by R Weir
“Your word maybe golden, but I don’t know you.”
“I’m Wolfe,” he said simply.
He put out his hand. I hesitated in taking it. When I finally did, he squeezed mine tightly as if to show his strength. Somehow it was warm and cold, at the same time, even with the gloves; the icy-hot combination unsettling. The eyes displayed a brutality under the sharply dressed physique. There was little doubt of his power, and I had a tough time matching his grip.
“Make no mistake, Mister Mann,” said Wolfe. “If I wanted to kill you, I could, with little effort. But it doesn’t suit me or those I work for. That can all change, which would be unfortunate as I prefer to endorse a nonviolent solution, despite what you’ve heard about me. There is less mess to involve myself in. But either way works for me and pays the same. My word is golden. Take the deal and get this killer off the street.”
I pulled my hand free, but only after he had finished his statement and lessened his grip. Taking two steps back, I did my best to hide it, but I felt real fear for one of the few times in my life. His word was golden, and I knew, deep down, he could kill me where I stood.
“I’ll agree to your terms, if you give me The Butcher,” I said, while flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again.
“See how easy that was. You will get a call in the next couple of days, with his location and the evidence you need. You will go in with your police friends and capture him. You can even take the reporter, Jonas Diaz, who hired you, so he can scoop the competition and write the banner headline. Just keep the FBI out of it, for they will steal your thunder. Agent Alegre will use the publicity to advance her career. Say you got a tip and had to act on it before he got away. This will put you front and center as the man who brought The Butcher down. Ride off into the sunset and we’ll never have to see each other again.” His voice was calm, and yet chilling.
He turned and started walking back from where he came. Without turning his head, I heard him say, “and don’t try and follow me, Jarvis. For I’d hate to have to renege on our deal, break you in two and get blood all over this beautiful green grass!” I watched him walk until he disappeared. The thought of following had crossed my mind, but I knew it was a bad idea—he probably had backup.
When I reached my car, I closed the door and rested my head on the steering wheel, trying to catch my breath and slow my heartbeat. It took a while to get my nerves under control, and steady myself enough that I could drive home and have a stiff drink.
Chapter 58
Two days had passed, before I got the call. It was from a blocked number and the voice was altered. The person gave me an address in West Denver, telling me to get there today and I would catch The Butcher red-handed, working on a victim. I had weighed my options over the two days and had people on standby to assist. April, Bill and Mallard had all agreed to come along, as did Jonas. I had left the FBI out, which everyone agreed to. Especially Mallard, who always hated the Feds and their intrusion tactics. The Denver Police, with my assistance, were going to break the case. Or at least I hoped so. If not, I would look foolish, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
With the two days spare, I had done my best to get my head on straight. I was intimidated by Wolfe. Flustered, scared and disoriented. He was a forceful personality, who could back up what he said, if what I heard about him was true. I needed to find additional fortitude to face him if I needed to confront him in the future. Cowering was not a good trait in my business. Every man had a vulnerability, including him. I would have to find it. And in the process, stay alive long enough to use it against him. It wouldn’t do me any good fearing him. Even if this worked out for the best, and we caught The Butcher, in the end I knew I’d have to face my fear, even if it killed me.
It was late morning, and all of us arrived at the location. April showed up in her personal car with Bill, both in street clothes and parked at the end of the block. Mallard had picked me up in his unmarked police car and parked in front of them. Jonas arrived in his own car and was across the street. The address was three houses down in the middle of the block. It was a single story with a basement from the info I found on the internet. It had been for rent recently, so an old advertisement still graced the web, where information seems to last forever.
Bill and April came up to Mallard’s car and climbed in the back. Jonas waited in his, as instructed.
“What is the plan?” asked Bill.
“There is a front door, one in the back and a connecting garage from the pictures I found on the internet,” I said. “Someone takes the front, while the others the back.”
“Do we have any idea what we’ll come up against?” asked April.
“A single killer and possibly a victim,” I replied. “Shouldn’t be anyone else from what I’ve learned.”
“We need to assume whoever is in there, is dangerous,” stated Mallard. “Did both of you bring your vests.”
Both April and Bill nodded. I wasn’t lucky enough to have one.
“You get to play my shield,” I said to Mallard. “I’ll stay behind you.”
“Funny. But I have an extra in the trunk you can use. I don’t need you getting shot on my watch.”
“I’m touched you care.”
“Too much paperwork,” he said absently.
I had to smile.
“Keep in contact on the radios,” said Mallard. “We’ll talk on coded channel ten.”
“How are we getting in?” asked Bill.
“Jarvis claims he can pick the lock. You and April can remain by the backdoor in case someone tries to go out that way. Otherwise we’ll let you in once we’ve cleared the main level.”
“Warrants?” said April.
“Probable cause on a tip Jarvis received.”
Everyone was clear on what they were doing. All of us got our vests on, with radios and earpieces in place, before walking down the street. April and Bill cut through the side and into the backyard, hopping a short chain link fence. Mallard and I got to the front door by cutting across the yard. There was a large front window, but the dark curtains were closed. When we reached the front door, I noticed a big truck in the driveway that looked familiar. I checked the plate, my mind trying to recall if I knew it and where I knew it from.
“What is going on?” asked Mallard, noticing my stare.
“I’m not sure. I’ve seen that truck before. Just can’t remember where.”
“I guess we’ll find out when we get inside.”
Back at the front door, I pulled out my lock pick tools. I didn’t get to use them much, so we’ll see if the lack of practice would cause a delay. First rule when picking a lock is making sure it was actually locked. In this case, to my relief and surprise, it wasn’t. I turned the knob and pushed it open slowly, staying low, while Mallard stood with his gun out and ready. There were no lights on so it was hard to see, even in the daylight. With the door completely open, Mallard went in first while I followed, my gun in hand. There was no one in the room.
The living area wasn’t large; couch, two chairs and a flat screen TV. On the ceiling was a fan, with the light off but the blades spinning slowly. The back opened to the dining area and kitchen, with a side door that went to the garage, and another door to the backyard. To the right was a hallway, which led to two bedrooms and a bathroom. Mallard worked his way down the hall slowly, while I followed, covering his back. With each room, we found the doors open, with no one in any of them. Bathroom was clean and tidy, the bedrooms neat and the beds made. No clues of personal living. No papers on the tables, no trash in containers, no hair in sinks, or even shoes by the door. Whoever was living here was extremely organized or didn’t spend much time here.
We made it to the kitchen and opened the back door, letting April and Bill in. Besides the one to the garage, there was only one other door down a short hall at the back, that appeared to lead to the basement. It was closed and heavy duty, like it was meant to shield out noise.
“What is behind door numbe
r four?” I asked.
“April and Bill check the garage first,” said Mallard.
Bill led the way, opening the door, then finding a switch for a light. He looked around with April behind him and found it empty.
“No cars. No nothing. It’s clean. If you asked me, I’d say no one was living here or wasn’t here for long.”
“Much like the first level,” replied Mallard. “If there is anything, then it’s got to be down here.”
He tried the door and slowly opened it. You could feel the colder air coming from down there and something else. A smell, and not a pleasant one.
“Not good,” I said of the smell.
“Agreed. Let’s go slowly. A step at a time. Jarvis, you follow me. April and Bill stay up here and if anyone gets past us, stop them.”
With each step down the silent, cold stairwell, the creaking sound made for an eerie feeling. The stairwell was dark, and we didn’t want to light it up to announce us. Mallard and I each had a small flashlight and used it to help find the steps. It seemed like there were fifty of them, for the amount of time it took us to descend. And with each one the smell got worse. I braced myself for what we’d find, the flashes of crime scene photographs in my mind already making me nauseous. When we finally hit the bottom step, we were at the back corner of the basement. Along the wall was a washer and dryer, with a wall and door dividing the rest of the space. The door was closed. The closer we got, the more my pulse quickened. This had to be the last space in the house.
“Ready,” whispered Mallard.
I nodded, and he turned the door knob slowly, before bursting through. The room was well lit and revealed all to us. I think I gasped at the sight of a naked woman strapped to a table, or so I assumed, there wasn’t much left, her skin having been peeled from her, the smell so overwhelming it made my eyes water. Mallard with gun still pointed went over to check her for a pulse, but it was clear she was long dead. There was no one else there, but there was one other room, the door open.
“Denver police,” yelled Mallard. “If someone is in there, you need to come out with your hands behind your head.”
There was no response, so Mallard pointed me to go to the right around the table, while he went left. I nearly tripped over a bag on the floor, the contents clearly the skin of the victim. Congealed blood pooled from the bag and strands of hair were visible. The urge to vomit hit me, but I fought it and proceeded on. I got to my side of the door, Mallard waiting, the seasoned detective holding it together with a calmness I wish I had. He motioned with his hand if I was ready and I nodded.
“Last warning.” he yelled out.
Still nothing, so Mallard took a quick peek and then motioned he was going in. Once inside we found a man sitting in a chair, apparently either asleep or dead. Once I saw the face, I knew I’d recognized the truck. To my surprise it was Darren Woodley.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“Looks to be breathing. Smells like he’s been drinking.”
There was an empty Wild Turkey whiskey bottle on the table, with a glass. Mallard started slapping his face. It took a few tries before his eyes opened, barely.
“What…I…don’t know…who.”
He was completely shit-faced and could hardly talk. Mallard grabbed him and pushed him down to the floor and started frisking him.
“Don’t move, you’re under arrest.”
Darren started babbling something incoherent. Mallard started reading him his rights.
“Are you two OK down there?” said Bill on the radio.
“We are fine,” replied Mallard. “Call it in. Looks like we got him. Need full crime unit, paramedics and coroner. We have a dead body as well, and it’s not a pleasant scene.”
Looking around I saw pictures on the walls, of the other victims, both alive and in various states of life and death. News clippings and headlines next to each group announcing the murder of each victim. On the table, next to the empty bottle, was a scalpel with dried blood on it. Taking in the whole scene made me nauseous all over again as the adrenaline wore off and I tried to ignore the bile burning in my gut. My gun by my side, my free hand finding its way to my mouth, covering the horror I felt. Even though I knew the extent of The Butcher’s work, it was a shock to see with my own eyes.
“Hold it together,” said Mallard, putting cuffs on Darren. “Plenty of time to lose it later. Watch him for me, while I head back upstairs.”
I nodded, pulling myself back to sanity, waiting for the techs to arrive, resisting the urge to pound on the man on the floor to find out exactly why he’d become this monster.
All hell broke out at the crime scene, when people started arriving. It wasn’t long before the FBI got wind of things and swooped in. Agent Alegre arrived and didn’t have a word for me. Just steely-eyed glares. Then there were the arguments and challenges to what we did. But Mallard’s captain stood by him and didn’t care at all what Catalina thought. We had caught the killer and there was no time for should haves or could haves. We had the man red-handed, as Wolfe promised. Though another victim had perished before we’d arrived, there would be no more.
Darren Woodley was incoherent still and was taken to the hospital, with several officers guarding him, to get medical attention. No one had questioned him yet because he couldn’t talk straight. It would take several hours, and by then he would have a lawyer to shield him. Even the best of legal counsel would have a challenging time putting up a defense with the mountain of evidence against him. The best that could happen was life in prison over death. Though only one person had been killed via the death penalty in Colorado since it was reinstated by the Supreme Court in 1978. However, these crimes were particularly heinous in nature, and with all the press, it would be hard not to think he would be a candidate if convicted.
Once outside I found a place to sit down, finding a shady spot on the grass at the next house over. The whole block had been barricaded off, with each neighbor’s home, the occupants being asked to stay inside. Everyone would be talked with who lived in the area. Some would say they had no idea, others claiming they were suspicious of the rental home, though no one ever made a call. I felt tired. It was over. Though I felt unsatisfied, deep down, that we hadn’t gotten Simon as well. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. Darren could give him up, for all we knew, once he returned to reality. But there was a loyalty there which might be hard to break.
“How are you doing?” asked Jonas, who sat down next to me. He had been busy soaking in all going on around him, taking notes for his next article.
“Happy we caught him. But still not thrilled we didn’t get Simon too.” I voiced my thoughts.
“Will you continue to go after him?”
I paused before I answered. He didn’t know about my confrontation with Wolfe and the threat made.
“I’m not sure. I feel it wouldn’t matter. He has gotten away with it this long. Not sure he will ever be caught. What about you? Will you go continue after him?”
“Been a long pursuit. Hard to let it go completely. Something I’ll have to think long and hard on. For my own sanity, and for my wife’s, it may be time to let it go.”
I nodded my head. Yes, for my sanity as well. And my safety. I would need to reflect on where to go from here.
“No matter what happens, I wanted to say thanks,” said Jonas. “Your persistence worked in the end. Finally, someone will pay for these murders. When you get settled, send me your final bill. It will be one check I’m thrilled to fill out.”
Jonas got up and left. I spent the rest of the day and the next answering questions. Both from Denver Police and the FBI. It was an endless whirlwind which wore me down. Once I finally got home, I collapsed and slept for twelve straight hours. It wasn’t the best sleep I’d ever had, but in the end, it was sorely needed.
Chapter 59
A couple of weeks had passed, and life had returned back to normal. Everyone had wanted a piece of me and I needed to get away. I decided to take a trip to
the mountains to stay at a hotel in Fairplay and spend some time by myself. It was time for me and me only, doing some hiking and enjoying the October fall color change that graced the mountainside.
When I returned to town, April spent a couple of days with me, and we enjoyed our time together, talking about our own trip somewhere, running over options. Once she had enough time accrued that she could take, we were going to do it.
I was feeling better, but still an incompleteness filled me on the case. There was this nagging inkling there was more going on than I realized, which bugged me. Even though the killer was in custody, it seemed too neat and clean. For now, I was pushing it to one side, trying to let it go, happy for the large check sitting in my account, making for a successful year.
I’d gone to workout, getting a good sweat in, muscles feeling loose and invigorated. As I went to my car in the parking lot another car pulled up behind the Mustang. It was a large SUV, one I recall seeing before, even in a city full of them. The back window went down, and I braced for the worst, but no gun appeared.
Sitting in the back was a person I knew. It was one of the Chinese men who had paid me a visit a while back, wanting my help with finding the Russian, Aleksi Platov.
“Let’s go for a ride,” he said.
I shook my head. “I think it would be best if I stayed where I am.”
“Please don’t have me insist. You know I have the means. I promise no harm will come to you.”
Still I hesitated, and the driver’s window went down, the barrel of a gun resting on his forearm, pointed right at me. I weighed my options, figuring I didn’t have much choice. My gun was in the car, and it would take too long to retrieve it. Relenting, I went around to the other side and climbed in without a scene.
“Drive us around town,” he said to the driver. “Give us some time to discuss specifics.”
“Is this about Aleksi again?” I asked. “I told you I have no means of getting in touch with him.”
“I’m sure you can find a way. It is important that we talk with him. You bring him to us and all debts are paid.”
