Perverted Justice

by Michael Arches

  Those were possibilities, barely. “We’ll check the Carbondale library. And how did this guy connect with a city slicker like Sherm then convince him that he knew a great elk hunting site?”

  “Hey, that’s very possible,” Randy said. “All the old timers in the Roaring Fork Valley have their favorite hunting spots.”

  I couldn’t see the retired rich doc sitting at a bar in Carbondale hobnobbing with poor crazy Gregor about favorite hunting grounds, but I let that pass. “How did Gregor find out about Rodriguez and his identity switch? Actually, how did he find out where I live? That’s not publicly available information.”

  “Maybe from the same guy who told him about the addict?”

  I snorted. “We’ve got to find that guy. He’s the most likely murderer. Gregor only provided the horses and trailer. Hell, we can’t even prove he knew in advance how his equipment would be used.”

  Randy rose. “Congrats. You’ve managed to make me just as glum as you are.”

  But before he took off, the local sheriff and Jenkins came over and sat.

  “What’s your assessment, Morgan?” Jenkins asked. “Garth seems to think you’ve found the so-called vigilante.”

  “Doubt it,” I said. “The good news is, I’m pretty sure we are only one step away from the bastard. The killer used at least one of the horses in the barn on Blatter’s last hunt.”

  Our sheriff looked at me with narrowed eyes. “What proof have you got?”

  I explained the photos I’d taken up in the mountains and the casts we just collected.

  “Seems awfully thin. Show me.”

  I went to the barn to gather the sixteen casts we prepared. Used a wheelbarrow to carry them back to the house’s front porch. Then I showed Randy, Garth, and Jenkins my two dozen printed photos from the file I’d brought to the ranch in the back of my SUV.

  “The clearest evidence,” I said, “comes from the gelding. He’d lost one of his shoes before the hunting trip.” I picked up the photograph that showed his shoeless hoof most clearly. “If you look closely, there is a crack in his hoof, right there.” I pointed at it on the picture, then picked up a cast.

  “As you can see, here’s the same crack in exactly the same position on the hoof.”

  The others all leaned forward.

  After a minute, Jenkins snorted. “That’s it? You gotta be kidding. Any criminal defense lawyer is going to eat you alive.”

  I glanced at Garth and Randy.

  The other sheriff spoke first. “I don’t know, John. Looks pretty good to me. Probably not enough for a conviction, but a damned good start.”

  Randy was going to pipe up, but I didn’t want to put him in an awkward position of having to side with me or our boss, so I jumped in. “That’s the best evidence, not the only evidence. If you compare the casts to the other photos, you’ll see that hoofs on three of the horses match perfectly with the pictures I took from the trail. I can’t point to any great distinguishing features, I’ll give you that, but they match up beautifully.”

  Jenkins leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Still not buying it. There are probably hundreds of horses in this area whose prints would match up with those pretty pictures. A defense attorney could probably find lots of examples.”

  He had a point, but I was certain that even the best investigators couldn’t find another horse with one missing shoe that matched perfectly on the other three hooves. “Well, I know this much. Whoever killed Blatter used at least one of Gregor’s horses and probably three. We should be able to connect the dots from Gregor to the vigilante, even if Gregor doesn’t help us.”

  Garth nodded. “I agree, assuming the killer is somebody else. Why isn’t Gregor good for all three murders?”

  I laid out my views about how unlikely it was that Gregor had known the victims.

  “We’re close,” Randy said, “damned close. Nice job, Hank. One more step in the right direction, and we’ll have him.”

  I thought the same, but that last step might be a doozy.

  “It seems to me,” I said, “we need to interview everybody who’s had contact with Gregor or this ranch lately. Of course, we might get lucky, and the asshole will wake up and tell us all. I’m not counting on it.”

  “Ditto,” Garth said, “and time’s a wasting. I’ll assign two of my deputies to work with yours, John. This guy didn’t interact with that many people. And I’ll put someone on the door of his hospital room. Whoever the killer is, he’s probably going to want to eliminate the witness who can spill the beans.”

  Jenkins agreed that Linda and I would work with Garfield County and start the interviews right away. He also offered to have our lab techs help with the evidence analysis. Then the two bosses went off to do what bosses do, namely plan a press conference.

  “Damn,” Randy said, “we’re getting close. I can just feel it.”

  “You always were more optimistic than me,” I said. “This investigation could still stall out, particularly if we don’t find the missing connection soon.”

  -o-o-o-

  Randy and I continued to plan next steps, and Jenkins came back into view. He climbed the front steps and sat back down in the same wicker chair as before.

  “One more thing I almost forgot in all the celebration. One of you two yahoos is going to be sheriff in mid-January. I’m delivering a message from the powers that be, and no, I’m not going to be specific. The people who run things in our little corner of the world aren’t happy. One of you will care because they decide, among a great many other things, how much money the sheriff’s office gets. Thanks to me being wired in, our budgets have gone up steadily. Over thirty percent in the last eight years. You’re welcome, but those budgets can go down just as easily, probably more so. There are a hundred grasping hands for every county tax dollar.”

  I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable again. An interesting little rant, but I was on the slow side. Didn’t have any idea who was bitching at us through the sheriff’s sarcastic mouth. Randy looked at me but didn’t speak.

  That was probably the smart move. I did the opposite—shook my finger at the boss. “I don’t take orders from nameless, faceless thugs. Somebody wants to whine? Fine, tell them to call me or come see me. Or they can just shut the fuck up.”

  Maybe Jenkins thought he was doing us a favor because he turned bright red, and his nostrils flared. “I’ll be happy to let ‘em know your exact words, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Randy put his hand up to stop me from firing back. “So, what is it exactly that Hank or I’ve done that’s upset the high and mighty?”

  Our sheriff pointed at his chief deputy. “That’s why I wanted you to take over for me. You’ve got half a brain on your shoulders, unlike the idiot here.” He flicked his thumb at me. “Scooter’s crack about warning rich people not to come to our towns was beyond stupid. Rich morons are our daily bread.”

  Randy explained how he’d warned Scooter about his press release, but Jenkins stood.

  “Not my problem anymore,” he said. “Tried to help you out and got repaid with scorn. As soon as my term is up, hell, maybe even before, I’m heading for Arizona. Worked hard to do the right thing by our office and our county. This is the pitiful thanks I get.”

  He stomped off.

  “Okay,” I said before Randy could speak, “just between you and me, I could’ve handled that better.”

  “Yep. I know you two’ve been at each other’s throats since you filed your papers to run. The thing is, he really has been good for our department over the last two terms. And good for the county. He built something to be proud of, something that one of us is going to try and make better.”

  My face warmed. I’d let my personal anger get the best of me. I had no business being sheriff if I couldn’t control my temper. “You’re right as far as that goes, but he’s handed out too many favors in the process. Won’t apologize to him.”

  Ran
dy shook his head. “My mama used to say, ‘No man’s an angel; we all sin in our own special way.’”

  I wavered. I’d always been a sucker for pearls of wisdom from moms.

  Before I could make up my mind to approach Jenkins, he tore out in his fancy, county-paid sedan.

  -o-o-o-

  To get a cell signal, I had to leave the ranch for Carbondale. One of the local deputies offered to give me a ride. We walked to his patrol car, and for the first time since the firefight, I got a good look at the damage to the front of my SUV. A shiver ran through me at the violence of Gregor’s attack.

  He’d pumped several rounds into the front of the SUV’s engine before I could get the vehicle turned sideways. A pool of oil and engine coolant covered the ground.

  And much worse, the bucket on the front-end loader had slammed into my SUV in the middle of the grill. Gregor’s machine had ripped the SUV’s hood back and shattered the windshield. Luckily, the camera survived this crash. Everyone would be able to see that I hadn’t been aggressive toward Gregor before he started shooting.

  A twinge of fear shot through me when I saw the giant divots Gregor’s bullets had put in the driver’s door. If the metal hadn’t stopped the rounds, one of them would’ve caught me near the armhole in my vest. The armor probably wouldn’t have stopped that bullet. Skip wasn’t the only one who’d escaped the Grim Reaper today.

  I shook myself to get rid of the queasy feeling flowing through me. Now wasn’t the time to get soft.

  -o-o-o-

  After I reached Carbondale, I called Willow. Not only to update her but also to warn her and her bodyguards. “Who’s keeping an eye on you at the moment?”

  “Alex, and he brought a Rottweiler named Chomper. The dog’s quite scary.”

  That made me feel better. Alex was taking his job seriously. “Would you mind finding Alex so we three can chat?”

  “Hank, is something wrong?”

  “Nope,” I said, “and I want to make sure it stays that way.”

  She found him, and they sat in the library listening to me on her phone with the speaker turned on.

  I summarized the firefight with Gregor and my belief that I was getting close to locating the vigilante. Then, I said, “If he doesn’t know I’m closing in, he will soon. Garth and Jenkins plan to hold a press conference shortly.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Alex asked.

  “I’m anticipating the killer’s reaction,” I said. “He may run, which would be the smart move.”

  “But the man is mentally disturbed,” Willow said.

  “Exactly, and I’ve seen too many weird reactions lately to predict what the vigilante might do. Blatter didn’t treat his cancer. The driver of that Ford pickup made a snap decision to end his life. And, today, Gregor took on two armed cops when, as far as I can tell, he’d done nothing wrong. I’m not going to pretend anymore to understand how mentally ill people will react when backed into a corner. The murderer might want to go after me and/or Willow, or he might attack another dirtball victim. Who knows, but I expect he’ll do something soon. Maybe even tonight. Just wanted to make sure you both are alert.”

  “If he comes here,” Alex said, “we’ll be ready.”

  -o-o-o-

  After I hung up with the folks back home, I called Gregor’s daughter in Grand Junction. She’d already heard the news about his injuries and was on her way to Glenwood.

  “Do you know anyone he hung out with recently? We think he lent his trailer and several horses to someone who committed several murders.”

  Her voice was wary. “I don’t know a thing about him, haven’t for years. He came back from Iraq a changed man. I was just a kid then. Mom divorced him and moved us to Grand Junction. I’d tried to stay in touch, and I visited him regularly to make sure he took his meds…until he turned on me. That was the end of our relationship.”

  I asked a few more questions but got zilch.

  While in Carbondale, I checked for places Gregor might’ve visited. The third stop paid off—a bar called the Bonnie Lass. The owner and bartender, a short, wiry man with red hair and a matching beard, was a fellow Iraqi vet. He’d been in the Royal Marines, originally from Londonderry, Ireland. Offered me a free beer, but I was on duty.

  I took a sparkling water instead. “Do you know Alfred Gregor?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sure, and I do. What’s he done now?”

  I gave him the two-minute version.

  “His mind is gone. No more dangerous than a lamb—until someone pokes at him.”

  I wasn’t going to argue, and maybe he was right. I probably could’ve handled my encounter with him better. “Mainly, I’m looking for someone else who hung around with Gregor. Might’ve taken advantage of him. Have you seen Gregor with anyone recently?”

  The bartender closed his eyes. “Aye, three someones. They came in a few times together. Happy hour. Downed a couple of rounds of beer. Ate nachos. Yelled at the TV. The usual.”

  I fought to keep my voice and expression even as I asked the critical question. “What did these three someones look like?”

  “Two were tall and thin, could’ve been brothers, maybe even twins. The third bloke was average in height. Burly. Can’t say much more. All three wore cowboy hats with wide brims. Kept them low on their heads, which hid their faces. The burly one had a black beard.”

  “Any other details you can add?” I asked. “It could be vitally important.”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t get a great look at any of ‘em. They sat in the corner, away from the bar.”

  He pointed at the far corner, which was mostly lit by a nearby TV screen showing talking heads.

  The burly guy sounded like the driver of the Mercedes who’d tried to run over me, but I had no idea who the others were. “Any chance you have video surveillance?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, like that was the best joke he’d heard in months.

  “Okay, I guess not. Who else here saw them?”

  “My waitresses. Most likely Angie. Alfred’s favorite table was on her side of the room. She should be here in a couple of hours, unless one of her wee ones has gotten sick again.”

  I checked my watch. It was already after three. How the time flew when I was investigating murder.

  “Did they use a credit card to pay?”

  “Nope. Traditional clientele here. Mostly cash or they run a tab. They paid cash.”

  I asked a few more questions without learning anything useful, then thanked him. “I’ll try to drop by later. If you see any of those guys again, don’t say a word. Try to call 911 unobtrusively. They could be really dangerous.”

  The bartender shook his head. “I left Ireland after the troubles and did three tours in the Middle East. Those three won’t bother me.” He pulled a Ruger Super Redhawk .44 Magnum revolver with the long barrel out from behind the bar.

  “Let’s both hope you never have to use it.”

  -o-o-o-

  For two hours, I wandered around town trying to find someone who’d seen Gregor’s buddies. Everyone knew the disabled war vet but not his pals.

  When I returned to the Bonnie Lass, Angie was busy hauling drinks and burgers around. She was a short, slim brunette with rosy cheeks and a quick laugh.

  When she got a free minute, she said, “The first time I can remember seeing the guys with Alfred was right before the Fourth of July,” she said. “The stocky one, Doug, claimed to have bought a hundred dollars’ worth of fireworks in Wyoming. He planned to shoot them off with the others at Gregor’s ranch. They wanted to celebrate the good old USA.”

  “Did they ever complain about the news?”

  She looked at me askance, like maybe I was a bit dim. “The usual. Taxes are too high, and the government wastes most of our hard-earned money. They coddle criminals and illegals.”

  They sounded like normal, god-fearing Coloradoans. “Anything more specific, like bitching about p
articular people?”

  “The usual suspects. The president. The governor. Congress.”

  That line of questions didn’t get me anything, but she did agree to sit with a police artist if I could find one.

  Chapter 15

  One of the Pitkin County deputies who’d finished work picked me up on his way to visit Skip at the hospital. We both wanted to see with our own eyes that our favorite patient was doing okay.

  To my relief, Skip seemed as good as new. His wife and kids surrounded him, joking around. Only Karen’s bloodshot eyes told me she’d gotten the scare of her life.

  “I’d rather go home,” Skip said, “but the kids are having too much fun here. And the doc says he’d prefer keeping me rigged up to this machine overnight.” He pointed at one of those EKG monitors that quietly beeped with every heartbeat.

  I remembered seeing him flopped forward, out cold in my SUV. Such a thin line between life and death. “Listen to the danged doctor!”

  Karen nodded several times.

  I stuck around for a while to make sure he wasn’t putting on a feel-good act for our benefit, but he seemed to be bouncing back quickly. Several times, I told him and Karen how much I appreciated his help this morning. If I’d gone alone, I probably wouldn’t have survived.

  Before leaving the hospital, I went by Gregor’s room. Two Garfield sheriff’s deputies guarded him. Linda stood with them, chatting.

  I asked, “How’s the scumbag?”

  “Not well,” she said. “Although only one shotgun pellet penetrated his skull, it seems to have done plenty of damage. He’s in a coma with minimal brain activity. I’m going to head home in an hour. If he revives during the night, these guys know the one question we need answered first—who borrowed Gregor’s horses and trailer?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “The main guy’s name is probably Doug. At least, Gregor called him that. I doubt that’s the vigilante’s real name, but maybe you can check out the Dougs in the area tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” she said, “we’re making progress. I only hope it’s fast enough to keep someone else from dying.”