The Front Range Butcher Page 2

  Jonas stopped to take a bite of his pastry, followed by a long sip of coffee, a distasteful look on his face. I wasn’t sure if it was the food and drink he disliked, or the past events he was verbally reliving. Dredging up the horror couldn’t have been easy for him.

  “After losing him, The Butcher went mobile and that’s when we started getting other victims in Colorado Springs, Loveland, and even Fort Collins. I finally caught up to him again, and he confronted me. It was frightening seeing his eyes, hearing his voice. He threatened me, though not directly, but in a vague manner. No one else heard it, so it was his word against mine. When I persisted, his lawyer began his threats and I received some phone calls from disguised voices making it clear to stop or else. The News asked me to back off, as they were receiving threats from his lawyer, and they pulled me from the story. I was not happy, but I quietly continued until they found out and told me to stop or else. When I refused, I didn’t have much choice but to quit.”

  “Did anyone else assist in the investigation at the paper?” I asked.

  “No. But they did hire another PI. But he didn’t last too long, maybe four months. Had a tough time dealing with the details of the case. Gave him nightmares he said, so he quit. Though I always wondered if there was more to it.”

  “Is his name in the files?” I asked, flipping through the pages. “It would be an immense help to get his notes on the case.”

  Jonas grabbed the stack of papers and found the page with the name, Paul Waters. I knew of a few other PI’s in the area, but his name didn’t ring a bell. I would have to see if he was still in business and track him down.

  “Names of police detectives involved?”

  “All listed there. Not sure where they are working now. Some have probably retired. But it’s a different team working the new cases.”

  I swallowed down a couple of bites of my pastry. It wasn’t bad washed down with my hot chocolate. Too bad there were no refills on drinks. Something to add to the suggestion box.

  “What about the FBI?” I asked. “I’m sure they were involved and will be again.”

  “Their names are there as well. I was thorough documenting the details. Do you have contacts in the Bureau?”

  “I do. Though they don’t like me much.”

  “I don’t like you much either,” Jonas stated with a coarse tone. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t work with you.”

  I nodded. It seemed as if I had an extensive list of reluctant allies I had accumulated through the years. Working often times against the grain, outside the rules, to get the job done for my clients. This didn’t endure me with those in power.

  “Will I be able to talk with Simon Lions?” I queried.

  Jonas appeared surprised by the question. “I’m sure we can arrange it. Though we may need to go through his expensive lawyer first. We’ll see if his physical limitations continue to prevent him from speaking properly. Years before when he could talk, he would prattle on. He has an incredible ego. Just make sure you are mentally ready to face him.”

  “That leads me to another question. All this stalking, capturing and killing would take a great deal of time and money. Not to mention a high-priced lawyer he kept on retainer. When did Simon ever find time to work?”

  “He didn’t work or need to work. He was extremely wealthy. Came from the Lions’ fortune from up in Boulder. His family made their money in coal and crude oil. They have big political ties, from Mayors, Governors, Congressmen and Senators. His sister is even married to a state senator.”

  “Even under suspicion the family still backed him?”

  Jonas looked disgusted. “They backed him to a point, but mostly they didn’t want the family name sullied. He became estranged from them before the murders began, but still had wealth that didn’t require him to work. Shrewd investments helped him maintain that wealth, even though he was no longer part of the family’s day to day business.”

  “Did he ever marry or have children?”

  “That was a well-kept secret. There were clues he had a son, but I could never prove it. He became a recluse for many years after the murders stopped, behind secure gates in his mansion in the foothills. He had most everything delivered to his home and hardly ever left. I could never say for certain what he had behind his closed doors.”

  “Does he still own the same house?”

  “Sold it after the stroke.”

  “Do you have an address? I may want to stop by and talk with the new owners.”

  “I may have it written down at home,” said Jonas, sounding as if he were mad he’d not included the information in the file. “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “What about the latest murders. Where did they begin?”

  Jonas shuffled through the papers and pulled out the newest information. I began reading, the first body was found eight weeks ago. A white female who disappeared after dinner out with some friends. She had been missing for six days, when a bag of flesh was delivered to her boyfriend’s house in Littleton. A note was attached, explaining where the rest of the body was located, in a grassy undeveloped area off highway 285 near Turkey Creek Park. Photos of the remains were included, and they weren’t pleasant to look at. Interviews with friends and family revealed nothing tangible in the way of figuring out a motive. She was universally liked and loved by all. No jealous boyfriends or sordid love affairs gone bad. Since the MO matched the murders from years before, the police went on alert, but did not proclaim The Butcher had returned.

  Little more than three weeks ago, was when bag number two arrived, this time placed on the porch of a husband’s house, even though they had been separated for a time. The horror of the moment sent him into shock and he required hospitalization. Because of the estrangement of the couple, he was a person of interest, but was cleared when the nature of the death was matched to the previous case. This time the body was left in a dumpster in a shopping center off South Platte Canyon Road. More crime scene photos made for gruesome viewing. One had to wonder how long before victim number three would show.

  “How are you getting these latest photos?” I asked.

  “I have a source in the Lakewood police department keeping me informed. I won’t name him for now, unless you feel you need to talk with him.”

  “I may want to, once I dig in further. There is a lot here to digest. I’ll need to read it through for a day or so and see if anything jumps out.”

  “Certainly, do what you need to do. Just remember he may already have his next sacrifice lined up. Victim number three may already be under the knife.”

  Those words sent a shudder down my spine.

  Chapter 3

  The Butcher had carefully groomed the table after his last prize was finished. Using a strong bacterial soap and bleach, he had the metal top clean for his new lady. No need for her to get a disease or infection from someone else. It had to be perfectly sterile. With wash cloth and soap, he bathed her, cleaning her from head to toe, while she was still unconscious. The heat was turned up, so she wouldn’t get cold. He even provided a pillow, with a sanitized case for her head, so she would be comfortable.

  She was all he’d hoped for, laying there on the table. He watched, waiting for her to awaken, with no clothes, restrained by chains, gag in her mouth. Suddenly she stirred and his heart raced with anticipation. Once the fog cleared, her eyes opened, full of confusion and disorientation, uncertain where she was. Realization brought tears, the fear of not knowing what was coming consuming her. He tried to provide reassurance, that all would be fine, but it was difficult to do, with him in dark blue scrubs, with surgical mask and gloves on. He would care for her lovingly, via the way he had been taught to care for the beauty before him and the others who would follow.

  He ran his gloved hand over her body, caressing her skin. Feeling empowered in a way he always felt when fondling his prizes. Down her right arm, across her belly, up between her breasts, to her face. He wiped the tears away with his fingers, feeling her cheeks, h
er lips and stroking her soft hair. Whispers in her ear, his lips brushing the lobe, the material of the mask between them, his deep voice explaining he would lovingly enjoy her skin. Study it and make it his own. Freeing it from her body. He removed the gag, so she could talk.

  “Please don’t do this,” she begged. “I don’t want to die.”

  “It’s alright my dear. Relax, you may enjoy it. I know I will.”

  Stepping away he grabbed his digital camera and walked around taking pictures. This would be how he would catalog the work he was doing. First shots being of her in her natural state, followed by pictures as he did his work, the images taken in stages. Photos to provide lasting memories. He enjoyed comparing them to the others he had accumulated.

  Putting down the camera he found a scalpel. One of his favorites. It sparkled in the neon lights, shiny, as if brand new, the light weight feeling good on his fingers. He often thought of naming it, but knew that would be an insane thing to do. It had been sharpened so it could slice through thick leather without hesitation. He came over to the table and smiled.

  “Where to start,” he said out loud. “There is so much of you to explore.”

  Her hips and thighs were fabulous. Lots of meat to them. He remembered how they had swayed when she walked in her tight jeans. Oh, my, it felt so good to have her here with him, no longer having to wonder what she was like at a distance. His hands explored the front of her thigh looking for the exact spot. Excitement at what was about to happen causing his hands to shake. He steadied himself, taking deep breaths, finding a calm to continue. He would take his time and savor each moment, for the many hours it would take to complete the task.

  “No, no, no…” she sobbed and pleaded.

  “Don’t worry, Kristine,” said The Butcher. “This will only hurt a little bit.”

  With the blade, he cut deep into the epidermis, feeling a warmth come over him as her screams filled the soundproofed room, where no one could hear her. It was the first of many strips he would extract over the next several days, each one bringing more thrills than the last one, an agonizing death for the beautiful woman on his table.

  Chapter 4

  I spent the rest of the day familiarizing myself with the material provided, going over every inch of each page several times. It left me feeling sick that someone could do this to another human. The price of life was not held in lofty standards by all. In someone’s twisted, perverted way, this type of behavior was normal. Finally, it was late, and I had absorbed as much as I could handle for one day and went to bed chasing sleep that was never deep enough.

  The next day was Saturday and I already had plans. The college football season had started, and I was at the University of Northern Colorado’s Nottingham Field in Greeley to watch Ray Monroe playing tight end in his final year. He had come a long way from the trouble he had experienced a couple of years ago, trouble that I’d helped him with, where the pain of concussions had led him down some terrible paths. Now healed up, and with his life back on track, he was off to a great start, with already four catches for fifty-four yards in the first half. The Bears were up 21-7, looking like a solid team against state rival CSU.

  Sitting on the metal benches, I was flanked on one side by Bill Monroe, his wife, Rachael, and daughter, Monika. While on the other side sat April, who some would call my girlfriend, though I never completely thought of her in that way. We had met on Ray’s case, she providing me with valuable information, and us becoming friends. Now we were lovers, who spent time together, but had never fully committed to each other, mostly because that is the way we both liked it. She would sleep over at times, as I would at her place. But both of us were free to see others if we chose to. At least for now it was a relationship I was comfortable with and had been enjoying over this last year or so. She had a free spirit that matched my own.

  “Time for food and refreshments?” asked Bill.

  “You bet,” I replied. “I’m buying since you drove. Ladies, what do you want?”

  “Beer for me and some nachos,” said April.

  “Soda for Monika and me,” said Rachael. “And we’ll share a burger with all the fixings.”

  Bill and I walked up the metal stairs to the concession stands, which were busy. The stadium held about eight thousand and was packed for the battle of the two state rivals. The line was long but moving quickly. As we waited Bill and I talked.

  “Ray is looking good,” I said. “Any talk of pro scouts coming to see him this year?”

  “It’s early yet,” answered Bill. “But coach thinks there is a good chance teams will send a few. I know the Broncos always have a scout or two at games during the year.”

  “Keeping fingers crossed he stays healthy. No doubt he has the talent to play at the next level.”

  The line moved forward as we reached the counter. We put in our order and moved over to pay and wait.

  “Any new and exciting cases you’re working?” asked Bill.

  I nodded, answering. “I got a new job from an odd choice, Jonas Diaz.”

  Bill had a surprised look on his face. “Someone in Melissa’s family?”

  “Her dad.”

  His eyebrow rose. Being a friendly confidant, Bill knew of my personal history with Melissa, having met her and hearing of my personal failings in my relationship with her.

  “That must have been awkward.” Bill was grabbing some napkins and straws.

  “It was at first. Made it clear we wouldn’t be best buds. But she vouched for me, at least professionally.”

  “Surprised he didn’t punch you.”

  “Said he would if I ever hurt her again.”

  Bill laughed, which was a rarity.

  “What is the case?”

  I looked around and whispered. “Front Range Butcher.”

  There was surprise in his eyes, another rarity.

  “Really. How is he involved?”

  “He investigated back during the original case. He was a reporter working for the Rocky Mountain News.”

  Being an officer with the Denver PD for many years, Bill had been exposed to the case.

  “During our roll calls, they mentioned to be on the lookout, that the sicko was back. Though not sure if it’s the original or a copycat.”

  “If it’s the man Jonas suspected, then it can’t be the original. He’s been laid up with a stroke for the last year.”

  “Likely a copycat.”

  “Or protégé.” I added.

  “Scary to think. How do you find someone like that? Put an ad on Craigslist?”

  “Have you ever looked through Craigslist? Plenty of freaky people out there.”

  Bill smiled. “True. You know who you should talk to, if he will talk, is our Captain.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was a young detective working in Lakewood during the original murders. From what I heard he was heavily involved in the investigation. Was a stepping stone in his career, even though they never caught the guy.”

  The line to pick up our food kept moving, though I was getting aggravated, as the guy behind me kept bumping me. I checked to make sure I still had my wallet and gave him an evil stare. It appeared his steadiness was affected by his alcohol intake as he wobbled an apology.

  “I believe your Captain hates my guts. Ordered Mallard to arrest me for withholding evidence. I’d be surprised if he would ever talk with me.”

  “I can ask for you. All he can do is say no.”

  “Tell him it’s worth lunch or dinner if he will. Maybe Jonas will mention his name in one of his articles if he provides anything useful. Everyone loves free publicity. I can use all the backstory I can get.”

  “I’ll talk with him on Monday.”

  We got our drinks and food, heading back in time for the second half. CSU made a run and scored first. In the fourth quarter the game got tight, at 28-21. They had shut Ray down so far with only one more reception. I leaned into April and pinched a couple of nachos. She slapped at my hand when
I went for a third one.

  “I don’t think so,” she said sternly. “The rest are mine.”

  I protested, “Oh, come now. You can share since I paid. We can have a proper meal after the game is over.” I took a napkin and wiped some cheese from my chin.

  “You always say that,” said April, then she leant in to whisper, “then when we get home you’re ripping off my clothes and I settle for pizza delivered.”

  “Never heard you complain when I’m undressing you,” I breathed in her ear. I doubted anyone could hear us over the roar of the crowd, but they didn’t need to be exposed to our sexy banter.

  She smiled. “True. You do have the skill to hit all the right spots and buttons. But I’d like a satisfying meal occasionally before I fork over the goods.”

  She dipped and munched a couple of nachos, being sure to keep the tray out of my reach.

  “Gee and I was hoping to make out in the back of Bill’s minivan on the way home to get you warmed up.”

  “Sounds titillating,” she whispered in a husky voice. “But I don’t think Bill and Rachael would be thrilled with Monika learning all about groping from us. Besides I want something nourishing to build up my strength, so I can properly satisfy you. You can be insatiable at times.”

  I thought the same of her, with no inhibitions when the mood struck her.

  “Says the woman who likes having sex in the back of my Mustang.”

  “Haven’t you learned I’m only with you because of your car!”

  I laughed, as did she. My time with April always left me feeling good and satisfied.

  UNC drove the length of the field using nearly eight minutes of time on the clock. Ray caught three passes on the drive, including a fifteen-yard touchdown on a nice over the middle slant. The proud family and friends loud with their cheers. This was a highlight game for him, one the school would send to scouts. He would finish with eight catches, for over a hundred yards, and one touchdown in the victory.