The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  “Hold it right there,” I said, panting as he turned to me, as if that would stop him.

  From behind the counter he stepped, ready to face me. From his pocket he pulled out a chrome baton that he whipped downward; it telescoped open to about two feet in length. In his latex covered hands, he held it like he knew what he was doing, swinging as a warning. If it struck me, flesh would tear, and bones would break. I had no weapon to work with, it locked away in my car since it wasn’t allowed in the building. Still I had no intention of letting him walk away, knowing security would be here shortly, so all I had to do is stall him.

  I searched for something to work with and found the pickings slim. Grabbing a plastic clipboard from the countertop, I held it in both hands before me, like a shield. We were only three feet apart when he lunged, swinging the baton at my body, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time to waste. Stepping backwards, it whistled past, barely missing me, the lightweight weapon cutting through the air. He tried again, this time the baton striking the clipboard, breaking it in two in my hands. Before he could strike a third time I quickly threw one of the pieces at his head, which he blocked, followed by the second which caught him in the neck.

  With my attacker distracted, I grabbed the baton with both hands, using all my strength to try and twist his arm backwards and then upwards, putting pressure on his shoulder, hoping to rip the weapon from his hand. Before I could complete it, he punched with his free hand on the side of my head, mostly in the ear, which made for a ringing sound that disoriented me, causing me to stumble to one knee. I managed to hold onto the baton, knowing I couldn’t let go or it would be used forcefully against me. My weight pulled him down with me, the bent knee of my other leg driving into his groin. He groaned loudly. The arm holding the baton weakened, so I let go with one hand, using it to punch him with a left hook to the jaw, knocking him backwards to the floor. I quickly jumped back up, shaking my head trying to clear the ringing, hoping he was out. But he was back up, though a bit shaken.

  “Tell me why you’re here?” I yelled to him.

  “None of your business.” There was a slight accent. Possibly European. Interesting.

  “Security will be here shortly. I would say you should give up.”

  Searching for options, he looked around. He still had the baton, but it wouldn’t buy him enough time. I had no intention of engaging him anymore, unless he attacked. Time was on my side, which came to fruition when a security guard came around the corner, with Jonas behind him. I was thrilled and relieved help had arrived.

  “Hold it right there,” said the guard. He wasn’t armed either but looked tough enough for me. “Put down the weapon and let’s talk about this.”

  The man turned around, pocketing the baton and started running, heading to the stairs marked by the fire exit sign, setting off the alarm on the door. I swore out loud, not thrilled he was running after our battle, but I took off in pursuit, through the door and down the stairs after him. He moved pretty good for a big guy, but I was faster. I was only a couple of steps behind him, when he hit the first floor and bolted out the exit.

  The weather had turned, snow now starting to fly and making the ground wet as it melted from the still warm pavement. The wind whipped the moisture in my face, making it hard to see until I wiped it from my eyes. Keeping pace, I was right behind him as he ran through the parking lot. I wasn’t about to let him get into a car and was now almost close enough to grab him. I could hear his heavy breathing, as he made the sidewalk, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer. He was built to kill, but not for speed and endurance, which I was.

  Close enough now, I jumped on his back, pulling him to the ground, his body taking the full weight as we hit the concrete. I thought I heard something break and hoped it wasn’t one of my bones. His scream told me it wasn’t, and as I rolled off, he reached for his left knee, which was horribly out of place.

  “You broke my leg,” he yelled, and continued to holler and curse at me.

  While he writhed on the ground, I searched for his baton and removed it, also finding a syringe full of some liquid. In the hunt for other weapons, I found a picture. It was of Belinda. He had been there to kill her. The security guard, with Jonas still behind him, finally showed up. He was already on his phone calling for the police. I showed Jonas what I’d found.

  “What do you think was in the syringe?” he asked, out of breath from running.

  “I don’t know. But whatever it was likely was designed to kill her.”

  “He was there to kill someone?” the security guard stated with surprise.

  “Yes. A patient. The one we were here talking to.”

  “Wasn’t she terminal? Wouldn’t she have died soon anyway?”

  “Apparently not soon enough.”

  Chapter 70

  It was the next day and we finally could continue our conversation with Belinda. We didn’t tell her what had happened, only that something had come up. After the encounter with the would-be killer, I had been tied up with Pueblo police, giving them details of the incident. I was certain I was on the Chamber of Commerce list of undesirables and wouldn’t be allowed to return. At least no one was killed this time, though the nurse at the front desk had a bad concussion and stiff neck from her attacker, as did the male nurse he had taken the scrubs from before knocking him out and locking him away in a closet. For his trouble the hitman ended up with a fractured kneecap and ligament damage when I tackled him.

  Before the police had arrived, I had tried my best to get some answers, asking him why he was there and who hired him. When he refused, I’d stepped on his injured leg, increasing his pain. He was a tough SOB and wouldn’t say much. He was more afraid of something other than me to provide anything other than that he’d followed us from Denver. I cursed myself for not being more careful, knowing this could have been a possibility. When I asked what was in the syringe, he wouldn’t say. Lab results would tell us for certain, but whatever it was likely would have killed Belinda.

  There was little doubt in my mind why the man was there. The question now was who sent him. If it was Simon Lions, I would be paying him a visit. Of course, Wolfe may have been involved as well, thinking an old woman would be easy for anyone to knock off. But why now was there another attempt? Did they get wind I was coming down to talk with her? And if so how did they know, only Doris and Jonas knew of my intentions. I feared I’d never have a concrete answer.

  Belinda was upright in her bed, looking even more frail, with each day of life slipping away. Doris, with her compassionate and soothing voice, again took the lead on questioning.

  “One question we all had, was why Simon picked you over the other women he tortured?”

  The words continued to come out slowly, as Belinda did her best to pace herself.

  “I wondered the same thing. Some of the women, once he had them on the table, he didn’t feel that certain something to give them the option. He’d look at their skin and would strip it away to enjoy, but that was all. There were a couple of others before me that he had made the offer to. Only one accepted and then tried to escape after he had allowed her off the table. She didn’t get far and then…well you can guess what happened.”

  Much like yesterday Doris gave Belinda time to recover after a long answer, before continuing the questioning.

  “He was being picky about the woman he wanted?”

  “It would seem so. Not sure what he saw in me. I was no beauty queen.”

  Doris told me serial killers’ minds were wired differently, seeing things that would make no sense to the sane. Simon saw something he liked or didn’t like, in these women. We could never hope to understand what it was.

  “We talked yesterday, about how you knew you were pregnant. How did you feel when you learned?”

  “I had mixed emotions at first,” replied Belinda. “The thought of having a child was exciting. Bringing new life into the world, a little piece of you to carry on. How it came about made me a little sad and eve
n scared.” Belinda stopped to get a drink. She seemed weaker today, but still pressed on. “Here was a man I was going to have a child with, who had kidnapped and wanted to kill me. The realization—the possibility that the child inside me could grow up with Simon’s evil characteristics…” She closed her eyes, the thought unfinished, but I understood her worry.

  “You were alive,” Doris asserted. “There is something to be said for that. We would never judge you for making the choice you made.”

  I hated I was judging her. I didn’t want to but I still had a tough time understanding the path she took. What would I do given the same circumstances? Choosing life over death was hard to debate.

  “I was happy to be breathing. Still it was hardly the romance story of the century.”

  “How did the pregnancy go?”

  “It was hard for me. I was sick for a fair amount of it. And Simon, unlike he promised, was not around in the beginning. Oh, he provided financial support, but little else. I was learning I was basically a vessel for his plans.”

  “His plan being, bringing a child into the world?” wondered Doris.

  “Yes.”

  Outside the window I could see the snow sticking to the trees, the melted moisture now frozen after a frosty night. A few birds had fluffed up their feathers to withstand the moist chilled wind. Tomorrow it was supposed to be over sixty, so the snow would be a forgotten memory. October could go from summer, to winter and back again all within twenty-four hours.

  “Was he there for the birth?” asked Doris.

  “Yes. Though there were complications and sadness.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of the babies died during labor.” Belinda was somber and glanced away, the grief still evident on her face. I paused. Wait did she say…?

  “One of the babies?” said Doris, with surprise. Both Jonas and I were stunned as well.

  “Oh, did I not mention yesterday, I was pregnant with twins. Silly me. The chemo makes me forgetful. Darren was born with no problems. But the second baby, also a male, died. It seemed the cord got wrapped around his neck. I was devastated when I learned.” Belinda shuddered at the thought.

  “What hospital were you in when it happened?” Doris was curious at the development.

  “We weren’t in a hospital. We had a midwife helping us. Simon had us go out to eastern Colorado for the last month of the pregnancy. He had someone there he trusted to handle everything. Keep it all quiet so no one knew.”

  Jonas leaned over and whispered to me. “I lost track of him around that time. Never did know what happened.”

  “Do you know the midwife’s name?” I asked. She was someone I needed to talk to.

  “Gail something. It’s in the records I have at home. Stored in a fire safe in the extra bedroom. You can get them if it’s helpful.”

  “Yes, it would be. Thank you.”

  “After the birth what happened?” asked Doris.

  “They put me on some medication, so I was out of it for a while. Once I came to, they told me one of the babies didn’t live. I was crushed, because I was afraid Simon was going to take him away from me. The deal was we’d each keep one child and go our separate ways. But I pleaded with him to let me have Darren, and he did.”

  Strange circumstances to say the least. If he wanted a child so bad why would he let her keep him? It really didn’t make sense.

  “Why did you tell Darren that Senator Bowles was his father and not Simon?” Doris asked the question I wanted know.

  Belinda shook her head in disgust, tears now in her eyes.

  “It’s fine to be sad and to be angry,” said Doris, grabbing her hand and squeezing it lightly. “We aren’t judging, the circumstances you faced, who knows what we would all do ourselves. But we need to know all of the facts to help Darren.”

  I handed her some tissues from the table next to her bed. Dabbing at her eyes, she composed herself, after several minutes.

  “It was all part of the agreement. And I didn’t want Darren to grow up knowing who his real father was. It’s not like he was a father of the year candidate. For a long time, I told him he was adopted. As he got older, questioning more and more, I told him it was the Senator, since Simon’s sister was married to him. A person I knew he could have respect for.”

  Doris waited again, still pacing, seeing Belinda didn’t have much more to give.

  “Why didn’t he ever reach out to the Senator?”

  “Because I told him it would ruin his political career. And we would be cut off if he did. It was best he stayed away, knowing the money was still being paid to help support us. No good would come of it, I kept repeating to him.”

  “Is there anything more you want to tell us about Simon?”

  She stopped to think for a minute, the monitors rising and then falling again, as she decided what to say.

  “I’ve thought about this for many years, figuring I was being punished by God for what I did. Simon killed a lot of people, mostly women, and I never said anything to anyone about it.” She stopped again, more tears falling. “I was a kook who lied about being captured, they all said. I must rectify this before I die, so I go to a better place than I deserve. And I want my son to have a better life than I did.”

  “I don’t believe God is vindictive,” replied Doris, looking straight into Belinda’s eyes, still holding her hands. “Should you have made a better decision? Maybe. It’s difficult to say. Your choice was life or death. And in the process, you brought life into the world. And someone you obviously loved and cherished, no matter how he was conceived.”

  More tears welled up in Belinda’s eyes. “I do love him. There is no way he can be the monster they say he is. He is not that type of man. I raised him better than that. If he was raised by Simon, then who knows what he may have become.”

  I looked at Doris. By her eyes I could see she believed the words she was hearing. For the moment I did as well. What she said made sense and got me thinking about possibilities. I decided to ask a question. A direct, cold one at that.

  “Belinda, do you think Simon would try to frame Darren for the murders?”

  She seemed surprised. “Why do you ask?”

  I gave her the story of my pursuit of Simon and tidbits of the conversations. Then I told her about Wolfe, without using his name, and the agreement he would give me the killer if I left Simon alone. She listened to every word, digesting it, more distain on her face towards Simon, before coming to a conclusion, her words coming out slowly.

  “Before what happened to me a few weeks back, sending those men to kill me, I would have said no. But now I wonder if maybe he did.”

  “I’m starting to wonder too. My plan is to investigate further. Talk with the midwife who helped with the birth and then confront Simon again.”

  “What do you hope to find?” asked Belinda.

  “I’m not completely certain. Best to keep what I’m thinking to myself for now. But I want to arrange some protection for you. Doris, do you think you can get someone here to keep an eye on Belinda?”

  “I can probably convince Agent Alegre to put a watch on her again.”

  “Seems silly to waste resources on protecting a dying woman,” coughed Belinda.

  “No need to die before your time,” I replied. “You need to live long enough to learn the truth about your son. And I plan on providing that to you. Promise me you’ll fight and hold on.”

  “I’ll do my best. Thank you.” She started crying again, and for once I wasn’t freaked out as I normally was by a woman’s tears. I might have joined her if I wasn’t such a stereotypical male. We finished up with her, Doris deciding to stay until she could arrange protection. Jonas and I left, this time making it to the parking lot without incident.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Jonas.

  “Like I told her, I don’t want to say just yet. It’s far-fetched, way out in left field. But if I’m right it would explain a lot. Let’s go to her house and find out the name of
the midwife. I need to track her down first.”

  He thought about it for a minute and then his eyes lit up. “Oh my. I believe I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, that is crazy!”

  Wouldn’t be the first time someone thought I was out of my mind. I often wondered myself.

  Chapter 71

  It took a couple of days, but I finally, with some help, tracked down the midwife. She was living and working in Goodland, Kansas, two hundred miles east and just across the border. The snow had cleared, so I decided to drive there, saving on the cost of airfare and the stress of flying. She was working for a hospital in town, providing prenatal services for women wanting a midwife to assist with their births.

  Abigail Hellmann was a fifty plus year old woman, with black hair cut short, a 5’6” full figure body covered in pink scrubs. She was the head of the midwife program at the hospital, with a small office on the second floor with no window. I was able to squeeze into her tight schedule, telling her I was there to discuss a patient of hers from the past who had recommended her. When she walked in, she had her stainless-steel no spill cup in hand that smelled of coffee, sipping as she sat down. She waved me off, logging into her computer.

  “Sorry I need a minute to respond to some emails,” she said. “If I don’t stay on top of them, they will overwhelm me.”

  She typed away, and I looked around the room. There were pictures of family members, looking like a husband and several children of various ages. On the wall were her medical degrees, showing off her competence in her field. On another wall were medical posters, showing babies at various stages in the birth canal. The calling for children had never hit me. I wasn’t sure I’d make a good husband or father, especially in my line of work.