by R Weir
I grew tired of the research, as darkness filled my windows. I checked my cell phone for text messages, but nothing was there. Somewhere deep inside, I’d hoped for a message from Melissa, saying she’d forgive me again. But it was wishful thinking. I had to get on with my life, but was struggling. I stretched out on the sofa and dozed off, as I’d done almost exclusively since the breakup, not caring to sleep in what now seemed like an immense bed by myself.
Chapter 8
Deep sleep was hard to claim, but I was off and moving the next day, after a hot, then cold shower revived my senses. From the police I had the name of the former head of security of the WANN Denver office, along with an address. Mitchell Crabtree lived in Englewood in a nice neighborhood just off of Cherry Hills, where many of the city’s millionaires lived. Though only a few blocks from the high tax bracket, his housing was modest and not extravagant, but still worth several hundred thousand. I decided to show up unannounced and see what I’d find. If he wasn’t home, I would work from there. But he was, and stood in his driveway under the hood of his seventies cherry-red Corvette Stingray. Walking up from the curb where I’d parked my Harley, I approached him smiling.
“Good morning,” I stated, from a distance so I didn’t startle him.
“Hello,” he replied, peering around the edge of the hood. “What can I help you with?”
“Are you Mitchell Crabtree?” I asked.
“I am.”
From his bent position he stood up and began wiping his greasy hands on a towel. He was quite tall, maybe 6’ 4”, with a slender, solid build, dressed in dirty jeans and a dirty-white T-shirt with more holes than a prairie-dog field. He had dark brown medium-length hair, with sideburns trimmed to the bottom of his earlobe and a day-old unshaven face. He was likely in his mid-to-late forties, and though he looked good for his age, one could tell by his appearance he was unemployed, passing the time. He stepped around to look me over, his eyes leery of what my mission was. Maybe he sensed who I was, as he didn’t stick out his hand, yet they were pretty dirty from the engine work.
“Call me Mitch.”
“Good to meet you, Mitch,” I said. “I’m Jarvis Mann, and I wanted to see if you had a few minutes to answer some questions.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t a Jehovah’s Witness,” he stated. “Enough of them come knocking on the door trying to sell their religion that I can spot them a mile away. And you don’t dress well enough to be a cop. So, are you private?”
I guess my jeans and T-shirt weren’t much better than his. Though at least they were clean. I showed him my ID.
“I wasn’t sure until you made the comment about answering some questions. The bike threw me a little too. A Harley Softail, I would guess.”
“Yep. Helps clear my mind and allows me to think without phones or radio distracting me.”
Mitch tossed the towel on the front grille, his hands as clean as they would get.
“Would love to ride. Been so close to buying one on several occasions, but the wife won’t let me. Says they are dangerous.”
“No more so than being the head of security, it would seem.”
“Can’t argue there. So I’m guessing this is about the parking lot killing?”
“It is. I wonder what you can tell me about it.”
“Not much, if anything. Part of my release from my job was not to discuss it.”
“Are they paying you?”
“Yes. My full salary for six months.”
“Wow, pretty generous of them.”
“I thought so. I’m not poor, but it’s nice not having to work too hard to put food on the table. Allows me time to find the right position. They even promised to give me a glowing recommendation.”
“So why did they can you?”
He leaned back onto the padded covered front fender of the Corvette, thinking about what he could tell me.
“Scapegoat,” he said.
“Had to fire someone to look like they were doing something about what happened.”
He nodded.
“So why you?”
“I was in charge.”
“Were you there that night?”
Again he paused and shook his head no.
“So you weren’t directly responsible?”
“My team, my fault.”
“How did you feel about being blamed?”
“Didn’t leave me dancing in the aisles. The severance lessened the sting.”
“Any thoughts on why the security cameras failed?”
“Technology sucks!”
I had to laugh.
“Even when used by a technology company?”
“The computer world is full of bugs. WANN Systems technology is no different.”
“So did it fail often?”
Once more a pause.
“I only recall one other time.”
“How long had the system been in place?”
“Long as I’d been there. Nearly six years, with a few software upgrades over time.”
“Any upgrades recently?”
“No.”
“So technology-wise, this system was pretty solid.”
“Yes.”
“So for me then it would be curious that it failed during the exact moment of the killing. Coincidences do happen, but they don’t lead me anywhere. Which makes me wonder if it was tampered with?”
“No comment.”
“Was tampering considered? Was there an investigation?”
No words, only a frown.
“And if it weren’t for the gag order, would you provide conjecture?”
This time he smiled, but still remained silent. I had to believe he was agreeing with my theory.
“Any thoughts on what will happen if I continue to dig into this?”
He took his right hand and chopped down onto his left forearm.
“They have friends in low places to provide strong-armed support?” I asked.
This time he touched his nose.
“So I need to watch my back,”
A very slight nod. He was telling me a lot when saying so little.
“So do you know anything about your replacement?”
“The new head of security. I would assume it was my assistant, Blake Zorn.”
“Nice dresser. Definitely not off the rack.”
“That would be him.”
“I believe I ran into him looking over the crime scene. Wasn’t too pleased I was poking into their business. Any thoughts you can share about him that won’t violate the agreement.”
He didn’t hesitate in responding. “Asshole.”
“Straight and to the point.”
“Not much else I can add. He tried to undermine me every day he could. Brown-nosing for a promotion the day he started.”
“How long had he worked there?”
“A couple years.”
“If he was like that, why didn’t you get rid of him?”
“I didn’t hire him, so I couldn’t fire him. I had no say in the matter.”
“Well, that certainly sucks.”
You could see the anger building in his eyes, but he stopped to take a few deep breaths.
“Best I not talk about him. Only pisses me off and gets my blood pressure up.”
I decided to change the subject to something he would enjoy.
“What year is the Corvette?”
“1970. Mileage is pretty low. I don’t drive her much.”
He slid into the driver’s seat and started her up. She sounded as if she’d been driven off the lot brand new today.
“Wow, she sounds perfect.”
“Lots of hard work to keep her running like this. Now I have the time to baby her even more.”
“I have a ’69 Mustang when I’m not riding the Harley. Though she’s not in as good a shape as the Corvette, and is pushing 400K on the mileage.”
“If you take care of her, she could go for some time. Those cars were built to last. Unlike the crap now you drive o
ff the lot.”
“She gets as good a treatment a detective on the go can give her. Now that I have the bike I figure she can last that much longer.”
He turned in his seat, allowing the ’Vette to idle.
“So I probably can guess. But who hired you for this case?”
“I have to give you a no comment on that.”
“I should know better. Are you hiring?”
“I’m a single-man operation, most of the time. Occasionally I need some backup. Do you have a resume?”
He laughed.
“Not on me, but I can tell you I keep my mouth shut, can handle a gun and I’m skilled working on cars?”
It was my turn to laugh.
“I already knew this, being a trained detective, other than the gun part. Are you ex-military or worked in the police department?”
“Army eight years, working in the military police. I did a little sniper training and was pretty good, but didn’t like it. After I got out I did security work for various companies before joining WANN Systems. Not the job of my dreams, but the pay was fantastic.”
“If I hired you to help me with this case, could you enlighten me more on what the hell is going on?”
“No comment.”
At least he was consistent.
“By the looks and sound of the Corvette, maybe I should hire you as my mechanic. What about bodywork? Can you patch bullet holes?”
“Hell, yes!” he said while revving the engine. “I’m a magician with Bondo.”
If WANN Systems had the muscle he alluded to, this might be the case where I’d get to test all of his magical skills.
Chapter 9
As I left Mitch’s place I noticed a tail. It was a good-sized white Chevy Tahoe, and from what I could see in my mirrors had at least two people in front and one in back. There was no front plate, so my only hope of getting a number would be getting behind them. They were keeping their distance as best as possible, but in Denver traffic it was hard to hide too much, especially after I took several right turns in a row and they were with me all the way.
My initial plan had been to go home and grab some lunch, but I decided to take them for a ride. I did a U-turn and headed for the highway. I-25 was normally pretty crowded on a workday through the Denver Tech Center, so I took the onramp on Belleview and headed south, finding my top speed quickly. The fun of a motorcycle is you can move in and out of tight traffic more easily than a vehicle, especially something as large as a Tahoe. I got pretty far ahead of them and exited at Dry Creek. I pulled over to the side and dismounted, putting my helmet and leather jacket on the grass. Up ahead was a man holding a sign asking for help, for he didn’t have a job. I walked over to him with money in hand.
“For twenty dollars can I hold your sign for a few minutes?” I asked him.
“Sure. I could use a break,” he replied. “I’m frying in this hot sun.”
“Any handouts are yours as well. I need to wait here for someone.”
“Be my guest.”
He took the money and walked over to his bag and stuffed the twenty away. Sitting down, he grabbed some water and relaxed in the midday sun. His clothes were pretty worn, but at least he didn’t smell of booze.
I kept my eyes on the cars coming down the ramp. If they missed me exiting, then I’d miss my chance and would just drive on. But if they did come down I’d have a surprise for them and hopefully a plate number to work with. A couple of cars stopped and handed me some money. I smiled and thanked each one, stuffing the fives and ones in my pocket. It still amazed me how generous people could be, even in a world where terrorists kill and bomb innocent citizens for no reason, other than a warped vision of their faith.
From a distance I saw the white SUV exiting. I held the sign up to my face so they couldn’t tell it was me. I wasn’t dressed much better than anyone you’d see on the corner looking for handouts, so they had no reason to think otherwise. They slowed down when they saw the bike and received a couple of honks from the cars behind them, angry they weren’t moving fast enough. I walked past them holding the sign, as they wouldn’t be in a giving mood. From my back pocket I pulled out the buck knife I kept in the saddle bags of the Harley, went around to the back side and cut the tire stem in one motion. They started moving forward as the light changed but didn’t get too far as the tire went flat in a manner of seconds, followed by the wail of more horns by the angry cars trying to get through the snarling traffic maze. In rush hour people had little patience. The SUV was partway in the intersection when they finally stopped realizing what had happened, the tire rim on the pavement not allowing more movement. I hustled back to the homeless man, handed him his sign and money, then ran back to my bike, gearing up quickly, starting the engine with a good roar. There was no rear plate either, only a temporary tag in the rear window, impossible to make out through the heavily tinted glass. When they stepped out I quickly took pictures with my phone, so I could better recognize them later.
I roared off on my motorcycle honking at them as I drove past. Needless to say I did not make the trio happy. Their shouts echoed in my ears as I rode home, causing me to snicker as the wind blew into my face, the shield up to allow the breeze to cool me on this warm day.
At home, I pulled up the pictures on my phone and zoomed them in. Since the resolution was pretty good on my camera phone, the faces came through pretty well. I cropped the photos as best I could and made a call to Denver Police Headquarters. Bill Malone answered on the first ring, since he was back today at his desk.
“Bill, it’s Jarvis, how is your day?” I asked.
“Normal busy day dealing with the dregs of society,” he replied.
“Well, I hope I’m not one of the dregs. How is the family doing?”
“All is good. Ray did some spring football and is looking sharp on the field, with Raven keeping him well grounded. Monika has her first boyfriend, which I hate. And Rachael is wonderful and the glue that keeps me going. Life in general is boring and I love it.”
“Good to hear. Believe it or not, I didn’t call to get a family update. I need a favor?”
“I’m stunned.”
I smiled. Bill was so stoic with his responses it made me laugh.
“I have a couple of pictures to send your way. When you have time can you run them through the system and see if you get a hit on them?”
“When I have time? If you want to wait until then, I’ll never get to them.”
“Then sometime today would be perfect.”
“And what did they do?”
“They were following me. I think it’s related to this new case I have.”
“What is it about you that brings about unsavory people?”
“My charming personality, I suppose. Honestly, I’d prefer not have them on my back, but I can’t always choose my clients and thugs that seem to gravitate to them. When they come knocking, I need the work to pay the bills.”
“OK, I can run it later today. You know our system is pretty slow, so likely won’t have anything until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow will be wonderful. And worth a beer.”
There was a pause.
“Sorry to hear about Melissa.”
“No one to blame but myself. How did you hear?”
“April mentioned it. Not a real surprise, since it’s your M.O. But still, I’m sorry to see it happen.”
“Yes, so was I.”
“You made a good couple.”
“We did, but maybe it’s for the better. With everything going on these days, it’s not safe having a girlfriend to use against me. Besides, it allows me and my right hand to get better acquainted after all this time being apart.”
Bill laughed out loud, which was a rarity. Strangely enough I was happy someone found humor in my personal pain.
Chapter 10
Before leaving his place Mitch gave me his number, in case I needed to ask more questions. I called him a couple of times but didn’t get an answer. After being tailed
I wondered if they had seen me at his place. I had no real reason to believe they would go and bother him, other than a gut feeling. So I hopped on my bike and drove back over in the afternoon heat.
From a distance I saw the flashing red lights. When I got close enough I saw a fire engine, the men hosing down the Corvette, now a charred, burnt memory of what it used to be. A classic no more. Since the street was blocked I parked down a ways and walked, getting as close as I could. I saw Mitchell standing there, happy to see he hadn’t been harmed, beyond a bruise on his cheek, an ice pack held to battle the swelling. He was talking with a police officer, so I stayed back for now, mingling with a crowd of neighbors watching on.
“What happened?” I asked a thirtysomething woman, standing in tight shorts and tank top.
“Some men in a big SUV showed up and assaulted Mitch,” she said. “They then tossed something into his car, I think it was a signal flare, and it started on fire. We heard the commotion and called the authorities.”
“Any ideas what it was about?”
“Nope. Seemed totally random.”
“Mitch is such a nice guy,” said the man standing next to her, also in shorts and tank top. “Hard to believe anyone would want to hurt him.”
“Did you get a good look at the SUV?” I asked. “Get a plate number?”
“No plate,” said the woman. “It was white and big. They all look the same to me so I couldn’t tell you a make or model.”
“It was a Chevy of some kind,” added the man. “Looked like three guys total. I saw two climb back in before his car started on fire. The driver was behind the wheel waiting. They looked pretty dangerous so I didn’t want to step in. The type to be carrying guns.”
