by Blake Banner
“That’s not the way it looked last night. I was there, remember? You told me you whipped somebody to death.”
He sighed. “You have to understand, Detective. I meant to put a scare into you. That’s the way we do things ’round here. Somebody treads on your toes, you gotta put a scare into them, or they’ll walk all over you. I threw a scare into you and I hurt you, and maybe that was wrong. But I never meant to kill nobody!”
“You bullwhipped me, and now you are asking me to be understanding and sympathetic?”
He swallowed and flopped back in his chair, staring at me. I was looking across the table at the man who had caused me more physical pain than I had ever believed possible, and I wondered whether I could remain objective. He was close to panic.
“Look,” he said, “I have a reputation ’round here. I have to look tough…”
“You don’t look so tough right now, Greg.”
“No, I know, I understand that, and I understand that I made a big, big mistake last night.” He leaned forward again, “Not just last night. I made a big mistake getting involved with those boys. I should never have done that. But, see, I didn’t think no harm would come from selling a bit of weed. You know, if it’s legal here, it can’t be that bad, right? And I’m told everybody smokes it in New York anyhow.”
“The law of joint enterprise holds that all three of you are equally guilty.”
He took a deep breath and held the edge of the table, trying to control himself. “I know that, and I am admitting to you that what I done was wrong…”
I cut across him, “Who killed Kathleen Olvera?”
He stared at me. “I don’t know.”
“Right now, while we are talking, Sly is next door giving a statement to my partner.”
He went pale. “What’s that son of a bitch sayin’?”
I smiled. “I’ll bring you a transcript, shall I? He wants to make a deal with the DA.” I sighed and sat forward, with my elbows on the table. “You have to realize, Greg, that all three of you are going down. You’re all facing the death penalty. Detective Dehan must have explained that to you. Now, that is the reality you have to face. We have irrefutable proof of what you did. Now one thing, and one thing only, is going to earn one of you leniency, and that is the name of Kathleen’s killer.”
His face flushed and there were tears in his eyes. He leaned forward. “If I knew, do you think I wouldn’t tell you? I liked Kathleen! Her an’ Pat was like sisters to me. I was real fond of ’em both. If I didn’t help you, that’s only ’cause I don’t like strangers butting their nose into our business. But I cared for both of ’em. And when Pat got in trouble with Sly and Coy, I bailed her out. You ask ’em.”
I made a face like he was boring me. “Come on, Greg! You must have some idea. You picked her up from the bus station and delivered her to the Shack!”
He screwed up his face. “What? When?”
“The weekend she was killed.”
“That’s horseshit! I never picked her up. How could I? I didn’t even know she was comin’.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to ignore the headache that was developing in my temple.
“Pat owed Sly and Coy money.”
“Yes sir. She did. Five grand, according to Sly.”
“You paid?”
“On one goddamned condition. I told them plain. If they hurt a hair on her head, I would bullwhip…” He faltered. I gestured him to continue. “That’s what I said to them. If they hurt Pat, I would bullwhip them to within an inch of their lives. I paid them the money and told them not to use her no more for distribution.” He shrugged. “That was when we started talkin’ about doing a more businesslike operation.”
“But Coy wasn’t happy with that arrangement. He wanted to make an example of somebody.”
“Coy is full o’ shit. He talks big, like he was a hit man for some big Mexican gang. But he’s just a junkie loser like Sly. I told him stay away from Pat and that was the end of it.”
I shook my head. “Your story doesn’t make any sense, Greg. If Coy wasn’t threatening Pat, then why the hell did Kathleen come to the Shack?”
“I don’t know. It’s what I keep tellin’ you. I didn’t even know she was comin’.”
“Would she have told you?”
“’Course she would’ve! Especially if it was to stop Coy hurting Pat!”
I stared at him a long while. “I have a witness who is willing to testify that you drove down to Boulder on Sunday, 8th July, to pick Kathleen up from the bus station and deliver her to the Shack.” He was shaking his head. I raised my voice, leaning forward, “You yourself corrected me when I said she’d arrived by train. You told me she would have had to go to the bus station! You picked her up and you delivered her to her executioner!”
“No!” He made to stand but couldn’t because of the cuffs. He shouted again, “No! Goddamn it! I wouldn’t do that to Kath!” He sat staring at me, breathing heavily. “It never happened!”
There was a knock on the door and Dehan poked her head in. “Sly’s gone down.” She glanced at Greg. “He made his statement. Coy is on his way up.”
I studied his face. “Think it over.”
He shook his head. “I ain’t sayin’ another word without my lawyer.”
I nodded to Dehan. “Have a deputy call Mr. Carson’s lawyer, will you?”
“He’s on his way already.”
I stood. “See you at trial, Greg.”
I stepped into the corridor. El Coyote was led past to interrogation room two and then they took Greg down to his cell. I stood staring at Dehan, chewing my lip. Eventually I said, “There is something wrong.”
She frowned. “Sly was pretty convincing. You don’t believe him? He confirmed your theory.”
“Let’s talk to Coy.”
We went in and Dehan leaned against the wall while I sat. He watched me with his pale blue eyes. The scare gave him a twisted look of contempt, but it was there in his eyes too. It was almost a palpable thing.
“I’m going to make this easy for you, Coyote. All three of you are facing the death penalty. You understand that?” He nodded. “Your pal Sly is trying to cut a deal with the DA. Greg is waiting for his lawyer, and you and I both know what his lawyer is going to advise him to do.”
“What deal?”
“I need the name of the man who killed Kathleen.”
“So you gonna seek the death penalty for two of us, but the one who gives you Kathleen’s killer, he gets life?”
“That’s the deal.”
He nodded. “That’s what I figured. It was Greg.”
“What?”
“Greg killed Kathleen.”
Dehan spoke from behind me. “Bullshit.”
He stared at her with no expression. “What, you want me to say it was Sly? It weren’t Sly. Sly don’t go killin’ people. That ain’t his scene.”
“How about you?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “Me? What the fuck do I wanna kill that bitch for? She ain’t nothin’ to me.”
Dehan came and sat next to me, leaning across the table. “She disrespected you. She didn’t pay what she owed you.”
“You confused, Detective. That was her sister, not her. Pat didn’t pay. But Greg paid for her. All square.”
“But you wanted her punished.”
“You crazy. We got the farm on Greg’s land. We growin’ the crop on Greg’s land. He’s supplyin’ the seeds. Greg says ‘leave Pat alone,’ we leave Pat alone. I ain’t gonna jeopardize a sweet thing like that to punish a stupid bitch. She’s Greg’s bitch, that’s cool with me. So long as he pays.”
I stared at him a long time. Finally, I asked him, “So, what happened?”
He shrugged. “Is like you said. He went down to collect her from the bus station. He brought her to the Shack. He was mad at her. I don’t know why. I think he liked her and she went and married another guy. I don’t know. I wasn’t interested…”
I int
errupted him. “But, if she wasn’t there pleading for Pat, why the hell was she there?”
“Don’t ask me, man, ask Greg. All I know is, Sunday he went to get her from Boulder. Then he brought her to the club. He raped her right there on the floor. Then he stabbed her with his knife, cut off her head and took her out to the woods.”
“And you witnessed this?”
“Yeah, man. I saw the whole thing.”
“You understand that if you are lying, perjury will be added to the charges against you.”
He spread his hands. “What you fockin’ want, man? You ask me to tell you who killed Kathleen. I’m tellin’ you and now you say I’m lyin’! What the fock is the matter with you?”
I made him go over the story another couple of times in more detail, then got a deputy to come in, take it down and have him sign it. Then I sent him back down to his cell. I grabbed some coffee and me and Dehan went to the small office where I’d put my laptop. This time there were two emails. One contained the phone, email and credit card records. The other was from Frank at the lab. I had them printed and ten minutes later, we sat at the table and went through them.
The phone records for the end of June and early July showed no communication between Kathleen and anybody in Colorado. She had not telephoned, or been telephoned by, her in-laws, Greg, or anybody else. Her Whatsapp showed the same thing, as did her Facebook account. She had not been conducting a ‘virtual’ affair with Greg.
Her credit card records showed no train ticket purchases for the months of June or July—or plane or bus tickets, or car rentals.
I sat in silence, thinking, for a long time. Then I looked at the results of the DNA test and closed my eyes.
“My God, Dehan,” I said, “I have been so blind. I have been so stupid!”
I threw the paper across the desk to her. She examined it, frowned, and stared at me.
“What the hell…!”
I nodded. “Let’s wrap up here and get back to New York.”
TWENTY
The Assistant District Attorney arrived shortly after lunch and she and the sheriff joined us upstairs in the small office. She was in her mid-thirties and living the dream in an Italian suit and a German car. When she strode in, Dehan had her ass on the windowsill and I had my feet on the desk. We were staring at each other in silence, thinking, and both turned to look at her and the sheriff as they entered.
She dropped her pigskin case on the desk and sat. The sheriff said, “This is Assistant District Attorney Susanne O’Connor.” To her, he said, “Detectives Stone and Dehan of the NYPD, ma’am.”
I took my feet off the desk and rolled a little closer. She spoke first. I got the impression she always spoke first, and last.
“I’m a little confused, Detective Stone, on a number of points. First of all, why you are here at all, and, not least, I have just arrived to hear that the case you were about to close is not closed at all. Care to explain yourself?”
I studied her face for just long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then I said, “You’re confused?” I turned and smiled at Dehan, who smiled back. “The Assistant DA is confused, Dehan. She doesn’t know why we are here.” I turned back to the ADA. “I’d suggest the sheriff explain, seeing as it was him who invited us to come here, but frankly, I think he’s as confused as you are.”
Her cheeks had gone a pretty shade of pink. “I’m not sure I like your tone, Detective.”
“That’s OK, you don’t need to. Why we are here is irrelevant to the case you are going to prosecute, which is not the murder of Kathleen Olvera. That case is going to be prosecuted in New York. The case you are going to prosecute is the kidnapping, torture and attempted murder of two police officers who were here at the invitation of the Lee County sheriff, as well as the illegal sale of cannabis in New York State. If you are curious as to why we are here, then I suggest you get Sheriff Watson to explain it to you over coffee and blueberry pie. You ready to play nice now, or you want to keep measuring dicks?”
O’Connor went scarlet and I heard Dehan snort and splutter behind me. The sheriff hitched his pants and said, “Hey now…!”
She rose to her feet. “I will not tolerate…!”
“Sweetheart, I got bullwhipped last night and was within half a second of having my throat cut while doing this clown’s job, so you will tolerate whatever you have to tolerate. You be civil to me and I’ll be civil to you, but tell me to explain myself one more time and things could get ugly. Now sit down and I will tell you what happened.”
She sat back down with wide eyes and a small bump.
“Five years ago, a decapitated woman was found on Lefhand Canyon Drive, not far from a club called the Shack, frequented by off-gridders and Hell’s Angels. The woman was eventually identified as Kathleen Olvera, from the Bronx. Her family had been regular visitors to Seven Hills since she was a kid, they had befriended local people, including Greg Carson and the Olvera boys. Eventually she married Moses Olvera, and he and his brother moved to the Bronx. You with me so far?”
She gave a tight-lipped nod. The sheriff pulled over a chair and sat. I went on.
“Sheriff Watson made a preliminary, cursory investigation. He turned up no meaningful evidence and the case went cold. A few days ago, he kicked it back to us and we started to look into it. At first it looked to us as though Kathleen had come to Seven Hills to meet with somebody, and that somebody had killed her. So, at the express invitation of the sheriff, we began to look into the people whom she might have come to see. Are you still following me?”
“Yes, Detective. It is not that complicated.”
“Good.” I said it a little sourly. “I wouldn’t want you to get confused.”
“You have made your point.”
“In the course of our investigation, we turned up two things: first, Greg Carson and two of the tenants on his ranch, Sly and El Coyote, otherwise known as…”
I turned to Dehan, she checked the printout we’d got earlier from their NI numbers. “Juan Fernandez and Sylvester Thelonius Jones, both originally from the Bronx, in New York.”
“These three characters had set up business, growing very substantial amounts of cannabis on Greg’s ranch, and selling it illegally in New York. Their idea was that Pat, who was something of a black sheep in her family and had a taste for the wild side, would market it back east. The problem was that Pat started snorting all their profits instead of handing them over to Greg, Sly, and El Coyote. The penalty for that kind of thing where Sly and El Coyote come from is very severe. That led us to the theory that Pat might have sent Kathleen to intercede on her behalf and ask for clemency. And they decided to make an example of her.”
O’Connor nodded and glanced at the sheriff. “That was what I had understood from Sheriff Watson.”
“Yeah. We seemed to have it in the bag. And this morning, faced with the threat of the death penalty, we had Sly pointing the finger at Coyote, and Coyote pointing the finger at Greg. The trouble is, they lied. They told me what they thought I wanted to hear in the hope of getting a deal. Neither of them was able to describe the murder correctly. Plus…” I spread my hands. “You were right, Sheriff. You were right for the wrong reasons, but you were right. She was not killed here. Her body was dumped here, and I think she was decapitated here. But she was killed somewhere else. Greg, Sly and Coyote are guilty of trafficking marijuana, of kidnapping and attempted murder, but they are not guilty of the murder of Kathleen Olvera. Somebody else did that.”
We showed her the video evidence, and signed sworn statements as to what had happened the night before, and by four o’clock we headed back toward Seven Hills to pack our bags and start home for New York. On the way, as we wound through the forested canyons, Dehan said, “The decapitation…” She turned in her seat to frown at me. “Are you sure about this? It was Coyote’s trade mark. It was on his doorstep. He had motive…”
“Motive?”
“To send a message to Pat. You said so yourself.”
/> I nodded. “I know. But I was wrong. It happens.” I grinned at her. “Not often, so don’t get used to it. But I was blinded by the obvious, by the details, and I didn’t see the bigger picture.”
“Show me the bigger picture.”
“For a start, suppose Coyote was so mad he decided to make an example of Kathleen. That is a totally believable scenario and it could have happened. But why not then go after Pat? He knows the Bronx. He grew up there. He has Angels he can call on who can find her and make the hit, or break her arms or whatever. Why kill her sister but leave her? What message does he send by doing that?” She made a face and nodded. I answered my own question, “Not so much ‘Wherever you hide we will find you and punish you,’ as, ‘If you take the trouble to come to the remotest corner of the United States, right to our front door, we will kill you.’”
She smiled. “I see your point.”
“As to the decapitation, it is not exactly Coyote’s trade mark,” I raised an eyebrow, “Assuming his boasts are true, he kills his victims by stabbing and decapitating them with a knife, all in one savage attack. That’s what makes him so scary. But Kathleen was beaten and strangled—not stabbed. And she was decapitated after she was killed, probably with a machete. Remember, it was a single, clean cut. By the way the head had rolled away from the body, I’m willing to bet that cut was delivered after the body was dumped.” I paused and looked at her. “Which is suggestive.”
It was, as the sheriff was fond of saying, ten miles as the crow flies, but twenty-five with all the twists and turns through the canyons. We took the short route, via Lefthand Canyon Drive, and after a long silence, as we turned left out of Gold Hill, headed finally for the Wagon Wheel, Dehan said, “Suggestive. Suggestive that whoever dumped the body knew about El Coyote’s signature, and wanted to cast suspicion on him.”
“It’s possible.”
She puffed out her cheeks and blew. “So, if that’s right, and that is a big ‘if’, it narrows our pool…”
I shrugged. “It was pretty narrow already, by the simple fact of where she was dumped. I’d say that it confirms the pool rather than narrows it.”
