“Put her down as a probable,” she suggested. “Cross her out with a dotted line. If you don’t come up with a perp, you can always come back to good ol’ Billy.”
“Ah, the hell with it,” he said and slashed the pen through the name. “Why can’t people give their kids names that are definitely male or female—like John or Judy?”
“Or Lee or Jesse?” she suggested and her deputy made a mock angry gesture with the pen.
“Hell, we don’t count!” he said. “We aren’t suspects in this one.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Leastways, I know I’m not. I’m not sure about you.”
“I guess it helps to be the suspector,” she reasoned. He looked down to hide his grin.
“It does that.” He slashed another name, then leaned back with a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s the women out of the way,” he said. “That leaves me barely”—he looked at the pages of names, estimating the number remaining—“oh, say a hundred and ten to go through further.”
“Hundred and ten out of a hundred and fifty?” she remarked, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t speak too well of the male reliability factor, does it? That’s nearly a three to one ratio of men fired to women.”
“Affirmative action,” Jesse said firmly. “Easier to fire men these days. Probably find half these boys were fired out of sheer frustration because their employers couldn’t fire the female they really wanted to.”
He began to reel in the sheets of paper, tearing them across the perforated joins as he did, and stacking the pages together.
“Once I’ve got these names collated and sorted, I’ll send them through to Quantico. The FBI can run them through their computer,” Jesse said. “That way, we’ll see if any of these guys have any previous record of violence.”
“And if they have?” she asked.
“Then we’ll start with those ones.” He grinned ruefully. “Mind you, we’ll probably find it’s one of the others if we do. That’s the way it usually goes.”
TWENTY-FOUR
B
en Fuller, head of the Mount Werner Ski School, looked up from the schedule he was preparing when he heard a light tap on the door. He grinned a welcome to Jesse as the tall deputy hovered, half in and half out of his small office.
“Jess! Come on in!” He gestured to the enamel coffeepot that sat on the top of a potbelly stove in a corner of the room. “Help yourself to a cup.”
Jesse poured the thick, strong brew into a plain white mug and carried it over to the desk.
“Not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked.
Fuller spread his arms wide to encompass the office, the desk and, particularly, the paperwork laid out before him.
“Shoot, of course you are! And I’m damn glad for the interruption.”
Jesse hooked a straight-backed wooden chair closer and sank into it. He took a sip of coffee and his hair promptly stood on end.
“Good God, Ben, how you ever get to sleep nights, drinking this witch’s brew?”
Ben Fuller grinned. He was used to disparaging comments about his coffee. “Who has time to sleep, Jess? That’s a luxury reserved only for public servants like yourself. So, what can I do for you? I take it you aren’t planning on booking in for a week of ski lessons?”
“Not at this time, Ben,” Jesse replied gravely. “Wondered if you’d take a look at this list of names.” He passed a sheet of paper across the desk. Fuller took it, studied it briefly then looked back at Jesse, eyebrows raised.
“Couple look familiar. What’s it all about?” His smile faded as he answered his own question. “It’s that case you’re working on, isn’t it? That serial killer?”
Jesse nodded slowly. “That’s right. We’re working on a theory that it could be someone with a grudge against the town …” he began.
“A grudge against the town?” Fuller frowned. “How can someone hate a town?”
Jesse sipped his coffee again. He was suddenly very tired. He’d had this conversation around a dozen times already today. With restaurant owners, bar managers, hotel operators. The computer had spat out its list of people who’d been fired in the past five years. Now the hard grind began. The checking and rechecking. The questioning: Do you remember this guy? What kind of guy was he? Do you think he’d be capable of violence? Do you remember why you fired him?
So far, the answers were blanks. Now Jesse thought he might shortcut proceedings a little. He’d mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. The man in question was known to be an expert skier. It made sense to check first on any employees from the ski school or the ski patrol who’d been fired. There were several candidates from each.
He took a deep breath and, for the thirteenth time, answered the question.
“Well, one reason might be someone who was fired, and who felt they didn’t deserve to be fired. Let that happen to a guy who wasn’t completely stable and it might just take him off the rails.”
Ben Fuller shook his head over the sheet of paper. “You really think someone could get so steamed up?” he asked incredulously.
“Been known to happen,” Jesse answered. “I’d appreciate it if you’d cast an eye over that list and see if you remember any of those names.”
Ben looked at the names again, a frown of concentration rumpling his forehead. He eased his thickset frame into the old wooden swivel chair that he used, settled his rump more comfortably.
“This guy.” He tapped the second name from the top. “Got rid of him late last year, as I recall. Had something of a drinking problem.”
“Violent sort of guy maybe?” Jesse suggested, but Fuller shook his head emphatically.
“Hell, no! More likely he’d fall asleep than throw punches. Even when I fired him, he just grinned and said he wondered what took me so long to get around to it. Seemed to expect it, I guess.”
“How about the others?” Jesse prompted, gesturing toward the other names on the list in Fuller’s hand. He studied it for a moment before he replied.
“Yeah, some of these are familiar. Let’s see …”
He looked up from the paper, pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then looked back down at the list. His forefinger hovered uncertainly over another of the names.
“Him,” he said decisively. “I remember him. Mike Miller. He was back in ’01. Had to fire him and he was damned angry about it.”
Jesse leaned forward slowly, set the coffee mug down on the desk. “Angry?”
Memory came back in a flood now, and Fuller nodded several times. “Mad as a hornet. Thought he was going to take a swing at me. Wish the bastard had. I’d have loved a reason to lay one on him. He caused me a whole peck of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble would that have been?” Jesse asked.
“I had him assigned to private classes—just one on ones. He decided to take the idea of one on one literally. He and a client skied down Valley View, went off to the left there into an empty condo and screwed themselves up a storm. Damn near brought the mountain down.”
Jesse shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t exactly the lesson the client had in mind,” he said. “But was that a reason to fire him?”
Fuller shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no! Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. The client’s husband got a little tetchy about it though. Walked in on them while Miller was busy showing his wife a whole new reason for keeping her knees bent.”
“Oh, shit,” Jesse said, understanding.
“Exactly. Problem was, the husband took a swing at Miller and Miller damn near killed him. Turned out he was one of these experts in kung fu or karate or whatever they call it these days. He really went to town.”
“Had a violent side to him then?” Jesse asked.
“You’d better believe it. That’s why I got rid of him. Hell, I might have done it over the other business. I mean we all know it goes on, and we all know the trick is not to get caught. Chances are, though, he might have got away with it. But he sent that other feller to the hospital and there was just no way I could keep him on after that. No way in the world.”
“You said he turned ugly when you fired him?” Jesse reminded the ski school director.
“Oh, yeah. Ugly is the word. He stormed up and down this room. He said he’d fix me good. He’d fix the whole place …” Fuller’s voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. His gaze locked with Jesse’s. There was a cold light in the deputy’s eyes. The light that shines in the eyes of a hunting animal when the prey is suddenly revealed.
“Sweet Jesus …” Fuller said quietly. “It could be him, couldn’t it?”
Jesse nodded agreement. “Could be, Ben. Or it could have been just talk. It’s certainly something I’d want to check up on. You have any record of where he might have gone? Where he came from? Do people normally leave a forwarding address?”
Fuller shrugged. His eyes were still reflecting the sudden realization that the former instructor could be the man who’d already murdered three times. Later, the realization would dawn that he himself could conceivably be a target. That realization would cause Ben Fuller more than a few hours’ lost sleep in the days to come.
“Some do. Some don’t,” he replied. “I’ll have the office check their records and see for you, Jess.”
The deputy stood up. “I’d appreciate that, Ben. Also, cast your mind over those other names, see if you can remember how come they were fired as well. See if any of the others remember.”
Fuller stood to usher Jesse to the door. “I’ll do that, Jess. You think it’s worth checking the others though? Seems to me Miller’s got to be the man you’re after.”
“Maybe, Ben. But we’ll check ’em all. Just in case.” Jesse tugged on his Cubs cap and lifted his battered leather jacket from a hook inside the outer office door. “Be in touch,” he said briefly, then went out into the cold.
H
e went looking for Opie Dulles, the ski patrol commander. He’d hoped to find his erstwhile boss in the ski patrol office at Ski Time Square. Jenny the dispatcher, looked up as he entered, welcoming him with a broad smile.
“Hi there, stranger,” she said. “Looking for your old job back?”
He answered Jenny’s question with a grin. “Not right now, girl. Got other business to take care of. Opie around?”
She shook her head. “Went up the mountain a half hour back.” She reached for the two-way handset on the desk beside her, thumbed the talk button and spoke into the mike.
“Time Square base to Zero one. Do you read?”
Zero one was Opie’s call sign. The patrol heads at the various huts around the mountain were One one, Two one, Three one and so on. Jenny released the talk button and Opie’s distorted voice was heard through a crackle of atmospherics.
“Zero one.”
“Opie? Jesse Parker’s here. Wants to see you.” She raised her eyebrows interrogatively at Jesse, making sure she was right in that assumption. He nodded confirmation and she continued. “You heading back this way at all?”
“Ah … not right now, Jenny. I’m on the Storm Peak chair heading up for the weather station. What’s Jesse want?”
Again, Jenny looked a question at Jesse. He hesitated, wondering whether to go ahead with any detail, then decided against it.
“Just want to talk with him is all,” he said. Jenny relayed the message to the commander.
“Well, tell Jess … Hold on, can he hear me?”
“That’s an affirmative,” Jenny said. Jesse raised an eyebrow. Jenny must have spent the summer in semi rigs. She was picking up on CB talk. Opie continued, talking directly now for Jesse to hear.
“Jess? Got to check the snow in the OB area behind the weather station. Park Rangers feel we could be heading for avalanche conditions up there if we get any more snow. I’ll be looking there then heading into the station in about a half hour or so.”
Jesse hesitated. He fingered the list of names that he wanted Opie to study. For a moment, he considered leaving them here with a message for Opie to look through them. Then, reluctantly, he discarded the idea. He knew from long experience that a direct approach was treated with more urgency than a relayed message.
“Tell him I’ll meet him at the weather station in thirty minutes,” he said. Jenny thumbed the talk button again.
“Opie? Jess says he’ll meet you in the station at”—she checked her watch, then continued—“twenty after.”
“That’ll be fine, Jess. See you there. Zero one out.”
“Base out. Keep warm, Opie.” She grinned at Jesse as she added the last few words. Up the mountain the wind was cutting like a knife, dropping the temperature to well below freezing. Jesse thought ruefully of the long trek up the exposed slope to the weather station. Maybe he should have suggested that Opie meet him at the Four Points Hut farther down. Then he shrugged. He must be getting soft. Time was when a little walk uphill in the cold wouldn’t have phased him any, he thought.
“Thanks, Jenny,” he said, heading toward the locker room behind her where he kept his skis, boots and ski-patrol uniform.
“We’re here to serve, Jess,” she said lightly, picking up the paperback novel she’d been reading when he came in.
In the locker room, he changed his jeans for the windproof GORE-TEX ski pants that were part of the uniform issue. Then he pulled the blue and yellow parka on over his plaid shirt. Not that he needed to go up in uniform, but it was proper cold weather gear and there was no point in freezing his ass off in jeans and a bomber jacket.