The Trophy Hunter (27 page)

Chapter 49

Diana left her office just before noon, after
a morning of minimal productivity.

The news of her parents’ impending divorce
seesawed for attention between thoughts of her approaching meeting
with Darren. She’d had second thoughts about the latter, but when
she’d called him to cancel, she’d gotten his voice mail and had
hung up without leaving a message.

The night before, bizarre nightmares of
slaughtered animals had marred what was to have been her catch-up
night of uninterrupted sleep. She felt like a zombie.

After she was already on the road, she
thought to call Marge Lane. Maybe Marge had already spoken to
Special Agent Benson. If Joe Flannigan had a cabin anywhere, the
FBI would be able to access the information.

Diana pressed in Marge’s number as she
drove─an activity she’d criticized in others. Fools talking,
texting and driving at the same time. Now she was one of them.

“Hey,” said Marge. “I was going to call you.
Didn’t get to talk to Benson, but another agent told me they’re not
looking for Patricia Strickland as a missing person. She was a
person of interest in that other case you mentioned, but now she’s
not.”

Diana merged onto C-40 as Marge continued,
“Should’ve left it at that, but you’ve got my curiosity up. I even
called Custer County and talked to some kid that didn’t sound dry
behind the ears. He said they’d put somebody on it when they had a
man available.”

“Did he say they’d call you if they found out
anything?” asked Diana.

“Oh, sure,” said Marge. “But I’m not holding
my breath. Neither should you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Marge.”

A gauze of clouds muddled the front range as
Diana continued on C-40 toward Golden. She’d agreed to meet Rogart
at a taxidermy shop in Morrison.

As her route branched into I-70, bypassing
Golden, she glimpsed Heritage Square on her right and was
inexplicably drawn to memories of Greg and events they’d attended
at the Victorian-style theater during happier days. More crap to
cloud her judgment.

As she then grabbed C-470 south toward
Morrison, Diana pondered the incongruity of Rogart’s farming out
jobs now. She was surprised that he seemed to have more than he
could handle.

Within thirty minutes of leaving her office,
Diana pulled up in front of Gorman’s Taxidermy Studio. A black
synthetic bear reared up in front of the shop, its outstretched
arms giving new meaning to the expression
bear hug.

Diana parked in the small lot next to
Rogart’s tan Ford truck. The only other vehicle in the lot, a van,
bore the shop’s logo. She turned off her engine and sat for a
moment, wondering why she was really there. Her imagination, cut
loose by her fatigue, meandered through a fantasy of herself on
Rogart’s arm, entering a nebulous theater for a cultural function.
She tried to imagine Darren Rogart in a dark suit and tie, but
couldn’t quite bring it off. The vision wilted.

Or rather, the clothes on the vision
evaporated. Diana grabbed her water bottle and took a long, cold
drink. To really put a lid on this mood, she pulled out her cell
and pressed in Jess’s number. Disappointed, she listened to Jess’s
voice mail. She’d really counted on the grounding influence of
exchanging some words with her friend. “It’s me. I’m in Morrison
meeting Darren. Call me ASAP.”

As she entered the front door of the shop,
she could hear the faint sounds of men’s voices, but didn’t see
anyone at first. Display animals gaped at her from various angles
around the room. A wave of distaste unsettled her further. It was
as much from the odor in the room as from the sight of the animal
mounts.

It was the same odor she’d noticed two nights
before at the Rogart house, only stronger. She assumed that it must
be something used in the taxidermy process. A shudder traversed her
spine, echoing murky visions from the night before.

The male voices drew nearer. She could make
out Darren’s laugh.
So now he’s Darren again?
She’d come to
hate her own ambivalence.

“Hey, there,” he called cheerfully as he
entered her line of vision from a back room. A stocky, pale man who
appeared to be in his late forties followed.

Somehow, his greeting seemed off. “Hi,
yourself,” she replied.

In two strides he was at her side, cutting
short her greeting with a soft kiss. She felt his hands at her
waist, then running down her hips. She was caught in the heady
scent of him─musk and leather─that she was sure didn’t come from an
aftershave bottle. But the flick of his tongue froze her desire
with the snake’s image it conjured up. Diana held her jaw tightly
closed.

She hadn’t been aware that her eyes were
closed, too, until she opened them and saw a python mount leering
at her from a side table. Maybe she’d seen it before and that’s
what had imprinted her brain.

Rogart quickly wound up his business without
introducing Diana to the shop owner. “I’ll have it ready for you
next Thursday,” said the man, whose eyes wandered slowly over
Diana, increasing her discomfort. She vowed that her first trip
into a taxidermy studio would be her last.

As Rogart propelled her out of the studio
toward his truck, she wondered about the lack of introductions. But
perhaps none was appropriate in this business transaction. Why did
she even remotely need this affirmation?

“It’s okay to leave your car here,” said
Rogart as he led her around to the passenger side of his truck.
Herb’ll keep an eye on it.”

I’ll bet he will.
The idea of Herb─now
he had a name─keeping an eye on anything didn’t give her warm
fuzzies.

“I think I’ll follow you instead.” The words
were sudden and unplanned, but now made perfect sense.

He looked disappointed. “I thought I’d have
the chance to hold your hand on the way,” he said boyishly. A grin
pulled at his lips, but his eyes were now unreadable behind
sunglasses.

The lumpy ball of apprehension in her middle
lurched. “Have you checked out the cabin yet?” she asked. “Do we
know what we’re heading into?”

He squeezed her arm. “I was waiting for you,”
he said as he opened the passenger door.

She backed off. “That’s damned considerate of
you. Suppose we meet up with Flannigan?”

He nodded toward the rifle case in back of
the seat. She could just see the edge of it. “I can protect
you.”

Shit! That does it!

Diana backed away from memories she couldn’t
quite reach without burning herself. “I’ll follow you,” she said
with resolve. “In my own car.”

Rogart raised both hands, conceding to her.
“Okay. I’ll drive slow.” His mouth smiled again. This time she was
sure his eyes didn’t.

Just get the hell out of here ranted an inner
voice. But her curiosity and concern for the errant teen-mother
wouldn’t let her go safely and quietly home. She started her car
while Rogart sat in his truck, engine idling.

Safe in her own vehicle as she followed him
from the taxidermy shop, Diana felt that debilitating ambivalence
churning around again. If you scratched the fact that he hunted and
stuffed animals, he was physically everything she desired.
Relationships are not perfect.
Greg was a golf nut─well,
maybe not anymore─and that had nearly bored her out of her
skull.

That’s right, go for the packaging again
instead of the man inside. See what it gets you.

Maybe just a quick sample?

Easy to imagine from the safety of her car.
But why was Rogart’s hunting such a turn-off? She knew that every
good man wasn’t necessarily an animal rights activist. Why indeed?
She didn’t need Eleanor’s psychiatrist to figure that one out.

Chapter 50

When Jess finally got around to Googling
Arlette Cruz-Ramos, the net disgorged volumes. The Texas-born
artist earned kudos for her portraits of noted celebrities. Then,
there was Arlette’s marriage to Argentine-born financier Anthony
Ramos that had left her with a fortune on her hands when Anthony
had died in a small, private plane crash. Died. That was the
assumption. No body had been recovered.

Jess’s brain stuck on
financier, private
plane
and
no body
; then she drew her own
conclusions.

The list of hits was daunting. And, after a
while, boring. Jess started to pull up only the ones that looked
interesting. Pretty soon she was scrolling down the list with
glazed eyes. None of the snippets of paragraphs contained reference
to Rogart.

Then one lit up the screen:
Arlette
Cruz-Ramos done up like Evita? Anthony Ramos plans…

Jess quickly brought up the full article that
predated Anthony’s death.

Jesus Christ! This is way sick!

Jess knew of Juan Peron, former dictator of
Argentina in the fifties, and his wife Eva only because of the
musical and later movie version of
Evita
. She knew Eva Peron
had died young, of cancer, but the rest of it? That hadn’t been in
the movie.
The creep had his wife stuffed and mounted!

But, no. That wasn’t exactly it. Jess read on
and learned that Peron had reportedly paid a Spanish doctor
$100,000.00 to perform what read like an elaborate embalming
procedure on Eva that left her lifelike after nearly fifty years.
Anthony Ramos was looking for someone with similar skills to
preserve Arlette, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on
whose viewpoint one considered), Arlette wasn’t near death at the
time the article was written.

Jess zipped down the rest of the hits on
Arlette, giving them only cursory glances. Then she Googled the
name of the doctor that had done the work for Peron. She was just
getting started on this when her cell jangled.

“Edwards and Associates.”

“Hey Jessie, it’s Troy.”

Who?
She could hear
whoever
breathing into the awkward silence.

“Troy Flack, Custer County Sheriff’s office?
You said it was okay to call.”

Oh, Flack the plick.
“Troy. Sure.
What’s happenin’ my man?”

She heard the kid clearing his throat. Then,
“I’ll be in Denver next Friday. I was hopin’ we could get
together…a drink or…”

Was he even old enough to drink? She guessed
so. He was a sheriff. She eyed the incoming number. It was not a
Custer County area code. “I’ll have to check my schedule, Troy.
Okay if I get back to you?”

“I’ve got somethin’ you might be interested
in.”

I seriously doubt that.
“Uh,
Troy─”

“The Strickland murder and the Lori Rogart
rape?”

This got her attention. “Yeah? Fill me
in.”

“The Feds’ve been leanin’ hard on Mrs.
Strickland and she come back just as hard with a name that didn’t
make the short list.”

“Well, don’t just leave me hinging. Spit it
out already.”

“Shane Cutler,” said Troy. “The widow
Strickland thinks he was the one in the cabin with the Rogart girl,
that her husband come along and caught ‘em at it and Shane killed
Larry. Then Mrs. Rogart must o’ come along and maybe he did her,
too.”

Did her? As in killed or fucked?
Jess
could hear her office phone ringing in the next room. She let it go
to voice mail. “I thought Brandi Rogart was the prime suspect in
Strickland, her prints and DNA being all over Strickland’s truck,”
said Jess. “Now they think she’s dead?”

“Maybe,” said Troy.

“What kind of answer is that?” She was a hair
away from hanging up on the kid.

“I might do better if you tell me why an ADA
in Denver is interested in Patty Strickland,” said Troy.

“No idea,” Jess lied. “Come on, Troy. Tell me
what you’ve got.”

“Could give you all the details next week.
Over dinner.”

“Sounds really…nice…but…”

Jess’s call-waiting signaled. Winston’s
number. “I’ll have to get back to you, Troy. What’s your private
number? It doesn’t show up here.”

He gave her his number slowly, in a kind-of
surly voice. By the time he finished, Winston had hung up without
leaving a message. She pushed her
favorite
connection to
Winston and he answered before a single ring had completed.

“Jessie, I just got a disturbing call from
Rena Flannigan,” began Winston.

“Fine, thank you, and you?” Now Jess wished
she’d mined Troy a tad more. Rena Flannigan wasn’t high on her
priority list.

“I’ve had it with your sarcasm,” Winston
snapped. Now she was afraid he’d hang up.

“Sorry.”

“The story of our relationship. I’m sorry,
too. This isn’t about us. The FBI came to Rena’s door looking for
Joe. She doesn’t have a lawyer, so she called Diana’s office, but
Diana wouldn’t take the call.”

“That doesn’t sound like Diana.” Then Jess
remembered. “She’s off on some wild goose chase with Rogart.
They’re checking out a cabin Joe owns in Evergreen.”

“Joe doesn’t have a cabin in Evergreen.”

Like you’d really know if it’s where he
stashes teenage girls.
“Maybe near Evergreen?”

“The Feds are looking for Joe in connection
with a homicide.”

“I’m not totally surprised. I knew he was a
suspect in the Strickland thing.”

“Not
that
homicide. One of the other
hunting buddies. A Shane Cutler.”

Jesus!
“Did they take him in?”

“Jessie, he’s
dead.”

“I mean Flannigan.”

“They don’t know where he is.” She could hear
Winston’s snort of frustration. “Joe couldn’t have done this, given
the time line.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know where Joe is. Where he’s been
for the past month.”

Chapter 51

“The Feds think Joe’s become some sort of
vigilante,” continued Winston. “First, Strickland because he thinks
the guy raped his granddaughter. Then when he discovers his
mistake, he goes after the man who did the deed.”