The Dead Man at Doyle Saddle

by Charles Williamson

  Several of the local cops returned to the house to explain that Mathew had probably crossed Scottsdale Road and was now somewhere in Paradise Valley, a separate community with its own police department. It’s a neighborhood of big estates enclosed by high walls or oleander hedges, not an easy place to search. The Scottsdale Police Department was coordinating with Paradise Valley, but there had been no sighting of Mathew in half an hour.

  The woman officer who had been in the backyard apologized for letting Mathew get past her. She’d talked to a neighbor who claimed Mathew ran ten miles four times a week. He also knew the neighborhood intimately. He had run from the house dressed in jogging clothing and running shoes. The officers in their full gear and vests had not been able to keep up.

  Sean shouted, “Mike!” as I was talking with the officer. I walked over to where he was standing at the back of the carport. He was pointing at the top shelf of a storage cabinet he’d opened. Pushed to the back and barely visible was a burlap bag shaped like a rifle. I found a nearby stepladder, and wearing gloves, I carefully removed the package. It contained a Winchester 338 with a powerful scope. I was confident that I was holding the murder weapon.

  I agreed that the Scottsdale Police should take the rifle for fingerprinting and for comparison with the round we’d recovered from the elk at Doyle Saddle. The police would secure the house and take the photos of Dr. Cantor and Mathew’s laptop to their evidence room. The violation of the restraining order was a Maricopa County matter, but if Mathew were charged with murder in Coconino County, the evidence would be transferred. If the rounds matched, a murder charge was likely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “What’s next? Do we head back to Flag?” Sean asked after we’d left Mathew’s house.

  “I’m still curious about what Trevor Joyce did in the army. Let’s go see if he’s home. His girlfriend’s house is only a couple of miles away.”

  “How is he connected to the case?” Sean asked. I had not mentioned the hot tub party at the Cantors’ house. I had a hunch that blackmail was connected to the prescription drug abuse. Someone who had shared the Cantors’ bed might have pressured the doctor to provide those prescriptions, and Amanda and Trevor were on that short list.

  “Amanda Brandt knew exactly where Dr. Cantor planned to hunt, and her boyfriend was an Army Ranger who’s probably an excellent shot. It’s tenuous I admit. Just call it a wild hunch.”

  “But Mathew Andrews killed him with the rifle I found. Why are we looking for someone else?”

  “Wasn’t that an odd place to hide a murder weapon, an unlocked cabinet in a carport that’s accessible without even entering the house? Criminals are often stupid, but this murderer showed some planning and preparation.”

  “But he ran when we got there,” Sean said. He wanted to solve the case quickly, but I wasn’t ready to stop looking.

  “He certainly ignored the restraining order. He probably suspected that we checked with the guards at Forest Highlands. Mathew makes a lot of bad decisions, but he seems a little flaky to have planned and executed this murder. No one noticed a truck like his near the Weatherford Trailhead. He’s a very odd man, but I don’t really see a murder motive in his obsession with Dr. Cantor and cosmetic surgery.”

  Sean was disappointed. “You don’t think it was either Joe Banning or Mathew Andrews? They’re our prime suspects.”

  “They’re both still suspects, but I’m looking for others.” Sean didn’t bother to reply. He may have suspected there was information I had not passed on.

  Amanda Brandt’s home was a townhouse in one of the neighborhoods built around an artificial lake. Amanda’s Lexus was parked in the driveway, so I assumed that Trevor was home. We rang the bell, and the door was promptly answered by the young man with military bearing who I had seen at Starbucks. His legs and arms were whitish in keeping with his light hair and blue eyes, but his face and hands were darkly tanned from long exposure to the intense sun of the Middle East.

  “Trevor, I’m Captain Mike Damson of the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department, and this is Deputy Sean Mark.”

  “Amanda’s at work,” he said. The clinic is open till noon on Saturdays. His manner was firm, as if dismissing a door-to-door salesman. He started to shut the door. I stuck out my foot and blocked the door.

  “If you have a few minutes, it’s you I’d like to talk with.” I moved through the door as he stepped back.

  Trevor frowned at my pushiness but let us in. He poured coffee for us at the kitchen table.

  The room had a view of the small lake and of the identical condos on the opposite shore. This muddy pond represented an odd enticement to desert dwellers. The view was not of a beautiful mountain lake; in fact, it did not seem the least bit scenic except there was some visible water. In a scorching hot climate, why would anyone want to raise the discomfort by increasing the humidity with this pond of stagnate water.

  “Amanda said you were looking into Dr. Cantor’s death, but there’s nothing I can tell you about it. I didn’t even know the man. She said it was a hunting accident.”

  “We’re investigating a probable homicide.” Mostly, I wanted to judge his reaction. He didn’t seem the least surprised, and I assumed that Amanda had explained that it was now a murder investigation. He was fishing for information.

  “Trevor, I understand you were an Army Ranger; why did you leave the service?”

  “I was just ready to do something different, and I missed Amanda. Maybe I outgrew the need to prove myself.” He spoke with self-confidence. I wonder why he hadn’t landed a job.

  “Exactly what did you do in the Army? What was your MOS?”

  “I worked with classified information on anti-terrorism duty. I’m not permitted to describe it more than that.”

  “I assume you’re a crack shot. What sort of hunting rifle do you own?”

  “I’m an average shot for a Ranger. I never took up hunting. I learned to shoot in the army. If you don’t mind me asking, why in the world have you focused on me? I didn’t even know this guy.”

  “Just routine. Your name came up in my investigation, and I’m following up.” Of course, that was BS, but this interview was mostly about finding out how he’d react. He’d lied about knowing Dr. Cantor in the first seconds of our meeting.

  “You’re wasting your time gentlemen. I have an appointment; will this take much longer?”

  “Where were you this past weekend, Trevor?”

  “I was here with Amanda all weekend. We had a quiet time at home and watched some rented DVD’s.”

  “Where did you rent them?” His tone had made me skeptical, and I watched closely as he tried to make up an answer.

  “Amanda got them on her way home from work. I don’t really know where she stopped, probably the Red Box at Walgreens. I can call and ask if you like.” His answer sounded confident, but it had taken him too long to come up with it. His eyes gave away his anger.

  “Sorry, Trevor, these are just routine questions. Did anyone come by the house, pizza delivery or that sort of thing?

  “No one that I can think of. I’ve really got to go to a job interview immediately.” He stood up and ushered us to the door. He was dressed in faded shorts, sleeveless t-shirt, and flip-flops. It’s not what I’d wear to an interview.

  “Do you have a good job prospect now? Who are you interviewing with?” Sean asked in a good-natured tone.

  “Someone at Bank of Arizona, I forget his name. You can call if you have more questions. Nice to meet you both.”

  When we reached my Explorer, Sean commented, “Seems like a nice guy. I wonder why he isn’t interviewing for a law enforcement job.”

  “He lied about knowing Dr. Cantor. He and Amanda spent time at the Cantors’ house in Paradise Valley. I think his job interview is BS too; it’s not likely he has one with a bank on a Saturday. Also, she wouldn’t have rented DVD’s on the way home from work without him. He picks Amanda up every afternoon because he doesn’t have a car.
He uses hers during the day.”

  Sean and I waited in my vehicle parked half a block away to see if Trevor actually left for an interview. There was no sign of him forty-five minutes later. We were both hungry and uncomfortable from sitting still.

  After we ate at a nearby KFC, we drove to the Paradise Valley Police Station to see if they had located Mathew. He’d bolted in running clothes, and I assumed he would be easy to track since he was on foot in a neighborhood where I assumed that was unusual.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When Sean and I entered the Paradise Valley Police Headquarters, I spoke with a chubby, smiling sergeant. He explained the difficulty in finding a man on foot in the town. He couched everything in terms of being supportive to brother officers; however, the essence was that the police wouldn’t do anything that might disturb the wealthy residents unless they thought the man was actually a threat to public safety. They were not willing to enter the grounds of any of the estates, interrogate the guests at the elegant resorts, or do anything else that might publicize the search and alarm the locals. Although the Phoenix police could provide a helicopter, the noise would be unpopular with locals.

  I avoided getting pissed; I’m better at controlling my temper now that I’m middle aged. The only charge mentioned by the Scottsdale cops when they had asked for help was that Mathew Andrews had violated a restraining order. I asked to speak to the chief. My tone might have been a little brusque judging by the sergeant’s change of expression.

  The chief came out of his office and shook hands. He remembered me from the calls regarding the death of Dr. Cantor.

  “Chief, I think there’s an unfortunate misunderstanding. The Scottsdale police have asked for your help in searching for a man named Mathew Andrews who is wanted for violation of a restraining order. They observed him fleeing across Scottsdale Road into your jurisdiction after we went to his house to arrest him. The local officers neglected to mention that the restraining order was received by the late Dr. Zackary Cantor. The missing man is a suspect in his murder, and we found what may be the murder weapon at his house.”

  “Jesus, no one here knew you were after a murder suspect who killed a local resident. Sergeant Drew, give this matter your full attention and every man available. Ask the Phoenix Police to provide helicopter support. I’m sorry about this screw up, Captain.”

  Unfortunately, it had now been two hours since Mathew had bolted from his house. The Phoenix police helicopter took several sweeps of the area looking for people in jogging clothes. The area has many private pools and tennis courts, as well as several large resorts. The Town of Paradise Valley was full of people dressed for sports, and you can’t tell jogging shorts from swim shorts from a helicopter. Nearby are the two main trails for climbing Camelback Mountain. With hundreds of climbers a day headed to the highest point in the Phoenix area, there were scores of hikers who fit the description when viewed from the air. This was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in autumn, and Arizonans love being outdoors when the weather is good.

  Many joggers don’t carry identification, and that had complicated the process as well. The police had to take many of them to their homes or hotels for identification. Sean and I drove back to Mathew’s house and retrieved Mathew’s photograph for the PV police to use in their search. Why the Scottsdale police hadn’t provided one, I have no idea.

  Afterwards, we patrolled for two hours, going by the Echo Canyon Trailhead to check the main Camelback Mountain trail and searching the Cantors’ home on Mummy Mountain. We checked the swimming pools of two resorts without luck. At one of the resorts on Lincoln, it took us forty minutes just to check the elaborate system of pools, decorated with waterfalls, hidden alcoves, and palm studded islands. There were just too many places to hide on the large resort properties to be certain that we hadn’t missed him. Phoenix is a big city; however, this part of town has a lot of roadless open space on Camelback Mountain and in the Phoenix Mountain Preserve.

  After our patrol, so much time had passed that Mathew could be anywhere in Maricopa County, lost among the four million residents. Since he had taken his wallet when he fled, he might have the cash with him to hide out for an extended period. The Scottsdale Police planned to monitor his checking accounts and credit cards, but that wasn’t a quick or certain process.

  Sean and I drove to Mathew’s father’s house in far north Scottsdale. It was a sprawling Santa Fe style home on the Troon North Golf Course. The lot would have cost more than a million. His father claimed to know nothing of his son’s whereabouts and said he had not seen him in two months. He promised to bring Mathew in if he showed up at his door. Although Mathew and he were not close, he still loved his son. He’d help him with his legal difficulties. Mr. Andrews was a gruff man, but seemed truly concerned about his only son.

  We really had lost the second suspect in two days, and I wasn’t looking forward to discussing the situation with Sheriff Taylor. I phoned Mathew’s attorney, Bryan Goode. He was surprised that we had an arrest warrant for Mathew and promised to insist that his client turn himself in if he heard from him. He maintained that Mathew was a reliable and upstanding citizen; he was certain that we were mistaken about the stalking charge, and he was confident that his client would be completely cleared of the murder allegation. He insisted that we make no attempt to interrogate his client without him present.

  By 5:30, it had been seven hours since Mathew ran from his house, too long to assume that he was still in the area. We went back to the Paradise Valley police headquarters for an update before heading back to Flagstaff. There had been a statewide APB issued and the photo was being shown on the local news.

  We learned that the police helicopter had been diverted to follow a car thief in the West Valley, and the Scottsdale and PV cops had gone back to routine patrol after stopping forty-eight men to check their ID’s. Patrolling officers would keep an eye out for Mathew, but the chance of him still being in the area was considered poor.

  We started home, but when we were less than a mile away, I received a cell phone call. A Phoenix police officer who had been stationed at the Echo Canyon Trailhead reported that two hikers had seen a man who fit Mathew’s description.

  The man had been resting under overhanging rocks south of the main trail. He left the shade of the shallow cave to ask for water from a honeymooning couple from Bakersfield. They’d given him the extra bottle they were carrying, but they were surprised when he went back to his resting place rather than hike down the mountain. The description was a close match, and Sean and I agreed to go along with the Phoenix cop to confirm if the man was Mathew Andrews.

  We joined Officer Bill Robinson at the Echo Canyon parking lot. Fortunately, he saved us a place in the packed lot. I’d hiked Camelback before and knew that it would be a difficult hike with my bad back and Sean’s bruised groin. Of course, I didn’t want to go home with Mathew still on the loose if there was a chance.

  “We don’t have to go all the way to the top,” Bill said. “It’s about 1,700 feet of elevation gain in a very short distance. The sighting was near the neck, less than 600 feet of gain.”

  We were dressed in long pants and our heavy vests, and the sunny autumn afternoon temperature was 90. A reminder of why we chose Sedona rather than Phoenix when we left LA three years ago.

  The first part of the hike was like a rock stairway, but it soon was steep slick rock where we needed to use the pipe handrails that the park department had installed. My back screamed in protest most of the way. Sean was a trooper, but I could tell he was really hurting by the time we reached the camel’s neck. Our shirts were soaked with sweat, and I was relieved that we had no need to continue to the top. Margaret and I hike more difficult trails regularly for recreation, but we don’t choose hot afternoons or don heavy protective vests for our outings. We passed at least thirty people on the short climb; most carried cameras and seemed to be tourists. The locals tend to hike in the early morning.

  Bill led us around a boulder o
utcropping where we found Mathew Andrews resting in a shallow cave. He was lying on the rocky floor, using his rolled-up shirt as a pillow. We came on him so fast that he was not even on his feet when we reached the overhang. Mathew looked like he wanted to bolt, but with three of us blocking the only way out he didn’t have a chance. We handcuffed him immediately and read him his rights. The most difficult part of the climb was getting him down the mountain with his hands cuffed behind his back.

  Mathew didn’t say anything as we headed down except for a few obscenities the three times he slipped and fell. I mentioned to Bill that his attorney had asked to be present for any questioning. Unless the weapon we found at his house tied him to Dr. Cantor’s murder, he would probably make bail and be out of jail by morning. When we got back to the Echo Canyon parking lot, the Phoenix police took Mathew into custody; Sean and I headed back to Flagstaff.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I was exhausted even before we started home. It was 6:45, and I didn’t expect to get to Sedona until after 10:00. I called Margaret to warn her that I’d be late. She was excited to learn that we’d recovered a Winchester hidden at Mathew’s home and wanted to hear the details. She said she’d wait up for me no matter how late it was.

  The hike up Camelback and the long drive had done in my lower back. I wondered if I’d be able to get out of bed in the morning. When Sean and I stopped at Camp Verde for a fast food dinner, I could hardly get myself out of my vehicle and into the McDonalds. Sean wasn’t doing much better; he grimaced with each step. He took two pain pills with his Coke before we got back on the road. I still had mine in my pocket, but I refrained from taking them. I’d seen too many traffic accidents from people falling asleep at the wheel.