Sacrifice

by Michael Arches

  It was as fake as the rest of the so-called village. It was really a conglomeration of condos and hotels at the base of the Snowmass ski resort.

  The village was a good twenty minutes from Aspen, so the developers decided long ago that it needed some amenities of its own. Somebody built a small outdoor mall with stores and restaurants at the bottom of the resort.

  When I turned my attention to Viceroy, it was early afternoon. Still no chance that his bar would be open, but I hoped he might be there getting ready for a busy evening. Boomer and I headed out.

  -o-o-o-

  No one was at the bar, so I looked up Viceroy’s residence. He owned a property less than a mile away.

  I knocked on the door to Viceroy’s townhouse. No answer, despite several attempts, but I could hear music playing inside. The shades were drawn, so I couldn’t see in, at least not in the front. Walked around back, but no better luck.

  One of his neighbors, a middle-aged woman with a lovely pink cashmere sweater, gave me the evil eye. I flashed my badge. Then, she waved and smiled.

  I introduced myself. Her name was Grace Reynolds. She petted Boomer.

  “I’m looking for Donald Viceroy,” I said. “Have you seen him lately?”

  “What’s he done? He’s always playing loud music, day and night. Police don’t care. I think he buys them off.”

  A pissed-off neighbor—perfect for me. “Oh, I’m sure they’re just busy. I’d like to check on a few things with Viceroy.”

  “He might not be back for a while. He peeled out a few hours ago, driving way too fast, as usual. I was walking my dog Freddie. Had to yank him out of the way. The back of Viceroy’s Land Rover was stuffed. And the idiot left his radio on, as usual.”

  That didn’t sound good. The son of a bitch had probably already bolted. That wasn’t enough to get a search warrant, but it sure seemed suspicious to cynical ol’ me.

  A childishly fond hope grew inside. Grace might know something that would give me probable cause. “Has he done anything that might be illegal? If I can get inside, I’ll shut that radio off for you. But I need to prove to a judge that we have reason to believe Viceroy’s committed a crime.”

  “He smokes dope right out on his back deck. Smells terrible.”

  She must not have heard that weed had been legalized. I shook my head.

  “Well, what about this? For three years he’s lived here full-time, but he drives an SUV with Texas plates. Last year, I paid eight hundred bucks to license my Audi. Why should he get away without paying taxes like the rest of us?”

  “That annoys the heck out of me, too,” I said. “Yeah, might be able to work with that. Just to be sure, is this the guy?” I showed her the two drawings.

  “Sure is.”

  I called Sarah and pitched another warrant.

  “Hank, I don’t know where you got the idea that I only work for you. I’ve got a trial coming up next week.”

  If she wanted pity, she was talking to the wrong deputy. “Boo-hoo. I’ve got a kidnapper and murderer and butcher on the loose. Could use a little help.”

  After more whining, she said, “Fine. Get back to your office and write up the damned thing.”

  Chapter 10

  I put out a BOLO on Viceroy and started the affidavit for a search warrant. Also sent Skip to Franklin’s house in Basalt to check him out.

  When I finished writing and editing the Viceroy affidavit, the clock on the wall said 5:13 p.m. I’d been going since before dawn. Hoped for an early night for once.

  But as I was transmitting the document to Sarah, my phone rang.

  “This Sheriff-elect Morgan?” a deep, clipped voice asked.

  For once, someone had gotten my title right. “You bet. Who might be asking?”

  “Andrew Carter, folks here call me Drew. I’m the chief in Craig.” His voice cracked. “We got one of your weirdos here. Hostage situation.”

  Craig was a small town in north-central Colorado. I hadn’t been there in twenty years, but it used to be very similar to Gunnison. “Who would that be?”

  “Donald Viceroy.”

  “Yep, he’s one of our weirdos. What’s he done?”

  “A short time ago, that a-hole, please excuse my language, drove into town and stopped at a fast food barbeque place on our main drag. While he was eating barbecued beef sandwich and onion rings, someone spooked him. Viceroy started shooting. Killed the nicest kid in the world. The place cleared out, of course, all except five hostages. I’ve been a cop here for over twenty years. Never seen anything like it. They say you’ve done amazing things, even if you are one of…well, that don’t matter none. We need your help in the worst way, ma’am.”

  I guessed he had to be truly desperate to call a lesbian cop, but I let that pass. Folks were incredibly conservative all over the Western Slope, but otherwise decent people. “Happy to do what I can. Who else have you called?”

  “Everybody we can think of. FBI, CBI. They’re already working a mass shooter situation in Aurora. Scooter Jackson in Grand Junction says you’re good people. He’d come, but his wife’s in the hospital.”

  I’d worked with the flamboyant chief at GJPD, and he’d be a great resource in this situation. “Damn, that’s too bad about Scooter. Listen, if you want me to come, I will, but I’m at least two hours away, even with lights flashing.”

  “Just get here, quick as you can.”

  -o-o-o-

  In fifteen minutes, I’d talked with Willow, Randy, and Linda. Arranged my sudden change of plans. Randy promised to take Boomer home for me.

  I also checked in with Sarah. Using the new information from Craig, we’d have no problem getting a warrant now. Linda would work that angle.

  I loaded my departmental SUV with all the gear I thought might be helpful and headed out. Craig was a hundred and fifty miles north. On the plus side, the roads up there ran through mostly open country, with little traffic. The bad news was the cell coverage was going to be spotty after I left I-70.

  As soon as I hit the road, I called Drew back. “I’m on the way. Tell me more about what’s happened so far?”

  His voice was even more unsteady. “We got your BOLO, but to be honest, we didn’t pay much attention. That kind of trouble never comes this way. Everything was fine until about four. Viceroy pulled into the barbeque place. A former hamburger joint, so nothing fancy. Had at least a dozen customers plus the workers inside.”

  “I’m seeing it in my mind,” I said.

  “Good. So, the monster was sitting there eating. That’s when our secretary walked in with her autistic son. She was dressed in regular clothes, but her boy’s an intern in our office. We let Cameron wear a blue uniform shirt and a baseball cap with our logo. It g-got h-him killed.”

  Drew seemed too choked up to talk. I waited patiently for the veteran cop to get control of himself.

  Then, he said, “Sorry. Cam—he was nineteen, but still a boy in spirit. Gentle as a lamb. Viceroy pulled out a pistol and fired. If he’d taken just a second, he’d have realized the kid wasn’t a real cop. No gun or gear on his belt. The perp put a bullet in the center of Cam’s c-chest anyway.”

  Another pause, shorter this time. “Naturally, all hell broke loose. Our secretary got help from an older man, and they carried her son out the door. Too late. Cam was already gone. All of the customers cleared out, and some of the workers got away through a back door, but Viceroy cornered five of the staff, including the manager. We surrounded the building right away but don’t dare go inside. The perp called me. Told me he wants a hundred grand and a plane with a pilot plus enough gas to get to Mexico. Or he’ll kill a hostage at midnight.”

  I checked the clock in the SUV. It was a little after six p.m. We had less than six hours. “What does the town want to do?”

  He laughed, more than a bit hysterically. “We don’t have that kind of money. Even if we did, we wouldn’t put a pilot’s life at risk or provide a plane for Vicer
oy to escape.”

  “Good,” I said. “Did you tell the asshole?”

  Drew sighed. “Not yet.”

  “Even better. Don’t. Lie if he asks. Tell him you’re trying to get what he wants, but it’ll take until at least noon tomorrow. You gotta string him along. If he thinks he’s a goner, he’s likely to kill all his hostages and eat his gun. Seems to be the popular thing these days.”

  “Good thinking. What’re we really going to do to stop him?”

  Damned if I knew. “That’s your call. Let me ponder on it during the drive up. The first critical step is to buy more time. It’s going to be a rough night.”

  -o-o-o-

  The high Rockies run in a broad swath through the center of Colorado and north into Wyoming. Craig was situated well west of the highest peaks. It was surrounded by rolling hills and mesas. That part of the state used to be mostly ranches, but oil and gas exploration had come on strong. As I drove, I could see islands of lights from drilling rigs and tank farms scattered all over.

  When I crossed the Yampa River near Craig, my cellphone lit up. A text from Linda, No surprise, Viceroy cleared out his townhouse. That included his personal papers and all his electronics.

  I called her. “Tell me something useful. I’m about to meet a bunch of really desperate people.”

  “Sorry. We’ll keep looking.”

  I hung up. My stomach churned. These folks were about to find out I wasn’t an angel with a flaming sword descended from the heavens.

  Craig looked like it had when I’d last visited in my teens. The same old buildings, broad streets, and struggling businesses. Few newer buildings. Colorado’s economic boom had passed this town by.

  I could’ve called Drew for directions to the murder scene, but I didn’t need them. I just followed US 40 from the western side of town to the east until I came to the shitshow.

  What looked like a former Wendy’s was surrounded by cop cars, fire trucks, and ambulances from various jurisdictions. No lights in the restaurant. The sign promised, “Roy’s Authentic Texas-style BBQ.”

  Several news helicopters surrounded by crowds of people sat in an empty parking lot across a side street from the restaurant.

  Crime scene tape cordoned off a large square around the restaurant and its parking lot. I turned off my dome lights. A state trooper lifted the tape so I could drive into the lot. He motioned for me to park behind the building on its north side. There were no windows in the back. One squad car was parked with its bumper pressed against the back door so it couldn’t be opened.

  I got out and put on my body armor. The protective gear covered everything but my feet, hands, and head. I’d also brought a pair of night vision goggles and a helmet but left them in my SUV for the moment.

  A burly man wearing a blue uniform approached. He had short salt-and-pepper hair and a grim face. “I’m Drew Carter. You made good time.”

  I shook his hand. “Thank God, the critters stayed off the road. I’ve never driven that fast in the dark for so long. Anything changed?”

  “Our mayor managed to get the first deadline extended to six a.m. by lying her buns off.” He pointed across the street at the media types. “And that circus came to town. I told them we won’t have any public comment until tomorrow, but they won’t go away.”

  And wouldn’t until the crisis ended, but I didn’t say so. “Vultures. Has Viceroy contacted you or vice-versa, recently?”

  “Not us, but he called some smartassed little TV reporter from Denver.”

  I groaned. “Not Angelina Esteban?”

  He nodded. “He’s given her two phone interviews but said nothing useful. Mainly, he keeps threatening to kill a particular hostage in the morning. Don’t ask me why, but he picked out seventeen-year-old Taylor Lazarov. A real sweetheart.”

  He ran his hands through his short hair.

  My heart ached. “Let me guess, the homecoming queen.”

  “No, but she does head up her high school’s cheerleading squad. Pretty, straight A student, and charming. Wants to become a prosecutor.” He paused for a moment, overcome with emotion. “And I should add, she’s my youngest sister’s daughter. Naturally, we’re all pretty upset.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “We gotta save that girl and the others.” I just wished I knew how. “Has your group come up with any bright ideas?”

  “I wish. One more thing. Some guy from Boulder watched Esteban on TV blabbing about this tragedy. He’s flying his jet here in case we want to use it to get rid of Viceroy. I’m arguing against that approach with the others. Some are wavering.”

  “I’m on your side. As horrible as this is, it’ll get worse if the bastards think they can get away with murder. I assume you have a command post around here somewhere.”

  He pointed at a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall a hundred yards down the main drag. “The owner closed for the night, and he’s letting us use his place. I’ll introduce you to everybody. I usually hate making decisions by committee, but on something this important, we got no choice.”

  I shared his views on both counts. “That’s life as a public official. Lead the way.”

  -o-o-o-

  The front of the barbecue restaurant faced south and contained a wall of dark windows and the main entrance. The parking lot wrapped around the front so people could park between the building and the street. The east side contained a drive-through lane, and the west side offered a second entrance.

  Cops in full body armor huddled behind a couple of cargo vans positioned in front of each entrance.

  The Mexican restaurant was a family-friendly place decorated with piñatas, sombreros, and strings of dried chilés hanging from the walls. The tables were covered with red and white checkered plastic. Three square tables had been pushed together to make one rectangular table.

  Drew introduced me to the town’s mayor, a council member, the Moffat County Sheriff, the district attorney, a deputy from Mesa County, and a cop from Drew’s shop. The chief and I sat down. All their faces were pale and grim.

  I noticed a blueprint for a building spread across the table. It was obviously the barbecue restaurant. While the mayor described a call she’d just had with the governor, I studied the blueprint. The seating area for diners took up the southern half of the restaurant. Most of the back half was filled by the cooking area and a food storage area. On the west side of the building, a hallway led back to two restrooms.

  With half an ear cocked toward the conversation, I heard some bullshit from the governor about thoughts and prayers. She didn’t seem to be offering anything more substantial, like guns or experienced hostage negotiators. Unfortunately, they were all busy at a mass shooting that started in Aurora around noon. That was the big suburb on the east side of Denver that had been the scene of a horrific theater shooting years ago.

  “Sheriff-elect Morgan,” the thin, gray-haired mayor said, “it’s wonderful that you could come. We need fresh ideas, and the Western Slope is going to have to take care of itself for a while. Our chance to prevent an even worse catastrophe is fast disappearing. And you’re the only person here who knows this killer.”

  They were going to find out right quick that I had no magic wand or secret knowledge. “Call me Hank. I know who Viceroy is, and I’ve visited the wine bar he owns many times. Seen him there and elsewhere, but we haven’t spoken more than to say hello. My office has searched his place but found nothing helpful for us yet. The deputy who conducted the search says all his important stuff is missing, presumably in his Land Rover.”

  Drew pointed at a couple of tables closer to the bar. “We emptied out his SUV but found little that seems helpful. He had a rifle, a weirdly decorated knife, and a laptop. You can check everything. With regard to the computer, we haven’t managed to get beyond the welcome screen.”

  Too bad I hadn’t brought Willow. She seemed to be able to hack her way into anything. But she might be able to help us over the phone. “I kn
ow somebody who’s a whiz with tech. I can call her soon as we finish talking. And I can give you a rundown on the status of our overall investigation.”

  Their heads bobbed, so I gave them a summary of what we’d learned since Patsy first called me. As I talked, they asked questions. When I was done, they knew most of what I did.

  “How should we handle this?” the mayor asked.

  She looked straight at me, but I looked at the other cops around the table. “Does anybody here have experience in resolving hostage situations?”

  Nobody spoke. “Then, we’ll have to rely on our training. I took a course two years ago at the Colorado Mountain College campus near Glenwood. Our instructor had worked for Denver PD and faced a handful of hostage takers. The statistics are grim. Few of his cases were completely successful. His first rule was to always try to limit the number of hostages.”

  I paused and hoped someone else would take over. Nobody did.

  Finally, I said, “You’ve done that well—got as many people out of there as you could, and you’ve isolated Viceroy so he can’t grab anybody else. What do we do next?”

  Again, I hoped someone else would chime in. They all seemed thrilled that I was taking the lead. I hoped they weren’t relying on the exaggerated reputation I’d received from a couple of recent, notorious cases where I’d gotten lucky.

  No one spoke. They were shell-shocked—too close to the situation. “Okay, let’s brainstorm. What are our options? I’ll start, but everybody needs to chime in. Right now, we’re just listing possibilities. No bad ideas, got it?”

  They all nodded.

  “First option,” I said, “we storm the building.”

  People immediately began grumbling.

  I put up my hand. “We’re just listing possibilities. Nobody gets to say ‘stupid idea’ yet. Second option—we wait until Viceroy has nodded off, sneak in, and overcome him.”

  More silence. I started again. “Third option…”