Sacrifice

by Michael Arches

  I hadn’t heard any results from Linda, which probably meant she wasn’t having much luck either. Leo lived in a nice house within the Snowmass ski resort. It was a property where residents could ski in and out. The roads ran in tunnels under the ski runs.

  Leo’s house was one of those cedar-log jobs with a peaked roof in the living room and enormous picture windows. The open three-car garage contained a big-ass Bentley sedan and a Wrangler with a six-inch lift and enormous tires.

  I found Linda inside the master bedroom. It had a large round bed and a mirrored ceiling. The marble headboard contained a carved design of a rearing stallion. I was sure it was terribly symbolic of something but didn’t want to think about it.

  Our deputy stood behind a locksmith from Aspen who often worked for us. A framed Rolling Stones concert poster lay against the wall. It must’ve been used to hide the wall safe the locksmith was trying to open.

  I motioned for her to come out in the hallway.

  “Found anything interesting yet?”

  “A couple of little things. First, a black hooded robe in the closet. It was stitched with several satanic symbols like pentagrams and inverted crosses. Nothing that describes where they hold their ceremonies.”

  “Okay, what else?” I asked.

  “In the basement, the gun safe is open. He left an AR-15 and a bunch of .223 ammo. Just like the gun someone fired at you on McClure Pass.”

  That memory sent a zing through me. It was another near miss. “I’m getting damned tired of him shooting at me. What about electronics?”

  “Willow’s in the office working on his desktop. Haven’t heard any results.”

  She was supposed to be safe at home. “News to me.”

  Linda sighed. “Sorry. When I saw the computer, I called her to see if she could unlock it remotely. She offered to come over instead. Is that a problem?”

  “Well, I want to keep her away from dangerous situations. Wish I could talk her into leaving town for a few days.”

  “Face it,” Linda said, “she’s our best chance to find out what’s on that damned machine.”

  Couldn’t disagree. “Show me the robe. If I remember right, Leo’s mom is a devout Catholic. Maybe Hal, too. I’ll send a photo to Randy in case it helps him.”

  She took the robe out of the closet and laid it on the bed. I took several pictures with my phone and forwarded them to our chief deputy.

  Then, I strode back outside to my Rubicon to grab the phone I’d taken from the Mercedes. As long as Willow was already cracking computer security, she might as well unlock the phone.

  Sure enough, she was so engrossed in what she was reading on Leo’s computer in his office that she didn’t hear me walk up behind her.

  “Do you know that breaking into other people’s electronic devices is illegal?”

  Without turning around, or even flinching, she said, “I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s an addiction. Know of any good rehab centers?”

  I lightly set my hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Time is running out for Sandra. You may be our only chance to find where they’re keeping her. I assume you haven’t had any luck with that super-expensive hack you bought.”

  “Au contraire, it has told me that there are nine Satanists, not seven, and I’ve found six of their properties, including those you’ve already located, like here. Kirkpatrick’s ranch is also on the list. I can’t find three specific properties because the cult members are using burn phones for their calls and emails. No Wi-Fi. No computers either, so no static IP addresses.”

  Time to look on the bright side. “Six locations out of nine is fantastic. Knowing most of the right places to look will be very helpful. Tell me.”

  She pulled a tablet out of her purse, opened a notes app, and rattled off the six properties. They included Leo’s place and Viceroy’s townhouse. Two were ranches we’d found by focusing on docs and vets, namely the properties owned by the anesthesiologist, Fergus Kirkpatrick, and a large animal veterinarian, Samuel Dixon. But two other locations were new to me, both within the town of Aspen.

  “You know,” I said, “we’re here under a valid warrant. That means we can justify another one with anything you find on his computer or his phone.” I held it up in the evidence bag.

  She looked at me, wide-eyed. “The American legal system is so bizarre.”

  “No shit, but it’s the only one we got.” I unsealed the phone and gave it to her. She was already wearing a pair of latex gloves. I’d checked the phone’s screen and back for fingerprints and found none.

  She went back to her work, and I contacted Skip who was back at the office preparing for visits to the suspected Satanists. I gave him the two names and addresses in town that I’d gotten from Willow. “Listen, there’s no reason for us to wait to make contact with those people. I know we’re short staffed, but Manny said he’d help.”

  “Yeah, he and three of his officers are here with me.”

  “To speed things along, why don’t you and Manny visit the Aspen residences? We’re running out of time. Use any tricks you can come up with to convince one of these assholes to turn on the others. The sacrifice ceremony with Sandy is probably today, but who knows where or when?”

  I stayed with Linda and Willow, hoping we’d turn up something helpful. No such luck. The safe contained enough cocaine to get fifty people high but nothing that helped us find the kidnapped woman. Neither did Leo’s phone or computer. Linda headed straight to the office. I escorted Willow home then followed Linda. On the way, I picked up a sandwich at a deli because who knew when I’d get a chance to eat again.

  Before I finished gulping my ham and cheese on rye down, my girlfriend called. “A message just came through the encrypted email app. It reads, The blood will flow at six. Bring your knife and cup.”

  I checked my watch. It wasn’t quite noon. “Our chance to save Sandy is quickly slipping away.”

  -o-o-o-

  When I got to the office, Skip and Manny were already back from their attempt to talk to the two Satanists in town. Both were gone, and God only knew where.

  Our deputies working this case and Manny’s crew congregated in our large conference room. I asked Randy, “Any luck in getting Hal Salieri to lean on his brother?”

  Our chief deputy’s frown told me the answer before he spoke. “I’m sure Hal tried his best, but Leo refuses to speak to him. Hal even threatened to cut off all funds for his little brother, who’s deeply in debt. Without the family’s money, he has no way to pay for a lawyer. The brothers got in a big argument, and Leo’s doctor kicked Hal out of the room.”

  “Thanks for trying,” I said.

  Then, I got an idea. “Their mother’s a devout Catholic, isn’t she? What if Maria asked her son to help us? Hell, she could even take Sandy’s mother with her to visit the bastard?” My stomach churned like it rarely had before. “We’re fast running out of options. I’m willing to do virtually anything to get him to talk. If the moms can’t guilt him into helping us, I say we start sawing off fingers and toes.”

  Randy gave me a grim smile. “Let’s try Maria and Phyllis first, okay? I’ll call Hal and float that idea.”

  While he went to his office to work that angle, I said, “Let’s visit the two ranches we know are connected to the Devil lovers. Kirkpatrick’s and Dixon’s. Either could be a good place to hide Sandy.”

  “What if they won’t let us in?” Manny asked.

  “We can make it clear that we won’t leave until we see what we want. And I’m not adverse to walking in without a warrant and looking around. We won’t be able to use the evidence in court, but we might save a life. Let them sue us for trespass. No jury is going to award damages, not under these circumstances.”

  Manny looked at me askance. “Before we go that far, we can use a drone to fly over the neighboring forest and look down on the ranches. I doubt they’ll have Sandy tied up in a corral outside, but everybody in
the cult is hiding somewhere. We might spot their vehicles at one place or the other.”

  We talked about which ranch to hit first. I favored Dixon’s because it more closely resembled the description I’d heard from Phyllis Pollock.

  But Manny made a good point. “Might as well hit the closest one first. No need to waste time deciding.”

  Randy was still on the phone with Hal, which told me our guy was having trouble convincing the man to get his mom involved in this nightmare. I scribbled Randy a note telling him where we were going and that he should hold down the fort. He nodded.

  Skip and Linda agreed to come along with Boomer and me. Manny brought two of his team.

  Chapter 17

  Dixon’s ranch was only five miles south of town. We took three vehicles because we wanted to show a presence. When we got close to our first destination, we hit the lights.

  At the gate, I practically yelled into the intercom. “This is Detective Henrietta Morgan from the Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office and police chief Manuel Martinez from Glenwood Springs. We need to speak with Samuel Dixon about an urgent matter.”

  No response.

  After a moment, I motioned for everyone to turn on their sirens. Boomer crooned in sympathy.

  At another ranch nearby, a handful of people stood on the mansion’s back deck staring at us. By embarrassing Dixon in front of his neighbors, we practically guaranteed we’d get some response from him.

  A couple of moments later, someone with a female voice said through the speaker, “¿Qué quieres que haga? No habla inglés.”

  My Spanish wasn’t very good, but I knew the woman was asking what we wanted. And she claimed not to speak English. That wasn’t going to cut it. I motioned for Manny to come forward.

  He spoke to her in rapid-fire Spanish, using the same obnoxious tone of voice I had. I think he told her we were looking for a missing person who might be there.

  After she responded, he whispered to me, “Says Dixon isn’t home. Doesn’t know where he is, but she has a cellphone number. She’s calling to find out what to do.”

  A few minutes later, the gate opened. We cut the sirens and left the lights flashing as we proceeded up the long driveway to a spectacular granite mansion with a slate roof. It was situated in the center of a relatively flat expanse of ground. The elevation was over nine thousand feet, and a foot of snow covered the sunny portions of the property. Back in the trees, the snow was even deeper. To the right of the driveway, a red barn loomed over us. It was big enough to hold dozens of horses, but no animals were visible.

  This was Pitkin County, and I was the senior police official present, but there was no point to me asking questions. I asked Manny to take the lead.

  At the front door, a woman in a maid’s uniform stood in the doorway. He and she talked for a few more minutes before she stepped out of the way so we could enter.

  Manny said to all of us, “According to Camila here, Dixon is granting us permission to look for Sandy wherever we want. We can’t take anything without a warrant.”

  “Fuck!” I said.

  “Yeah, I agree,” he said. “Obviously, Sandy isn’t here. But after making all this fuss, we have to look around.”

  This visit was turning into an attempt to waste our time. On the plus side, we had six cops, so we spread out to quickly look for any evidence of Sandy having once being here. We also checked for proof of the veterinarian’s interest in satanic activity.

  Boomer and I headed for the master bedroom. It was ostentatious, with a four-poster bed that included a mahogany headboard inlaid with engravings in gold leaf of several couples getting it on.

  Despite the erotic imagery, he seemed to live alone. No family pictures or any evidence of someone else’s stuff in the bedroom or the walk-in closets. I did find another one of those hooded black robes Leo owned. At least, that made it clear Dixon was a member of the cult of Devil-worshiping bastards.

  When the mutt and I returned downstairs again, I ran into Skip. “Anything?”

  “Not much. He does have a collection of a dozen books on the occult and Satan in his office. No law against that.”

  “We’re spinning our wheels. You check the barn, and I’ll look for mine portals. That’d be the perfect place for a ceremony where they beat the crap out of a young woman before cutting her heart out.”

  As I left the house out the back, I ran into Manny. He and his people hadn’t found anything either.

  “The sooner we wrap this up, the better,” he said. “Meet you out front in ten minutes. While you’re checking the mine, I’ll get Dixon’s number from the maid. Give him a call.”

  I nodded. “Worth trying.” Boomer and I post holed through the snow toward the forested area behind the house. Most of the trees were aspens and bare, so it was easy to see through them to spot any large openings in the mountainside that would give access to a mine.

  After wandering around for a few minutes, we did discover the main old adit portal. Adits were horizontal tunnels leading back to mine workings deep within the rock. This adit had caved in almost completely. A steady stream of orange water trickled out. A squirrel could’ve snuck inside the small opening that remained, but not a person or even a bloodhound.

  My mutt and I hurried back to the front of the mansion. Sandy could’ve visited this place with Viceroy earlier in the year, but she wasn’t here now. And it was already 3:36 p.m.

  Worse, the wind was picking up, and another snowstorm was supposed to arrive soon. The temperature had been in the twenties but was dropping quickly.

  “Any luck reaching Dixon?” I asked Manny.

  He shook his head. “Went to voicemail both times. Left two messages.”

  I wasn’t going to count on that longshot ever paying off.

  -o-o-o-

  We drove ten miles farther south to Kirkpatrick’s ranch, traveling part of the way on a rocky access road. He owned the last specific property we knew belonged to a cult member.

  The anesthesiologist’s house was much smaller than Dixon’s. It looked like it’d been built decades ago. In other words, from back when Aspen had been an ordinary ski town with ordinary folks living in ordinary houses. This definitely wasn’t the mountain mansion Sandy had described to her mom, but I thought it might be where she was being held as a prisoner now.

  Most of this steeply sloping mining claim was forested with denuded aspens. Through the trees, I could see the two old adit portals on the property. They’d collapsed completely, so we wouldn’t be touring this old mine either.

  No barn, but there was a small garage separate from the house. Everything, including the driveway, was covered with snow.

  Again, I went through my spiel into the intercom at the gate. No response. We fired up the sirens. Still nothing.

  But after a few minutes, a short, chubby, old man drove an ancient Land Cruiser down the bumpy access road from somewhere up the narrow valley behind Kirkpatrick’s place.

  When the old man reached us, he stopped. “Can you turn that racket off?”

  I recognized his voice. Then it hit me. He’d been a bit player on Seinfeld for years. I never cease to be surprised by the strange people I meet in this job.

  After I motioned for the guys to cut the noise, I asked, “Have you seen Fergus Kirkpatrick recently?”

  “Sure did,” he said. “This morning. The wife and I came down this way on our morning walk. We watched his SUV bounce down his driveway. He really should get it paved. Plowing wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Did he say anything?” I asked.

  The man nodded. “Not a friendly guy usually, but he waved for us to come closer. Told us he was going to be leaving town for a few months. Then he said the weirdest thing. ‘Don’t go on the property for anything.’”

  Sure sounded odd. “Did Kirkpatrick tell you where he was going?”

  “‘Someplace good and warm, maybe Mexico.’ Then he rolled up his window and took off.” />
  We asked the old actor a few more questions but nada. Then he drove back up the road he’d come down.

  I asked the others, “Is it just me, or does that comment about staying off the property sound weird?”

  Linda said, “They’re all well aware we’re after them. He might’ve left us a nasty surprise.”

  One of Manny’s cops, a former Marine named Trace Cooper, piped up. “Definitely raises the hairs on the back of my neck.”

  It so happened that Trace’s neck was as muscular as a bull’s. He could bench press three hundred pounds. Nobody messed with him.

  “But,” I said, “this is our last chance to find Sandy. If she’s not here, we’re totally fucked. We have to look. And no time for a warrant.”

  They all nodded, so I checked out the gate. It was flimsy and decorative, not a serious barrier intended to keep vehicles out. I leaned over the top rail to inspect the latch. The gate swung open under me.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Nobody takes off for a couple months and leaves their gate unlocked.”

  “If this was Kabul,” Trace said, “I’d be running for cover.”

  My stump twitched where it met my prosthetic at the thought of another IED attack. “Let’s walk in ahead of the others, you and me. They can follow in the vehicles to pick up whatever’s left of us.”

  Trace chuckled. “Semper Fi.”

  The access road was covered with packed snow. I caught a few glimpses of the house, and it was shabby at best. Maybe the anesthesiologist had resented not being able to keep up with the Joneses. Could that have turned him to the dark side?

  This time, Skip drove Boomer in the SUV. Trace and I slowly proceeded up the gently sloping driveway, one of us on each side of the road. After about seventy-five yards, I was beginning to wonder whether we were unduly paranoid. “Have you seen anything worrisome?”

  “Nope, but you don’t until you do.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I wasn’t going to display my ignorance by asking. He’d done several tours of duty in the Sandbox, mostly positioned out in the hinterlands surrounded by hostile locals.