No One Else to Kill (Jim West Series) (13 page)

The woman recovered but never did recall what
happened.
 
She did remember going to
check the basement, but other than looking down into the darkness, everything
from that moment on was a blank.

I sat there, by myself, in the dining room sipping on
another glass of an excellent zinfandel from the Heritage Oaks Winery, and
wondered why that old investigation had popped into my mind.
 
I didn’t need reminding of what one of my old
Colonel bosses used to drill into our heads, yet the case served as a perfect
example.

He would encourage us, or antagonize us, depending on
where you were on an investigation, by routinely reminding us that even the
hardest puzzles look easier after they’ve been solved.
 
He would chew up our theories and spit them
back at us.
 
He wanted proof or as close
to it as we could get before we eliminated any possibilities.
 
Many times, one of us would complain to
whoever would listen that it made no sense to follow up further on something,
only to have to embarrassingly admit later that we had missed something.

Something about Benson’s murder didn’t feel right. I knew
it wasn’t my case and that the Sheriff’s office wouldn’t want me second
guessing them, but I had some questions and ideas I wanted to pass onto
Detective Bruno.

“You okay?”

I glanced up, surprised that I hadn’t noticed her
approaching.

“Hi, Randi.
 
How are you doing?”

“Too many drinks, but okay.
 
I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me
when I saw you in the bar, but I knew these guys wanted to talk business.”

“With all that’s happening, I guess I can’t blame
them.”
 
I noticed her face appeared a
little flushed.

“Maybe so, but I’m tired of them all.
 
This has been a bummer of a trip.
 
I just want to get away. Can you take me
somewhere, Jim?”

“Where do you want to go?”
 
Better than saying, “I’d rather not” which is what I wanted to say.

“Anywhere, just away.
 
Are you still leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.
 
At least I
hope to.
 
I have an appointment with the
Detective sometime in the morning.
 
I
hope to leave after that.”

“Maybe I’ll come down to your room later tonight to
talk.
 
You wouldn’t mind if I came down
just to talk, would you?”

“No, not at all, but we could talk right now if you want.”

She looked back at the group and for a moment I thought I
saw a look of anxiety, or perhaps even fear, cross her face.
 
“No, I’ll come down tonight.”
 
She gave me a little half smile and walked
back to the hunting group. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her.

By the time I finished my small steak and second glass of
wine, I was alone in the dining room. I decided to have a third glass of wine
and go for dessert.

he hunting group had moved from
the dining room back to the bar.
 
They
huddled in confidence at a couple of small tables they had brought together. At
the far end of the bar, Bev looked like she was consoling Rick. His face stared
down at the counter, and she slowly rubbed his forearm as she leaned in and
talked to him.
 
I decided to avoid them
all and headed back to my room.

Too early to go to sleep, I turned on the television.
 
An old James Bond movie I hadn’t seen in the
past year or two captured my attention for the next ninety minutes.
 
After the movie, I went into the bathroom to
shower and noticed a note from the maintenance staff telling me that they had
addressed my complaint and for me to please let them know if I had any
additional issues needing their attention.

While I climbed into my bed, I heard loud voices from the corridor.
 
I couldn’t resist the urge to move to the
door and listen.

“…can’t trust her.
 
She probably did it!”
 
I
recognized the voice as belonging to one of the men in the hunting group, but
not to which one.

“Listen! That kind of crap isn’t going to get you
anywhere.
 
Give her time.
 
Besides, the police aren’t done looking into
Cross’ death.
 
Who knows where a
strategically placed tip will lead them?”
 
This voice I thought I recognized.
 
It belonged to Aaron Nesbitt.

“Ha! You ain’t got the balls to cross her.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Now get some sleep, you’re drunk,”
Nesbitt said.

I looked out the peep hole in the door but couldn’t see
anything.
 
They sounded like they were in
the hallway just a little to my right.

“I’m not drunk, and she just better be careful.
 
She may have killed Cross, but I’m not afraid
of her.”

“I know you aren’t.
 
Now get in there and get some sleep.
 
I’ll wake you up in the morning for breakfast, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, don’t forget me.”

I heard a door shut then silence. No one crossed in front
of my door, but that made sense as that direction would have only led to the
stairwell that went to the third floor.

I used the room phone and called the bar.

“Bev, this is Jim.
 
I need a favor.”

“Well Jim, that sounds nice, but if you need room service
I won’t be off for a couple of hours.”

“No, just some information.”

“Oh,” she sounded a little disappointed.

“Who has the room adjacent to mine?” I gave her my room
number.

“You know we aren’t supposed to release that information
without permission.”

“I know.
 
I’ll make
it up to you,” I said.

“It may not be safe being in debt to me, Jim.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Let’s see, next door to you is a Thomas Griffith.
 
Does that mean anything?”

“Yes, thanks.
 
I owe
you one.”

“You do.”

“Hey how’s Rick doing?
 
He looked stressed earlier.”

“Not good, there’s going to be a family meeting tomorrow.”

“His job on the line?”

“He thinks so.”

“Too bad.”

“You should have come back to the bar.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Had some fireworks a little while ago.
 
Half the hunting group almost got into a
fight with the other half.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No hitting or pushing, but things got very vocal.
 
Just when I thought it might come to blows, a
couple of them got the rest calmed down.”

“Well, I guess they’re under a lot of stress right now,
too.”

“Who isn’t?” she asked.

“Did the
Bettes
boys show back
up at the bar?”

“No. I haven’t seen them tonight. I thought the one was
still with the cops.”

“He’s back.
 
I saw
him at dinner.”

“Too bad.”

“How come?”

“Well, if he was the murderer and had confessed a lot of
this mess would be over.”

“True, but I don’t believe he’s our murderer.”

“You sure you don’t want to come back down for a
drink?
 
No one’s here now and I’m bored.”

“Wish I could but I’m already in bed--”

“Hmmm.”

“And I need to get up early tomorrow.”

“Okay.
 
I guess I’ll
see you tomorrow.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up.
 
I could only imagine what caused the fracas
among the hunting group.
 
Sooner or
later, they had to realize that someone within the group had probably murdered
Benson. While their initial anxiety likely focused on how Benson’s death would
impact each of them and the company, by now the probability that someone in
their own group killed him had to be sinking in.
 
That acknowledgement would spawn distrust and
fear. Whatever bond they had before would begin to disintegrate.

I fell asleep dreaming that I was in the hunting group and
that someone else in the group was following me everywhere I went.
 
I kept looking around trying to find out who
it was but could never see the person’s face.

The door to the third floor closed with a bang and woke
me.
 
At least, I awoke thinking that
happened.
 
I shook my head and listened.
Footsteps went by my door heading away from the stairway to the third floor,
yet I didn’t hear that door open or close.

My body cursed me as I forced it out of the bed and into
the bathroom.
 
I splashed cold water on
my face and tried to wash off the hold sleep had over me. I put my jeans back
on and went out into the hall. I saw no one and heard nothing out of the
ordinary. Entering the stairwell to the third floor, I made sure the door
closed quietly behind me.
 
Nothing but
the buzzing of an overhead fluorescent light broke the peace and quiet. I
climbed the stairs and slowly opened the door to the third floor.
 
If anyone remained up here I didn’t want them
to know of my presence.
 
Although I had
only seen a couple of workers during the day, all the ladders had been removed
from the third floor corridor allowing me a better view down the still dark
hallway.

The fumes from fresh paint irritated my eyes and nose. I
was contemplating whether or not to walk to the other end when I heard a
creaking sound. It took me only a second to guess what made it.
 
Somewhere on this floor something heavy was
hanging from a cord or rope and was gently swinging back and forth.

I started down the hall and noticed that all the doors to
the rooms were open. The little bit of light that penetrated the windows
provided just enough light to keep me from being in pitch black darkness. I
peered into each room as I passed them.
 
The ladders from the night before now stood in several of the rooms.
 
The furniture in each room had been pushed into
some convenient spot and covered with tarps.
 
Window curtains and blinds had been removed. In a couple of the rooms,
the ceiling had gaping holes where I imagined the maintenance crews were fixing
areas damaged by water leaks or something else.

The sound, while never loud, became more noticeable the
further down the hall I walked.
 
I picked
up my pace, and the hairs on the back of my neck started dancing.
 
I had traveled about two thirds of the
distance to the far end of the hallway before I came to the room.
 
Unlike the others, the door to it was only
open by a foot or two.
 
I pushed the door
to its full open position.

Even bracing myself for the unexpected, I felt the sudden
intake of my breath and the adrenalin surge through me. I knew what was hanging
in front of me, but I still reached for the light switch.
 
Nothing happened. The light bulbs and
fixtures had all been removed.

I wanted to run, to seek help, or maybe to just get away,
but I didn’t.

“Help!!”
I yelled once, then
again louder, while I ran the few steps to the body hanging from an exposed
beam in the ceiling.
 
Despite the
darkness, I saw her face and recognized Randi.
 
I felt her body.
 
Still warm,
maybe there was a chance.
 
I grabbed at
the chair that had been kicked over at her feet and stood on it next her gently
swinging body.

“Help!
 
Hurry!”
 
I shouted again.

I grabbed her limp, naked body and lifted with all my
strength.
 
I fought to hold her high
enough with one arm while I worked the noose with the other. I knew I could be
destroying vital evidence if she was already dead, but her body was still warm
and I couldn’t be sure until I got her down to the floor.

The rope suddenly popped off her head and the momentum of
my effort threw me off balance.
 
I tried
to hold onto the rope to keep us from falling, but the weight of our combined
bodies along with my poor grip of the rope proved too much. We crashed as a
tangled mess against the floor. A terrific pain shot through my right shoulder.