbler you had better shut up right this minute,” Mary warned them.

  ***

  Larry Parks was sitting at the table in Weber's cabin, working on his laptop computer when the sheriff got home.