The Front Range Butcher: A Jarvis Mann Private Detective HardBoiled Mystery Novel (Jarvis Mann Detective Book 7)

by R Weir

  “I have it on a reliable source they work for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter the source. I won’t confirm it no matter what evidence you show me.” His piercing eyes were looking at me now.

  “Is Liquid Investors sending people to threaten and injure me?” My ire was building.

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because you don’t like me very much. I’ve become a thorn in your side. Both with the mission case and now this business with Simon.”

  He sighed. “Jarvis, you’re a pain in the ass. There is no question. We are a business and sometimes in business you must make hard choices. With the mission, it worked out best in our long-term interests to work with you. We are at peace with the agreement.” He stood up from his chair and pointed his finger. “As for this Simon Lions, if there is a connection, and I’m not saying there is, you need to look at what is in the best interest for you long-term. Making the wrong decision could make for a short term…if you understand what I’m getting at.”

  I stood up to meet his glare. In a roundabout way, this was a threat.

  “Understand me,” I said. “In the short-term, I’m going nowhere, and I’m in it for the long haul. And if your men come after me again, I’ll hogtie them and work them into giving me the connection to bring your company and anyone else involved down.”

  I picked up the rest of my juice and finished it, walking out the door learning enough to realize everything was linked together. Now it was a matter of what to do with it.

  Chapter 42

  I had lit the fire. Now it was time to douse it with gasoline.

  Jonas had confirmed that the senator’s wife, Christina Lions-Bowles, was indeed Simon’s older sister. Though in time she had dropped the Lions and only used Bowles as a last name. She was a plastic surgeon working in her own practice in Boulder. Her husband, state senator Windsor Bowles, had been elected to three straight terms covering district 18. Running on a conservative platform, he was now looking at possibly running for a US Colorado Congressional position out of district 2, hoping to unseat the Democratic incumbent who had held the position for several terms. Everything I’d read about Windsor said he was tough, resourceful and someone not to cross, using his position in whatever way he needed to get what he wanted.

  Going at the senator likely wouldn’t lead me anywhere. Getting a meeting with him would be difficult. But his wife, the doctor, who sees patients, was different. Today I was one of those patients, having squeezed in an appointment when I first learned of her. She had been booked up solid, but a cancellation had come through and I jumped at it. Consultations are free, though twenty minutes of my time was wasted filling out paperwork. Once I had her alone, I could spring my surprise on her and see what happens.

  Her business was in the Table Mesa section of South Boulder. I arrived early, finding a chair in the waiting area, clipboard in hand filling in fields and boxes galore with mostly inaccurate data. A few others sat waiting, and I couldn’t help but wonder what work they were looking to get done. Tummy tucks, breast augmentation and lifts, liposuction and various work on areas of the face were most common. The rigors of life never stopped us from spending money on looking our best. To get in the door I planned on asking about nose work, even though in my eyes it was fine, despite it being broken a couple of times thanks to the conflicts of my profession. My appointment was for three, but it was nearly thirty minutes after before I was called and put in a room. Another ten minutes before Doctor Bowles stepped in dressed in slacks, blouse and long white lab coat, holding a clipboard with my information.

  “Jarvis Mann,” she said, while holding out her hand. “I’m Doctor Bowles. I understand you wanted to discuss some options. What work are you looking to have done?”

  I’d often wondered why we filled out paperwork, when the doctor would ask the same questions I’d already answered on all the forms.

  “I’ve had my nose broken a couple of times,” I said. “Wondering what recourse I have?”

  “Do you have any breathing issues?” She was making notes on the clipboard.

  “Nothing serious.”

  “Are you wanting it shaped differently?”

  “Possibly. Mostly seeing what can be done.”

  “May I check?”

  I nodded yes. She put on some gloves and began examining, pressing on the sides and top areas. Up close I got a good look at her. For her age, which was late fifties, she looked good, not a gray hair in sight, with only a few wrinkles and no crow’s feet around her eyes. I wondered what work she had done in her life.

  “On the web, I saw you used to have a hyphen in your last name,” I stated. “Lions-Bowles, though on your sign outside, it just says Bowles.”

  She seemed surprised by the question. “I shortened it a few years back.”

  “Interesting as I knew a Lions, from the past. Simon. Are you two related?”

  She paused, not certain how to answer. “We are, though we don’t talk much.”

  “Small world isn’t it. I talked with him the other day at EverCare. He is quite…how can I put it…a piece of work.”

  She stepped back and pulled off her gloves, tossing them in the trash. “I don’t like talking about him. Now about your nose. I think we can fix some of the damage done when it was broken and shape it in a more attractive way.”

  She had changed the subject, but I wasn’t going to be denied.

  “No surprise you don’t want to talk about him. Especially considering his history with the police and your husband being a State Senator, hoping to head to Washington and be a Congressmen I hear.” It was a mouthful as I went straight at her.

  “Look, I’m not sure why you’re bringing this up,” she said, her tone clipped and her face turning red. “Are you here for plastic surgery or to talk about my personal life?”

  “Considering there is nothing wrong with my nose, which you know is true, yes I’m here to talk about Simon and why, even though he is a killer, your family uses its influence to protect him.”

  Her face became dark and angry. “How dare you come in here and talk to me like this. Who are you?”

  I pulled out my card and handed to her. After reading it, she tucked it into her lab pocket.

  “A private detective? Who hired you to harass me?” She moved towards the table where she left the clipboard.

  “No one specifically. But my work requires me to cover all angles and since you’re the sister of Simon, it makes sense I talk with you.”

  “You could have called and talked with me outside of work instead of wasting my valuable time.” She kept looking at the phone on the wall, debating on calling for assistance.

  “I doubt you would have allowed me. Sometimes I must be sneaky to get to people. Tell me about Simon and I’ll leave you to your patients.”

  “I have nothing to do with him anymore.” She stared at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact.

  “Is it because he is psychotic?”

  “I have nothing more to say. Now leave before I call the police.” She grabbed the phone.

  I got off the patient table and headed towards the door. I had certainly thrown her for a loop and expected her to be calling her husband shortly after leaving.

  “Christina,” I said bluntly. “Protecting Simon, even though he is family, is only going to make things worse. Believe me when I say I understand this, as I too had a brother I tried to protect. It was frustrating and painful. In the end, it is better to come clean. I suspect you know how he is, growing up together. Women are being tortured all in the name of preserving the family heritage. The truth will come out and damage will be done. You can’t forestall it forever.”

  Her eyes went cold, and she started dialing the phone. I tried but couldn’t connect to her.

  Out the door I went and to the parking lot. On reaching my car, I noticed, waiting a few spaces down, the large black SUV I’d seen earlier, still waiting. It had been following me all day and I was pretty sure who was dri
ving it. I walked on over and knocked on the driver’s side window. Slowly it went down and inside were the two FBI agents who previously had taken me to Agent Alegre.

  “If it isn’t Curley and Moe,” I said.

  “Such a funny guy,” said the driver.

  I had no idea what their names were and frankly didn’t care.

  “On open mic night at the Comedy Club I kill,” I said. “Have you learned anything exciting following me all day, Curley?”

  “Enough,” said the driver. Apparently, he didn’t care for his new nickname.

  “Did Catalina send you to keep an eye on me?”

  “Agent Alegre wants to make sure you’re living up to your word.”

  “What would that be?” I said with a smirk.

  “Reporting to her what you’re learning. It would seem you haven’t been.”

  “Gee I’m sorry. She didn’t give me her number, so I can’t text her about every move I make. Let’s see, today I talked with Maxina at Liquid Investors and just got done getting a consultation with Doctor Bowles. She thinks I need a nose job. What do you think?”

  I stood in profile, so they could see, but they weren’t in the mood to give their opinion.

  “No input from Curley. What about you, Moe?”

  “I can smash it, so it does need work,” Moe suggested.

  I could have countered with a response, but I let it go.

  “Do I need to let you know where I’m headed next in case you lose me? Or are you taking me for a ride again.”

  They both cussed me out and Curley put the window back up. On my way back home on State Highway 36, I drove painfully slow just to aggravate them. Sometimes I got joy in the littlest things.

  Chapter 43

  The next day I received a call from Rocky, with some news about the man he was tracking down. He sounded pleased with his progress.

  “Vicente likes to go to car shows,” he said. “Likes showing off his cool older car. He does this every Friday they have the event. When he does, he has a minimal number of guards with him. This seems like the best time to take him.”

  “What is minimal?” I asked.

  “Two. They follow him in another vehicle. He doesn’t allow them in his car with him. He is very protective of it.”

  “Where does this happen?”

  He gave me the address. It was a parking lot in Aurora.

  “He went last weekend. I talked with those there and they say he comes all the time. Sometimes meets up with a woman or two and leaves with them. Women that put out can ride in the car with him. Man is he insatiable. I want to grab him the next time he goes.”

  “Lots of people around?” Snatching someone at an event would be risky.

  “They come and go. Many moments when it’s not as busy. There are times when we can make our move.”

  “How do we handle the two guards?”

  “They generally are walking around looking at cars or sitting in their own vehicle playing with their phones. Normally he sits alone. They shouldn’t be a problem.” His voice sounded confident.

  “Once you have him what is your plan?”

  “Question him.”

  “And then?”

  “Depends on the answers.”

  I wasn’t sure I was keen on how this was going to go, but I agreed to meet him in a week when the next event took place. Leaning back in my chair, my mind rolled over everything going on in my life. Talks with a potential psychotic killer, getting threatened several times and then beaten on, a crazy woman attacking me twice, and then getting accused of rape and child porn, and all of this business with Rocky and his quest to catch this man. It was a whirlwind of activity making it hard to keep it all straight, my mind a jumble of thoughts and images. With everything going on, at least I wasn’t bored.

  After going through all that had happened the last couple of days, I was sitting down and trying to relax with a cold beer, when Jonas called.

  “I got a disturbing call,” he simply said.

  “A threat?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. They said to back off or else they would hurt me or the ones I love.”

  “Caller ID?”

  “Blocked.”

  “At least they aren’t completely stupid.”

  “Nice to know the criminal world isn’t all laced with idiots. Should I be concerned?” He asked with a worried undertone.

  I frowned, but there was no way to really soften the issue. Considering the weight these guys had, the threat was probably real. “I’d say yes. Take precautions. If you need to leave town for a while, do it. Things are starting to heat up. I have set some additional things in motion. I went to visit Simon’s sister. She was not pleased with my allegations.”

  He laughed, but not with humor. "I’m sure you accused her tastefully.” I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

  “Not really. I went at her pretty hard. I’m sure she made some calls after I left. On top of that I confronted an old foe, who I found out might be involved with the men that beat me up. They were not thrilled at my accusations either.”

  “I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing. Is this really all necessary?” Jonas sounded annoyed and concerned.

  “To get results, yes.” I tried to sound reassuring.

  He sighed. “Melissa warned me you’d do what it takes to get the job done. The question being, is it working?”

  “I’m making inroads. With the threat to you and your family, do I need to lighten up…even back down?” I did want to make sure they were safe. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn’t reckless, and aware of the risks.

  Jonas thought about it for a minute. “No. I don’t plan on hiding. But I do want to guarantee my wife and Melissa are safe.”

  “Make sure they are always with someone and never alone. That is the best defense. Did you want me to call Melissa?” Any excuse to talk with her was OK with me.

  “No, I will. I’m certain her boss can get someone to keep an eye on her. And she can stay with us if necessary.” There was a short pause. “Doris said to call her. Had some information for you.”

  After hanging up, I looked up Doris’s number and she picked up right away.

  “Thanks for calling,” she said after answering.

  “Hopefully you have some good news,” I said. “I’ve been feverishly stirring the pot.”

  “Remember the last victim who escaped from The Butcher?” she said. “I’ve been talking with her trying to come up with any type of leads. I was able to get her to agree to talk with you.”

  “Really?”

  “I believe you said you wanted to talk with her.”

  “I did. Isn’t this going to make Agent Alegre mad?”

  “Screw her.” Even with tough vocabulary she sounded calm.

  I laughed. “Such language.”

  “It could have been worse, and I was certainly thinking something stronger. I’ll ask for forgiveness on Sunday.” She laughed.

  “When did she want to talk?”

  “Any time. She is doing a lot of talking with various people. It’s therapeutic for her. We’d have to meet somewhere quiet where we can have some privacy. Preferably not a restaurant, for it will be too noisy and lots of prying eyes. She lives in Golden.”

  I stopped and thought for a minute. I had an idea, though it was Saturday, so I’d have to see about access.

  “Let me call you back.”

  I found the number I was looking for. I wasn’t sure if he would answer, but his office wasn’t too far from Golden and would provide the privacy and security that was needed. It took about six rings before he answered.

  “Jarvis Mann,” said the familiar voice of Brandon Sparks. “Calling me on my day off. Must be serious.”

  Brandon was a construction mogul who had been involved with many of the structures along the Rocky Mountain Front Range. He was wealthy, powerful and likely had some ties to illegal activity. We had crossed paths on several cases and formed a business relationsh
ip which I was trying to leverage for this meeting.

  “I need favor.”

  “What can I do for you this time?” Sparks asked in a bored tone.

  “I need a meeting room this afternoon or early this evening. Your office is a suitable location and will provide us with some privacy. Any chance I can access it?”

  “Boy oh boy. These favors are going to add up. The building is closed and secured. Is this really necessary?”

  “It really is. It is part of a case I’m on and is related to The Front Range Butcher. I need to talk with one of his intended victims who got away. I want her to feel comfortable and safe, which your building would provide.”

  “I’ve been following the case on the news. I was not aware someone got away.”

  “The police have kept it quiet. So far the press hasn’t gotten wind of it.”

  “What time are you thinking?”

  “Would five work?”

  There was a pause. “I’ll have someone meet you down there and let you in. You realize I’m keeping a running tab.” He seemed pleased about the building debt.

  “I’m sure you keep adding zeroes to the end of it. Thanks.”

  I called Doris back and let her know the location and that I would bring food. If there were any issues, she’d call me back but if not then we would meet there at five. My head was spinning, and after a couple of Tylenol I decided to take a nap. I wasn’t sure how long a night was ahead, but I needed to be alert. I had the front locked tightly and my gun nearby, in case the fruits of my labor came to bear at full force. I slept soundly, though one ear was always alert. I wasn’t a heavy sleeper, which was good in times like this. Various parts of the case rolled around my conscience when I hit REM sleep. No ah ha moments revealed itself and I woke up hungry, but ready to go.

  I contemplated on what food and drink to bring. People felt more sociable eating and I wanted her to be comfortable. Doris would be there, which would help. One never knows for certain, but rarely did people dislike pizza and beer. Since I didn’t think her drinking was a smart idea, I settled for soda. Even basic pizza was good, but I wanted her to have something on the high end, not delivered by a chain. I hit one of my local favorites on the way over and arrived a few minutes early at his office on the west side of town near Union Blvd and W 2nd Place.