Shadows among the Ruins

by Marie Romero Cash

  Julie caved, fearing for her own safety. “The police are investigating Charlie’s death. I guess they don’t believe he killed himself. Anyway, Brenda, I have to get back to the bar. I’ve been in here way too long. You know what an asshole the boss can be.”

  Brenda checked her makeup in the mirror and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, do that.”

  Julie returned to the floor. McCabe and Jemimah were just leaving. She knew Brenda would hurt her if she went out to talk to them, so she didn’t.

  Brenda watched as McCabe walked Jemimah out to her car. They stood a few minutes, deep in conversation. Brenda took a good look at Jemimah’s car as it pulled out of the parking lot. Brenda got into her car and followed several car lengths behind Jemimah. McCabe was already out of sight down the highway.

  Jemimah turned right on the dirt road leading to her ranch house, triggering the security lights. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to a hot bath. Brenda waited a distance behind and parked her car next to a grouping of boulders near the Garden of the Gods, a wind-sculpted rock formation stretching for miles along the side of the highway. Her vehicle would be obscured from view. She took a pistol from the glove compartment and tucked it in the waist of her skirt. Walking around in the dark didn’t bother Brenda. Charlie used to tease her about being a cat.

  Before she had left the bar, she had grabbed a couple of meat patties from the kitchen. Used to dealing with barking dogs, she cracked open two capsules of animal tranquilizer and blended them into the meat. Just in case there was a dog on the property, the fast-acting medicine would take them down quickly. She walked through the gate on Jemimah’s property, creeping along the edge of the fence to where the security lights didn’t extend.

  Jemimah’s dog tripped the light as it ambled toward Brenda, tail wagging but uncertain if she was friend or foe. Brenda threw the meat out toward the edge of the drive. The curious Border Collie crept under a bush next to the fence, gobbled the meat in one swallow and dropped in its tracks. Brenda waited until the light went out before she moved.

  Chapter 49

  Jemimah walked out from the bathroom in a terry robe, a towel wrapped around her head. She felt refreshed. As she clicked on the television set to catch the late news before she called it a night, she looked around for her cell phone to call Rick and fill him in on the night’s events. By now McCabe should have dropped the glass off at the forensics lab. There was a knock at the door. Jemimah smiled in anticipation. It was probably Rick, stopping in to say goodnight or, wishful thinking, even good morning. Just this afternoon she had decided it was time to drop the barriers between them. She pulled the towel off her head and tossed her phone on the couch.

  Jemimah opened the door wide, intending to put her arms out and surprise him with an embrace. Brenda barged in and shoved her back into the living room. She had a pistol in her hand. Jemimah backed away.

  “Sit down,” Brenda ordered.

  “Brenda, this is a mistake. What are you doing?” Jemimah said.

  “Shut up. You think I had something to do with Charlie dying, don’t you?” Brenda hissed.

  “I don’t have an opinion either way,” Jemimah said, looking around for Molly. Where was that dog? “Please don’t do this, Brenda. Turn yourself in. We’ll get you help, I promise.”

  It was just a few minutes after midnight. Jemimah could see Brenda was a night owl. Wide awake. Alert. Nothing was going to get by her. She was holding the gun steady, pointed straight at Jemimah.

  Brenda’s pupils were dilated. Probably on drugs. Jemimah wracked her brain to figure out a way to overcome her. Otherwise she was certainly going to die.

  “Come on, get up,” Brenda ordered. “It’s a little too comfy in here.”

  She pushed Jemimah into the kitchen and sat her on a stool in front of the granite-topped island. Brenda took out a roll of duct tape, pulled Jemimah’s hands behind her and wrapped the tape securely around her hands, winding it through the backrest of the stool.

  “There, that’s better,” Brenda said, sitting across the counter and placing the pistol in front of her. She opened one drawer then another before spotting the Maplewood cutlery set next to the stove. She picked out a knife and checked the blade. “I don’t care for guns,” she said.

  “They’re so noisy. Me, I like quiet.”

  Jemimah started to say something.

  “No, no, keep your mouth shut. I’m thinking. And remember, I prefer quiet,” Brenda smirked.

  * * *

  It was getting late and Rick hadn’t heard from Jemimah. She was supposed to call him when she and McCabe finished their surveillance at the bar in Madrid. McCabe had called in on his way to drop off the glass with the forensics lab. The tech was working late on the case and by now should have compared Brenda’s prints on the glass to the bloody thumbprint they found on the lighter in Charlie’s car.

  Jeez. I’m acting like a mother hen, he thought—one of the many characteristics that got him in trouble with fiercely independent Jemimah. He decided it was too late to call her. He stretched out on his bed and turned off the lights. The illumination of the votive candle in front of his mother’s shrine filled the room with a subtle glow. He rolled over on his side and was asleep in seconds. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

  Chapter 50

  Toward the early morning hours, Brenda dozed off just long enough to be refreshed. Jemimah had managed to put her head down on the counter, but hadn’t been able to close her eyes. She spent the last five hours trying to figure out how she was going to get herself out of this mess. At seven o’clock, the phone rang. Probably Rick. Brenda looked up. “Don’t answer that. Let it ring,” she said.

  “I’d better answer it, otherwise whoever is calling will know something’s wrong,” Jemimah said.

  “All right, but no tricks.” Brenda picked up the pistol and aimed it at Jemimah’s head, holding the phone to her ear with her free hand.

  “Hey, Jemimah. Everything all right?” Romero said in his most cheerful voice.

  “Yeah, sure. How are you?” she said.

  “I’m okay. But you sound a little distant,” he said, figuring she was still pissed off at him for one thing or another.

  “Sorry, I’m just a little unnerved. My dog Bobby got bitten by a coyote and I have to take him to the vet. You know how he pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong. I’ll probably be out of touch for the rest of the day. I’ll get back with you later.”

  “Do you need some help with that?” he asked.

  “Oh, thanks, but no. I’m sure Dr. Medrano can take care of it.”

  Brenda motioned for her to wrap it up.

  “Listen, thanks again for calling. I have to go now.”

  Brenda checked the duct tape to make sure Jemimah couldn’t pull loose. She looked around the house and walked to the window in the living room. The dog was still laid out near the fence, hidden from sight. It would be a while before the drugs wore off. She wouldn’t have to worry about it until then. She would have just put a bullet through its head, but what was the point? The drugs had always worked on Charlie’s dog whenever she needed to silence him.

  * * *

  Rick Romero called Tim McCabe and asked him how Jemimah had been feeling the night before.

  “Fine,” McCabe said. “We had one drink to keep up appearances while we were hanging out at the bar. She was in good spirits. Is something wrong?”

  “Maybe. I just got off the phone with her and our conversation was pretty cryptic. Oh damn. Bobby … Medrano …” Romero said. “Shit!”

  McCabe interjected, “That’s the Sheriff’s name.”

  “I think our girl just might be entertaining an unwanted guest. I’m just leaving the house. I’ll swing by and pick you up. May need backup.”

  “I’ll be waiting on the curb,” said McCabe.

  Chapter 51

  Brenda unceremoniously yanked the tape from Jemimah’s hands, forced her to stand and pushed her throu
gh the kitchen and out the side door. They rushed across the gravel driveway to the pathway running parallel to the first mile of the Garden of the Gods. The morning sun was bright, harsh on unprotected eyes. The crisp air was fragrant with the carmine blooms of the orchid cactus lining the path. Mourning doves perched in a century old cottonwood tree. There wouldn’t be much traffic out this early, especially on a weekend. They weren’t going too far, just up a ways, well into the massive rock formations along the trail. Jemimah was going to commit suicide. What more fitting a place to die than in the Garden of the Gods?

  “Move,” Brenda screamed at Jemimah.

  “Where are we going?” Although Jemimah had lived there for some time, she hadn’t yet ventured out on the trails running parallel to the highway.

  “Don’t worry about that. You keep moving.” Brenda waved the gun at her. “And don’t think you can get away. I have no problem with shooting you in the back.”

  “Why did you kill Charlie, Brenda?” Jemimah said. “I thought you loved him.”

  “Charlie was a loser. He was incapable of love. He was like a bee, flitting from flower to flower.”

  “What were you wishing for, Brenda? Maybe a family? To be like your mother?”

  “Keep my mother out of this. I hated that bitch. She couldn’t keep a man happy. Hey, I know what you’re doing. Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.

  I’ve been with the best of them.”

  “I know. Dr. Garland in Denver,” Jemimah said.

  “Keep walking, you nosy bitch. I’ll tell you when to stop,” Brenda poked the pistol into Jemimah’s back.

  A mile farther across the low mountainous terrain, they stopped in front of Devil’s Throne, an overhang that stretched over a shallow cave like a huge awning. The walls of the cave were painted in solid dark colors, with Wiccan and anarchy symbols throughout in white and bright red. It resembled a huge mythic altar where maidens were brought to be sacrificed to the gods. Jemimah felt a tinge of terror run through her veins. How could such a dark, ill-omened place exist in the center of so much beauty?

  Brenda pushed her toward the back of the overhang. Crude rock-hewn steps wound their way to the top. It was a difficult climb, Brenda constantly poking at her spine with the pistol. Jemimah feared she would become more irritated and just shoot her on the spot. When they finally made it to the top, Jemimah saw a makeshift table made from a long flat rock just ahead. Next to the table was a grotesque assemblage of animal skulls, fur and feathers atop a long wooden pole balanced precariously in its brace. Jemimah assumed the scepter pertained to an ancient occult god worshipped in secret ceremonies held in this huge alcove. Brenda broke into the silence of her thoughts.

  “Well, Miss Investigator, this is where you get off. Speak your last request, your prayers for your fellow man, world peace or whatever it is you people pray for. Then you’re going to jump off the edge there, a fitting finale to this drama.” Brenda’s hand swept dramatically across the horizon.

  “You can’t get away with this, Brenda. Let me help you out. I can arrange for you to spend time in treatment.”

  “I’m not crazy. No way. You want to put me in a mental institution. As soon as I’m done with you, I’ll be taking off. Nobody will ever find me. Now shut up and move.” Brenda continued to jab her back with the weapon.

  “What’s this going to accomplish, Brenda, killing one more person?”

  “Can’t be any worse punishment for one or five.” Brenda looked at her with disgust. “Move. Just a few more feet. By this time tomorrow you’ll be just another headline in the newspaper.”

  Brenda prodded her toward the edge with the barrel of the gun. As they walked past the table, Jemimah suddenly turned and grabbed the wooden scepter. She swung it like a bat at Brenda, knocking her off balance, then scurried down the rocks as the woman scrambled to her feet. She didn’t look back as she ran toward home. To her relief, Brenda was nowhere in sight. She quickened her pace. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the definite ping of a bullet ricocheting off a rock.

  Brenda fired wildly, emptying the magazine. She threw the gun down and screamed obscenities. Jemimah could see her ranch up ahead. She knew she might not be able to make it all the way into the house to retrieve her gun and her phone. Out of breath, she crouched behind the small shed attached to the barn. The only visible weapons were a shovel, a pitchfork and a hoe. She knew none of them would be effective against a gun, but she had a feeling Brenda was out of ammo and infinitely more comfortable with a knife. She reached for the shovel, gripping it firmly as she worked her way carefully toward the house.

  Jemimah didn’t hear the footsteps as Brenda snuck in behind her. She turned as Brenda raised her arm, clutching the knife, and grabbed her around the neck. Brenda’s strength was fueled by hostility and anger. She pulled Jemimah around like she was a Raggedy Ann doll. Jemimah struggled to pull herself free.

  The next ten minutes were a blur. The growling snarl of Jemimah’s dog echoed as she sailed through the air, firmly entrenching her teeth around Brenda’s arm. Brenda screamed. The knife dropped to the floor. Molly’s vice-like jaws held Brenda firmly on the ground. “Get her off me,” Brenda screamed.

  The shrill sound of sirens broke around them. Detective Romero and Tim McCabe drove into the driveway and jumped out of the cruiser, pistols drawn. McCabe seized Brenda and held her down as Romero cuffed her and pushed her into the backseat of the vehicle. Jemimah took a deep breath and leaned on the shovel as Rick walked toward her.

  “Damn,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” she said, bending down to shower her dog with kisses.

  Chapter 52

  Lieutenant Romero stood next to Jemimah at the memorial held for the four murdered women. Even for the month of August, the temperature was unbearably hot, although the sky was dark and overcast. The church was filled to capacity with mourners and the curious. Jemimah felt comfortable with her shoulder leaning against Rick. Whitney showed up and took a seat on the other side of her. She could feel Rick stiffen up.

  Friends, neighbors and relatives occupied the polished wooden pews of St. Francis Cathedral. Photos of the victims adorned the small table on the altar, surrounded by an overabundance of freshly cut flowers. Still in the throes of grief, the families of the victims huddled together. The priest recited the final prayers and led the congregation outside through the church doors. Mourners piled into the waiting limos to make the lonely drive to the cemetery.

  Once outside, a swarm of reporters waited. With microphones pointed at his face, Romero thanked his fellow officers for their help in solving the case and then handed the microphone over to Sheriff Bobby Medrano.

  The arrest of Brenda Mason had been a slow and tedious process. Romero was impatient to put the lid on it. The evidence against her was overwhelming. Even the best defense attorney would have a hard time getting her anything but a life sentence. Not only did Forensics find her bloody print on the cigarette lighter in Charlie’s SUV, but strands of her hair were mixed with the blood on his shirt. Her hair was also present on some of the victims’ clothing. Her DNA and more hair were found on the murder weapon, and the jewelry of one of the victims was discovered in the glove box of her car.

  * * *

  Brenda was not at all comfortable in her jail cell at the Santa Fe County Adult Detention Center, a building she had driven by hundreds of times and where she had on occasion visited incarcerated friends. To top it off, her roommate Sonja Swentzel refused her phone calls so that she couldn’t even ask her to bring some of her personal belongings to the jail. After all she had done for that bitch. She had half a mind to turn her in to the State for embezzling.

  Chapter 53

  Sitting at a long table in the interrogation room the following day, Brenda was unsmiling, nervous, and struggling to maintain her self-assurance. She needed a hit of something, anything. A female deputy stood a few feet away near the door. Jemimah sat on the other side of the two-way mirror. Brenda l
eaned forward on the edge of her chair.

  “Can I have a cigarette?” she asked Detective Romero.

  Romero tossed her his package and extended his lighter. “Sure.”

  “So why am I here? Some traffic thing or something?” she smiled broadly, her eyes wide.

  Romero reminded her that she had been arrested for the murder of Charlie Cooper and the attempted murder of Jemimah Hodge.

  “Murder? I thought Charlie shot himself somewhere out in the boonies. And who is this Jemimah Hodge person?” she said.

  “Miss Mason, let me ask the questions. Tell me what you were doing on the afternoon of July 26,” Romero said.

  “That was over a month ago. Ask me what I was doing yesterday,” she laughed.

  Romero took a deep breath and repeated the question.

  “Give me an idea of what you did the week before you heard about Charlie’s death,” he said.

  “Listen, I left Santa Fe about a week before Charlie offed himself. Went to Las Vegas. Spent a little time vegging out in front of a slot machine and then flew back,” she said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

  “Where did you stay in Las Vegas?” Romero asked.

  “Some flea-bag hotel on the strip. I didn’t spend much time there.” She crunched the cigarette butt into the ashtray. By the time Brenda was ten, she could tell a big lie with a straight face.

  Romero opened his briefcase, pulled out some photos, and laid them in front of Brenda. It was Charlie, lying in a pool of blood. For less than a second her body went stiff and she gripped the edges of the chair. She looked at Romero without emotion. He laid another batch of photos in front of her. These were of the bodies of the murdered women.

  Her eyes widened. “Who are they?”