Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  I turned around, and to my surprise, I saw a homeless man crouched beneath the concrete barriers of the overpass, watching me. I climbed back up the slope to the bike path and walked toward the overpass. The man followed my movements. I was alert for any trouble. In the last few years, Denver’s homeless population has grown, and there have been more problems with crime than have been reported in the news media. When I reached the overpass, the man took a few steps down from his perch. He wore tattered jeans and a flannel shirt, a threadbare blanket draped around his shoulders. He reeked of booze and body odor, even from a distance.

  “Hello,” I said. He was older than I first realized, with a wizened face, gray hair, and a scraggly beard.

  “Whatcha doin’ lady?”

  I glanced back toward the Platte. “Just looking around.”

  He slid down the slope toward the bike path, a hand on the ground to steady himself. He took a few more steps toward me, walking with a weird shuffle because his shoes were too big. As he drew near, I saw that he was short, a good five or six inches under my five-nine. He stared at me with beady eyes. “You looking where Shooter was.”

  “Shooter?”

  He pointed toward the Platte, where I had been. “Shooter.”

  “You mean Jonathan Hall?”

  He squinted up at me. “He was down there by the river. I seen him.”

  “Who?”

  “Shooter,” he repeated.

  “What’s he look like?”

  His lips went in and out. “He’s big, and he’s losing his hair.” He guffawed.

  “What color?”

  “Brown.”

  I had no idea whether he meant Jonathan Hall or not, but I ran with it anyway. “When did you see him?”

  He gave me a toothless grin. “Who are you, lady?” Then he saw my badge, and he crinkled up his eyes. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He started to turn around.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. His eyes twitched nervously. “If I talk to you, something bad will happen. That’s what happens when you talk to people. Bad things happen. Bad things.”

  Like many of the homeless, he wasn’t in his right mind. I treaded carefully.

  “What did you see?”

  “He was down there.” He pointed with a dirty hand to the river. “Then the bad stuff happened, and he was in the water. His face was,” he clapped his hands together, “right in the water. You can’t live with your face in the water.”

  My pulse quickened. Had he seen Jonathan Hall’s murder? “What bad stuff happened?”

  His eyes twitched. “If I tell you, it could happen to me.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’ll be okay. I’ll make sure. You stay around here?”

  “He’ll come back.”

  “Who?”

  He pulled the blanket around his scrawny shoulders. He lowered his voice. “The man. He was scary.”

  “What did he look like?”

  He scrunched up his face. “He was spooky. Dark clothes and a hood.” With the traffic noise, I strained to hear him.

  “You saw him?” I tried to hide my excitement so I wouldn’t scare him.

  He flapped his arms and pointed again. “Over there, where you were.”

  I tried hard to ignore his stench. “What happened?”

  “He talked to Shooter, and they went down by the river. I heard noises and splashing. I didn’t want to look. I was scared. You know bad things can happen.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “Yes. Then what happened to Shooter?”

  “He didn’t come back. His face was in the river. You can’t live with your face in the water.”

  “What about the man in the hoodie?”

  “Hoodie?”

  “The man in dark clothes and the hood?”

  “He walked that way.” He gestured south. “He was breathing hard. I could hear gasps, like a monster.”

  The killer being out of breath would make sense if he’d struggled to drown Shooter. “Did the man say anything?”

  He shook his head, his eyes twitching again. “And I wouldn’t say anything to him.”

  “Of course not. What happened next?”

  He stared at me for a moment, not sure he wanted to answer. I wondered if I could get him to say more. “I went down to Shooter,” he went on. “He was dead, you know.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I heard that.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “You won’t get in trouble.”

  “Yeah, but I took something.”

  “What?” I said hurriedly.

  “His shoes.” He glanced at his feet. “They’re bigger than mine, but my feet are warmer now. He didn’t need them. You think he’ll be mad at me for stealing them?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure he’d be glad that it’s helping you out.”

  A big toothless grin at that. “I took this, too.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a large folding knife. “It’s pretty, right?”

  “Yes, it is. That belonged to Shooter, too?”

  He shook his head. “I never seen him with it. It was on the ground near him. And I took his money, he had three dollars on him. I bought some food with it.”

  “The knife didn’t belong to Shooter?” I clarified.

  “I think the monster dropped it.”

  I couldn’t be sure about that, but I wanted the knife regardless. “Do you think I could have it?”

  He pulled his hand back defensively. “No, it’s mine.”

  “Yes, it is. And it looks really cool. What if I bought it from you?”

  He pursed his lips and thought about that. “How much would you give me?”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a twenty. “I have this.” I showed it to him.

  It was probably more money than he’d seen in a long time. “What if the knife is worth more?” He was a shrewd negotiator.

  I shrugged. “It’s all I have.”

  He squinted and thought about that. It was too much temptation. “Okay.” He took a few steps toward me and held out the knife. I walked over with the twenty, his smell almost overpowering. He snatched the money from me, and I grabbed the knife, both of us wanting to get the transaction done before either one changed our mind. I wanted to look at the knife more closely, but I didn’t want him to ask for it back, so I pocketed it. It might be nothing, but it could be something as well.

  “Did you see anything else?” I asked.

  “The cops came. I had to stay away. I don’t want them to take me anywhere. I’ve been in places, and I don’t want to be locked up.”

  That would explain why Oakley hadn’t seen him.

  “Was anyone else around when all this happened?”

  He shook his head. “It was just me. Shooter and me hang around here. He kept everyone else away.” As Oakley had noted, homeless people can be territorial.

  “The man in the hood,” I went on. “Did you see his face?”

  He shook his head. “I was hidden. I didn’t want him to do something bad to me.” He did the nose-wrinkling again. “I got to go now,” he said. He held up the twenty, then smelled it. I hoped he would spend at least some of it on a good meal.

  “You take care of yourself,” I said, feeling sorry for him.

  “I’ll be fine.” He turned around and did the weird walk-shuffle down the bike path. I watched until he disappeared around a bend, then hurried back to my car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Teddy: The Guild will now come to order.

  The members announced themselves.

  Teddy: Please agree to the Guild rules. Everything said here remains here. Do not talk about a member’s actions or plans to anyone outside of the Guild. We are the group, no new members will be allowed. We all have the resources to make you pay. Do not break the rules. Your word is your oath.

  Everybody agreed to the rules. Mari
lyn was irritated. Must Teddy recite the rules every time they got together? Even though her mind tingled with weariness, she was giddy with anticipation.

  Teddy: Marilyn, I think you have some news for us.

  A satisfied smile swept across her face. She waited just a moment, then put her fingers to the keyboard and typed.

  Marilyn: Did you all watch the noon news?

  Teddy: No, I didn’t have a chance.

  Daffy Duck: Yes, I watched. The prostitute. Was that you?

  Marilyn: Yes, that was me. I did it last night.

  Brad: There was no mention of the jewelry. How do we know it was you?

  Marilyn sometimes found herself not liking Brad Pitt, and it figured that he would be the one to doubt her. He’d had his turn, and he seemed to think that made him an expert. Well, maybe he’d done his deed, a lot of deeds perhaps, she didn’t know. She still didn’t like his attitude. She listened to her favorite symphony, so soothing, then picked up her cup of coffee and sipped it as she formed a response. She’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before the meeting, and she needed the caffeine to focus. The Guild met on an erratic schedule, Marilyn assumed, to make it harder to trace their online activities. She couldn’t miss this meeting, though. It was her big moment. And she was glad to meet soon after her deed, she just had to tell someone what she’d done. And this obviously wasn’t something she could tell her husband or friends. The house was quiet; no one was around. She was going to enjoy telling them.

  Marilyn: It was a prostitute, not something that’s going to make the evening news. It’s a catch-22, don’t you think? You choose a vulnerable person because it’s easy to do the deed, but no one’s going to care about them, either. You have to take my word for it about the prostitute, that was me.

  Pete: No, we don’t have to take your word.

  Teddy: It’s okay, I have ways to validate this. Marilyn, did you leave proof?

  Marilyn: A ring with a red stone.

  Teddy: I’ll confirm that the jewelry was at the scene. We have no reason to doubt Marilyn, though.

  Pete always wanted the proof, too. Marilyn didn’t doubt Teddy would verify her deed. She wondered how he would find out. He must have connections somewhere. She stifled a yawn. The few hours of sleep might not be enough to carry her through the day. Not like when she was younger, when she could last forever. Now, she had to act as normal as possible. The cleaning lady had shown up, and Marilyn had a friend come over as well. She’d had to cut that time short because the Guild had agreed to meet at this time, and she had to make her announcement.

  Joe: Marilyn, how did it feel?

  She thought about it for a second. She’d been through a range of emotions since the deed. One thing she hadn’t felt was anything for the prostitute. She was a pawn in the game, no more. Marilyn thought longer. What did it most feel like? She pursed her lips. Once she’d gotten past the initial fear, she’d felt powerful. She’d never felt like that before. She also knew she was in an elite group. Few people had done what she had. That meant she had to be careful. Like the others, she could not get caught. She had a contingency plan, she knew she would never go to jail, but she hoped she never had to do that. She put her fingers on the keyboard.

  Marilyn: Just like the others have said, it was exhilarating.

  Brad: It was for me, too.

  Daffy Duck: Yes! I would love to have that feeling again.

  Marilyn stared at the screen, lips pursed. Would any of them do the deed again? Could she? Her heart quickened at the thought. She’d planned so much on her one deed … could there be another? She shook her head and focused on the chat. Those who had gone before talked in general terms about their deeds, and Marilyn felt that sense of power again. She was part of a special group. She sipped her coffee and chatted with the others. After a while, Teddy took control again.

  Teddy: The next order of business. Who will go now?

  Marilyn watched the screen, waiting.

  Joe: I’m ready to go.

  Teddy: When can we expect this?

  Joe: Tonight.

  Teddy: So soon after Marilyn? I’m not sure this is wise.

  Joe: It’s another vulnerable person. No one will know. I know what I’m doing.

  Teddy: You have to be extremely careful. Everything is contingent on extreme caution.

  Daffy Duck: We all know we have to be.

  Joe: Don’t worry, I’ve planned this well. I won’t get caught.

  Teddy: Good. I will reach out soon about our next meeting.

  The members chatted for a few minutes longer, and then Teddy ended the chat. Marilyn wished she could talk to them longer, but she also needed to freshen up before her husband came home. She felt a little sad as she logged off the computer and left the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By now, it was time for me to head back to the station for the press conference on Jonathan Hall’s death. I drove back downtown, and wasn’t even able to sit down at my desk before Chief Follett saw me. He was in Rizzo’s office, and he waved for me to join them. I looked around and saw no escape. When I’d returned to my car after talking to the homeless man, I’d put the knife into an evidence bag. I discreetly dropped it in a desk drawer, then did the gallows walk into Rizzo’s office. Follett shut the door with a bang.

  “Have a seat, Detective.” When he spoke, it was clear it wasn’t a suggestion. As much as I didn’t like the man, and didn’t want to have to obey him, I sat down across the desk from Rizzo.

  Chief Follett smoothed a hand over his gray hair and paused just long enough to make me uncomfortable. I’m not bothered so much that he’s gruff; I’m bothered by a sense that he has reservations about me and my skills. And that fed right into the long-held doubts I had about myself. Follett leaned on a bookcase against one wall, crossed his hands over his midsection, and stared at me. I waited.

  “Calvin tells me he wants you at this press conference,” Follett said.

  I nodded, taken aback by Follett’s use of Rizzo’s first name. “Yes,” I replied.

  Follett’s lips formed a thin, disapproving line. He paused a long beat, just enough to make me feel even more uncomfortable. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You have recently been reinstated after an officer-involved shooting. I’m not sure it makes sense to have you in front of the cameras again.”

  Rizzo came to my defense. “She’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I have full faith that Detective Spillman can handle this with the utmost professionalism.” Rizzo talked in a formal manner; he wanted Follett’s attention. “She needs to know what’s shared with the press.”

  Follett took us both in with his gaze, then made his decision. “I want to be absolutely clear that if you get any questions about your previous case, that you’ll say nothing about it, understand?”

  “Of course,” I said. That went without saying, and I didn’t like his implication that I wouldn’t know that. But, I tried to let it go.

  Follett had second thoughts. “Better yet, don’t answer any questions, leave that to me.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Rizzo held up a hand. “Sarah can handle herself.”

  Follett didn’t answer that, whether because he didn’t want to, or because he doubted me, I couldn’t be sure. “How much do you know about the Hall investigation?” he asked.

  “Not much,” I said honestly. “I met with Oakley a couple of hours ago, and he told me what he’s uncovered so far. That’s about it. I still need to go through the case notes.” I didn’t tell him about the homeless guy I’d talked to or the knife, because I wasn’t sure if either one had anything to do with Jonathan Hall’s murder. If it turned out they were unrelated, it would only lessen me in Follett’s eyes. I didn’t need that.

  Follett glanced at his watch. “I guess that’s fine, since you won’t be saying anything. Let’s get downstairs for the conference. I want this on the five o’clock news, see if we can stir things up and get this
investigation moving forward.”

  He strode out of the office. I glanced at Rizzo, and he gave me a reassuring nod. I followed Follett, and we picked up Oakley at his desk. He looked as if he’d just eaten some really bad food. His face was pale, and he swallowed hard when Follett barked at him. Then we all went downstairs and outside to the front steps of the building.

  “I’ve never been front and center at a press conference before,” Oakley whispered to me. Perspiration popped up on his brow.

  “Let Follett handle it,” I murmured. “Silent and stoic.”

  He nodded subtly. Several reporters from the local stations were waiting with camera crews, along with Deborah North, from Channel Seven, plus a reporter that I knew from the Denver Post, the local newspaper. Deborah gave me a slight nod. I did as I’d told Oakley, silent and stoic. There was a buzz among them as we waited. Someone had alerted them that a big announcement was being made. Follett wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, and blue-striped tie, his shoes polished. Nothing like looking good for the press. Promptly at three o’clock, he stepped up to a microphone that was set up on the steps.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming today,” he began. “I’ll say a few words, then take questions. Last week, a man named Jonathan Hall was found dead near the South Platte River. This was initially thought to be a drowning.” He glanced, not too subtly at Oakley, then back to the cameras. Oakley worked hard not to grimace as Follett went on. “We now suspect that Hall was murdered. I’m sure some of you are familiar with the name. Jonathan Hall is the son of Carlton Hall, the lieutenant governor.” A crackling energy went through the small crowd, and reporters started firing questions at Follett. He held up a hand impatiently to stop them. “I’ll get to your questions in a moment. Carlton Hall is a close friend of mine, and he’s devastated that his estranged son died under mysterious circumstances. We are requesting that anyone with information about his son’s death call our hotline.” He glanced at a piece of paper and read the number, then repeated it. “As you can imagine, it’s important to me as well as to the family to find out what happened to Jonathan.” He cleared his throat, then said, “I’ll take questions now.”