“Let’s go visit Uelle, shall we Belle? Your wings were just clipped so you won’t fly away and get into trouble. I think Uelle would like you there too. I haven’t visited her as often since Lucy got hurt. I need to go.”
In less than an hour he was at the cemetery. He watched Belle climb on the tombstone. Then he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Oh honey, this case is driving me crazy. I want it to be over. I live with the fear someone else is going to get hurt. I finally have a person of interest but tying him to the murders is slow. I just don’t want anyone else to lose someone they love...” He looked at the tombstone. “…to feel this pain.” He dropped his head and opened his hand, exposing the rosary Mary had given him. He stared at it for a long time.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was early and the city of Denver was waking up. Anyone who was outside wore a big, warm coat. Sarah Snow sat in a coffee shop near the police station, wearing glasses and a green wool hat that hid her hair. She pretended to read a newspaper. There was no cameraman with her today.
Before long, two uniformed policemen walked in, one tall and burley and one shorter and paunchy. They sat down to order breakfast. Sarah listened as a heavyset waitress with curly gray hair and bright red lipstick bantered back and forth with them. They knew her name and she knew what they wanted before they asked for it. Sarah waited until the waitress left, then walked by their table.
“Hi gentlemen, how are two of Denver’s finest doing today?” She beamed her best smile at them, focusing on the one who was not wearing a wedding ring.
He smiled back at her. “We’re good. We’re keeping Denver safe, as usual.”
Sarah’s smile faded just a bit. “What about the hatchet man? Any luck with him?”
The police officer became sober. “Can’t talk about that one.”
“Oh. At any rate, I am certain that you have every man on it. A case like that must take a lot of man-hours. Of course you don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
The two men exchanged looks. One of them opened his mouth to answer when a call came over the radio. “Nine-twenty-one to sixteenth and Larimer. Investigate a 2-1-1.”
Both men got up to answer the call. The one who had been talking to Sarah rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me! We’ve been on the run for ten hours. I’m hungry!”
Sarah moved to block their path. “Surely there is someone else who can take the call besides you. You were just getting a meal.”
The married officer grunted. “Yeah, right.” He frowned at Sarah and shook his head while his partner cancelled their order.
Sarah snatched a couple of wrapped muffins out of a basket on the counter and handed them to the men. “Here, take these. My treat.”
Thanking her, they grabbed the muffins and dashed out of the door. Sarah watched the police car roar down the street, sirens wailing and lights pulsating. Her eyes narrowed. Spinning around, she went back to her booth. When the waitress came by to refill her coffee, Sarah pounced.
“Hi.” Sarah made a point to look at the waitress’s nametag, even though her name was already in Sarah’s memory from listening to her earlier conversation with the officers. “Hi, Libby. Please put two muffins on my check. I just gave those two poor police officers muffins as they rushed out the door.” She shook her head in dismay. “I think it’s terrible that they couldn’t even eat breakfast after ten hours of work! That’s almost as much of a crime as the things they have to give people tickets for, don’t you think?”
Libby’s eyes widened and she reached over to touch Sarah’s arm. “Oh dearie, you are so right! Those poor men work their tails off!” She motioned to the door. “You saw what just happened? Dearie, I am here to tell you that happens all the time. As a matter of fact, it happens almost every day!” Libby clucked her disapproval.
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“This place is a favorite stop for the cops. I’ve worked here for thirty years, and I swear on my mother’s grave, it has gotten worse and worse for them the past couple of years.”
Sarah frowned. “That’s a shame.” She patted Libby’s hand. “Wow! Thirty years! I’ll bet you know a lot!”
“Oh, yes I do, dearie.” Libby rattled on and on as Sarah sat and nodded, offering an occasional murmur of sympathy and encouragement.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Downtown at the police station, Don surfed the Internet, researching old articles on real estate during the financial meltdown that kicked off in 2008, looking for any news on Barry Witt. There were hundreds of articles on businesses that failed during that period. Finally, he found two sentences in the financial section of The Denver Post that were significant to his query. The reported relocation of the offices of Witt Investments appeared and the address given was Barry’s home address. Don sat back and folded his arms. How did Barry make an income? Was he able to keep working out of his home? He tapped a finger on his chin as he thought. With a sigh, he called Treavor’s lawyer again and found himself speaking to the answering service. “Hi, it’s Don Layden calling again. Has he called in to check his messages?”
“No, Detective Layden.”
“Thanks.” Don tried not to growl.
“Okay, let’s try Barry’s substitute mother yet again,” Don muttered to himself. He dialed Rosalyn Walker’s number and left another message.
Before he even put his phone back down, Rebecca called. “Hi, Don. I found something in the legal data about a suit Barry filed. He was developing a real estate app, but he claimed someone by the name of Patty Johnson stole his idea.”
“Did he win?”
“No, not enough evidence to prove it.”
“Can you get her contact information for me?”
“She retired and moved away but I’ll see what I can find.”
“Shoot. What was the app?”
“Just something folks looking for a home could put on their phones to alert them when a property came available within parameters that they set.”
Don’s jaw dropped. “I have that app. Needed it when I was looking for my condo.”
“Yeah, I have it too. It’s a good one. I’ll bet a lot of people have it.”
“Okay, thanks Rebecca. Let me know if you find anything else.”
“Absolutely.”
Don hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Wow. If Barry’s app got stolen, he’d be really pissed off. And I wouldn’t blame him. Returning to the Internet, Don searched for information tied to Barry Witt, Witt Investments, and even Barry Witt’s father.
A voice behind him pierced the air. “What do you think you are doing, Don Layden?”
Don startled, then took his time as he turned around. “I am following up on a good lead, Belinda.”
“And where did you get this lead?”
Don paused. “From the files.”
Her eyes lit up in triumph. “Amazing! Isn’t it crazy what a little leg work can do? If Gail and Wanda were still with us I’d bet they’d agree with me.” She spun around and marched into her office, slamming the door behind her.
Don’s chin dropped to his chest and a feeling of claustrophobia overcame him. He turned off his computer and walked outside. The air was crisp. The city smelled like ski season. He turned and gazed at the snow-covered mountains. Shaking himself, he pulled out the pocket-sized notebook he kept in his jacket and fingered through it. He stopped at a page containing Barry Witt’s home address and stared at it. Spinning around, he headed for the Crown Vic and took off.
When he got off the exit leading to Barry’s house, he spotted a convenience store that also sold tee shirts, sweatshirts, and some sweaters. On impulse, he pulled into the parking lot and rushed into the store, deciding on a navy blue Denver Bronco sweatshirt which would make it easy to blend in anywhere. After Don took off his j
acket and pulled the sweatshirt over his head, he proceeded on his way. When he came upon Barry’s house he slowed but continued down the street.
Barry’s house was dark. Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he was sleeping in late. Maybe he was in his office and his office was in the back. Don stopped on a side street and parked. He turned off the ignition and sat there a minute. “Don’t do anything stupid, Layden,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just here to get a feel for this guy’s territory. Don’t do anything that will get any evidence thrown out.” He took a deep breath, put on a Vail baseball cap and started walking towards Barry’s house. He tried not to stare at it as he approached it, focusing on the home and on appearing nonchalant at the same time.
The next thing he knew, he heard a growl behind him and he spun around to face a Doberman pinscher’s fangs about twenty feet away. Backing up, he held out his hands. “Go home, dog, go home. I’m not hurting anyone, just go home.” Don kept his voice down. The last thing he wanted to do was attract attention. The Doberman moved forward step by step, head down and teeth bared. “Come on, you have a collar. Where’s your owner for crying out loud? Just go home. Get some breakfast.” Don found himself backed up against a fence. The dog continued to advance. “What is wrong with you, you mutt?” He turned and scaled the fence as fast as he could, but the dog sprang at him and grabbed his pants leg pulling him down. Don kept a tight grip on the top of the fence, shaking his leg trying to dislodge the dog. His sleeve caught on a nail as he tried to climb over and he struggled, tearing it. His pants leg finally tore, and the snarling dog dropped away as Don scrambled over the fence, but the top of the fence was unfinished and he ran his leg over a couple of nails drawing blood.
He dropped to the other side as the Doberman threw his body against the fence, barking and growling. Don leaned over with his hands on his thighs, breathing hard and watched as blood flowed down his leg. “So much for getting the lay of the land.” He grabbed a handkerchief out of his pocket and applied it to the wound. “More stitches. This wonderful case is getting me all kinds of new scars.” When the dog finally grew tired of his attack and took off, Don made his way back to the Crown Vic and drove to the hospital.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kate was on her way home from an early morning of skiing at Breckenridge when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID and saw that it was Vicki Zurn, who was working with her on the toy drive. She put it on speaker. “Hi Vicki, what’s up?”
“Hi Kate. I’m not calling you at a bad time, am I?”
“Nope, this is a perfect time. I’m just heading down the hill from a very pleasant morning of skiing.”
“Sounds nice, I hope you took a few turns for me. Hey listen, I was thinking we could go through some of the toys before Gail’s service tonight. We only have a couple of days before we have to get everything over to Father Bill at Regis University. I know I’m not going to feel up to it after the funeral.”
Kate sighed. “You read my mind. That’s why I only skied a few runs. I just hadn’t gotten around to calling you yet. I’ll meet you there at three.”
“Okay, sounds good. See you then.”
Kate’s face darkened as she pondered the funeral of another friend. She arrived at St. James a couple of minutes early and opened the door to the meeting room they used as the drop-off for the toy drive. She stepped back and scratched her chin.
“Wow.” Kate spun around at the sound of Vicki’s voice behind her.
Vicki looked at her friend. “It’s a good thing we came early.”
“You walked in at just the right time.” Kate put a hand to her forehead. “I was about ready to pass out.”
Vicki wagged a finger near Kate’s face. “No passing out allowed. No time for that.” The tall, lanky woman ran a hand through her short, cocoa brown hair. “Let’s divide the toys by age group first and then by gender.”
Kate pulled a letter out of her coat pocket and waved it in front of her friend’s face. “How’d you guess? That’s exactly how Father Bill wants it. How about if I take the left section of the room and you take the right? I brought some Post-it notes to mark the age groups on the walls to help us stay organized.”
Vicki agreed and both women set to work, chatting as they sorted. After about ninety minutes, Kate stretched her arms over her head and looked at the room. Although it was still full, the toys were now organized in bins and ready to go. Kate surveyed the scene and gave a thumbs up. “Miss Vicki, you do good work.”
“We make a good team. I think all we have left to do is to load the stuff into the van and take it over to Regis and Father Bill.”
“I’ve already cleared using the church van with Father Tim, so that’s a go.”
“Sounds good.” Vicki glanced out of the window and then froze. “Whoa.”
Kate followed Vicki’s gaze. Outside, there were already hundreds of people streaming into the church. She blinked. “Whoa is right. Why are so many people here?”
“I don’t know, but I think we’d better go grab a seat while we have a chance.” The two women closed the room and made their way into the church.
Sarah Snow stood outside wearing her cobalt blue coat and some high fashion black boots. The soft wind ruffled her blond curls. She approached a husband and wife as they headed into the church with their hands entwined.
Walking up to them, Sarah introduced herself. “Would you mind taking a couple of minutes for an interview?”
The woman took a step back and shook her head. “No! We are here to pay tribute to our friend.” Her voice started shaking. “This is not a circus event! Show some respect!” She turned away and her husband glared at Sarah as he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and led her into the church.
Sarah glanced at the cameraman. “Okay, that choice didn’t work out. Let’s try again.”
Her colleague took the camera off his shoulder and scratched his head. “I don’t know about this, Sarah. We might be crossing a line.”
Sarah waved a finger at him. “Nonsense. Look at all of these people, Mike. This is clearly a news event. And it appears as though we have the exclusive coverage.” Her eyes widened. “I love it when that happens!”
The cameraman grumbled to himself as she approached another couple. This time the response was positive and, after she smoothed her hair, Sarah signaled to the cameraman to start recording.
“We are here covering the memorial service for Gail Gonzalez, the elementary school teacher who met her death at the hands of Denver’s still at large serial killer,” reported Sarah while she gripped the microphone with both hands. “Three Catholic Denver women, all members of St. James Catholic Church, are now dead. We are here talking to some of the worshippers to hear their thoughts.”
She stood aside and acknowledged the couple standing near her. “How did you know the deceased?”
A small, dark-haired woman stood with her gloved hands clutched to the front of her gray wool coat, attempting to tighten it around herself as a protection from the chill. Her husband stood close to her, his hand supporting her lower back as she answered, “We didn’t know Ms. Gonzalez. We are here because the killer is murdering religious women. We want to stand up and show our support for the victim’s family members. We also want to show support for religion.” Her eyes bored into Sarah’s. “If we lose God, we lose humanity.”
Sarah leaned forward. “So, you think these are hate crimes?”
The woman nodded and wiped her eyes.
Sarah tilted her head in empathy towards the woman before addressing the next question to her husband. “And how do you expect the Denver Police Department to be handling this?”
“I have no doubt that every member of the department is working hard on this case. I’m a hundred percent certain that they will find the killer before another woman has her life taken.”
Sarah purse
d her mouth and brought the microphone back to her lips. “What if I told you I have a source who confirms that the Denver Police Department is spread so thin that they only have two men on the case?”
The man straightened up and his eyes darkened. “Is that true?”
“According to my source, only two detectives are covering this case and one of them has an extremely ill daughter in the hospital at this very moment.”
The man clenched his fist at his side. “That’s an absolute outrage! Women are losing their lives to a psychotic killer and only two men are working the case?”
Sarah turned back to the camera. “You can see for yourself. The citizens of Denver are infuriated over the lack of manpower on this case. While innocent religious women are being systematically murdered in their own homes, the people in charge at the Denver Police Department have reduced the staff to next to nothing, causing a strain on the overworked force. One of my sources tells me that the police think this crime might be the one that finally exposes this weakness to the public.” Sarah peered into the camera. “I hope it doesn’t take another murder to get additional staff on the case.”
The reporter turned and thanked the couple and watched as they stalked towards the church entrance, waving their arms in frustration. They stopped other churchgoers, and soon there was angry undercurrent rumbling through the crowd.
Sarah turned back to the cameraman and patted him on the shoulder. “I do believe we just made the national news.”
Inside it was standing room only. Father Tim glanced outside and he could see more people walking towards the church. He stood near the front, turned on his mic, smiled at the growing crowd and encouraged them to move up and fill in empty seats. Before long, the service began.
This time a tall, slender brunette walked up to the lectern to speak after the readings. “Hi, my name is Marilyn. Gail was a good friend of mine and I’d like to tell you about her.” After about ten minutes of funny anecdotes, she paused and gazed out at the many attendees. “Gail kept a saying by a businessman named Stephen M. Wolf on her desk. It gives a good description of how she lived her life.” Marilyn picked up a frame and took a deep breath.
Deadly Gratitude Page 18