Perverted Justice

by Michael Arches

  Twenty feet away, a large old bristlecone had a trunk two feet thick. Most of its branches were dead, but a few still contained deep green needles.

  Boomer moved steadily toward the tree. Linda and I followed.

  The hound’s oversized nose had done it again. On the uphill side, a man was propped up against the thick trunk. His head hung down as though he were sleeping. But he wasn’t. An arrow in his stomach pinned him to the tree. It was likely Blatter, but the man’s wide brimmed hat kept me from seeing his face.

  I winced for him. That kind of wound wouldn’t kill anyone quickly. He must’ve suffered for hours before the end. Worst of all, as I came closer, it became obvious that some large carnivore had ripped open his pant legs and gnawed on his thighs and calves.

  My stomach did a few flips before it settled down again. I removed the man’s hat to see his face. We’d found Sherman Blatter, M.D., retired and expired.

  Chapter 2

  Linda got on the walkie-talkie and let everyone know we’d found our quarry and that he wouldn’t be taking us out for a round of beers. Candy wouldn’t enjoy his company again. An emptiness settled over me at our failure to find him alive. While he was probably an asshole, nobody deserved this.

  Boomer was the only happy member of our group. I praised him for his latest success. His tail wagged frantically. Dead strangers didn’t bother him a bit.

  In less than a minute, he scarfed down his whole bag of dog treats.

  In light of the unfortunate outcome, the Forest Service opened the gate blocking the abandoned road so emergency vehicles could reach us. I estimated that would take a half-hour. If we’d found him alive, we could’ve called in Flight for Life, but no need to rush.

  My thoughts turned to wondering whether this end could possibly have been accidental. Could his partner have gotten drunk and fooled around with a bow while Blatter rested against the tree?

  I wanted to believe that, but the scenario was too farfetched. On the other hand, if his hunting partner had wanted to murder him, why ride back into the forest for hours? And why not hide the body to make it harder for us to find clear proof of murder?

  I couldn’t imagine reasonable answers to those questions. All my instincts told me this had been a coldblooded murder plot from the get-go. In my considerable experience, few hunters—even drunk ones—pointed guns or arrows at other people. And Blatter was wearing an orange vest. Couldn’t have been mistaken for any game animal.

  I could imagine, though, that Shermie and his partner were getting along fine until the partner suddenly got pissed and shot the proctologist. That scenario made it more likely he would feel incredible remorse and take off right away without trying to hide the body.

  Only one thing was clear—someone besides the doctor had been here and had shot an arrow that killed another human being. Even if it’d been an accident somehow, the archer would be guilty of failing to report the accident.

  I looked for clues surrounding the body. Unfortunately, the ground was so rocky that I couldn’t find any physical evidence other than the arrow and the human remains.

  Linda and I photographed the hell out of the area then checked along the base of the cliff. No large carnivores.

  “I’m betting,” I said, “that the animal who ate part of Blatter was a bear. This time of year, they need to consume huge amounts of food to prepare for hibernation. Cougars don’t hibernate, and they usually eat only what they’ve killed. Coyotes take smaller bites.”

  My human partner had been silent since we’d found the mutilated corpse. “I’d rather not think about it. It’s already taking all my self-control not to barf. Did you know his death is similar to the way his lion died in Africa?”

  I hadn’t read much about the clusterfuck in Zimbabwe. I had heard, though, that the game wardens there didn’t prosecute Shermie. Many of the officials there were supposedly corrupt, and the honest ones used huge license fees paid by foreign hunters to keep their parks operating.

  Then, remembering Linda’s question, I asked, “What happened?”

  “He wanted to earn an archery record for the biggest lion kill. His arrow wounded the animal, but it didn’t die right away. Blatter or his guide could’ve shot it with a gun to put it out of its misery, but that would’ve kept Blatter from receiving the archery record. The poor beast lingered for hours. Its head is in the condo he shares with Candy. She showed me. Yuk.”

  I had no idea what to say. I’d been raised as a hunter, but we always shot animals for their meat. Once, years ago, Dad had shot an elk with a particularly impressive rack. He mounted the antlers alone on a wooden plaque. Couldn’t afford taxidermy. We ate the meat, even though it was as tough as shoe leather. That’s what poor ranchers did. Food was food, not to be wasted.

  Boomer stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. That reminded me that we needed to keep our wits about us. Whatever animal had fed on Shermie could come back for more.

  I glanced around again, and there were no threats. This high, I could see a hundred yards in every direction.

  But the sky was clouding up. Another storm was coming in, sooner than the forecasters had expected. We needed to get our work done and clear out before we became snowbound.

  -o-o-o-

  Soon, several pickups approached and contacted us by walkie-talkie. I gave them directions from the mine to our location. One of my friends in the office had been thoughtful enough to bring me a cane. I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

  He brought a radio with enough range to reach Aspen. I updated our chief deputy, Randy Duncan, about what we’d discovered so far. He passed on to me what he and another deputy were doing in town, basically searching Blatter’s condo.

  A few minutes after I signed off with Randy, an assistant coroner arrived with their department’s large SUV. He trudged up the hill to find us.

  Snowflakes whirled around as he detached the body from the tree. Because it had been cold up at eleven thousand feet, the corpse was still partly in rigor mortis. The chilly air had also kept the body from putrefying.

  A couple of the stronger guys carried Blatter’s mortal remains down the hillside on a stretcher. I recovered the victim’s personal effects, which included a wallet full of cash and a Rolex watch. Obviously, robbery hadn’t been a motive. I still didn’t understand what had been the reason for such a brutal takedown.

  A couple of media helicopters circled overhead, but as the senior sheriff’s official on site, I refused them permission to land.

  To my surprise, though, Jenkins back in Aspen overruled me. He’d already begun to neglect most of his official duties—had unofficially begun his retirement early—but technically, he was still the boss.

  Too bad for the news hounds up in the sky, our rescue vehicles covered the only spot of flat ground near the mine’s portal. They could land by the scene of the crime, but all they could see was that lonesome bristlecone. And with snow falling faster than ever, they’d have to leave soon anyway.

  -o-o-o-

  Linda and Boomer rode back to town with the assistant coroner. I rode my horse. We’d brought heavy coats for both of us, so the ride was comfortable.

  Once Linda got to the office, she obtained Blatter’s phone records from his cellphone provider. She also searched to find a stable in the area that might’ve lent out three horses and a trailer on Saturday. The assistant coroner returned to his office to prep Shermie for an autopsy by Dr. Dan.

  When Rambo and I reached Ashcroft, I collected Boomer from one of the helpers there and took my horse and dog home. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to tell Willow much of what’d happened up on that cold and lonely mountain.

  I drove to Blatter’s condo where our chief deputy and another deputy, my good friend Skip Tantor, conducted a search.

  It was quite the place, just as Linda had said. The white carpet was plush, and the walls were covered with fancy wallpaper and lots of original artwork. A small crystal chandelier
lit up the entrance hall.

  Randy had already informed Candy Kaine that Blatter didn’t survive his hunt. He said she took the news hard.

  I brought my colleagues up to date with what I’d learned most recently, and they did the same for me. Then, I went looking for Candy. She was sitting alone in the living room. She was a stunningly beautiful, curvy blonde. The kind of woman Playboy Magazine used to call a playmate. I had no idea whether such creatures existed anymore. Hadn’t heard about them since I was a teen. Back then, I’d been strangely attracted to some of those women instead of boys. It’d taken me years to accept what that had meant.

  Candy’s eyes were red and puffy, and her makeup had been ruined by tears. She smelled of bourbon, and her voice slurred as she said hello. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. Few of us looked or acted our best after we heard about the death of a loved one.

  I tried to be as gentle as possible, but I needed answers only she could provide. We had to find the killer before he hurt anyone else.

  I wondered, why had someone cut Shermie’s life so short? Greed, lust, and fury were the top three reasons that came to mind. In Blatter’s case, any of those motives were possible. It was time for me to discover the truth.

  Candy awkwardly motioned for me to sit next to her on a long, black leather sofa. I did. She cupped a highball glass half full of bourbon in both hands like she couldn’t bear to exist without it.

  I paused for a moment to let her compose her feelings. She asked, “Do you know what happened to my Shermie?”

  “Deputy Kingsley and I found him,” I said. “Someone shot him with an arrow. Do you know of anyone who was angry with him?”

  She quickly shook her head. “No! Everyone loved him. Well, except his second ex. She hated both of us. Maybe she did it.”

  I was going to check every angle, but that one seemed unlikely. Blatter’s most recent former wife was an ad exec in Denver. I couldn’t imagine Shermie riding for hours next to his ex-wife or someone she’d sent to do the dirty deed. “As far as you know, is she interested in archery or hunting?”

  “Don’t know her. Nothing would surprise me. She has brothers.”

  In other words, Candy was spewing frustration instead of information. “For the moment, let’s focus on people in this area, let’s say folks in Aspen or Snowmass. I really can use your help in our investigation. Was anyone around here mad at Shermie for any reason?”

  “Somebody hacked into Shermie’s Facebook page a couple of months ago. Added a lot of swearwords and lion cub pictures. They’re really vicious killers, not cute at all.”

  That seemed promising, but Facebook was everywhere. “Someone from this area did that?”

  “From Canterbury.”

  This was going to be a slog. The only Canterbury I knew about was in England, and it definitely wasn’t close to us. She was too upset to focus, but time was critically short in every murder investigation. “Just for now, forget everywhere else in the world but Aspen.”

  She put one hand to her forehead like she was really trying to think. “A waitress at the Hard Rock Cafe recognized him and refused to bring us our food. Manager didn’t care, actually asked us to leave.”

  I fought to keep my voice calm. “The Hard Rock Cafe here closed over a decade ago. You must be thinking about the one in Denver. How about we really focus on the people in this area, particularly anybody who liked to hunt with Shermie.”

  She gave me a blank stare.

  After ten more minutes of the same back and forth with no luck, I switched approaches. “How were things between you and Shermie?”

  “Fantastic. Never better. We’d been planning on a June wedding in Hawaii, but a few days ago, he told me he couldn’t stand the wait. Took me out to look at engagement rings. We could get a quickie wedding in Hawaii in a couple of weeks.”

  That caught me by surprise. Blatter had been married twice already, and he had three grown children. “Were you thinking of starting a family?”

  “No, no, we were just so much in love.”

  In my head, I could hear Marilyn Monroe singing in her breathy voice that diamonds were a girl’s best friend. Following Candy’s lead, I said, “There are some fabulous jewelry stores in town. Where did you go?”

  “Margie’s. She has a lovely collection of custom rings.” For the first time, she smiled.

  I could understand why. Margie’s Jewelry was the most exclusive jewelry store in town. I was thrilled that Candy had visited because I happened to know the owner very well and also one of the sales clerks. They might be able to give me an independent take on Candy and Shermie’s romance.

  “Great choice,” I said. “Every time I walk the mall, I find my face glued to Margie’s window.”

  For some reason, that comment turned on the spigot. Tears flowed. I hoped they were for Shermie and not for her.

  Finally, she said, “We didn’t find any rings we liked there, but he did buy me this lovely sapphire.”

  She held out a large pendant that contained a blue sapphire surrounded by a dozen small diamonds. “It’s gorgeous,” I said.

  When she leaned back again, she gulped more bourbon. I needed to get my questions answered quickly. She was well on her way to passing out.

  I asked about the other stores they visited, but more tears flowed, rendering her speechless. So, I handed her a couple of tissues from my satchel and patted her hand.

  While I waited, I considered the possibility that maybe their romance wasn’t as hot as she’d claimed. What if she’d talked someone into killing Blatter?

  But a moment’s reflection told me that theory made no sense. She was already getting what she wanted from him, namely a lavish lifestyle, a terrific allowance, and great bling. Why would she kill the goose who laid the sapphire eggs?

  When the tears stopped again, I asked her for a list of Shermie’s friends, and she gave me several names. They might know what her boyfriend thought about the relationship.

  While I had her attention, I explored a different angle. “You’re obviously a lovely woman. Shermie must’ve been constantly fighting the other guys off with a broadsword.”

  That little bit of flattery caught her off guard, and her vanity peeked through the sadness in the form of a quick snicker. “Guys are horn dogs, every last one of ‘em. But I didn’t pay attention to any, only to Shermie.”

  She sounded defensive, like maybe he’d complained to her about other suitors. “I hear ya, but some guys won’t give up the chase, will they?”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “A few wouldn’t leave me alone. They’d call and send me pictures. Lots of stuff on Instant Messenger, some pretty explicit.”

  “Like what?”

  “One guy was buck naked, with a huge boner. That was the raunchiest. Another guy naked from the waist up had great abs and pecs.”

  “I’m wondering whether one of them hurt Shermie to get you for himself? It would really help us a lot if we had access to your phone and social media data. Is that okay?”

  Her voice slurred as she said, “Whatever.”

  I pulled a consent form out of my leather satchel and showed her where to sign. She did, with steadier penmanship than I’d expected.

  That’d be a huge benefit to our investigation, but I couldn’t leave Candy yet. “The news is already out about Shermie’s tragic death. Have any guys called you?”

  She handed me her phone, which was off. I turned it on and pointed the screen at her face to unlock it.

  Sure enough, six recent texts and four voicemails. Most were from men. They all offered condolences and asked for a chance to see her. I jotted down their names and numbers. One of the guys, Federico Rodriguez, told her he was coming over at four. I checked the clock on Candy’s phone. That was only twenty minutes away. Talk about wildly inappropriate. Shermie wasn’t even in the ground yet.

  “In recent weeks, has anybody been trying to woo you away?”

  �
�All guys are horn dogs.”

  I wasn’t sure whether she’d forgotten that she’d already told me, or maybe it was such an important law of her universe that it bore repeating. “Tell me the names of local guys who’ve been too aggressive.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. Some men just can’t seem to control their longings. It’s the circle of love, I mean life, whatever. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “Sure, you must be used to it. And I’m not saying they did anything wrong. I’d just like to chat with them. Need to make sure they didn’t get too carried away by their longings.”

  For some reason, she still hemmed and hawed. Given how aggressive several of the messages I’d already seen had been, my Spidey sense told me some of the guys she attracted could be real trouble. She had the kind of body that made some guys lose their heads completely.

  Finally, she gave me the names of two men who’d called her at least five times over the last couple of months. One was Sam Frazier, a sixty-something grandfather who owned a stock brokerage firm in town. Although he was very married and had been for decades, he was well known for chasing young skirts.

  The second guy was Clint Simpson. He owned a popular bar downtown. The man was in his forties. Single. Had barely escaped trial on a sexual assault charge a few years ago. An Italian woman had claimed he’d forced her against a wall at his apartment and ripped her blouse open and skirt off.

  She’d slammed the heel of her hand against his nose to curb his enthusiasm. It’d worked, and she’d run outside and called the cops.

  One of the town’s officers arrested and booked Simpson, but a few weeks later, the victim suddenly returned to Italy. Us cynical law enforcement types had suspected at the time that she’d been paid to go away. The DA was forced to drop the charges.

  Both men were good leads. Before I could talk to them, though, I needed to intercept the asshole who’d invited himself over.

  I thanked Candy for her help and tried to stand, but she grabbed my arm to hold me down.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.