"The fucker killed my wife," said MacFarland bitterly.
Chamberlain's lips were pressed tightly together as he controlled his own temper. "As I was saying, when you over-reacted in court and attacked a man who had just been found innocent by a jury, you did not leave me with a lot of options. Someone, I was never really sure who, wanted you off the force. I didn't like it then, I don't like it now."
"Now?"
The two men exited the Detention Center and stood on Colfax. A cold breeze blew from the north. The snow on the ground was stained with car exhaust and street filth. After the institutional smell of the jail, freedom smelled very good. The bare trees wobbled sadly in the wind. Normally, on a day like today, MacFarland would be standing a block away from here, listening to his language lessons and selling the occasional hot dog to a passer-by. He found that he missed doing that, and he wondered idly how his homeless friends had fared during the time he was in jail.
"Pierson told me about your suspicions regarding the Freeman file. I knew that she had taken the file--well, the second time she took it, I knew. I went over that file pretty carefully, Mac, and I didn't see anything wrong with it. But then, I didn't see the file just a week or so earlier. Two things bothered me about that. First, why didn't Iverson catch that change? Why is it that a God damn hot dog seller is the one who sees it? And the second thing that bothered me was, what the fuck is going on at the Lab? Our Lab is one of the best in the region. We employ only the best people. We are not supposed to make mistakes like that. And if we do make a mistake, we document it. So what could have gone wrong? I'll tell you what is wrong. The new Crime Lab Director is a political hack. He runs the lab like a business, not like an arm of the police department. Years of good work, wasted!"
MacFarland listened to Commander Chamberlain rant, then said quietly, "Someone higher up told you to mind your own business, right?"
"Damn fucking right," snarled Chamberlain. "And I don't like it. No one is going to fuck up my cases, Mac. No one. My men and women put their lives on the line, and for those kinds of risks, we all need to be working as a team. There are times when I don't think we have that team spirit anymore."
"If you want to find out what happened in the Crime Lab, find out what happened to Colleen Beltane."
"Who is Beltane?"
"She is the techie who identified the fire retardant residue on the pine needles. She even had a list of places where the fire retardant had been used in the past three months."
"What happened to her?" asked Chamberlain.
MacFarland shrugged. "I don't know, Commander. Remember, I've been stuck in jail for the past two weeks."
"I'll look into it," said Chamberlain. He put a hand on MacFarland's shoulder. "The reason I've been telling you all of this, Mac, is--Well, I want you to come back. Come back onto the force. I’m sure I can work it out with the Chief and get you reinstated."
MacFarland stared up the street, looking vaguely south to where his hot dog stand normally would be positioned. He had wanted to be back on the force, many times. He regretted not having the resources available to help him do something that he now realized he really enjoyed doing--solving crimes, helping victims, stopping bad guys. He missed the camaraderie of the department, working with people who understood what it was like to run towards danger, even as sensible people ran away from it.
He missed working with his partner, Detective Pierson.
But the reality was that he wasn't a detective, at least not anymore. He was just a recovering alcoholic trying to make his way through life.
Besides, he reminded himself, lots of my friends need me to provide them with their daily fix of hot dogs and brats.
"Thanks, Commander, that's really nice. But I’m just a hot dog vendor now. My police days are behind me."
Chamberlain stared sadly at MacFarland, his look clearly one of disappointment. "Come on, my car is over here. I'll drive you to Pierson's house."
Chapter 71
Sunday, February 14, 1202 Hours
Valentine's Day. MacFarland had decided to go back to his corner at Fourteenth and Elati, hoping that he still had a corner. While his location was not the best spot to place a hot dog cart, he had found a strong affinity to the location. Besides, with the new construction going on down the street, it might get a lot more traffic some day.
It was particularly cold this morning, which MacFarland regarded as a good thing. He did not have a lot of product, since he had to buy a smaller amount of supplies from the local King Soopers. He wasn't able to get the bulk discounts he depended on, so he compromised by having a smaller inventory.
Pierson had given him a warm reception when he got home the previous day. Lockwood and Baker were also there. The three of them took turns congratulating him on getting released and warning him about what dire consequences would befall him if he violated any of the terms of his release. The terms, quite simply, were not to jump bail ("I'll lose my fucking house," said Pierson. "And you don't want to share a cardboard box shelter with me, Mac, I can promise you that."), not to leave Denver ("Does that include suburbs?” "Yes, damn it!"), don't consort with criminals ("I haven't been tried for anything. Can they really restrict me that way?” "Don't argue, asshole, just follow our advice.” "Actually, I don't think they can restrict him like that. I wonder if we can make a case out of it?” "No, Jerry, no case, don't even think about it."), and be sure to show up for your arraignment ("But I'm innocent.” "Well, if you're innocent, maybe the DA will drop the charges.").
Pierson had repeated all the instructions again that morning when he was getting ready to take his cart out. "Don't try to do anything on the case, Mac," she warned. "We're working with Iverson to re-examine the evidence. I think he is coming around to agree with you that maybe his case against Maureen Freeman is rather weak."
"It's non-existent," said MacFarland derisively. Was Iverson suddenly the sunshine boy in the department? The guy was a complete ass.
"Don't give me grief, Mac. I stuck my neck out for you. And, for your information, we now have a BOLO for Ashland. He's not yet a suspect, just a person of interest."
He nodded, wondering how much good a “be on the lookout” could be for someone who had probably already fled the state. Deciding to come clean, he went into the library. He came back a moment later and handed Otto Freeman's calendar book to Pierson. She looked at it suspiciously. "What’s this?"
"It's something I got out of the Freeman house. It's how I knew that Freeman was off fishing when he got killed."
Pierson took the book as if it was a red hot coal. "Oh, God, Mac, you're worse than Lockwood!"
MacFarland got a pained expression on his face. "Hey, he's a cop! I'm just a private citizen."
"Who broke and entered a crime scene and took evidence!"
"Okay," admitted MacFarland. "Maybe I crossed a line or two I shouldn't have. But I was trying to solve a crime that Iverson supposedly had already solved. So don't give me grief. Give that sunshine boy grief for not doing his job!"
"Sunshine boy? You mean Iverson? Oh, Mac, give me a break. Go sell your fucking hot dogs. And stay out of trouble!"
He had just finished setting up his cart when Rufus showed up. "Sorry I don't have coffee, boss. I don't seem to have any money left, and the coffee shop person won't give me credit."
"Are you a good credit risk, Rufus?" asked MacFarland, handing the veteran a warmed up hot dog.
"Probably not," said Rufus. "But boss, the strange thing is, the only way you can get credit is by going into debt."
MacFarland smiled, shaking his head. "Sometimes Rufus, you amaze me. Would you mind watching my cart today?"
Rufus considered the proposal for a moment. "Do I get benefits for this job, boss? Jerry says I need benefits."
MacFarland furrowed his brow in surprise. "I guess you can have as many hot dogs as you can eat. But go easy today. I don't have very many in inventory."
MacFarland
went back to his truck, unhooked his trailer, and drove over to Colfax, then turned east. The Civic Center was deserted, though the sun was out and it was starting to warm up. Maybe today it will get up to freezing, he thought. When he came to Lincoln, he turned north, only then realizing that he was unconsciously driving towards the Consolidated Colorado Properties building. He drove past the building, then went around the block and parked across the street from the building. As he sat there, wondering why he was watching an empty office building on a Sunday morning, he smiled. At least he could tell Pierson that he had stayed within the city limits.
After two tedious hours, he looked at his watch. Twelve oh two. He shook his head in disgust and started his engine. He was about to pull out of his parking space when a movement by the side of the CCP building caught his eye. He put on the brake, and stared into the shadows between the two buildings. Yes, there was someone coming out of a side door to the building. MacFarland stared in surprise. While he had never seen a picture of Ashland, he recognized the man from the various descriptions of him that he had received. He should have gotten a copy of the mug shot that Lockwood had distributed.
He had hoped to see Peterson, but instead, he found the one person he was convinced was involved in all of these murders. Ashland emerged from the alleyway, looked up and down the street, then went over to a blue sedan and got in. As Ashland started heading north, MacFarland turned on his engine and took off after him.
Chapter 72
Sunday, February 14, 1224 Hours
MacFarland caught up with the suspect's car, noting automatically that it was a blue four-door Ford Focus, plate number 724 Edward Union Lincoln. He wished he could run the plate, although he suspected that the car was stolen. He also wished he had a less conspicuous vehicle, since after a couple of blocks, he could tell that the suspect had discovered he was being followed. What then ensured was twenty minutes of racing through downtown streets, as Ashland tried to lose MacFarland. MacFarland knew the downtown area better than Ashland did, however, and even if Ashland managed to get through a stop light before he did, MacFarland was able to find a way to keep the blue Focus in view.
Ashland finally turned onto Colfax and headed west, often going considerably faster than the speed limit or conditions warranted. Although it was Sunday, there was still considerable traffic on Colfax, and Ashland's constant weaving in and out of traffic was bound to attract the attention of a patrol car sooner or later. As the Focus crossed Lincoln, it swerved into the left hand land and swooped through on-coming traffic onto Broadway. Cars screeched to a halt, horns blared, but the Focus made it through without a mishap. MacFarland, approaching more conservatively, used the clogged traffic to his advantage, and followed the Focus through the congested intersection. He saw Ashland's car race through the light on the far side of Civic Park, then turn into through traffic on Thirteenth. MacFarland, stuck at the light on Broadway and Fourteenth, swore when the car disappeared around the parking garage across from the library. The light changed, and he gunned his way through the intersection, and turned on Thirteenth. He could still see the Focus ahead of him, racing down the nearly empty street. The Focus turned left and MacFarland strained to see which street it was. He knew this neighborhood intimately, since this was where he positioned his hot dog cart. He suspected that the suspect was trying to get to Colfax, and then over to Speer or to the interstate. As he turned the corner, he banged his foot on the gas pedal and his truck shot forward. He then stared in horror as the Focus swerved around the corner onto Fourteenth way too quickly. Ashland went up over the curb, and clipped the corner of MacFarland's hot dog cart, sending it crashing backwards. Rufus, standing a few feet away, jumped towards the parking garage as the umbrella snapped off and flew in his direction. MacFarland screeched to a stop and jumped out of his truck. He ran over towards Rufus and helped the man get up.
"Fuck, boss, that man was in a hurry!"
"Are you alright, Rufus?" asked MacFarland, checking to see if there were any signs of bruises or wounds.
"Yeah, I'm okay.” Rufus looked over towards the hot dog cart, which lay on its side, smashed to pieces. "I can't say the same for your cart, boss. It's a total wreck. Did you get the license number of that asshole? We should report that dude."
MacFarland nodded grimly. "I suspect that he is going to be wanted for a lot more than destroying my hot dog cart."
It was then that MacFarland realized that Ashland knew who was following him, knew where his hot dog stand was usually located, and had deliberately tried to destroy it, knowing that MacFarland would have to stop to see if anyone was hurt.
He had been played.
As he went to retrieve his trailer so that he could load up the remnants of his cart onto it, he wondered if Pierson would give him a dressing down for not following her advice.
Chapter 73
Tuesday, February 16, 1900 Hours
MacFarland was pacing in the kitchen when Pierson arrived home at seven in the evening. As soon as she closed the back door, he confronted her. "Any results from the BOLO?" he asked.
Pierson shook her head. "So far, no sign of the guy, Mac. But I do have some good news. We found the car that smashed up your hot dog stand. As you suspected, it was stolen. The owner, Paul Sikorsky, didn't even know it was gone. He and his wife had been in California for the past month and had left the car in the alley behind their house. He reported it stolen yesterday, when he got back from Los Angeles. We confirmed his story that he was out of town."
"Were there any prints on the car? Or anything else?"
"The crime lab is still checking it out. There are some traces that seem consistent with the Freeman crime scene. It's beginning to look more and more like the person who drove that car is the killer. Are you sure it was Ashland, though?"
MacFarland nodded. He stopped his pacing and stared at the door, as if he were about to walk out. "I'm just afraid that Ashland is going to get away," he said.
"Where can he go? No matter where he runs, we will get him," said Pierson confidently.
"Yeah, but you're not the one who has a murder charge hanging over his head. I just can't figure out why he is hanging around Denver."
"Maybe he is tying up loose ends," suggested Pierson. "I wouldn't be surprised if you are now one of the loose ends." She hesitated a moment. “I also got back the results on the blood trace on your ring.”
“Whose blood was it?”
“It wasn’t Schmidt’s or Lucas’s. It belonged to Orlando Mendoza, one of Griffin’s goons. Did you want to press charges?”
MacFarland considered the options. “No, for now I’ll just keep an eye out for him. Have you told him that his blood was found on the ring?”
Pierson looked at him sharply. “Don’t do anything stupid, Mac. No, we haven’t. We’re keeping an eye on him too.”
MacFarland wondered who ‘we’ was. “Of course not. When do I ever do anything stupid?”
Pierson rolled her eyes, refusing to answer his question. Instead, she found the number for Domino’s Pizza on the refrigerator door.
As Pierson went off to order a pizza for dinner, MacFarland considered what she said. Let's assume that Ashland was hired to kill Otto Freeman. The person most likely to have hired him was his partner, Brian Newsome. How much would a killing go for these days? For someone from out of town, it would probably be more than ten thousand dollars. Was it possible that Newsome paid half the money up front and promised to pay the rest upon proof of death? With the scrutiny on the jewelry business and anyone associated with it, perhaps he had been unable to get the balance of money to pay off the hit man. That would be incentive enough for Ashland to stick around. But why was he hanging around the CCP Building? Was that just a convenient place to meet? Or was it because Peterson was somehow involved in the crime? Had Peterson hired the hit man? If he had, what was his motivation? Had Peterson hired the man to kill both Freeman and Newsome? Somehow that
didn't make sense. How did framing Maureen Freeman play into that scenario? Or had her arrest just been a fortuitous consequence?
On the other hand, where had Ashland gotten the carving knife with MacFarland's prints on it? Although MacFarland could not place the knife set in Peterson's hands, it did not take a stretch of the imagination to believe that Peterson had access to the items left in MacFarland's apartment. If Peterson had examined the items, what was he looking for? Certainly not a knife set!
Was Peterson looking for possible evidence that MacFarland might have about Nicole's murder? MacFarland didn't have anything of that nature, unless it was Nicole's personal effects. Those were still in boxes over in Stefanie's garage. The police had already examined all those items and had found nothing incriminating. MacFarland himself had not actually had the courage to rummage through those boxes, afraid of the memories that might resurface.
He came back to the carving knife. The knife had MacFarland's prints on it, and Ashland had preserved those prints to ensure that MacFarland would be a suspect. That meant that Ashland knew MacFarland was pursuing him as early as three weeks ago. MacFarland would not be surprised if Ashland knew MacFarland was on his tail when he killed Gibbs. So, first Freeman, then Gibbs, then the Newsomes. Who was Ashland going to kill next?
MacFarland sat down at the kitchen table and stared off in the direction Pierson had gone. As the doorbell chimed, he jumped up and raced to the door. "Don't open it!" he hissed at Pierson, who stared at him in surprise.
"Okay, you pay for it," she said curtly.
"Oh--the pizza. I forgot about that.” He opened the door cautiously, afraid that it would be Ashland standing there, his gun drawn. It was just the Domino's Pizza delivery man, holding an insulating bag with a large pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom pizza.
"You better get it, Cyn. I don't have any money."
“Again? Maybe you should get a real job.”
The Avid Angler - The Hot Dog Detective (A Denver Detective Cozy Mystery) Page 21
