The sun was already coming up when he arrived at the station, and there was a bustle of activity, both inside and outside. Making his way to the captain’s office, he tried to get a heads-up from some of the other officers to see whether something was amiss. But no one had a clue why he had been called in. Stein knocked once on the captain’s office door and waited to be invited in.
“If it’s Jake, come in. Anyone else can wait,” the captain called out.
Stein opened the door slowly and stepped in. Detective Baird was sitting across from the captain, and the chief of police was standing in the corner. All eyes were on Stein.
“Have a seat, Jake,” said the captain.
“Okay, what’s up?” he asked with uncertainty as he sat down next to Baird.
“This case is going nowhere fast, unless you have something new to tell us. Do you?”
“No, Sir.”
“As you know, we are getting a ton of pressure from City Hall to show some progress. The mayor’s office is getting pounded by the press. We are, as well.”
“I know.”
“Jake, I know you are our best, and you are doing everything you can to bring this case to a conclusion, but we need to show some action, or the public will replace us all,” said the chief, pacing around the room. “We need to give them something positive. We need show them we aren’t sitting around on our asses.”
“We are trying to keep a tight lid on details about the case, so we don’t complicate things,” said Stein, trying to defend himself.
“I know, Jake, and under normal circumstances, that is a good strategy, but what the chief is getting at is, we need to make a move that shows we are making some progress.”
“Like what? We don’t have anyone we can charge with anything at this time.”
The chief held up his hand, as if to silence everyone.
“I’ve been talking with Detective Baird about the case, and he has some good insights, I think. I have to agree with him. Bob Jackson looks suspicious. At least, enough to bring him in for official questioning. Between the press and social media going after him, if we don’t at least question him, we’ll look weak and ineffectual.”
Stein turned toward Baird incredulously. He had been talking to the chief behind his back? They would have words later.
“I wasn’t ready to bring him in yet, and I wasn’t sure I could get a warrant.”
“We’ll make sure you get the warrant to search his house. Bring him in.”
“Has something changed?” asked Jake.
“Yeah. The mayor wants action, and both the captain and I think there is enough circumstantial evidence to bring in Jackson. Detective Baird has a made a good case.”
“Does it matter that I disagree?” Stein argued.
“No. Forensics just came back with the tests on the notes. The paper is the same as the paper used at the radio station. The printers at the radio station are the same ones used to print the notes. I think that this, combined with motive, and the Trazadone at the first murder, we have enough to move forward. Even if we are wrong, the public will appreciate some action.”
“I can’t believe a judge will issue a warrant on that,” said Stein. “That paper is probably used in a thousand offices in town, and that printer they use there is the most common printer made.” Stein sneered at Chris. The little shit had laid it all out for the chief and captain. He had given them the cover they wanted to move on Jackson—against Stein’s wishes.
“Jake,” said the captain. “I know what you are thinking, and you need to let it go. We were thinking you should bring Jackson in even before Detective Baird expressed his theory. I’ll get you the warrant. Bring him in and search his home. I’ll get one for the station, as well.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“Do it!” said the captain emphatically. He tossed Stein a newspaper. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”
“No. I just got up before you called.”
He looked at the headline.
Bob Jackson Involved in Bar Fight
The story not only talked about the bar fight, but also the growing concern in Denver that Jackson might be a person of interest and involved in some way with the Revengers murder spree. The article questioned if and when the police were going to question Jackson about what he might know about the murders. Were the police doing their job? Inferences were made, implicating Jackson, and they had a so-called “expert in psychology” discuss behavioral patterns for killers, and how Jackson might fit the description.
And even though the article didn’t directly blame Jackson for the murders or for the street brawl, they didn’t dismiss it, either. The fact that no one pressed any charges after the fight was irrelevant. They were painting Jackson out to be an angry and unhinged sociopath—and, based on his show’s vernacular, entirely capable of murder.
“And?” asked Stein as he calmly set the paper back on the captain’s desk.
“And the guy is becoming a menace. I want you to move on him. Listen, the guy’s show is all about him threatening people. He’s a hothead with a temper. It may be circumstantial right now, but I agree with Detective Baird. He’s a solid suspect. Bring him in!”
It was clear the meeting was over. Stein agreed that as soon as he had the warrant, he would bring Jackson in. It was either that or resign, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
Once in the hallway, Stein turned to Baird. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Jake, I….”
Stein cut him off. “I’ll be at my desk. You can come get me when the warrant is issued.”
Detective Baird knew he had made a mistake going around Stein, but he was convinced there was no other choice. Even though evidence was piling up against Jackson, Stein refused to see it. He wasn’t sure if Stein would ever make a move against Jackson, and he wondered why. Everyone else in town saw the connection. Fortunately, the captain and chief agreed with Baird, but he knew there was going to be a price to pay for going over Stein’s head.
Stein was at his desk, going over the facts of the case, trying to see if he was just being obstinate. Could the rookie have been right? His desk phone rang. The call was probably about the warrant.
Instead, it was the dispatcher, calling to alert him about a 911 call regarding a murder in Cherry Creek. The Revengers had struck again. Stein considered leaving Baird behind, but he decided that would just look petty. He told the dispatcher to notify the rookie to meet him at the scene. He was damned if he would drive over with him.
Stein pulled up to the Roberts’ residence, an impressive two-story, stone house situated on the side of a small hill with huge picture windows facing the Rocky Mountains. Not quite his style or price range, but impressive, nonetheless. Probably cost twenty or thirty times his yearly salary. He’d seen and been in other expensive homes like this in Cherry Creek before—and even investigated a murder in one of them—but it never ceased to amaze him how the upper crust lived. He wasn’t exactly jealous, but he wouldn’t mind sipping a beer on that balcony, watching the sunset. The yellow tape surrounding the building reminded him that even the well-to-do weren’t immune to crime.
As usual, there were throngs of gawkers and press starting to gather. Rather than try to snake through the crowd, he parked a few houses down and walked in. The rookie detective was right behind him. Stein looked at him with a stern face but said nothing as they stooped under the crime scene tape. Gregg Abbott, the medical examiner, saw them as soon as they entered the house and joined them.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked but didn’t smile.
Neither Stein nor Baird laughed.
“Morning, Gregg,” said Stein. “The dispatcher said it was the Revengers again.”
“Yep. At least, it looks that way right now. There’s a note, so unless it’s a copycat, it’s them.”
“So, what have we got this time?”
“A mess. Not like the other crime scenes.”
&nbs
p; They were standing in the foyer, and Stein could see the gruesome scene for himself. The balcony railing had collapsed, and parts of it were lying on the floor everywhere. The body of the deceased was still wrapped in duct tape and was lying in a pool of blood mixed with water. The duct tape was soaked red from the chest up. The plastic hood that had covered the head was set off to the side, revealing a head that looked more like a squashed red melon than anything resembling a head and face. It was a scene Stein wouldn’t soon forget. More like a slasher horror movie than reality.
A partially-used roll of duct tape sat in the pool of blood. It had probably been too bloody for the killers to have taken with them. They must have been confident it held no clues, or they would have taken it with them. The noose, fashioned out of duct tape, was still attached to a wooden rail from the banister that had come down with the body. Bloody footprints—one big and one small—were everywhere, and there was a trail of blood mixed with rainwater leading away from the body to the side door. He could also see the same trail leading up the stairway.
“Should I bother asking about the cause of death?” inquired Stein sarcastically.
“You could, but then I’d suggest a new line of work for you,” replied Abbot. “Honestly, though, I’ll need to confirm it, but my guess is, they bashed his brains in outside and dragged him into the house. The bloody bat is still outside in a pool of blood. He was probably dead before they tried to hang him off the banister. Hanging was probably for effect, and had nothing to do with his death.”
Stein sighed. What effect were they going for this time?
“Oh, and the investigators also found a taser probe caught on a brick outside.”
Stein nodded. This was possibly the break he was hoping for.
“And I think you’ll like this: They also found a beer bottle in the kitchen. Someone drank the beer after the attack.”
“How do we know that?”
“Bloody footprints by the refrigerator and the counter where the bottle was left.”
Probably no prints, thought Stein, but possibly some DNA on the bottle.
“Geez. What a mess,” said Baird.
“What do we know about the victim?”
A uniformed cop was standing next to the group and chimed in, reading from a notepad.
“The victim is Clark Roberts. He’s the owner of the house and lived alone. He owned a number of businesses in the area and out-of-state. Moving and storage. Very successful.”
“I can see that,” Stein said, looking around the house.
“The crime scene guys are still dusting for prints.”
Stein knew they wouldn’t find any. He looked at all the duct tape the killers had used. These guys must have been buying it by the case. It was probably clean, but it’s possible they’d touched it when they first bought it. It was also possible they did buy it by the case, and that might be something to check on. So far, none of the other duct tape evidence had resulted in any prints, but hope springs eternal. The killers were getting sloppy, and mistakes happen when people get sloppy.
Stein pointed to bloody footprints leading from the body to the kitchen and up the stairs. “Tell me those are from the killers and not someone who came in later.”
“They’re from the killers. They were wearing paper booties over their shoes, just like during the other crimes, but this time, they discarded the booties by the back door as they left. Probably didn’t want to take them with them. They are extremely bloody,” said the cop.
Another piece of evidence. The booties were probably generic, but it was something. Maybe a store in the area might have a record of selling boxes of duct tape and paper booties.
The cop continued. “Looks like there was a scuffle in the backyard. We found a baseball bat lying on the ground near the hot tub.” He motioned for them to follow him.
When they were in the yard, he pointed to the bat, lying in pool of blood and water. “The investigators said that, in addition to the blood on the bat, there are remnants of what appears to be skin.” The cop pointed to a wire sitting next to the bat. “We also found a laser probe. It’s the same type patrolmen use.”
“Anybody know if it’s proprietary to the police?” asked Stein.
The cop responded, “We get a special one from our vendors. That doesn’t mean no one else could get it, but it would be rare.”
Stein nodded. Careful not to step in the blood trail, Stein walked the crime scene from one room to the next. He was trying to picture what had happened last night. If the victim was dead outside, why bother to drag him in and lug him up the stairs for a hanging that didn’t matter? But the Revengers were getting careless; that much he knew. He hoped there would be a few more clues to go on. The prospect of the killers being on the force was a new wrinkle he hadn’t considered before. It wouldn’t be the first time a cop went rogue.
“What about the note this time?” asked Stein.
The ME held up a plastic bag with a note. There were bloodstains on it. “I have it.” He read it to them:
It was Clark Roberts’ turn to die. Just another scumbag, like all the rest. A lousy crook that the world is better off without. He was warned and chose not to listen to our warnings. Others will no doubt continue to ignore us, as well, but they do so at their peril. We have said we will not tolerate this kind of behavior any longer and will continue to punish them until our fair city is safe from charlatans.
To the authorities, just in case you choose to keep this from the public, please be informed that a copy of this note is going out to the press. The people need to know.
The Revengers
Abbott handed the baggy to Stein and went about his business.
“Wonderful,” said Stein and turned to the cop in uniform. “Do the neighbors know anything?”
“No, Sir. The guy was a loner. No one saw or heard anything last night. Even without the storm, they probably wouldn’t have seen anything.”
“Okay. Thanks. Anything else?”
“No, Sir.”
Baird looked at his notepad. “Jake, I know you don’t want to hear this, but since we should have the warrant soon, anyway, I think you should know that I’ve been keeping a list of people Jackson went after on the show recently.”
“Let me guess,” said Stein sardonically. “Clark Roberts is on the list.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How many others are on this list of yours?”
“I don’t know. Maybe another twenty or thirty.”
“Wonderful. Make me a copy of your list.”
Stein knew Baird wanted to drive home his point by linking the Consumer Champion to the murders, but what could it hurt to see the list of potential targets? He had to admit that the clues pointing at Jackson merited some investigation, but unlike Baird, he still wasn’t convinced of Jackson’s direct involvement. Jackson’s on-air demeanor was damning, as well as the other evidence against him, but the question that still haunted him was: Why? On his show, he berated and punished these people, and in some cases, caused them significant financial damage. Why go to the extreme of killing them? And if he was one of the killers, once again, why leave any clues to suggest he was involved?
“I’ll check to see if we got the warrant yet,” volunteered Baird enthusiastically.
No doubt, it would be ready already, or would be soon. If the chief and the captain wanted Jackson brought in, they would get their warrant. Between them, they had enough judges they could lean on to get it done. Jake was convinced the search would turn up exactly nothing. But he would follow orders. As for bringing him in for a formal interview, okay, sure. But Jackson—guilty or not—would lawyer up, and all they would do is create a hostile relationship with Jackson. Baird might think it would lead to a confession, but he was too green behind the ears. The chief and the captain would get their publicity, but that could end up hurting more than helping.
It was all just for show—and sometimes, shows got negative reviews.
In Stein’s mind, t
he killers appeared to be accelerating the attacks. Why? And as they did so, they were getting careless. No way the beer bottle was left behind on purpose. And of what possible significance was the taser probe? Could there have been a cop involved? On a hunch, he made a note to check the evidence room for a missing taser gun.
He kept coming back to the motive behind all this. If he ruled out the possibility that a pair of random serial killers had just appeared in Denver, what were the other possible reasons for selecting this group of victims? He didn’t believe that the killers really thought killing a few shady business guys would suddenly turn Denver into a city devoid of rip-offs. No one was that naïve. Publicity hounds? Could someone just be trying to become infamous? Seemed more likely. Someone trying to hide another crime just kept popping into his head.
Baird, on the other had, thought he had it all figured out. He believed that Jackson was some kind of fanatic who had been driven insane after chasing chiselers for years with unsatisfying results. In his mind, Jackson was just unhinged in his method of protecting consumers. But Stein wasn’t pleased with how Baird focused on Jackson. If Baird was right, he would never hear the end of it.
But he wasn’t. Stein was sure of it. Then who?
To answer that, Stein tried to think of who would have something to gain from all these deaths… besides Jackson. And what would they have to gain? The problem was that there were tons of people collectively hurt by these contractors. Unfortunately, no names appeared on more than one list. That brought him back to the theory of the murderers killing people they had no ties to, so they couldn’t possibly be considered suspects in one specific murder. Once they killed enough people, the suspect list would become too large to be manageable. Okay. That made sense. And if that was the case, the murders could stop anytime with no warning or explanation. These guys were smart, so they had to know that with each murder they committed, they increased the odds of leaving evidence that would lead to their capture.
All In A Day's Work Page 24
