The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  It happened in Oceanside California, a suburb of San Diego. An explosion in an SUV killed two passengers in the driveway of their home, a woman and her son of three who had been strapped into a car seat. A male outside the car was critically wounded. There was no reason for the explosion listed in the initial report. However, follow-up news accounts said the explosion was suspicious, and later it was determined it was a car bomb. Another article a couple of days later mentioned the male adult had died from his injuries. From later investigations, no motive or suspects had been determined. The case appeared to still be open but remained cold.

  Reading further I saw the names of the victims, Garrett and Claire Owens. Looking down I saw the son’s name, which caught my eye. Madden Owens, though the family liked calling him Rocky, which was his middle name. Friends of the family said they called him that because he liked being rocked to sleep.

  “I’ll be damned,” I said out loud. “He took his son’s middle name.”

  His life before I had met him now became clear. He would be gone now, certainly heading to California to plan his next steps. If he needed help, I would have to think carefully about providing it. It could be a bloody vendetta to get involved with. And I’d made enough enemies these last few years. I didn’t need any more lining up at my door looking for a piece of me. But I had a feeling he wouldn’t ask this time. He would handle it on his own.

  The phone rang. It was Jonas, and not with good news.

  “A woman is missing. Police and the FBI think it may be The Butcher.” Jonas didn’t sound pleased.

  “Where this time?” I was not thrilled to hear it either.

  “Denver South area. She worked at a Target. Someone who worked there saw her car in the parking lot. Knew she had left. No one has seen or heard from her. Calls to her cell go straight to voicemail.”

  “Possible she could have hooked up with someone and isn’t answering?” I suggested hopefully, though I doubted that was the case.

  “People who know her say she’s not like that and wouldn’t take off without telling someone.”

  “Crap!”

  “Exactly. Are you getting any closer to catching this bastard?” Jonas became angry.

  “I know it’s Simon pulling the strings. Not sure who the puppet is though. After the attempt to kill me and Belinda, there is little doubt of Simon’s involvement. But I need some tangible evidence to corner him with.”

  “Get something soon, because I’m not sure I can take another death.” Jonas sounded emotional, and I had to agree, I was feeling the pressure. We didn’t need another woman to die. We needed to solve this thing. I would continue to soldier on.

  After breakfast, I called April. It would seem she was getting tired of being a bodyguard.

  “Why couldn’t I be guarding some piece of hunk male who liked taking off his shirt?” she said. I could hear the frustration in her voice. “Makayla is nice enough, but boring. And her politics certainly don’t line up with my own.”

  “Conservative and liberal debating to pass the time?” I chuckled.

  “Exactly,” she said. “How much longer, Jarvis? I do have to get back to work on Monday you know.”

  “After today you should be good. I’m going to visit Simon again. See what his reaction will be to me being alive and still standing. But I’d say she is safe from harm. Just make sure she isn’t walking alone at night.”

  “Will you be home this evening?” she asked. “Be nice to spend some time together.”

  “I will, baring anything unforeseen. You can rub my leg and make it better.”

  She snorted. “Rub it yourself. I’m getting a little tired of having to work your sore muscles because of your job. I’m looking for something more tangible to do and pleasurable.”

  “I’m sure we can work that in.” I liked the term tangible and pleasurable.

  “Oh, and Neil asked that you call him. Apparently, something big happened last night he needs to talk with you about.”

  I sighed. It would seem Rocky’s plan worked. Though I’m sure Neil would find it more than a coincidence that Vicente ends up dead a couple of weeks after I asked about him. I said goodbye to April and called Neil.

  Sure enough. “Strangest thing happened last night,” he said after answering. “Got a call out to the far reaches of east Aurora. Seems there is a car fire inside the gate of this secure property. Guess whose house it was? Vicente Duarte.”

  I feigned innocent surprise. “Really. What happened?”

  He sounded unimpressed. “Let me give you a list. What looks like a classic Camaro is burned to a crisp. From what we know it was Vicente’s pride and joy. Inside the trunk we find a body, also burned to a crisp and needless to say, dead. Two more men were dead at the gate, shot and killed. When we arrived those that were left on this compound didn’t want to let us in. But because the car was inside the property line and there were deaths involved they couldn’t stop us. Many of those men were heavily armed with semi-automatic weapons, most of them illegal to carry.”

  “Great break for you. Did you find anything on the property?”

  “Yes, we did. Stashes of more illegal weapons, and believe it or not, drugs. Heroin, meth and cocaine. Copious quantities of all of them, waiting to be distributed, it would seem, to the streets of Denver. A huge bust for us, with lots of arrests.” Happy news for the vice squad, though he didn’t sound pleased.

  “Christmas for the Aurora Vice division.”

  “Oh, it gets even better.” He said dryly. “The burnt to a crisp body in the trunk appears to be Vicente himself.”

  “Amazing. Do you think it was a rival that killed him or one of his own in a power struggle?” I continued with my feigned enthusiasm, but I doubted he was buying it.

  “Not certain. What we do know is that he was at the classic car show in the parking lot at Hampden and Tower earlier that night. And two of his bodyguards were found unconscious in their car, saying some large man knocked them out cold. They don’t know what happened to Vicente after that.”

  “Like I said, power struggle or rival. Common in their business.”

  I was providing logical answers to cover what Rocky did. Though Neil didn’t seem to be buying it.

  “I wonder about that, since you came to me asking about him a couple of weeks ago for a case you were working on. Were you involved in the killing?” He asked, laying it out on the table, but I had been prepared for the accusation.

  I didn’t hesitate. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Were you in Aurora last night?”

  “No. I was resting at home since I was shot recently.”

  “I know. April mentioned as much. Any way to prove that?”

  “I was home alone. April is doing bodyguard work in relation to The Front Range Butcher case I’m working.”

  “She confirmed this as well. And what about the client you were working with? Was he in Aurora last night?”

  “No. We hadn’t gotten anywhere on the case, so he dropped it.”

  “If you’re lying to me, Jarvis I can have you arrested.” His voice had a warning tone to it.

  I understood this, but I wasn’t about to speak up about anything that happened. Killing was not something that thrilled me, but in this case, there was nothing to be sad about. Vicente was an evil man.

  “Sounds like a win for you guys. Vicente is out of commission, there will be less guns and drugs on the street and you arrested some of his associates. I would say there will be a lot of back slapping and handshaking at the precinct tonight.”

  There was a long pause before he answered. “Yes, there is. And we aren’t going to pursue this any further. But I don’t like being played, especially by someone I consider a friend. That will be the last time I give you any information no matter how nicely you or April ask. Is that understood?”

  I did, and I felt bad for using him. But still, in the end, it was good for Aurora and the Denver metro area, though I knew there would be other bad guys lining up to tak
e Vicente’s place. And those that did often were as bad or even worse. It was the circle of life in the crime world.

  Chapter 55

  My leg felt good enough to drive, though with each shift, it throbbed but blessedly, the throbbing was down a couple of pain levels. Arriving at EverCare, I found Grace at the front desk. I had called to warn her I was coming.

  “Too bad,” she said. “He doesn’t want to leave his room today for some reason. Been that way for a few days now. Says he is not feeling well. Rumor has it he went ballistic about something earlier in the week.”

  No doubt.

  “Interesting. Can I see him?”

  “He doesn’t want visitors, but I didn’t see you come in.” She looked me up and down. “Though with your cane you look like a patient here. Second floor, room 2G. Left off the elevator and then left again.”

  I navigated the winding facility before finding his room easily enough. The place was clean and sterile; white walls, hardwood floors, with sounds of monitoring equipment and TV’s playing, audio filling the halls from the rooms with doors open. When I arrived at 2G, the door was closed. I opened it slowly and saw him sitting in his chair reading a book. He didn’t notice me right off, but once he saw me, he frowned before dog-earing the page and resting his book on his lap. The title was In Cold Blood.

  “Interesting narrative you’re reading,” I said. “Are you Hickock or Smith?”

  “Jarvis, you’re back,” he replied, without enthusiasm. “It seems I can’t get rid of you.”

  “Surprised to see me?”

  “Aggravated, as you’re interrupting my reading. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I may need to complain to management about these intrusions.”

  I could have made joke about his already being disturbed, but I held it in reserve.

  “A classic true crime book by Truman Capote. Getting any useful tips?”

  He ignored my comment. “You’re using a cane. What happened to your leg?”

  “A little mishap at the home of an old friend of yours.”

  He smiled. “Please…care to explain?”

  “Not sure I need to. I assume you already know the story, even though it didn’t play out the way you wanted. Might have even pissed you off when you heard.”

  He shrugged dismissively, the frown and concern hidden back behind an air of indifference. “News to me. Grace me with an explanation of the gory details.”

  I decided not to tell him anything about it. No reason to give him any satisfaction even though they failed in their mission.

  “I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

  He looked a little peeved. “Then why are you here disrupting my day?”

  I ignored him, instead I took a stroll around and surveyed his room. It was spacious, with hospital type of bed with lots of adjustable options. Three chairs, one of which he was in, each flipped up to rest your feet, with the option to recline. Adjoining bathroom, with toilet, sink and handicap shower. Hardwood floors and off-white walls, with a couple of cheap watercolor paintings of nature. Simon was hooked up to the oxygen flow from the wall, with monitors filling the background with annoying noises. The flat screen TV was off, a whiteboard with the week’s schedule covering medication, meals and therapy times. But the most interesting item I saw was a bookshelf with its various books filling the space. Like the book he was reading, the collection contained many classics that covered subjects of despair, heartbreak, maniacal behavior and murder.

  “Have you read all these books?” I asked while grabbing one to look through.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting subject matter for many of them.”

  “Have you read them yourself, Jarvis?”

  “Some. Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, A Clockwork Orange, and Titus Andronicus. Though it has been some time. Others I know about. Helter Skelter is one I haven’t read but know enough about. Great song by the Beatles. Manson twisted it to his own bidding.”

  “I believe he found hidden meaning in the lyrics.” A tone of genuine admiration in his voice.

  “And used it for slaughtering innocent people in a failed attempt to start a race war.”

  Simon found some meaning in my words to form a smile. “A spectacular failing.”

  “How so?”

  “He was successful in his main objective, killing in an attempt to blame someone else. His family did his bidding, carrying out his orders, in a violent and bloody manner. They were willing to die for him, taking the blame.”

  I put the book back on the shelf.

  “A lot of innocent people died for no good reason, is what I got out of it. Seems his twisted ways are ingraining into your way of thinking. Do you have your own ‘Family’ doing your bidding, Simon?”

  “How can the man in this room, wield that type of power over someone. I simply sit here and read to pass my time.”

  “You have a way about you. That is for certain. Getting in someone’s head is one of your skills. Mind games on those weaker than you. The question is who that person or persons are. Belinda died keeping a secret, but I know what that secret was. She was one of the weak ones you manipulated.”

  I lied about her dying. She was still alive, though barely, and not forthcoming about anything, choosing not to talk. For now, the FBI didn’t want that known. She was stashed away, safe. With her wound and terminal cancer, it was only matter of time though.

  “Belinda?” he said. He knew the name, his face betraying glee when I said she was dead.

  “Your last victim. All those years ago. The one that got away from The Butcher. And sired him a child. Maybe someone else for him to mold and make in his image. The Butcher Family much like the Manson Family.”

  He leered. “Such a stretch. Maybe you’re the crazy one, Jarvis. All these accusations without any proof. This is all getting so boring. I thought you would be more of a challenge. I think I’ll return to my reading.”

  I strolled over and stood in front of him, my arms crossed.

  “I may be boring, but I’m getting some answers. Before she died, Belinda told me enough about you. How meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to her and the biggest mistake she ever made. Something she has been paying for all these years. The only good thing is her son. A person who cared for her. Yet, who is the father? I’m betting it was you. She was only a vessel to you, someone to buy off, to keep her quiet. I got the sense she wished you had killed her all those years ago, instead of giving in to your insanity and becoming one of your ‘Family’.”

  Our eyes met, as his bored into me. There was a heat in them, causing no effect on me.

  “I know I’m getting to you,” I stated. “Getting into your head, something you have always excelled at when challenged. It pains you to think that I might be better, tougher, and dare I say…smarter than you. I’m your equal.”

  He was seething now, trying to come up with an answer, but I had him tongue tied.

  “I’m getting close, Simon. So are the FBI, for they are watching and waiting. All the pieces are falling into place. Throw everything you have at me. Make all the runs you want, for I’m up to the challenge. I won’t stop until I catch The Butcher, the incarnation you sired. And when I do, I’ll prod and twist the maniac until he drags you down with him.”

  I ended my sermon with my finger pointed at him and headed for the door. He started to speak, but I didn’t listen. Stopping with a thought, I went over to the whiteboard and wiped off his name and wrote, Dick Hickock, one of the two killers of In Cold Blood, and walked out of the room. When I reached my car, I tossed my cane into the back seat. I had no intentions of using it anymore and drove home.

  When I arrived, April was sitting on the sofa reading a J.D. Robb book, Concealed in Death. She was in shorts and a tank top, her legs curled under her, a half-consumed bottle of beer on the end table. She closed the book when she saw me, a bookmark holding her place, and a tired smile formed on her face. I leaned down and kissed her. Without the cane, I walk
ed with a bit of a limp, but soon no one would know of my injury.

  “I’d figure you for a romance reader,” I said taking a seat next to her.

  “Hardly. I don’t need a good cry to be feminine.”

  “Nothing female hidden in that tank top, my braless girlfriend.”

  “Torture wraps, more like it. Always happy to pull it off after the day is through.” She wiggled her chest, displaying their freedom.

  “When you read those books, being a cop, do you try to figure out who the killer is?”

  “Most of the time I figure it out. Occasionally I’m stumped. Hopefully someday I can be like Mallard and make detective.”

  “You could work with me. I think you’d make a good junior detective in my firm.” It may have come out as humor, but I was serious about her working with me.

  “Funny. Was this my internship guarding the teacher?”

  “Trial run. I may have to grade you.”

  April leaned into to me, rubbing up against my shoulder. “How did I do?”

  “She’s still alive, so I’d say an A. What did you think of the work?”

  “Boring. Like working the counter at the station. Important work, but not stimulating enough for me. The only action was watching movies on Netflix, following her around while she shopped and debating politics.”

  “The politics of police work is why I’m not a cop. I like being my own boss.”

  “You seem to be moving better,” she said pointing at my leg, changing the subject.

  “I tossed away the cane after talking with Simon. He gets my adrenaline going. Won’t need my pain pills tonight. His attempts to get into my head never end.”

  “Is he succeeding?”

  “In some ways, yes. Today I believe I was successful in getting into his head. I know I can beat him. Or die trying.”

  “Let’s see if we can forestall that a while longer.”