The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  I made the trek back to Lakewood, to South Teller Street, and the T Street Roadhouse. When I arrived Jonas and Doris were standing there waiting. Doris had on a pair of dark slacks and a flowered print blouse. She was holding her sun hat, her hair tied in a bun. Jonas was in faded jeans, a t-shirt and tennis shoes. He looked tired as if he hadn’t slept. His twenty-two-year manhunt seemed to be weighing on him, while, in contrast, Doris looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She had done a better job of finding peace when profiling the crazies.

  The hostess took us to a U-shaped beige booth. Being the younger man, I slid in and took the middle, with Jonas on my left and Doris on my right. The waiter was prompt in taking our drink orders, iced tea for all on this warm late summer day. I had never been here, so I took a quick look at the lunch menu. There were a lot of options to choose from, from the basics like burgers, pizza and salads, to more out of the ordinary items like short rib enchiladas and mahi-mahi fish tacos. These days I tried to go light for lunch, trying not to weigh me down too much and studied the sandwich options.

  “How did your conversation go with Simon?” asked Jonas curiously, once the waiter had gone.

  “It was interesting, to say the least,” I replied carefully.

  “He is a treat to talk with,” acknowledged Jonas. “When he talks. Last time I was there he spoke in gibberish. Stroke putting him in a vegetative state.”

  I smirked, Simon had Jonas fooled. I had news for him.

  “He started out so eerily silent, that I thought he was comatose. Once the orderly walked away and I mentioned your name, he came to life.”

  “Really. So, he was faking it with me?” Jonas seemed surprised as anger flashed in his eyes.

  “Unless he’s made a miraculous recovery, it would appear that is the case. He was a smooth talker.”

  “What did he say?” said Jonas, looking back and forth between me and the menu.

  “He was quite coy at first as if seeming to feel me out. He even wanted to know if I thought I was smart enough to match wits with him. Honestly, I wasn’t certain at first I could. He’s got everyone fooled.”

  “Part of his game. Trying to keep you off balance,” Jonas nodded.

  “It was almost as if he wanted to reveal things, but in a…how would I put it…a stealthy way. Confessing in a way as not to confess. He was working me, there was no doubt. Only confirmed what I’ve heard from everyone. I will need to be on my A game the next time we go face to face.”

  The waiter returned with our drinks and took our orders. Doris had a house salad with grilled salmon, while Jonas asked for the chicken and brie sandwich. After asking a few questions, I decided on the shaved smoked turkey sandwich.

  Doris had so far remained silent. She was listening to our conversation, absorbing what we said. She grabbed a spoon and added a little sugar to her tea, stirred it and took a taste, before adding a pinch more, and finding it to her liking. They had brought some extra lemon slices, so she took two, squeezing the juices on top and stirring some more. Now completely content, she took a long drink.

  “What was your gut reaction to Simon?” she asked, her eyes looking straight at me.

  I took a minute to reflect. It was a good question for me to ponder.

  “Intelligent insanity comes to mind.”

  “Exactly. Many serial killers are just that.”

  “Cocky too.” I too added some lemon to my tea, as it was a little bitter for my taste.

  “In a way, yes,” added Doris. “Part of his confessing without confessing, as you mentioned, is part of that cocky nature. Even leaving bread crumbs. He believes that you and no one else will catch him.”

  “So far, he is correct in that assumption,” said Jonas. “He would reveal certain snippets in our talks, but only when we were alone. If the police, or his lawyer was around, he would say very little and deny ever saying any of it.”

  “Much the same with me,” I stated. “When anyone came near he would clam up and put on his act.”

  “And he would never allow recording of his conversations,” said Doris. “If someone was recording, he was bland and dull. So long as there was a witness, he would act stupid and uninterested. But get him alone and ask the right questions, he would challenge you to a duel of wits.”

  “A split personality?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Doris. “I think the performance was when he was speaking very little. The real Simon, was when you got him alone. That is when his true character would surface and shine.”

  This was interesting news. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, or how I could use it. It would take some thought on my part. It seems he was already successful at getting into my head.

  “The history of serial killers has taught us a few things,” continued Doris. “Certain aspects in the way their minds work has been found to be similar. Oh, each have distinctive characteristics. But many are driven by the same things. Intelligence, ego, power and, in many cases, absolute power over their victims, and a sexual drive or need that manifests in the violence they commit. Some could be born with these traits, while others can be a product of the environment they’d lived in. Either witnessing abuse or being abused, physically or mentally, is common.”

  “Many who are abused don’t become serial killers,” I said dismissively.

  Doris nodded. “Correct. Some can rise above it, even speak out against it and try to promote change. Others though, continue the string of abuse within the families they have, for it’s all they know and don’t comprehend or recognize a way to break the cycle. Abuse is only one facet of what can trigger someone to kill in this manner. There have been many studies on the subject. Genetics could play a role as well. If only there was one right answer, we could identify potential killers more easily.”

  “Or it could be some people are just nuts and there is nothing we can do about it,” I said trying to add levity to the tense conversation.

  Doris laughed and drank some more tea. Jonas didn’t crack a smile and still seemed tense. Our lunch arrived, our tea glasses were topped off and we tasted our meals, with comments all around on how delicious it was. We were lucky to have many wonderful places to eat in our great city. One more to add to my list of eateries when on the run.

  “I think we all believe Simon was the killer twenty-two-years ago,” stated Jonas, sandwich in hand. “But do we believe he is the killer now of these three victims? I mean the man can’t even walk from what I’ve seen. Unless he has the ability to manifest his life force into another person’s body and take it over. And I don’t think this is the X-Files.”

  “Funny, he mentioned an out of body experience, as a possibility. Maybe this is an X-File,” I added, then took a mouthful of the moist turkey hanging off the artisan bread, getting yellow mustard on my shirt, which didn’t make me happy.

  Jonas started humming the theme from the show, finally showing some levity.

  “I’d make a pretty cool Mulder,” I said with a laugh. “Though he does dress better than I do.”

  “I’m hardly Scully,” stated Doris. “Though, in my younger days, I could give her a run for her money. You talked with him, Jarvis. Interacted and saw him. What do you think?”

  I took a couple more bites of my sandwich, and a long drink of tea, before responding. I needed to ask who their turkey supplier was, as it was so good, with a nice smoky flavor.

  “Though Simon changed dramatically when the orderly left,” I stated. “Going from mute, to speaking with a great deal of bravado. Physically he didn’t seem any different. Other than when he grabbed me in the lunch line and pulled me down. He seemed extremely strong, at least in his upper body. Could have been a rush of adrenaline. But I saw little or no movement from his legs. If he is conning everyone, he is performing Oscar caliber work doing it. Any chance we can get his medical records?”

  “Not likely,” replied Doris. “His lawyers and family status in the community, no matter how they feel about him, would a
nd have made getting a court order difficult. We would need solid proof he was faking and involved before we could even try. And he’s been very aware of this so far.”

  “We would pretty much have to catch him in the act of doing more than what he has shown to doctors,” added Jonas. “And have others witness it. Which means surveillance, which would be difficult at best in that facility. Almost need someone on the inside.”

  I thought about that for a bit and wondered if that was possible.

  “I’ll see what I can learn about the facility,” I said. “There might be something we could do. In the meantime, we need to try and narrow down where our next victim might be.”

  “It’s a big city,” said Jonas. “And we’ve never been able to nail down a distinct pattern.”

  “I may need to go back to the beginning. Talk with families of some of the victims. Do you think any of them will be willing?” It was a necessary path I needed to take, no matter how unpleasant it would be.

  Doris and Jonas looked at each other, both nodding their heads.

  “We’ve talked to many of the family members in the past,” said Doris. “We can try to reach out. Reliving the horrors though can be traumatic. A long time has passed, so digging up those memories won’t be easy for them.”

  “See what you can do,” I said. “And, if there is any chance we can speak to families of the latest victims, that can help as well.”

  “That will be tougher,” explained Doris. “Since it’s an active investigation the police may be guarded about having an outsider talking with them.”

  “Give it a try. I can always go and knock on their door. If they throw me out, that is fine. I’ll be cognizant of their feelings and not press them.”

  We finished up our food and decided on dessert. Three orders of cheesecake to round out the meal. I might not be able to get out of the booth.

  “Doris, I’ve read a lot about this case, and about serial killers in general,” I stated. “But I believe I need to learn more from you, since you’re the expert. What can you tell me?”

  “I can give you as much detail as you want,” she said. “But you may want to eat the cheesecake first, because afterwards you may not have the stomach for it.”

  It would take a lot to spoil my appetite for cheesecake, but I didn’t want to risk it and dug in.

  Chapter 18

  After learning all I could from Doris about the horrors of the world, I needed to work off the stress, as well as all the rich food. “When in doubt, I need to work out” was my motto, though it didn’t rhyme perfectly. “When I need to relax, have some sex” was another one. But April had started ten straight days of twelve-hour shifts to pay for her three hundred and fifty-dollar boots and fund her plan to buy a motorcycle. Social interaction of the flesh was out for now, so the gym was where I headed.

  Parking in the back since the lot was jam packed, I got a few extra steps in before entering inside. The lady at the counter said hello, and scanned my card, remembering my name with a warm smile. The place was busy, but there were plenty of machines to go around. With my music list picked and wireless headphones in place, to help keep my mind on exercise and not the case, I started working my upper body, doing curls, presses and flies. From there I worked my legs on any open machine I found, before hitting an exercise bike. After twenty minutes of that, I hit the locker room to change to swim trunks, deciding to do several laps to wind down.

  I felt more relaxed now, and after a long soak in the shower, I dressed in jeans and a cotton t-shirt and headed to Boone’s to unwind, have a beer and watch some sports.

  Since I was alone, I took a seat at the bar. Nick was running the show tonight and grabbed a chilled mug and filled it from the tap before placing it in front of me. I was a predictable patron.

  “Evening Jarvis,” he said. “In alone tonight?”

  “April is working twelve-hour shifts for the next ten days,” I replied. “I’m working a couple of cases. A long answer, the short being yes.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “Abstinence does as well.”

  Nick laughed. “Are you wanting something to eat?”

  “Chicken wings should be enough. I had a huge lunch today.”

  Nick nodded and placed the order. I sipped my beer, getting around the foam which was slowly fading. I looked up and saw baseball on every TV. The Rockies were having a good year and were in the wildcard hunt. They were playing the division leading Dodgers at home and it was a tight game. The great Dodger pitching always kept it close. And the Rockies’ bats were struggling to even get the ball out of the infield. Fortunately, LA wasn’t doing any better.

  I looked around the bar, the place was about half full. Denver University, which was nearby, was back in session, but it was still early in the school year, so student noses were still to the grindstone. All of us non-students still had to have a break from the day to day grind, so the crowd was above college age. There were a couple of regulars who I waved at. Julie was waitressing, but there was a new face too that I’d not seen before, waiting tables. I watched her hustling back and forth, working hard to keep up.

  “New waitress?” I asked of Nick, who had circled back to me after making the rounds.

  “A couple of days now. Her name is Milani.” He smiled. “Seems to be holding her own so far. From Hawaii. Came here looking for more steady work. Believe it or not the cost of living is cheaper here.”

  I smiled. “Vacation retreats often are expensive. She will be in for quite a surprise when winter hits.”

  She was a small thing, probably no more than five feet four, slender figure, with enough curves and nice brown skin, descended from heritage and sun. Her black hair was short and parted down the middle. She wore thin framed glasses that she was constantly pushing up her nose. Her beige shorts and sleeveless blouse showed enough skin to keep the male patrons attention and wouldn’t hurt the tips any.

  My observation went back to the game, as my mild chicken wings arrived. I took a bite, careful that the sauce dripped into the basket this time—not wanting a repeat of lunch. The game was moving quickly thanks to the lack of hits. A couple of male regulars I recognized stopped by to talk sports, one ogling over Milani, commenting on his hope she would wait on him in a more private manner. I smiled while trying not to appear like a total pig. I’d attempted to change my ways. I wasn’t the skirt chaser from the past. I wasn’t sure I’d convinced myself completely but knowing in the end it was up to me to be better. This was something my parents had instilled in me, but in my life I had not followed through on.

  I finished up my wings and headed to the restroom to relieve myself and wash up. When I went back to the bar I found myself staring at a loud commotion as a random patron I hadn’t seen before was all up in Milani’s face, cursing at her. He was much larger, over six-foot, brawny, dark skin and shoulder length black curly hair. His cargo shorts and tank top revealed tattoos on his legs and arms. He reached for her with a look of anger on his face, and she pulled away without a word other than a look of fear that said it all. Another man nearby tried to step in and was shoved out of the way with an elbow to the chest. He flew backwards and over a chair with a curse and a look of fury towards the antagonizer. This was about to turn into a full-fledged bar fight.

  I stepped in.

  “Enough!!” I yelled. “You, sir, need to leave before you get arrested.”

  He turned his attention away from the guy on the floor and looked at me, with little fear in his eyes. He stepped forward and we were nose to nose. Larger than me by two inches, and about ten pounds heavier, I could smell his sweat and feel his anger. I’d faced many a man like him through the years, so there was no fear, only determination to end the confrontation before it got out of hand.

  “This is none of your business,” he stated, his head twisting back and forth.

  “If you’re hurting her, it is all our business,” I replied, gesturing at everyone in the room. “That is n
o way to treat a lady.”

  “She is mine to do with what I want. I own her.”

  “Let’s see your receipt.”

  He looked confused by what I said, my humor not tickling his funny bone. He grabbed my shirt, which didn’t tickle mine. Still I grinned, showing no class, and kneed him in the groin, effectively ending the confrontation. He hunched over and stumbled back before dropping to his knees. There was an audible groan with a smattering of applause in the room from the other patrons. I squatted down about six inches away and spoke firmly.

  “Nick, my favorite bartender, is calling the police. I would suggest you leave and not come back. If you have any issue with the young lady here, then you need to let it go. She is nobody’s property. I have her back and will come looking for you if you do anything stupid. Understood?”

  He looked up, his eyes moist from the pain, the starch taken out of him. It was hard to act tough after getting your nuts kneed. He nodded and slowly got up, lumbering to the door. I followed to make sure he didn’t do anything dumb and saw him cross the street, get into a big Toyota truck and drive away. I returned to cheers and there were several pats on the back and handshakes waiting for me. A shy but angry Milani came up and said, “thanks”.

  “Who is he?” I asked gently.

  “Some guy I met. We went out a couple of times. But he was controlling, so I broke it off. He’s been bugging me for a while.”

  “Calling. Dropping by unannounced?”

  She nodded. “He is a bit full on and scary.”

  “He is a big guy and would scare many people.”

  “He didn’t scare you.” She smiled.

  “I’ve dealt with tougher than him. It was a matter of finding his soft spot.” I winked.

  “Will he come back?” she asked.

  “He was emasculated, so I doubt it. But there is always the chance.” I pulled out my business card and handed it to her. “Call me if he does. I’m sure I can convince him that it’s not in his best interest.”