Perverted Justice

by Michael Arches

  “I’m not gonna tell you how to run your business,” I said, “but I expect that the papers would’ve looked genuine. The killer’s obviously familiar with law enforcement, and it would be easy for him to prepare an authentic-looking subpoena.”

  “I’ll mention that to our review team,” Lucy said. “I agree with you, but the consequences of that mistake were so great that I doubt our early-morning manager will be with us for long.”

  That was their bailiwick, not mine. Lucy motioned for her assistant to move on. He started another video which showed the killer approaching the elevators. All along the way, the fake trooper walked with a purposeful stride and kept his head down so the brim of his hat concealed many of his features. What little I could see of his expression showed the blank face of a cop performing a routine task.

  Step-by-step, we followed the killer as he made his way to Caldwell’s room. He knocked on the door sharply, and a couple of minutes later, someone opened it. The fake officer stepped inside and closed the door.

  “According to the timeclock,” Lucy said, “the attacker stayed in the room for twenty-seven minutes. Then we get this.”

  She motioned to her assistant. He played the video of the man leaving the room. His stride had more of a bounce to it, like he was delighted. A small smile played on his face.

  Again, we followed his path as he left the hotel. By the time he got down to the lobby, his face was impassive again. With a slight nod to the woman at the front desk, he left.

  “Is there any chance you have any information from inside that room?” I asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “We respect our guests’ right to privacy.”

  That was the answer I’d expected, but I was still disappointed. “How’d you figure out you had a big problem?”

  She blew out a deep breath. “He missed a breakfast meeting, and one of the other attendees asked the desk clerk to call his room. No answer. She knew he had to be awake, and she worried that he’d become suddenly ill. When she checked, oh, shit!”

  That was the understatement of the day. “Linda, please select out a half-dozen individual frames from the videos with the best views of his face.”

  “You bet,” she said.

  “For now,” Lucy said, “we have these.” She handed me a manila folder with a dozen grainy shots. None showed the face above the middle of the guy’s nose. What I could see of his cheeks showed them to be unusually plump.

  “Could I make an observation?” Taurus asked.

  “You betcha,” I said. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  “I was very involved in theater in high school and still am in college,” he said. “The dude seems to have worked hard to make himself look fatter than he is. In addition to the padding around his torso, he’s using some kind of appliance in his mouth to puff his cheeks out. The beard looks fake, too. Lastly, his chin is too narrow for his face.”

  The kid may be a weirdo, but he had good eyes. “Would you be willing to work with a police artist?”

  He grinned. “Sure, but there’s a lady who works in the theater community here who knows this stuff much better than me. Celestine Leclerc. You should show her these pictures first.”

  “We will. Thanks for the tip,” I said.

  “Of course,” Lucy said, “we’d like to solve this terrible crime as soon as possible. Taurus will keep at it. What else can we do to help you?”

  “I need to interview the woman who spoke to the fake trooper.”

  The security chief grimaced. “She’s naturally distraught. Thinks she’s somehow responsible for the man’s murder. Please be as gentle as you can.”

  “I’ve seen how she behaved,” I said, “and you can tell her, she has nothing to apologize for. Mainly, I want to find out more about the killer’s face. She saw him at a much better angle than the camera.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Lucy said.

  -o-o-o-

  Linda, Boomer and I went off to find Randy. He stood by himself in the lobby talking on the phone. We waited at a distance until he hung up and waved us over.

  “Just updating the boss,” he said. “We’re not going to be able to keep the lid on this one. Too many people here know too much. More terrible publicity.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “We all have our work cut out for us.”

  “No shit,” he said. “Anything new on your end?”

  I summarized what we’d seen on the surveillance tapes and showed him the photographs.

  Randy frowned. “This isn’t much help. I’d hoped for better at one of the country’s fanciest hotels.”

  Linda said, “The disguise is the problem, not the cameras. The indoor shots are very clear.”

  “Hopefully they’ll come through with better pictures,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m going to talk to the desk clerk. She might be able to fill in the vigilante’s face for us.”

  -o-o-o-

  Linda headed back to our office, and Lucy let me use a small conference room to interview the young woman who’d spoken to the killer. I asked the security chief to stick around in the hope that would help calm down the clerk.

  Her face was just as pale as Caldwell’s, and her hands shook violently. She’d had a rough morning. Mondays were always a bitch, but this was ridiculous.

  “Please understand,” I said, “you’re not responsible for what happened today. Only the killer is. I watched your interactions with him, and you did everything exactly right. The only reason I’m talking to you is to try and get a better description of the killer’s face.”

  She nodded but didn’t seem at all relieved. My mutt put his giant head on her knee, and she petted him. Her shoulders relaxed.

  “What color were the fake cop’s eyes?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He wore those mirrored glasses you all seem to love, even though it was dark out. That should’ve clued me in.”

  Not a good start, and it didn’t get any better. The clerk couldn’t tell me a damned thing I didn’t already know. By the time I gave up, she was sobbing.

  Lucy led the woman away and returned a minute later. “So sorry that didn’t go better. She’s a sweet girl, and our guests love her, but…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the right words.

  “Forget about it,” I said. “We’ve both talked to plenty of witnesses who, despite the best intentions, can’t help. I’m going to contact that Leclerc woman your nephew told me about.”

  “Good idea,” Lucy said, “but I do have a little good news. Taurus texted me and said he found something interesting.”

  She and I walked back to where her nephew was working. He grinned and hugged Boomer. “Okay, I did clean up the video and printed out better pictures of the asshole. Then I noticed something. The front desk is so smooth and shiny that it acts like a mirror. A crappy one, but better than nothing. With some prestidigitation,” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “I got this.”

  He handed me another photograph. It was a close up of the section of the front desk in front of the fake trooper. It showed the man’s face all the way up to the brim of his hat. The image was monochrome, brown and black, but it revealed details none of the other pictures had. And as Taurus had said, the killer’s cheeks were puffed way out.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” I told him, “that’s amazing.” The clerk had been right about the mirrored sunglasses, but we got the shape of his face. “Terrific work, dude.”

  He beamed at both of us and reached over to hug the dog again. Some people just loved mutts.

  -o-o-o-

  On my way to the office, one thing bugged me more and more. The fake cop had behaved exactly like a real one would’ve, but state troopers didn’t normally serve papers. That was the sheriff’s office’s job. But nobody outside of law enforcement could be expected to know that. Otherwise, his impression was too spot-on. What if he was a real cop or DA?

  That question made my stomach twist. Not o
nly were his actions sickening, but a vigilante cop or prosecutor would’ve had access to lots of information unavailable to the general public. He could even be a member of our office, which would give him access to our full case file.

  My throat tightened and burned with anger. It didn’t seem possible that someone in law enforcement would betray the public trust like that, not to mention coming after me, but it might explain why we were having so much trouble finding the bastard.

  From now on, I had to restrict new information about the case to Linda, Skip, and Randy. Those three, I was sure I could trust.

  My outrage grew as I headed back to the office, and when I arrived, I grabbed Linda and Skip. The three of us and Boomer walked over to the nearby pastry shop.

  Once we were alone, I explained my theory about our fake cop being a real one or a DA.

  Their faces got longer and longer.

  “Shit!” Skip said. “The pieces are finally fitting together. No wonder the killer gets easy access to people. Westerners almost always trust cops and prosecutors, and the Mexican knew he had to cooperate to stay in this country.”

  “If you’re right,” Linda said, “and I can’t believe it, I think it’s probably someone in Grand Junction’s Police Department or Mesa County. That’s where the killings started. We’ve shared everything with those guys.”

  “From now on,” I said, “we keep our information close. Us three and Randy. Definitely don’t hint to anybody that we suspect one of our own.”

  They both nodded.

  Then, I had an even more appalling thought. “Dammit! What if it’s Jenkins?”

  Their faces went white.

  “N-no,” Linda stammered. “Not p-possible. He wouldn’t betray everybody like that.”

  I looked at Skip.

  He groaned. “It’s not the craziest thought you’ve ever had, Hank, but it’s close. Like Linda, I can’t believe he’s that furious at the justice system. Tired of the job and pissed off? Sure. Cynical? Absolutely. Maybe even a little corrupt, but this vigilante has gone way beyond that.”

  “I’m not saying I believe it myself.” I raised my hands, palms forward to calm them down. “But think about it. Jenkins is obviously fed up with law enforcement. He could’ve won another term easily but didn’t try. He’s furious because there’s a good chance his handpicked candidate is going to lose. And all the people who were murdered did game our very flawed justice system. Plus, we know he hates me, and the killer has tried to kill me at least twice. Oh, and lastly, he’s the right size to impersonate the trooper.”

  The two of them slowly shook their heads.

  A sour feeling arose in my stomach. I wasn’t sure that was because I thought I was right or because I’d just slandered an innocent man. My animosity toward him might be clouding my judgment. “Okay, so we’ll just keep the Jenkins alternative between the three of us. Not a word to Randy.”

  “Agreed,” they both said instantly.

  By the time we reached the pastry shop, none of us seemed to be hungry. I sure wasn’t, but I bought a donut for Boomer and tore it into pieces. He inhaled them, as usual. Unlike my stomach, his probably felt fine.

  On the way back, Skip asked, “How do we prove or disprove your Jenkins theory without us all getting fired?”

  I had thought that part through. “We need to find somebody who can take the photographs and figure out what the killer really looks like under the disguise. I’m going to talk to that Leclerc lady, but if she doesn’t work out, we’ll need to find someone else.”

  “Talk to her right away,” Linda said. “In the meantime, I’m distributing the best of the photographs Taurus gave you to every law enforcement agency within a hundred miles. Maybe someone will recognize the son of a bitch.”

  -o-o-o-

  Back at the office, I called Willow, who was wired into our local arts community. The French were so sophisticated.

  She told me Celestine Leclerc managed a well-regarded troupe. The business paid well, enough for her to live in Aspen, but that was largely because she’d qualified for subsidized housing years ago.

  I called the woman and briefly described my problem.

  “I’m happy to look at your pictures and help however I can. No promises.”

  Celestine gave me her address and told me she worked in the back of a small auditorium.

  Chapter 17

  I entered the building through the stage door. It contained a large poster promoting the current season’s performances. The plays were a mixture of Shakespeare, modern classics like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and several other shows I’d never heard of.

  The slim, fortyish woman stood and shook my hand from behind a small, rickety desk piled high with papers and costumes. She was about five-eight, and had medium brown skin. Her face was plain, showing no distinct features. She seemed to be partially Asian, black, Arab, or Hispanic. It was hard to say. That probably helped her to assume a wide variety of different roles.

  She spoke with a light French accent, similar to Willow’s. “Welcome to the world of magic, Detective. Please have a seat.”

  I sat on a metal folding chair in front of her desk. “Thanks for seeing me. Taurus thought you might be able to recognize a man’s basic features under his disguise.”

  “Taurus is one of my protégées. To give you an idea of how the right costume and makeup can change someone’s appearance, take a look at my portfolio while I study your pictures.”

  “Perfect.” I handed her my manila folder with the enhanced photographs of the fake trooper. She gave me her portfolio, a three-ring binder that contained about twenty head shots. I’d thought she’d meant the pictures showed her, but the first photo was an old, dark-skinned black man with white hair and wrinkles. He could’ve been Obama’s dad. The next portrait showed a young freckled woman with long light-blonde hair. Her innocent face reminded me of one of my cousins. The third photo was a middle-aged Japanese man, and so on.

  “Who are these people again?” I asked. “Your actors?”

  She giggled in a very French way that told me I was an idiot. Willow had laughed at me the same way too many times to count.

  “Those are me,” Celestine said, “in various characters I’ve played on our stage. I like to surprise my fans with a new look for every performance.”

  I kept flipping through the pages. “Ms. Leclerc, these are incredible. You seem to be able to take on any persona you want.”

  “Thank you, but at the risk of revealing one of my secrets, I have to say that’s an illusion. If you look carefully, you’ll notice that all of those people have long narrow faces, like mine. I can use certain tricks to make my face look wider, like your mystery man has, but that only goes so far.”

  I thought she was being too modest, but I didn’t want to take her focus away from the real issue, namely spotting the stone-cold killer hiding behind a wide brimmed hat, a beard, and mirrored sunglasses.

  “I’ll just keep flipping through these pages,” I said. “Please take your time in looking at my photos. Any help you can provide will be very much appreciated.”

  Celestine took a sketchpad out of a drawer and began scratching with a pencil. I kept flipping through her portfolio, not because I wanted to see her incredible skills with makeup but because I didn’t want her to rush.

  The portfolio proved one thing beyond any doubt. She knew lots of tricks that people could use to disguise themselves. I had to come to one of her performances to see if she was anywhere near as good an actress as she was a makeup artist.

  As she kept sketching, she switched back and forth between several different drawings. I was dying of curiosity to see what she’d come up with, but I kept my gaze focused on her photos.

  After what seemed like hours, she finally said, “I have several possibilities for you to consider. Understand that I cannot be more precise without better photos. The murderer has gone to considerable lengths to conceal himself. For example, he’s
not nearly as heavy as he portrays.”

  “How can you be sure?” I asked. “Not doubting you, just ignorant.”

  She pushed the photograph of the reflection on the desk toward me. “This picture is by far the most revealing.” She pointed with her pencil at the guy’s neck. “There are certain parts of our body we can’t hide very well. The neck has to remain flexible, and fake padding around it is quite noticeable. And once I know the size of a person’s neck, I can deduce the width of their shoulders and head.”

  She pointed at the man’s ears. “These are also very revealing, both their size and the distance apart.”

  I didn’t understand but didn’t want to interrupt. She flipped to the top page in her sketchpad.

  “Without getting into too many arcane details, this face shows the widest reasonable possibility. Understand, I’m making important assumptions. This is art, not science.”

  “Got it,” I said. “No guarantees.”

  She nodded. “For example, he could look something like this.”

  I stared at the drawing but didn’t recognize anyone I knew. “You’re the expert, not me.”

  She smiled at me, showing a little vanity. If she turned out to be helpful, I was willing to sing her praises to the heavens.

  “Here’s a second possibility, also less likely in my humble opinion. This face is much narrower.”

  Another swing and a miss. The suspense was killing me. “You’re down to your last strike.”

  She looked at me askance. Obviously not a baseball fan.

  She flipped the page again with a dramatic flourish. “Voilà, Madame, my best guess.”

  A stabbing pain seemed to pierce my heart. He was clear as day. “Holy fucking shit! Excuse my French.”

  She chuckled deep in her chest. “You obviously know this person.”

  “Oh, yeah.” It was Deputy Simon Grassley. The likeness wasn’t perfect, but it was amazingly close. “Do you, by any chance, know this man?”