“Borden was acquitted.”
I tipped my head. “Still, she remains the prime suspect in the case. My point is yes, forensic psychologists have put together profiles that show significant differences between male and female killers. But there are always outliers, Finn. Always.”
* * *
Restless, I decided to go for a run. Between the long car ride to Bishop and back, and the fact that I’d been sitting in front of a computer for too long, I needed to move my body and get some fresh air.
I thought about what Moriarty had said, about Liv Ramirez needing a friend. He had given me her number and I sent her a text, asking if she was interested in joining me at a local trail. A few minutes later, her response came back: I’m in. Where?
I chose the path at the base of Lookout Mountain. It was a four-mile loop with a gradual incline, not too strenuous but enough to get the heart pumping and blood flowing. We agreed to meet there in thirty minutes. I changed in the station gym, swapping my jeans, sweater, and boots for black tights, a dark jersey, and running shoes.
Ramirez was already at the trailhead by the time I arrived and parked. She was warming up with a series of stretches and jumping jacks. Fuego sat patiently near a log, shooting excited glances every few seconds in the direction of the trail.
Ramirez laughed when she saw me: we wore identical outfits, even down to the bright red stripes on our shoes. “Thanks for the invitation. I haven’t spent nearly enough time out here as I’d like to.”
“Sure. I could use the exercise.”
She glanced at my bandaged hands. “What happened?”
“An unexpected half hour on a roof. It’s a long story. This is a loop; do you have a preference for starting east or west?”
The fire investigator glanced up at the sky, noting where the sun was. “East.”
The trail was wide enough to allow us to run side by side. After a few minutes, Ramirez gasped, “The altitude is crap.”
I huffed alongside her, my own breath coming in hitches. I noticed Fuego didn’t seem to have any problems whatsoever; he kept pace with us just fine. I couldn’t imagine my own dog, chubby Seamus with his squat legs, even attempting such a feat. He’d take one look at the trail and turn tail to head back home.
Another shallow breath. It really had been too long since I’d done this; trail running was vastly different than jogging on the station’s treadmill. “You get used to it, but it never gets easier.”
Ramirez glanced sideways at me, taking in my labored breathing. “No kidding. So what’s the story on your partner?”
“Finn? He’s an arrogant man with a heart of gold and a mouth that runs faster than his brain sometimes. A ladies’ man through and through.” I remembered what he’d said about marriage earlier and added, “From what I understand, he’s not looking for anything serious.”
“Who is? So you two, you’re not…?”
I snorted. “No. Definitely not. I’m getting married in a few weeks. Finn and I are strictly work partners. That’s all.”
We came to a bend where the trail narrowed and a momentary spurt of competitiveness shot through me. I sprinted ahead of Ramirez, catching her by surprise. I went through the narrows first, then slowed until she caught back up with me, Fuego a few feet behind her.
“Hundred meter?”
I shook my head. “No, cross-country. I was a speedy little kid, but I didn’t enjoy it. I like taking in the scenery. That’s why I love working on cases. Fast answers are great for closing investigations, but I enjoy the hunt. Putting the clues together, finding and eliminating suspects.”
“High jump was my baby. I like heights. I never did enjoy playing it safe.”
Two miles in, we caught up to an older couple using walking sticks to carefully pick their way amongst the boulders, rocks, and muddy crevices. They heard us coming and moved to the side. As we ran past with a thanks and wave, I heard the woman mutter, “Crazy girls.”
Another twenty minutes and we were almost done when Ramirez suddenly gasped. She darted to the edge of the trail and looked down at a steep, rocky embankment. A narrow sliver of icy water flowed over the rocks and came to a stop a hundred feet down in a small, nearly frozen pond.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s sights like this I missed when I was in the desert. Ice … ponds. Forests.”
Fuego whined and gave Ramirez’s pants leg a quick tug. She laughed. “Am I too close to the edge, buddy? You big worrywart.” Instead of stepping back, she leaned forward, her toes on the very edge of the ravine.
Even I was uncomfortable with how close she was. “Liv…”
“Shhhh. Do you hear that? It’s the sound of adventure, Detective.” Another step closer, her toes now totally off the edge. She closed her eyes and inhaled. I waited, my own breath caught in my throat.
Finally, Ramirez stepped back, opened her eyes, and smiled. “Ready?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure what I’d just witnessed, if there was a daredevil side to the fire investigator or if she literally just liked to live life on the edge. We finished the run and came to an easy, gradual stop at the trailhead. Ramirez walked in tight circles while I leaned forward and rested my hands on my thighs, careful not to put too much pressure on the wounds on my palms. Even Fuego walked in small, tight circles, shaking off the last of his adrenaline.
“Man, that felt good. I needed some speed today.” Ramirez threw a leg up on the fender of her truck and stretched forward. “Thanks again for the invitation.”
“You’re welcome. We should do it again sometime. To be honest, I’ve been a little reluctant to hit the trails by myself lately. There was a mountain lion attack a few months ago. The hiker survived, but Fish and Game was never able to track the cat.” I grabbed a water bottle from my trunk and chugged it down. “Something about knowing he’s out there gives me the spooks.”
“Not me. I’d rather deal with a wild animal than a human any day of the week,” Ramirez said. She peeled off her sweat-soaked jersey, exposing a tanned and toned stomach, and replaced it with a fleece sweatshirt. Shivering, she yanked the hood up over her head and whistled for Fuego to jump in the truck. She climbed in after him and rolled down the window. “Next time let’s get a beer after, okay?”
“It’s a deal.” I followed her out of the parking lot, then we went in different directions, me headed up the canyon, Liv headed south to her rental above Lou Moriarty’s garage.
As I walked in the front door of my house, I smelled jerk chicken. I found Brody and Grace in the backyard, Brody grilling the chicken alongside corn on the cob and slices of squash, and the baby, bundled up in a warm jacket and hat, playing in her sandbox. It was that magical time of day, dusk, when the sky is soft and the blackness of night not yet fallen.
“I thought we’d get in one more barbecue before the weather changes for good,” Brody said. “I picked up a six-pack of that hard pear cider you like. And I dropped the deposit off at the Tate. So don’t get cold feet, or you’ll cost me a thousand bucks.”
“No cold feet here.” I picked up the baby and squeezed her tight. Her cheeks were rosy and cool to the touch. “Did Grace eat?”
“Yes. She’s ready for her bath, I’ll keep dinner warm until she’s in bed.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Come on, sweet pea, ready for a bath?”
“Ya,” Grace replied in that funny little voice of hers.
I let Grace play in the tub longer than usual, enjoying the sight of her smashing bubbles and throwing the assortment of colorful plastic toys around in the water. After, I dressed her in footed fleece pajamas and turned the thermostat up a few degrees. There are not many things sweeter than a clean baby, scrubbed pink, in a pair of footed fleece pajamas. We lingered over bedtime stories and a cup of warm milk, then I reluctantly put her down for the night.
As I crept out and gently closed her door, I was grateful to have this precious time with her. Already she was quick to change her mind about affection, sometimes leaning in
for cuddles, other times asserting her independence. I choked back unexpected tears at it struck me again just how fast this was all going. Though Grace had been a surprise, she’d had our hearts since the moment we first saw her on the ultrasound, and motherhood was quickly becoming my most favorite role.
Though night had fallen and the air was again chilly, Brody and I added a few more layers, then ate outside at the picnic table on the back porch, a couple of candles illuminating the darkness. It was romantic, like camping, and I wondered why we didn’t do it more often.
Content, Brody sipped his cider and leaned back. “Want to watch a scary movie? TMC is still showing horror movies, twenty-four hours a day.”
“You hate horror movies.”
He shrugged. “They’re kind of fun. I bought caramel corn … and roasted tamari pumpkin seeds…”
I sighed. “You realize I have a wedding dress I need to fit into in less than a month, don’t you?”
“You’re perfect. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
We watched Friday the 13th and though it was nice to snuggle up, my mind was a million miles away. By the time the movie ended, though, I was surprised to find myself more than a little spooked. As we dragged ourselves up the stairs to bed, my eyes saw masked men in every shadow, their only goal to stab at me, over and over again, until I was no more.
Chapter Ten
By the time Finn walked into the station at nine a.m. on Thursday, I was nearly done with my third cup of coffee and my nerves were on edge. I took a break from the gruesome material I’d been reading and went to the window and cracked it open. Outside, a brisk wind rattled a trio of aspens. The trees were harbingers of the fate we’d all meet someday: bare, exposed, skeletal.
Vulnerable.
No, not vulnerable. Armored. Stripped down to their barest form, ready to face the snow and sleet and ice and wind. Ready to survive.
Finn joined me at the window, a cup of coffee in his hands, dressed in dark jeans and a navy wool sweater that turned his baby blues into twin ponds of dark, moody water. “You look like you’ve already put in a half day’s work. What time did you get in?”
“Early. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been reviewing the list of names Jimmy narrowed down. It’s an ugly list; Montgomery met a lot of nasty people.” I returned to my desk, sat down. “Including Gordon Dillahunt.”
Finn paused, his mug halfway to his lips. He slowly lowered the coffee and cleared his throat. “Now there’s a name that no one around here is likely to forget.”
I shrugged. “It was before our time. I didn’t know if you knew…”
“I doubt there’s a cop in this state, hell, in the region that isn’t familiar with Dillahunt. You know that Chief Chavez was the one who finally caught up with him, right? Of course, the bastard managed to kill three more men before Chavez finally arrested him in Montana.”
I quickly did the math in my head. “The chief would have been young, just a few years out of the academy.”
“Yes.” Finn lowered his voice. “There are some that say the Dillahunt collar paved the way for the chief to quickly move up the ranks. Without that arrest, there’s a good chance we could be reporting to Moriarty.”
“The horror. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky, then. I made some calls this morning. Gordon Dillahunt is serving multiple life sentences at the penitentiary in Belle Vista. He hasn’t had visitors in years; he’s difficult to work with and dismisses attorneys left and right. Then all of a sudden, sometime last year, a law student from Boulder made contact with Dillahunt. Since then, she makes the drive down to Belle Vista twice a month. Her name is Colleen Holden.”
“Is this one of those sick stories where you tell me they’ve fallen in love? Prison pen pals turned beloved?” Finn asked.
“No, not at all. Holden is researching case law in hopes of getting Dillahunt an appeal.”
“Why would anyone in their right mind want that lunatic out on the street?” Finn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dillahunt goes through attorneys like used tissues, but he’s okay with a student? That doesn’t even begin to make sense.”
I shrugged. “They’ve developed some kind of rapport. Anyway, she visits every other Friday. She’s due to be there, at the prison, tomorrow. I’m going to be there, too, see if she’ll meet with me.”
“Wait a minute. What do you think is going on? Dillahunt persuaded this woman to do his dirty work? You believe a Boulder law student assassinated Judge Montgomery?” Finn rubbed his eyes. “I must be dreaming, still asleep.”
“I know it sounds crazy. Just hear me out. Belle Vista Penitentiary is only a two-hour drive from Cedar Valley. After Dillahunt was sentenced, he pointed at Montgomery, then at the prosecutor’s team, and finally at his own attorney. Dillahunt said that he would be coming for them, each of them, in their dreams. Then he added, ‘You’ll wake and find it wasn’t a dream. I’ll be there, in your bedroom. I’ll be the last thing you ever see.’”
“What a psychopath,” Finn muttered.
“You haven’t heard the best part. Colleen Holden is not some naïve young idealist. After college, she enlisted in the army. Holden went on to spend the next six years in Virginia, teaching and training EOD specialists.”
“EOD … what is that?”
I waited a beat, then smiled. “Explosive Ordnance Disposal.”
“No shit.” Finn’s eyes lit up. “You’re on fire this morning. Where did you get all this intel?”
“Dillahunt’s trial transcripts include his threats, ones that sound similar to the threats Caleb received. Caleb even told me that there was something familiar about them. I’m certain it was Dillahunt’s courtroom threat that Caleb was remembering. As for how I got the information about Holden … well … I talked to the Squirrel.”
Finn blanched. “What did you have to promise old Stinky Nuts in exchange?”
“Nothing. He was happy to share. He doesn’t like Colleen Holden very much.” In fact, Richard Nuts, the parole officer with the overbite and an unfortunate propensity to forget deodorant, had used words so unflattering toward Holden I wasn’t comfortable repeating them even to Finn. “I talked to the warden, too. He’ll let me meet with Dillahunt tomorrow, assuming Dillahunt himself is willing and interested.”
“Great,” Finn said and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “What time are we leaving?”
“You’re not coming. Dillahunt refuses to see male visitors. And I need him cooperative and calm, if I’m going to learn anything.”
“Like hell you’re going alone to see this crackpot. Besides, what if you’re onto something? You could be in serious danger.”
“Holden’s hardly going to attack me in full view of an army of prison guards. I’ll be fine. As for Dillahunt … all of his victims were male. He’s intrigued by women, entranced by them.”
Finn stood up and began pacing. “Have you talked to Chavez yet?”
“No. I’m hoping you can help pave the way. At the moment, this is the best lead we have.”
“You’re right.” Finn kicked at the small metal wastebasket next to his desk. “But I don’t like it.”
We found the chief in his office. After Finn explained what we wanted to do, Chavez leaned back and tented his fingers. He stared at us for a long moment, his eyes growing dark. “There’s a reason people in this valley don’t talk about Gordon Dillahunt. He’s garbage, trash. Dillahunt is the stuff of nightmares, the real boogeyman. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
“Why didn’t you?” Finn asked, quickly adding, “I’m not second-guessing things. I’m just curious how it all went down.”
Chief Chavez was silent a moment, then he exhaled. “A lot of this is common knowledge. We had Dillahunt cornered in a little rental home on a couple of acres near Marble Pond. At least, we thought we did. He’d killed four men by then. ‘The Jawbreaker,’ we called him, before we knew Dillahunt’s identity and profession. He … did things to the mouths of the victims, disfigured th
em after death. Once we learned he was a dentist, the techniques and tools he used made sense.”
“Is that how he found his victims?” Finn asked. “They were his patients?”
Chavez tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Single, white, professional middle-aged men. Dillahunt never did share what made him choose one victim or another; there were dozens of men who visited his practice that fit that description, dozens of potential victims.”
I asked, “All men … was it a sex thing?”
“No.” Chavez shook his head. “No, to my knowledge, Dillahunt is straight. Profiles done on him suggest his rage toward these types of men stemmed from seeing his stepfather, an insurance broker, abuse his mother.”
Finn, always impatient with backstory, said, “So you were at the rental home…”
“There were seven of us, plus another half dozen men in the woods. We weren’t taking any chances. What we missed, what we somehow goddamn missed, was that he had a hostage. Keep in mind that this was twenty-five years ago, and things were different back then. Tactical operations, protocols … he got away. He got away. We found the hostage at the Wyoming border, dead, of course; Dillahunt had been purposeful about where he dropped the body, knowing jurisdictional conflicts would slow us down. After a few weeks, most of the rest of the team dropped off. They gave up, other cases cropped up. But my partner and I, we stuck with it. I guess we both felt like we had something to prove; me a young tough Hispanic kid new to town, her an itty-bitty female cop. Anyway, Dillahunt took down two more men before we caught up with him in Montana. We found him in a candy store, of all places, if you can believe it. The store owner was a big tabloid reader and she recognized Dillahunt’s picture.”
Finn sat back. “God, what a collar. What a story.”
“In the end, the arrest was simple and straightforward. Dillahunt was unarmed and we took him without a struggle.”
Finn was right; it was quite a story. Something bothered me, though. There had been no mention of a female officer in the trial transcript.
Shatter the Night Page 12
