No One Else to Kill (Jim West Series) (10 page)

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“You work here?”

“Not officially, but I bet if you want something simple, I
can get it for you.”

“I just want a beer.”
 
He looked at the choices on tap, “Sam Adams, preferably.”

“Coming right up.”
 
I walked around the bar and poured him a
beer.
 
After I set it in front of him, I
walked back to my spot.

He smiled. “Who do I pay?”

“Don’t you think they owe it to you after what just
happened?”

“Yes. Maybe not the lodge, but the cops sure do.”

“We’ll put it on their tab.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure.”

“You a cop?”

“No.
 
I’m just a
guest like you.”

“Not like me.
 
I
came here to help somebody, and everything’s gone to hell in a hand basket.”

“Sounds like my trip.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I walked him through the reason for my presence at the
lodge and my being stood up.
 
While I
talked, he guzzled down his beer. I picked up his empty glass and refilled
it.
 
I finished my story at the same time
I returned with his beer.

“What’s your story for being here?” I asked.

“It’s too long and complicated,” he said.

We sat in silence for a minute or two before Bev walked
out of the nearby office. She looked over at
Bettes
’
beer and then looked at me.

“Just put it on Detective Bruno’s tab.
 
He said it would be ok.”
 
I winked at her, and she played back.

“If you say so, but if he has any complaints, you can
handle them.”

Bettes
laughed and said, “Let
him complain to me.” He looked back at me.
 
“What did you say your name was?”

“West, Jim West,” I held out my hand, and he took it.

“I’m Colt
Bettes
.
 
Let’s move over to one of those tables, and
I’ll tell you what’s going on.
 
If you
know Bruno, you may be able to help us.”

I didn’t comment on his remark, but I did follow him to a
corner table.

“This is a long story, but you asked for it.”

“No problem, I’ve got nowhere to go.”

“Fifteen years ago, nearly to the day, my cousin, Sean,
came out here for a vacation.
 
He’s
always been an intense guy, so he had a habit of taking a week off and going
somewhere by himself to unwind.
 
Fifteen
years ago, he came out here alone to hike and read.”

“He certainly picked the right place.”

“This place wasn’t here back then.
 
There were about a dozen rental cabins a
couple miles from here.
 
They’re gone
now.
 
Razed and private homes built in
their place.
 
Well, two to three days
into his trip out here something happened that has just about destroyed Sean’s
entire life.”

“That’s too bad,” I said.
 
I figured he might be exaggerating, “What happened?”

“I’ve gone through this so many times with Sean that I’ve
started to feel as though it’s my story.”

“Are you his brother?”

“No, a cousin.”

“That’s right, you told me that, sorry.”

“I happen to also be a psychologist.
 
Sean has become a lifetime project, or
perhaps I should recognize it as an obsession.
 
Unfortunately, it doesn’t pay.”

“I imagine he appreciates your help.”

He nodded, “This trip was supposed to be the culmination
of a lot of our work together.
 
Now it’s
shot to hell in a hand basket.”

An old phrase I hadn’t heard in a while, and now I’d heard
it twice in one day. “What happened to him back then?”

“The craziest thing,” he paused for a minute like he was
getting his thoughts in order. “It was just after dark, a few days into his
trip.
 
He heard a loud thud against his
front door.
 
He had been out earlier and
while walking back to his cabin he had heard some strange sounds.
 
His first thought was that some kids were
simply trying to harass him, but when he opened the door a bloody body fell
against him.”

“A person?”

“Yeah, a woman, bloody and bruised as hell.
 
Sean thought she was dead, but when he
reached down to try to find a pulse, she grabbed him.
 
Scared the crap out of him, and he blacked
out.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I asked.

“That’s only the start of the story.
 
When he came to, she had moved away from him
and had crawled into the cabin leaving a trail of blood.
 
He followed the trail. It led into his
bedroom.
 
She had propped herself up into
a sitting position on the floor with her back against the side of his bed.
 
He had to walk around the end of the bed to
get a good look at her. Once again he thought she might be dead.
 
He approached her and knelt down.
 
No way
he was
going
to touch her again.”

“Was she dead?”

“He says he had barely finished kneeling down when she
opened her eyes and hissed at him.”

“Hissed?”

“That’s his word.
 
He claims it wasn’t a scream or a shriek or a cry.
 
She hissed at him, raised her arm and pointed
at him, and whispered something like, “You.”
 
Then she died.
 
Her
eyes still staring at him.”

“That sounds like a horror movie.”

“For him, I’m sure it was.”

“What happened then?”

“Things went downhill.”

“Downhill? How could things get worse?”

“Well, let’s say it wasn’t Sean’s day.
 
Terrified, Sean jumped up and ran out of the
cabin. He would have probably run all night, gotten lost, and froze to death,
if he hadn’t run out of the cabin and across the dirt road right in front of a
couple of deputies.”

I could see where this was going.
 
“They thought he did it?”

“Who wouldn’t?
 
They
jumped out of their vehicle and shouted at him.
 
Sean turned to them and started rambling about a dead woman in the
cabin.
 
He’s standing there covered in
her blood.
 
When they inspect the cabin,
it looks like she was dragged from the porch to the bedroom.”

“You sure he didn’t do it?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.
 
By the time the investigation was over most the cops felt he was
innocent. Never went to trial, but the days after the incident were just as
hard on Sean as the incident itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, the cops’ first reaction was to treat him
like the killer. They interrogated him for
hours
right
after the incident.”

“He didn’t ask for a lawyer?”

“No.
 
Sean’s
remembrance of the police interrogation has always been hazy. I believe he was
in shock throughout the entire ordeal. I know they kept sticking photos of the
crime scene and the dead woman in his face and screamed at him to
confess.”
 
Colt shook his head at the
thought.

“What did they think was his motive?” I asked.

“They never had one for him. He was simply convenient.”

A little more than that, I thought.
 
He would be a logical suspect to anyone
responding to the scene.

“He didn’t get any sleep that night or the next day. I
have no doubt if they had kept at him he would have confessed to anything.”

“What happened to get him off the hook?”

“They got a lucky break that first day.
 
It came in the same time they were still
trying to break Sean.”

“What was it?”

“The victim’s concerned roommate called in to the
police.
 
She said the victim had called
her late in the afternoon of the day of the incident and said she had a major
row with her boyfriend.
 
The victim told
her roommate that she was afraid of her boyfriend.”

“Did they check out the boyfriend?”

“Yeah.
 
The roommate’s description of the victim was
dead on, excuse the pun.
 
They had a
bunch of priors on the boyfriend and knew he wasn’t nice.
 
I think at that point some of the cops
started believing Sean’s account.
 
Anyway, late that day they put Sean in a cell to get some rest.
 
There’s even a side story there.”

“That bad?”
 
My mind shot to the worst of possibilities.

Colt must have guessed what I was thinking, “He didn’t get
raped or anything. Next cell to him they had just deposited a loud, angry
drunk.
 
Every time Sean dozed off, this
idiot would start yelling and screaming to be let out.
 
On top of everything else that happened to
Sean, this was like some kind of torture.”

It did remind me of a bad week of alleged training I had
gone through as a cadet, many years ago.

“What happened with the dead girl’s boyfriend?”
 
I asked.

“They tracked him down in Santa Fe that night, but when
the cops tried to pull him over, he sped off in his souped-up Chevy.
 
They chased him for miles.
 
Finally, he lost control on a turn and rolled
his car about a dozen times.
 
He died at
the scene.
 
They never got to interview
him.”

“Surely his fleeing from the police had to help Sean out.”

“I think it did, but this guy had fled before, so some
weren’t too sure that his flight meant anything.
 
However, they did let Sean go. In the middle
of the night, by the way, but the damage was done.
 
You ever hear of PTSD?”

“Yes, but that’s usually in reference to wartime
experiences.”

“No, not at all.
PTSD can be
experienced by anyone who has gone through a significant trauma.”

“I guess that’s true.
 
I just meant I’ve only ever heard it used before in reference to our war
vets.”

“Shell shock, battle fatigue, there’s been a lot of terms
for it, but the actual disorder does affect more than just the military.”

“I believe it.” I hadn’t meant to challenge his expertise
and certainly didn’t want to get a whole lecture on the subject.

“Since that experience Sean’s life slowly fell apart.
 
He spent as much time as ever at the office,
but his work became erratic. Before the incident, he could stay focused on
whatever task they gave him at work. He got his projects done on time and with
minimal errors. He was considered a valuable employee. After the incident, he
lost his focus and his work suffered.
 
The next time the company cut part of its workforce, they let Sean go.”

“That’s too bad. He’s still not over it?”

“No, but these issues grow a life of their own.
 
Being let go further affected his confidence
and increased his anger at the whole world. He’s held odd jobs since then, but
a promising career had ended.”

“When did you start working with him?”

“Shortly after the incident.
 
His
wife, ex-wife, called
me within weeks of his return
home.
 
She asked me if I could talk to him.”
 
Colt shook his head again. “Talk to him. I wish it was just that easy.”

“You boys look like you could use a refill.” Bev dropped
off two tall draft beers in front of us. “Bud Light and a Sam Adams, right?”
She put a hand on my shoulder.

I looked at her inquisitively, about to ask how she
figured out what I had poured Colt, but she spoke first.

“Want some chips or something?”

“Sure,” I said.
 
Bev
turned and went to get the chips.

“You said ex-wife,” I said to
Bettes
.

“Yeah.
 
Sean had trouble sleeping, still does, but to
a lesser degree. And, while I won’t expand on it, the sex between them
evaporated.
 
His fault
not hers.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, never is. After a year or nearly two, she found
another man who filled her needs – those are her words, not mine - better than
Sean.
 
She left him.”

“Too bad,” I said.

“You’re divorced?”
 
He must have inferred something from my comment.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you take it?”

“Not good, but let’s stick to your story.”

“Sorry.
 
It’s a
habit, but you can better understand the impact the divorce had on him than a
lot of others can.”

“Sure.”

“Most people would think betrayal, or they might simply
think slut, he’s better off without her.
 
But it’s a lot deeper than that, isn’t it?”

I figured he wasn’t going to give me a free pass, so I
decided to answer his questions but not give him anything additional. Sean’s
story wasn’t mine, and I still wanted to hear the end of his story.

“Of course it is.
 
I
imagine he felt like he lost a part of himself when she left. I assume he was
still in love with her?”

“In his mind, she was the anchor that held what was left
of his life in place.
 
Her departure
devastated him.
 
He tried to kill
himself, twice.”