The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  They came outside and drove some more. He took her to a clothing store and then somewhere to pick up some liquor. He then stopped to fill up on gas before taking her back home. She got out of the truck, after giving him a quick hug, and he drove off.

  I sat in my car for several minutes mulling over what to do next. I made a quick call to King Soopers, to find out that she wasn’t working today. It would seem now was as good a time as any to knock on her door and see if she would talk.

  When I rang the doorbell, I heard a dog start barking. There was a delay before the door opened, and it was only opened by a crack. I had the outer screen door open, so she could see me clearly and pasted on my more genuine smile. She hesitated, which wasn’t all that surprising.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Mrs. Woodley?” I asked.

  “Miss Woodley. What do you want?” She corrected, the words slow and deliberate.

  “I’m a detective. I wanted to talk about your son.” I flashed her my ID. I had learned if you sounded confident and commanding, most did not question it.

  “My son?”

  “Yes ma’am. Darren Woodley.”

  She looked surprised.

  “What about him?”

  “May I come in? It’s hot standing out here. Be easier to talk inside.”

  She had to process this, not certain what to do.

  “I promise it will only take a few minutes of your time. Then we won’t bother you again. But it’s important,” I bargained.

  The brutal sun was making me warm and testing the strength of my deodorant. Finally, the door closed and then opened all the way. I stepped through smiling and saying thank you. Once inside it felt much cooler, a ceiling fan churning away, cool air coming from somewhere. She waved to an old blue fabric sofa, while sitting in a padded rocking chair. A medium sized brown lab came up to me, sniffing my leg, making sure I was safe and not carrying treats. I held out my fist and he seemed satisfied I wasn’t dangerous, as I scratched behind his ears. He was older and not moving too well, displaying the hip issues larger dogs get. After getting the attention he deserved, he found a spot on the floor, spun around a couple of times before he sat down with a huff.

  “Sparky,” said Belinda suddenly.

  “Pardon me,” I said.

  “That is the dog’s name. Sparky.”

  I nodded. “Beautiful dog. How old is he?”

  She gave me a tight smile, “Eleven. Got him as a rescue. Some family bought him as a puppy and then when he got bigger, they didn’t want him anymore.”

  “A shame. I love dogs.”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  I shook my head. I had nothing against dogs. It was just the job. “I don’t. Not home enough, so it wouldn’t be fair to the dog. Always working another case. The life of a detective.”

  She looked sympathetic and nodded. “I understand.”

  Glancing around the room, I saw what you would typically find in a small living area. The place looked clean and neat, including the coffee table, with not an item on it, not even a TV remote. The carpet was a lighter blue than the furniture and looked brand new. Besides the sofa and rocking chair, there was, by today’s standards, a small flat screen TV, coffee table, three end tables, two with a lamp in the center, bookshelf, and some family pictures on the off-white smooth walls. Most appeared to be of her at a younger age, and her son growing up at various stages of his life. She was attractive then, maybe a little plain, with longer lighter hair, and glowing smile, before time had aged her, taking away her youth and energy.

  “You have a lovely home,” I complimented, trying to put her at ease. While it wasn’t anything flashy, it was comfortable and cozy and well kept.

  “Thank you.”

  Her voice was low, and calm. She spoke slowly, though I wasn’t sure if it was by choice, or because of some limitation she had. And like behind the deli counter, she didn’t smile, for whatever reason. A joke here or there might make her laugh, but today wasn’t the right time. I was here to get information.

  “I’m sorry to intrude. I have some uncomfortable questions to ask you.”

  Pausing, I waited to make sure she was ready. There was a slight nod, though it could have been a natural twitch, as she rocked slowly in her chair.

  “Some time ago, in the past, you were kidnapped by a man labelled, The Front Range Butcher. Can you tell me about that experience?”

  “I thought this was about Darren?” She looked surprised by the question.

  “We will get to that. What can you tell me about your kidnapping?”

  She shook her head, and closed her eyes briefly. “No, I’d rather not.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is unpleasant. A moment in my life I prefer to leave in the past.”

  “When you were questioned all those years ago, you said much the same thing.”

  The rocking of her chair quickened. She was getting agitated.

  “I didn’t like the spotlight. All those men questioning me, asking horrible things. I wanted to move on.”

  “You can understand why they asked, can’t you? They were trying to catch a killer.”

  “Not my concern.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be? Didn’t you want to help the other victims?”

  No answer from her. She was walled up, like Jonas had said.

  “There were many who said you made it all up.”

  “They can think what they want. I didn’t care.” She paused, her rocking slowing some. “Can we get to the part about my son?”

  There was a point to where I started the questioning, that I wasn’t ready to reveal. Since she didn’t want to talk about her kidnapping, it was time to move to the next step.

  “Yes, let’s talk about your son,” I said. “I wanted to learn more about him.”

  “He is a good boy.”

  “I’m sure he is. Did he grow up in this house?”

  “No. We had a small apartment shortly after he was born. We got this house when he was one. His father bought it for us.”

  From the pictures I’d seen no sign of a father. “Is his father here? I would like to meet him.”

  She seemed a little put off by the question as she turned her head, looking away from me as if pretending I might simply disappear when she looked back.

  “I’m sorry did I say something wrong?” I asked.

  “His father is not around. I’m a single mother.” Her voice was monotone.

  “When did he leave?”

  “We were never together in that sense.”

  She couldn’t look at me. I wanted to read her eyes, maybe understand her better. She wasn’t giving much emotion to work with.

  “Must be hard on you. Raising him on your own.”

  “It has been, but I’ve managed.”

  Sparky slowly got up and came over, sniffing up and down my leg. His eyes looked up at me, hoping there was a treat in my pockets. I scratched behind his ears again, and he moved on, sad I had nothing else for him, finding a new spot to lay down.

  “Sounds like the father is involved, if he bought you this house.”

  Something flashed on her face before she retained that vacant expression. “Only financially, and only under conditions.”

  Conditions, she said. I would file that away.

  “That is too bad. Does Darren know him? Get to see him?”

  “No. That was part of the conditions when he was a child. Now that he is an adult, it’s his decision. I stay out of it.”

  “Does Darren wish to see him?”

  “His choice.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “His choice.” She paused, her chair still rocking. “Now, I’m not sure why you’re asking all these questions.”

  I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to lose her.

  “My apologies. Sometimes I get too personal in my line of questioning. Part of the job.”

  “Has he done something wrong?”

  “He was seen in Denve
r recently.” I twisted the truth hoping to learn something. “Possibly involved in an incident. I wanted to know why he would have been there.”

  She stopped for a minute, pondering. She stood up and went into the kitchen. She came back with a couple of tissues, blowing her nose, as well as a bottle of water, her hand shaking while she held it.

  “His father lives there. Might be why he could have been in Denver.”

  “So, he is in contact with him?”

  “His choice.”

  It seemed she was a stuck record. It was aggravating, but I held my cool.

  “Can you give me his father’s name? An address where he lives?”

  She blew her nose again. I wasn’t sure if she was upset or experiencing allergies. When being questioned everyone has different reactions.

  “I can’t. Part of the conditions.”

  “Which can’t you tell me?”

  “Both.”

  Interesting. Was it threats or legal conditions that prevented her from telling me this information I wondered.

  “Is he threatening you?”

  “I can’t say anything more or he will find out. Please understand, I can’t make it without his check each month.” Her voice still was low, a sense of sadness filling it.

  “You’re working now. I saw you at King Soopers.”

  She looked surprised I knew this.

  “Part of the job to know things about people you question,” I said, answering her confusion.

  “I can only work about twenty-five hours a week. Challenging to work more than two days in a row. My health won’t allow anything else.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were sick.” Now that she said it, I could see how tired she was, her face haggard.

  “Cancer. Ovarian. It has been difficult.”

  She blew her nose again, now out of tissues. She got up and came back with a full box this time.

  “Your son’s father helps pay the bills?”

  She nodded. I could see tears in her eyes.

  “Does he scare you?” I asked gently.

  This time I wasn’t sure what I saw on her face. It seemed like something between fear and love.

  “Maybe. All I know for certain is I need his money, or I end up on the street.”

  This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I decided to take a different tack.

  “Does Darren work?”

  She nodded, relieved at the change in direction. “Likes working on cars. Good at fixing them.”

  “Does he have his own business?”

  “Not yet. His dream someday.” She smiled.

  “Will his father help him?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she mouthed “His choice again,” from what I could tell by reading her lips.

  “What is Darren’s birthday?” I threw it out there to see if she would answer.

  She hadn’t looked at me in a while, but her head popped up, staring me in the eyes at the question. A genuine fear if she answered.

  “Conditions.” She whispered.

  At that second the front door opened, startling us both as her son stepped in, Sparky jumping up to greet him. He was about my size, with nice tan, closely shaved head, in decent shape and not happy to see me.

  “Who the fuck are you!” he said, with a fair amount of anger. People’s reaction to me often got me the same response. I raised my hands placating and looked to Belinda.

  “Darren please,” said Belinda. “You know I don’t like you cussing.”

  “Sorry Mom.”

  “Your mother and I were talking is all.” I tried to sound non-threatening.

  “About what?”

  I stood up and thanked her for her time. She looked genuinely scared, either of him or of what she might have said to me. Heading towards the door, he blocked my way out. I smiled and said, “excuse me,” while looking him square in the eye, never once blinking. He moved just enough, and I stepped through the door and onto the grass. He followed me, grabbing me by the arm.

  “Who the hell are you?” he yelled.

  I wasn’t one to like having someone touch me. I could have easily pulled free and knocked him on his keister. I decided to give him a free pass, so long as he released me, and quickly.

  “Best to take your arm off me, son,” I said clearly and plainly. “Otherwise you’re going to get your butt kicked.”

  There was a moment he thought he could handle me, but then he understood I wasn’t messing around and let go of my arm.

  “Thank you,” I said. “If you must know I’m a detective and I was talking to your mother about you and your father.”

  His face changed to alarmed, and then angry when I said father and he took a swing at me. I ducked the punch, stepping back. He came at me again. I blocked it easily and gave him a solid shot to the stomach. He dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath. Looking back towards the house, I saw his mother standing at the screen door, scared of what I’d done to him.

  “Give it a minute and you will be fine,” I said loudly enough, so she could hear as well. “Breathe slowly. You just got the wind knocked out of you.”

  He was listening, and soon was back in control of his breathing. I’m sure he’d think twice about touching me again.

  “What do you want with me?” he said while slowly standing.

  “Mostly I’m trying to understand more about you and your father. It seems you two aren’t close.”

  “What business is it of the police?”

  Since I’d only said detective, he seemed to think I was a cop. I wouldn’t do anything to argue I wasn’t. I could always plead later he had made the leap without me leading him on.

  “We want to know his name.”

  “Why?”

  “Part of a case, is all I can tell you.”

  “All I can tell you is, I won’t tell you and she can’t. Best to leave it alone or else.” He warned, his eyes pleading with me.

  “Or else what?”

  “He will come down hard on you. He has some powerful friends. Those who can make your life a living hell.” His face was hard to read but I thought I could sense a flicker of fear in his eyes.

  “Do they make your life a living hell?”

  He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not if I do as I’m told.”

  “I see. And he pays the bills.”

  “Enough of them. Including my mom’s medical bills, beyond what insurance covers.”

  “Yes, she told me. I’m sorry.”

  “It sucks. No one wants their mother to suffer.” His eyes softened.

  I nodded. My mother had suffered too. It wasn’t an enjoyable time in my life.

  “When is your birthday, Darren?”

  He stared at me in disbelief. “None of your fucking business.”

  “Part of the conditions?”

  “Excuse me!” He glared at me, confused.

  “Never mind. Something I’ve heard a few times today.”

  “Just leave, asshole. And don’t come around here again or else…”

  Turning without waiting to hear his final threat, I headed to the Mustang, and sat there watching him. He had pulled out his cellphone and was making a call. I was certain I had stirred the pot. And it was time to head back to Denver and see which powerful friends were waiting for me. I could hardly wait.

  Chapter 27

  It had been six days into his search and The Butcher had finally found the one he wanted. Searching, watching, looking for clues that she was the right one. He was picky, guidance from his mentor leading him in the correct direction, making sure who he chose was not like the other three. The first had been a little heavier, with short blonde hair. The second taller, with dark hair, and Hispanic. The third in between, with a nice tan and longer blonde hair. This time he found a black woman with tight afro and athletic build. She appeared to be a teacher at the Colorado School of Mines. When he first saw her, he felt a stirring in his being. She was magnificent, with a good build that looked marvelous in no matter wh
at she wore. He imagined she was even more striking without clothing.

  It was late, darkness was setting in, as she often put in long hours at school. He knew her car and found it left unlocked each time he discreetly checked it. His car was parked several spaces over from hers, and when the right moment came, he slipped into the backseat of her Camry, slumping down, waiting. She often came out by herself, talking on her phone.

  He was waiting, ready to take her by surprise. A needle in gloved hand, the medicine to knock her out when stuck in her neck. A refined skill from practicing, becoming an expert at hitting the right spot. She was a larger woman, so he had a little more in the vial. He didn’t expect her to go easily, which he welcomed, the others had been so easy to put down. He longed for a challenge to his skills, his mentor urging him not to take her lightly.

  He peeked over from behind the front seats, watching for her, listening for anyone else that might be around, the lot only half full being the late hour. No one had spotted him so far, and he planned to leave it that way. His heart was beating fast, a slight sweat forming on his forehead, even with the cool evening air. Passing the minutes, thinking of his past adventures, how his life came to be and what he’d turned into. It appalled him and pleased him at the same time. The rush and power were intoxicating, while at times making him sick. He was what he was and accepted it. He had been groomed this way, but still in his genes was the appetite of a killer.

  She was now heading towards the car, talking on her cell phone, like the other nights he’d watched her. Her attention was full into the conversation when fumbling for the keys and remote in her purse, before opening the door unsuspecting. As she sat down, settling in, pulling the door shut, he struck before she could start the car. The needle pierced her skin, as she felt the pain, she screamed, dropping the phone. He injected as much as he could as she struggled. She was as strong as he imagined, fighting him with all she had, using her hands and twisting to escape his grip. The sedative started to take effect, but she pulled away and got the car door open, stumbling and then falling out, hitting the ground. She tried to crawl as he jumped out, getting on top of her, a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. Her strength was waning, eyes glazing over, movement slowing to a stop.