The Trophy Hunter

by J. M. Zambrano

  * * *

  At first she thought the jangle of noise was an alarm clock. Morning already? No, much too dark. Through a haze came the realization: she didn’t have an alarm clock. As she reached for the phone, her hand encountered something warm and moist. She flipped on the bedside lamp and recoiled. “Damn it, Tigger!” The half-eaten remains of a field mouse lay on her satin comforter.

  The phone rang again as she missed a beat. In the lamplight she scanned the caller ID box. Unknown. She picked up the phone, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Hello.”

  “You didn’t call,” said Rogart, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  Diana let her breath out slowly, hoping he wouldn’t hear the ragged edge to it.

  He continued before she could formulate a response. “I thought maybe…it was because…you knew…” He seemed to grope for words. How un-Rogart, she thought.

  “Knew what?” Annoyance constricted her throat.

  “I can’t lie to you anymore, Diana.”

  “Lie about what?”

  “I know you felt it.”

  Felt it? All the wrong connotations came tumbling through her thin veneer of propriety. Diana curled under the warm, slippery, satin sheets, and imagined Rogart in her bed. Damn!

  “Darren, what are you trying to tell me?” She hoped she kept the desperation at bay. Was his wife back? That had been her last conscious thought before drifting off: Don’t make plans, even in your head. He still may have a wife out there.

  “You knew she wasn’t here. Like you said, no mother could ignore her baby’s cries.”

  Diana straightened up in bed, now fully awake. “You’re talking about Trisha?”

  “She was gone when I got home yesterday. The kids said somebody picked her up in a truck.”

  “Wait a minute.” Diana reprocessed Marge Lane’s call. “Your kids told Children’s Services that the baby’s mom was with you.”

  “That’s right. They told Jess the same thing when she was here. They were afraid that if they told the truth, Fawn would get put in foster care. That’s my fear, too.”

  “But you’re the father, at least on the birth certificate.”

  “Without a mother in the home, the picture changes. You pointed out some of my problems. I’m not sure my home would pass muster without Trisha. And the DNA. What if somebody did decide to compare mine to Fawn’s?”

  “Have you reported Trisha missing?”

  “You know as well as I do that they won’t take any action until she’s been gone forty-eight hours. She’s barely eighteen. Sombody’s decided that’s an adult. Go figure.”

  “Is there a chance she’ll call you? She can’t just abandon her baby.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Diana. You never think the worst of anybody.”

  Did he just say…love? Diana shook her head. An expression, nothing more.

  Rogart continued, “Believe me when I tell you Fawn is lucky she wasn’t dumped in a trash can. What can you expect? Trisha’s parents never showed her the simplest affection. She doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. She won’t call. She didn’t even take the cell phone I got her.”

  “You’ve got her cell?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Check out the incoming calls. Find the last number she called.”

  She heard him sigh. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he said. “I’ll get it.”

  In the few moments of silence that followed, Diana tried to think of what she would have done in Rogart’s place. She could find no pat answer.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he finally said.

  “Try me.”

  “Joe Flannigan. She called Joe’s land line. Maybe I was right all along about Joe and Larry.”

  “But with Larry dead, we’ll never know for sure, will we?” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the gossip Jess had brought back from Westcliffe, about his wife being alive. He’d probably already heard it.

  “Neither of the girls would give me a straight story.”

  “Girls? Plural?”

  “Lori and Trisha,” he replied. “Trisha gave up her dad as the baby’s father, but she won’t talk about Joe. I was trying to build her trust. She’s looking for a father…a real one. My guess is Joe let her down on that score. So she ran again. I can’t imagine why she’d go back to him.”

  “Neither can I,” replied Diana. “You’re claiming that Trisha looked at both you and Joe as father figures?”

  “Sure. What did you think?”

  Diana determined not to touch that one. “You do know your daughter wasn’t with Larry? What are you doing about Shane Cutler?”

  “Part of what Jess is feeding you is crap. I can’t do a damn thing about Shane. Lori won’t cooperate. The doctor says not to press her.”

  “You’re getting help for her? What changed your mind?”

  “You did,” he replied.

  He seemed to have answers for everything. And they made sense. Could Jess be just acting out the woman scorned bit? Diana sighed as she thought of something else.

  “What?” asked Rogart.

  “I have to let the authorities know about Trisha. I should’ve done that when you first told me. I’ll go through my contact at the D.A.’s office.”

  He didn’t reply. Diana twisted uncomfortably in the sheets.

  When he finally answered, his change of tone jarred her. “Fine, Diana. Do what you have to do. But Fawn won’t be here when they come for her.” His voice held about as much warmth as a piece of granite.

  “Wait, Darren. That may not necessarily happen. I’ll do what I can—”

  “Then give me a couple of days,” he pleaded, emotion flowing back into his words. “Listen, Joe’s got a cabin in the mountains above Evergreen. I know where it is. Trish may be there. Go with me. Maybe we can resolve this thing, then we could go to the authorities together. I could get proper custody of Fawn, if Trisha doesn’t want her. I’ll do whatever it takes. Is that too much to ask?”

  What was a couple of days? The baby was safe, although Trisha appeared to have made another bad choice. “I’ve got court tomorrow. I should be clear for the next day. But you shouldn’t wait. Just go check it out yourself.”

  “If Trish is settled in, she’s not going anywhere. She doesn’t have that many options. I’m not really excited about going up there alone.”

  “Make a call. What county is the cabin in? Should it be the Feds?”

  “She might not even be there. I’d really like you to come with me, as a witness.”

  Diana twisted a length of hair as she vacillated. She felt she’d used up her options with Marge. One more wild goose chase might seriously damage that relationship. Darren didn’t need to know that, though. “Have you been to this cabin?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered without hesitation, “but Brookvale’s so small, I’m sure we can find it.”

  Chapter 44

  He pictures the blonde bimbo on the stainless steel table. Out with the old blood, in with the new. Better than blood. Plastic tubing takes the old, brownish stuff down to the drain below the table. They were all dirty inside before he cleansed them. The new, clean fluid fills them and makes them truly, fully his. Satisfying. Peaceful, even.

  The Hunter watches them in his head as he drives. He doesn’t need sleep when he has them to draw on. It soothes him to relive the process and savor pictures of perfect, naked women waiting for him at the lodge.

  He can’t wait to see the finished Asian project. Her fluids have already been replaced with Dr. Ara’s special concoction. Well, perhaps not exactly like Ara’s, but close enough. As close as available research could bring him.

  Now she’s in the incubator where her flawless form receives a series of paraffin infusions. This trip should do it. Her new home is ready. He’s proud of his unique design that suits her ethnicity. What was that old saying about people who live in glass houses? No worry on that score. It concerns people who l
ive in glass houses.

  He chuckles and wishes he could share his humor with the women. On second thought…

  The winding drive through the pines of Upper Bear Creek Valley heightens his anticipation. To relax, he relives the sequence of events that brought him such good fortune: the ideal workshop, close enough that the commute is doable, yet off the beaten path and possessing a modesty that lets it merge with its surroundings.

  When he considers the proximity of the creekside mansions that dot both sides of the narrow highway up from Evergreen, it’s impossible to relax. The rush is nearly as overpowering as the act itself—the taking of a specimen.

  If he hadn’t met Arlette so soon after her husband’s death, if he hadn’t been obliged to deliver the dead husband’s last order, a deer head with a puny rack, he’d still be operating out of his garage. Anthony Ramos had been a wannabe hunter, probably didn’t even shoot that little buck. Who cares? The grieving widow was ripe for the plucking, but for his taste—overripe.

  Arlette has other attributes. Her generosity is boundless. Next to the lodge, her most endearing gift to date is sharing her knowledge of Dr. Pedro Ara’s preservation process with him. As his Spanish is deficient, he owes Arlette big-time for her patient translation of Dr. Ara’s books.

  How can he repay his benefactor? Not with what she wants from him. In his opinion, it’s much too late for that. He has to have something to work with, and Arlette is way past her prime. No need to be cruel, is there? He smiles as the Ram pickup continues its effortless ascent up the winding road toward the lodge. She’ll never have to know.

  More good fortune: Arlette’s slow-moving M.S. has reached the point where she can’t drive up to check on his progress in converting the lodge to a wildlife museum. There had been some close calls when she’d popped in unexpectedly and almost come face-to-face with Brandi. The thrill of imminent discovery was about as wild as it gets. But he can’t afford continued indulgence in this brand of danger—the Brandi brand.

  One wrinkle—he expects Arelette’s lawyer to ask for some paperwork on the non-profit the Hunter is supposed to be setting up. That could prove troublesome unless he gets himself a new lawyer. Or stalls until Arlette no longer needs one. He’s almost sure she’s left the lodge to him in her new will. Almost. As long as there’s doubt, he must proceed with caution where she’s concerned. He has yet to come up with a means to defuse her plan for an artist colony in Brookvale. He’s the only artist the town needs.

  He parks the truck behind the lodge and sits for a while, as he reviews his project debut—a bunch of hits on the site. Now he knows there’s interest in his product. One of the hits presents a problem he’ll have to fix. Soon.

  It galls him to think of them as product. But one has to be practical. He smiles at the realization: he’s one of the lucky few who loves his work—to death.

  Like strippers in a club, other applications reveal themselves to him. Ones that mandate strictest confidence from potential clients. If only he’d had this knowledge way back when O.J. had his problems. There’d have been no mess, no collateral damage, no trial. Just a beautifully-preserved trophy wife. He can’t resist another chuckle here.

  He wonders how many other celebrities would pay big bucks for such a fix.

  Time to check on his handiwork. He gets out and slams the door of the Ram. As he mounts the log steps of the two-story lodge, he shouts for all the trees and rocks to hear, “Trisha, I’m home. Are you ready for me?”

  Chapter 45

  When Diana’s phone rang again, it was morning. She was already awake, and had been since Rogart’s call. An itchy-twitchy feeling plagued her. Accepting Rogart’s invitation to drive up to a cabin he claimed was Joe’s didn’t seem quite right. Brookvale wasn’t an all-night trip. She’d looked it up on MapQuest. Just west of Evergreen. Maybe they’d find Trisha and persuade her to come back and raise her child. But would that really be a good thing?

  Diana picked up the phone after the third ring, hoping it was Rogart canceling out.

  “Goddammit, Diana,” barked Jess. “When were you going to call me back? What the fuck is going on?”

  “Jess, ohjeez.” She’d completely forgotten that she’d left Jess sitting on the hill above Rogart’s house. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I watched you leave Darren’s. I followed and saw you almost get into a wreck on Santa Fe.”

  “Why didn’t you call my cell?”

  “I did. You didn’t pick up. I just got your voice mail.”

  Diana grabbed for her cell on the night table, flipped it open. A frown puckered her brow. “It’s turned off.”

  “I guess you didn’t want to be disturbed.” Bark turned to purr that was half-growl.

  “I didn’t turn it off. At least, I don’t remember… Maybe I did by accident.”

  “I’d think the first thing you’d do after you got out of there is call me.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” replied Diana. Alarms were going off, but she was squelching them. “A lot has happened.”

  “So, tell me,” ordered Jess, her pissed-off tone not easily dislodged.

  “Trisha has run off again. She left the baby with Darren. Somebody in a truck picked her up, but the kids didn’t recognize the person…or didn’t see them…or…” Diana realized that she’d failed to ask Darren a bunch of pertinent questions. She’d do that on the way to the cabin.

  “Did you see that there actually is a baby?” asked Jess.

  “Well, it could have been a recording of a baby’s cries coming from behind a closed door.” Ask a dumb question and what do you expect?

  “Diana!”

  “Of course I saw a baby. Do you think I’m a complete idiot?”

  “You don’t really want me to answer that. None of us is truly complete.”

  Diana, sitting cross-legged on the bed, made a face at the phone receiver, then continued in a quasi-normal voice. “The last person Trisha called was Joe Flannigan. She left her cell phone behind. What do you think about that?”

  “I think if Flannigan had picked her up, the kids would’ve recognized their own grandpa’s truck. What do you think about that?”

  “He could easily have more than one vehicle. Remember when we were tossing around the idea that he might have another house somewhere?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you come up with anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Joe’s apparently got a cabin near Evergreen. We’re checking it out tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean we? I’m following up on something else and it may take me a couple of days. Looks like Darren is involved with a lady up in Evergreen. While I was waiting for you, I was busy on my trusty laptop.”

  “I meant we as in Darren and me.”

  “Makes sense he would want to find Trisha since he seems to be stuck with the kid. Why doesn’t he just call Children’s Services?”

  “He’s on the birth certificate as the father.” Diana thought about sharing the rest, but the time didn’t seem right.

  “Birth certificate? How old is this kid? I thought it was a newborn.”

  “She. She is a newborn. Maybe a couple of weeks.” Diana pictured Fawn’s tiny, plump body and rosy cheeks.

  “You don’t get a birth certificate in a couple weeks, Diana. Even I know that. It takes a month to six weeks. If there’s a birth certificate, that means the kid was already born when Doubtful Darren was chowing down at your place.”

  Chapter 46

  On the way from her scheduled court appearance, Diana ran into Marge Lane in the corridor. Or rather, Marge grabbed the sleeve of her suit jacket.

  Diana, satisfied that she’d just done a good job for her client, felt her adrenalin rush evaporate as the events of the semi-sleepless night before weighed in on her. She’d been about to pass Marge by, hadn’t even seen her before the tug on her sleeve and the gravel voice in her ear.

  “Diana, wait up.”

  “Hey, Marge, just the person I wanted t
o see.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.” Marge cocked a salt-and-pepper head and gave Diana an appraising look. “You look bushed.”

  “No kidding. Kind of a rough day yesterday,” replied Diana, groping for a way to lead back into the Trisha thing. She didn’t have to.

  “Anything to do with that welfare check on the kids in Franktown?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…”

  The women drifted slowly out onto the wide porch of the courthouse where they found a quiet corner. Imposing gray pillars sheltered them from the chill March air.

  “You never did tell me what your connection is,” reminded Marge as she slid into a black overcoat.

  “It’s a long, convoluted story, Marge. But I have reason to believe that the kids at the house lied about the baby’s mom. She’s a missing teen from Custer County.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Marge looked annoyed, then lit up a cigarette she took out of a pack from her coat pocket.

  “I’ve no excuse,” replied Diana lamely.

  Marge eyed her, a puzzled look on her face. She lit up and took a long drag on her cigarette.

  “I honestly thought the girl was in a safe place. Safer than her home environment had been,” continued Diana. “But now I have reason to believe she may have gone back to…an abusive situation.”

  “Her home?” asked Marge, a troubled look on her thin face.

  “No. I got a tip that she might be with a Joseph Flannigan in Evergreen. Or near there. Brookvale, maybe.”

  “Brookvale?” Marge stifled a cough.

  Diana suppressed the urge to snatch the cigarette from her hand and stomp on it. “That’s the information I have. You know anything about the area?”

  Marge shook her head. “What about the baby?” she asked.

  “As far as I know, the…father’s providing adequate care for her. If it’s not too much trouble, you might give the guys in Custer County a heads-up.”

  Marge rolled her eyes. “You ever been to Custer County, Diana?”