“Give me a rain check— Oh god, I’m dripping water all over the bed. I have to go.”
“Get back to you later, babe.” He hung up.
The phone rang again. She picked it up and said nothing.
“Jem, it’s me, Rick. I’m sorry.”
“What do you want?” she snapped. “Haven’t you said enough?”
“I’m driving to the site of the murders to see what progress the techs have made. I’ll probably be checking in with the Medical Examiner’s office also, although it might be a little early for that. Can I catch up with you later in the day?”
“I’m going to be busy,” she said. “Leave me a message if you wish.”
Rick stammered, “Well, all right, but I’d much rather—”
She hung up the phone, dialed Dr. Cade’s office number, and scheduled an appointment for two o’clock.
Chapter 31
That particular afternoon was sunny and warm, the temperature soaring close to ninety. The drought continued and the weatherman offered little hope of rain to provide any relief. Everything was dry on this southern stretch of Highway 14. Smokey the Bear pointed an accusing finger as surrounding billboards warned of the high possibility for forest fires.
The air conditioner in Charlie’s SUV wasn’t working. He banged on the dashboard, trying to beat it into submission. Even with the windows open, the air was stifling and the conversation lackluster. He didn’t want to talk to Brenda anyway. She had a way of hanging on. And hanging on. And hanging on. He didn’t know why he had told her she could come along. Now he was stuck with her. He should have just left his car in town and taken the shuttle. What did he need this clunker for, anyway?
His cell phone rang. He was preoccupied thinking about making it to the airport and getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Brenda whined.
“If it’s important, they’ll call back.”
Ever curious, Brenda reached for the phone, punched the talk button and handed it to him. “Talk.”
Charlie glared at her, then snorted into the phone, “Yeah, what do you want?”
“Snead here. Got some news for you and it’s not good.”
“Shoot. Can’t make me feel any worse that I already feel. Hold on a sec. A little static out here.”
Charlie swung the car into the scenic drive pullout next to a sandstone rock formation along the highway and stepped out. Brenda looked at him quizzically as he walked toward a stone bench. She picked up only a word or two of the conversation, which was what Charlie intended. Nosy bitch.
Snead was in a no-nonsense mood. “Just left the courthouse and was talking to one of the deputies. He said a bunch of bodies were discovered in a cave next to the ranch where you work. Like a couple of hours ago. Didn’t have a lot of details, but did remark that they were looking for the ranch hand. That would be you, Charlie.”
“Aw, shit, Snead. Has nothing to do with me. I didn’t kill anybody. “Who the fuck was it?”
“They haven’t identified the women yet. Probably prostitutes, who knows. All I’m saying is that the preliminary indications implicate you,” Snead said.
“You know I’m not a killer. So what do we do now?” Charlie said, looking over at Brenda. Her eyes were glued to him.
“I suggest you turn yourself in. If you’re innocent, we can prove it, then there’s no problem. But right now, you seem to be the prime suspect. Oh, and something else. The guy said there was an investigative report regarding the missing women cases around Santa Fe that indicated you’ve been seen at the Mine Shaft with a few of them.”
“Son of a bitch. I’ve had a few women out of there, sure,” Charlie said. “But so has everyone else. That’s a darned good pickup joint. A few drinks, a little sex. That was it. I never asked them any personal questions.”
“You mean like, what is your name; where are you from?” Snead snickered.
“That’s what I mean. No way anyone can connect me to this, no damned way. This is a mistake,” Charlie said, wiping his brow.
“Like I said before, you need to turn yourself in, Charlie. Tell me where to meet, and I’ll go with you.”
“Steps of the courthouse. Four o’clock,” Charlie said abruptly and hung up before Snead could respond.
Charlie got back into the car and slammed the phone into the floorboard. Brenda’s eyes widened. “What’s going on, Charlie? What women was he talking about? You in some kind of trouble? You been seeing other women? Stepping out on me again?”
“Get off my case, Brenda. It’s nothing. Ain’t none of your damned business.”
Charlie Cooper’s intent had been to jump bail. Five Thousand bucks meant little to him. He didn’t plan on going to jail for assaulting Bart Wolfe. But Joe Snead’s call had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans. He knew Snead would keep after him. Charlie would have to call him two or three times with excuses for delaying his trip to the courthouse and assure him he was on the way, while in the meantime he was flying high in the sky over Texas. He sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with missing women. Sheer coincidence that he had slept with one or two of them, maybe three, but who knew where they had gone after they left the ranch. He barely knew their first names, let alone anything else about them.
“You asshole, Charlie,” Brenda screamed. She unfastened her seat belt and pounded her fist into his shoulder. “I know you screwed around on me. What did Snead say? Tell me. Who were the women he was talking about? Is one of them screaming rape? You bastard, I could kill you.”
Charlie took his hands off the wheel and shoved back at her. He started up the engine and the car lurched forward. “Get your damned seatbelt fastened.”
Right now he didn’t want to deal with Brenda or her violent temper. His tone changed abruptly.
“Ain’t nothing, sweetie pie. Snead just wanted to make sure I would be there for the hearing on that jerk Bart Wolfe. Calm yourself down. We gotta get on to the airport.”
Because of the sharp winding curves, this section of Highway 14 generally had less traffic on it. Most preferred to use I-25 to get to Albuquerque in a lot less time. This was the scenic drive, but Charlie’s intent was to avoid the cops at all cost and catch his plane without being noticed. He’d purchased his tickets through a travel agent in Santa Fe, got his boarding pass, and all he had to do was show up at the airport. He was flying to Mexico City and then to Brazil. After that, who knew what sandy beach he would catch some rays on? He had fifty grand plus change in his backpack, and it was going to last him a long time.
Sixteen miles beyond Madrid, he heard on the police scanner that authorities were looking for a white SUV with his license number on it. Authorities were headed out to the Crawford Ranch to investigate the discovery of several bodies.
“Shit,” said Charlie. “They have my damn plate numbers. What the hell do they want me for? I didn’t have anything to do with any missing women. Maybe I’d better turn myself in. Damn.”
“What are you going to do, Charlie?” asked Brenda.
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me that. What the hell can I do? The cops couldn’t have known I was jumping bail. I’m going to have to pull off the road pretty soon and make a decision. There’s a couple of old cabins out here somewhere,” said Charlie. “Maybe I’ll just hide out for a while.”
He drove out Highway 14 past Golden, another ghost town left over from the 1800s gold rush. It looked completely deserted, except for a shanty-looking tavern with a couple of beat-up trailers parked in back. Out of nowhere, the ear-piercing whirring of a helicopter overhead inundated the entire area. It was flying pretty low. Charlie decided he’d better pull off the highway.
As they drove into Dead Man’s Canyon, the tall pine trees formed a dense wall on the sides of the road. Somewhere in the distance, the blades of the State Police helicopter continued to whir noisily. Charlie was visibly nervous, rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. Brenda handed him a pill and a flask of whiskey to calm
him down. She’d never seen Charlie this helpless. She didn’t like it, either.
Charlie clutched the wheel, palms sweating, knuckles white. Up ahead at the top of the hill, he spotted the forest road leading to the cabin. Bordered by a gravel pathway, the pine plank cabin had a stone chimney, a small porch and a pitched roof. There was a window on each side of the front door and one on the side. An old barbecue grill leaned against the side of the back wall. The place looked deserted. A No-Trespassing sign riddled with bullet holes was nailed to a tree in the yard.
“What the hell did you give me, Brenda? I’m dizzier than shit,” said Charlie.
“Relax. It was just a Quaalude. Give it a few minutes, it’ll click in,” she said. “Always does.” Brenda had been doing recreational drugs for years. She knew how long it took.
Charlie made his way up the gravel driveway to the back of the cabin and parked the vehicle. He climbed out of the car, reached into the back seat, retrieved his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He could barely walk. He needed to sit down.
“Let’s go in and check things out,” Brenda said. “You can stretch out for a few minutes. There’s bound to be a bed or a couch inside.”
As they drew near the front door, Charlie took a deep breath. The drug was slowly starting to work. He didn’t feel as shaky. Brenda stood a ways behind him as he tried the door. It wasn’t locked. He looked at her in surprise and smiled. It was a tall, narrow doorway. Charlie pushed it open without effort. They heard what sounded like an explosion and Charlie fell to the ground.
Chapter 32
Blood was gushing from Charlie’s knees.
Brenda screamed. The sound of the blast almost knocked her over. Charlie was on his back, writhing in pain. She looked around the room thinking some maniac was in the cabin. There was nothing but a wooden chair knocked over on its side. The chair had a sawed-off shotgun taped to the seat and a wide string running in an intricate path from the chair to the door knob.
“It’s a trap, Brenda. A son-of-a-bitching trap. You gotta help me. I can’t move,” Charlie wailed.
Brenda looked out the door to see if there was anyone around who might have heard the blast. She reached into her purse and pulled out a Glock semi-automatic pistol and placed the barrel of the handgun under Charlie’s chin. Before his brain could register the agony of the situation, Charlie was dead. He slumped forward and then fell to the floor.
Brenda wiped her prints off the gun, pressed it firmly into his right hand, and reached down for the backpack.
“Night, night, Charlie,” she said, and walked out the door.
She reached into the SUV for her purse, pressed in the lighter and lit her cigarette. She blew the smoke out slowly. This is an interesting turn of events, she thought.
A couple of miles down the road, Brenda slipped into the public bathroom of the campground they passed on the way to the cabin. She washed up, reapplied her lipstick, secured her hair with a barrette and walked out into the sunlight. She struck up a conversation with a young couple from Arkansas who had been camping in the mountains and were about to drive back to Santa Fe. Brenda told them her car had broken down a few miles up the road and she needed a ride. They offered to take her as far as the bypass where it intersected with Highway 14. She knew she could catch another ride from the Allsup’s on the corner.
Brenda was confident that if they ever found him, Charlie’s death would be ruled a suicide.
She read somewhere that the Sheriff’s Department detectives regularly botched criminal investigations. So this one would be a slam dunk.
Charlie killed the women and then killed himself.
Period.
Chapter 33
Finished with the tunnel, the crime scene techs moved to the end of the shaft and then to the barn. This wasn’t going to be easy. The head of the techs radioed Romero to ask if he had obtained a search warrant for the house. Romero told him to continue with the barn and the tunnel exit and he would get back to him.
The techs sifted through straw, hay and manure, following a trail of evidence which Romero hoped would build a tight case around the perpetrator. Each shred of evidence was tagged and bagged. The killer left an abundance of clues. Romero couldn’t believe how careless he had been.
The County Inspector transported the mare to a veterinary shelter until the owner returned. By now, half the ranch area had been searched for clues. They hit pay dirt at the water trough.
Buried in a shallow hole was a canvas bag filled with women’s shoes, clothing and several pair of bloody latex gloves. Through binoculars, Romero pinpointed an old water well half a mile south behind the barn. It was next to a hundred-foot high, ominous-looking outcropping locally known as the China Wall—a large, foreboding gothic mass of basalt where nocturnal creatures sought refuge in the dark of the night.
Hiking to the area, Romero stopped frequently to catch his breath. Too much beer and not enough gym time, he thought. A blast of wind spurred a whirling dust-devil straight toward him. It blew the cap off his head. He pulled his collar up to shield his face from the stinging sand. As he walked toward the abandoned well, he relived the feelings he had while sitting at Medicine Rock. Romero wasn’t overly superstitious, but someone seemed to be looking over his shoulder, a spirit someone, and it caused his imagination to go wild. Since he’d expressed so much doubt about this case, he began to wonder if he had been directed to this place by a supernatural force looking to avenge the women’s deaths on this sacred ground. Clues seemed to be lying in plain sight. Jeez, shake it off. He looked back to see how far removed he was from the ranch house.
The abandoned well was filled with debris, some old, some more recent. Romero poked around with a long stick and stirred the trash around. Metal hit against the stone wall of the well. He beamed his light down, but could see nothing. He hollered for one of the techs. They couldn’t hear him. He tried his cell phone, surprised there was service. The tech came running with his toolbox in hand. Together they fished out a knife with a long narrow blade.
“Bingo!” Romero said, wrapping his gloved fingers around the tip of the handle. “Take a look at the edge of the blade.”
“Looks like blood to me,” said the tech. He noted a few long hairs between the handle and the blade and placed the knife into an evidence bag. Romero felt a burst of energy as they walked toward the ranch. He turned and looked at the China Wall. He hadn’t noticed until now that it was blacker than black, with only a single ray of sun shining on it. The hair on his arms bristled.
Romero put in a call to Gary Blake, owner of the ranch. Blake told him it would be a number of weeks before he could make it back from Atlanta, and gave him the go-ahead to do whatever was necessary. Romero told him the horse had been taken to a shelter. Blake said the cattle could fend for themselves, there being plenty of feeding stations around the ranch. The dog belonged to Charlie. Romero said he would impound it until he could find it a new family.
“I just can’t get over it,” Blake said. “Those poor women were right under my feet every time I went to feed the horse. Charlie didn’t strike me as a murderer, but I guess you never know.”
“If it’s any consolation, we don’t think the murders occurred in the house,” Romero assured him. “We just need to inspect the space thoroughly to determine if there’s anything we need to tie up loose ends.”
“Sure. Do whatever you have to do. I’m not crazy about coming out there again anyway. Maybe I’ll just put the place up for sale.”
Romero assigned two techs to go through the house. They entered into the kitchen. Light from the skylight flooded every corner of the interior. In just a few minutes it became apparent that Charlie lived only in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. The house hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. All available space in the living room was stacked with magazines and old newspapers. Cobwebs filled the corners, and dust balls hung from the ceiling working their way to the floor. If anything at all were out of kilter in this room, it would be cl
early apparent. The furnishings were straight out of the 1950s. It was cold, even on a warm day like today. Two large couches and a low glass-topped table formed a cozy place to relax in front of the massive fireplace. It appeared as though the room hadn’t felt the warmth of a roaring fire in a long time. With a good cleaning, the design on the Persian rug covering the floor would return to its vibrant blues, magentas and ochres.
The room was divided by a long oak lowboy with several rows of drawers. As the group walked through the room, a sepia photo of a woman dressed in a white flapper dress stared out from its perch on the fireplace mantle. Romero brushed against the music box on the table next to the lamp. A tiny porcelain ballerina raised her arms as the music began and repeated the same pirouette over and over. A large glass credenza housed a variety of ancient relics: stone axes, arrowheads and fetishes, along with bone flutes, medicine bundles and gaming pieces. Romero wondered if everything in this room hadn’t been left intact from Old Lady Crawford’s day. The glass was hazy with residue. McCabe would certainly be interested in seeing the material in the case, which surely had come from the Indian ruins.
“I don’t think there’s going to be much evidence to gather in this room,” said Romero. “Doesn’t appear that anyone spent time in here. Let’s take a look at the bedroom. From what we know about Charlie, that’s probably where all the activity took place in the house.”
The techs culled a few long hairs from the bedroom area and added them to the rest of the evidence. Charlie’s clothes were still in the closet, along with two hunting rifles and a pair of cowboy boots.
“I guess Charlie must travel light,” Romero said to no one at all in the empty room.
Chapter 34
Two days later, in the autopsy suite of M.E. Harry Donlan’s office, the four bodies discovered at the site were laid out on individual tables. A fifth victim, found in her home near downtown Santa Fe, lay nearby. Since she had been murdered at a different crime scene, Donlan was going to compare her wounds to see if there was a connection to the other bodies. Lieutenant Romero stood next to the first table, joined by crime scene head Detective Chacon.
Shadows among the Ruins Page 10
