Red Dog Saloon (22 page)

“Unless
Bart thought he was also expendable being the only remaining witness,” Sam said
with a serious look. “Maybe Bart realized Glenn would throw him under the bus
at the drop of a hat if he knew it would protect his political career. Or,
maybe it came down to something as simple as Bart suspecting his old buddy was
going to kill him too so he just acted first. One thing we know for sure, Bart was
the last one to talk to the mayor.”

“Great
idea, sheriff, but highly unlikely if you ask me, which you did,” Kendal said.
“But, if history is any indicator, we may find out tonight. If Bart ends up
dead I think we can scratch him off our suspect list.”

“If
Bart ends up dead then our cases may never be solved,” Sam declared as he
glanced at his watch. “But that’s for later. Right now I need to get on the
road for Shelby. You got the warrant?”

“Let
me know what you find,” Kendal said as he handed the sheriff the
search warrant for SMHI.

Bart
woke refreshed after enjoying one of the most restful nights of sleep in a long
time. The prospect that a killer was out there stalking him did nothing to
disturb his rest. His ace in the hole gave him the confidence to sleep like a
baby. His mind, for the first time in many years, was totally unencumbered. The
ghosts of his past were buried once and for all.

It
wasn’t that Bart had a death wish. Actually it was quite the opposite. The
wealthy entrepreneur had a lot to live for. It was for that reason Bart
had his ace in the hole. Well, actually he had a pair of aces, both with
fifty-thousand reasons to make sure his rest was uninterrupted.

As
many people suspected, Bart was not exactly a wholesome All-American boy. On
his way to amassing his small fortune, Bart had fractured a few laws and made a
few friends in the criminal underworld. Therefore, when he had “dirty work” to
be done, he knew who to call. In this case, he called a pair of particularly
dangerous individuals, their former deeds proving their worthiness to be chosen
to watch his back. And, given there was someone out there apparently intent on
cutting Bart down in his prime, the businessman made his cohorts a business
proposition, offering a bounty of fifty thousand dollars cash to the person who
kills the killer. Bart knew his two hand-picked body guards would kill their
own mothers for that kind of money. Therefore, watched over by his pair of
cut-throats as he slept in his man cave in the back of his dealership, Bart’s
slumber was one of peace.

Bart
glanced at his clock, the red digits telling him it was ten in the morning. He
couldn’t recall how long it had been since he’d slept that late. It had truly
been a restful evening. He paused for a long stretch as he rose from
beneath the covers. Rubbing his eyes and giving one last yawn, Bart threw his
feet over the edge of the bed. The shock of the cold floor on his bare feet
snapped him wide awake. He quickly found his house shoes, insulating his feet
inside them as he stood up and made his morning walk to the bathroom.

However,
something caught his eye as he was about to enter the bathroom for his morning
constitutional. On his bureau in front of the mirror sat something covered by a
large black cloth. What could it be? Bart hadn’t been drinking last night,
other than his normal gin and tonic before bed, so it wasn’t anything he had
put there. And, it certainly wasn’t there last night when he had taken his
Rolex off, laying in front of the mirror where it was still laying by the
covered package. Maybe one of his body guards put it there since there was no
way anyone else could have gotten into his locked room, let alone got past his
guards.

Walking
over to the package, Bart wasted no time snatching the cover off its contents,
revealing what was beneath. He was not prepared for what he was about to
see. It was the perfectly preserved head of Eddie Young! An expression of
terror was still on his face. His eyes were fixed almost as if he was still
looking at his killer.

Bart
fell backwards, the horrific scene robbing him of breath as he stumbled onto
his bed. He couldn't tear his eyes from the disembodied head
which sat like an ornamental bust on his vanity.

“Robert!
Holden! Get in here!” Bart yelled as he kept his distance from the head almost
as if it would rise up and come after him. “Do you hear me? Get in here now!”

There
was no answer to his frantic cries despite his posting of both guards outside
his door the night before. There was only one way in and one way out of his
bedroom at the dealership. Where were they? He was certain they wouldn’t desert
him. There were fifty thousand reasons they should be running through the door
to answer his shouts.

“What’s
that?” Bart said to himself as he noticed something protruding from
Eddie’s mouth.

Bart
pushed himself off the bed. A cautious look revealed it was a piece of paper.
There was just enough of the paper hanging out of the mouth to catch his
attention. Was the paper meant for him? Bart stood looking at the head for a
full minute, trying to decide whether or not to pluck the parchment from the
severed head. In the end, his curiosity overcame his fear as he forced his body
forward, his trembling hand extending toward Eddie’s skull. Then, holding his
breath, he grabbed at the paper, careful not to touch the blue lips that held
it.

Much
to his surprise the exposed piece was only the tip of the iceberg as an entire
piece of note paper was dispensed out of the mouth of the severed head. A green
liquid clung to the parchment. Its mere appearance made Bart gag as he could
only imagine what kind of bodily fluid it was.

However,
his momentary nausea was trumped by what he saw on the paper. On the top of the
note, written in neat handwriting, was his name. The note was for him. And,
above his name was the logo of his dealership. The note stuffed in the mouth of
Eddie Young had been written on company stationery perhaps taken from a pad
which was lying on the same bureau where the head sat still staring at him. Had
the killer written the note while inside the same room where he was sleeping?
If so, why was he alive to read the note? There was only one way to find out.

Bart
sat back on the bed and smoothed the paper out on his bed, using a pair of
dirty socks to wipe away the green fluid. It was then Bart realized what he was
reading was not merely a note but a letter written to him.

Bart,

If
you are reading this then I obviously resisted the urge to slice your throat
while you slept, an urge made doubly tempting by your incessant snoring. In
case you are wondering, I had no option but to snap the necks of your
“bodyguards.” You will find them neatly tucked away in one of the trunks
of your pre-owned vehicles outside on your sales lot. As a means of morning
calisthenics, I’ll leave it to you to figure out which one, something you’ll
hopefully do before someone takes it on a test drive this morning. You have
such a knack for getting rid of bodies I figured you wouldn’t mind disposing of
two more although I hear Castle Lake is getting kind of full.

Before
I move on to the main thrust of my correspondence, I would first like to thank
you for your assistance in the elimination of Rhody Turner. Scheme as I might I
couldn’t for the life of me figure out a way to get our criminal friend out of
the lock up so I could kill him personally. Meanwhile you were able to do it
with relative ease, your abilities in the area of homicide impressive to say
the least. If it weren’t for the unavoidable fact that I must kill you I think
we would have quite a bit of fun swapping notes when it comes to the art of
killing. Yes Bart, we are both killers, cut from the same cloth. The only
difference between you and me is I feel a shred of remorse when I kill while
you feel nothing. It would appear despite my heritage that I somehow found a
bit of conscience.

Now
to the rub, since I guess you’re in a hurry to find those bodies on your lot. I
spared you for a reason this morning. I need you to do me a favor before I kill
you, something that I suspect you will do without thinking twice. I also want
to meet you face to face, perhaps have a short conversation before I complete
my task.

Tonight,
nine o’clock at the old Red Dog. I think you know where it is. I’d warn you to
come alone but seeing all your friends are dead already I suppose that would
just be overkill. Don’t be late!

Yours
truly, Ben

P.S.
BRING THE HEAD!

Bart
stared blankly at the parchment for a minute, considering his own mortality
given the foreboding prediction of his death by the man calling himself - Ben.

“I’m
not going out like that,” Bart sneered as he wadded the paper in his hand.

Bart
angrily threw the wadded note at Eddie's head. He yelled defiantly at the skull
as if it was listening to his ranting.

“I
don't know who you are, Ben, but you've messed with the wrong man. You don’t
know who you’re dealing with!” Bart screamed.

Bart
would make the meeting with the mysterious Ben but it would be on his terms.

It
was refreshing just to get away for a while. The constant questions from the
press and the public at-large were starting to get under the sheriff’s skin.
His two hours alone in his SUV as he motored toward Shelby were about the only
quiet time he had enjoyed since the world seemed to unravel less than a week
ago. The snow-covered landscape served as a catharsis for the lawman. The
several inches of powder that fell the night before had transformed the
countryside to pure white. The roads, thankfully, were clear for the most part,
cut like black trails through the otherwise pristine winter covering.

While
it was out of his hands, at least for the time being, Sam felt partially
responsible for what was happening. After all, the people of Castle County had
placed their trust in him when they sent him back for a fourth term of office.
The fact he was unable to stem the tide of homicide in his hometown was
weighing heavily on him. It had become his toughest test - a test he intended
to pass even if it meant working night and day.

However,
in the back of his mind, he realized there was an expiration date with the
case. If he was right, and he was certain he was, the murders were revenge for
the incident at the Red Dog more than twenty years ago. What would happen
once the last of the victims were gone? Would the killer disappear leaving the
cases unsolved forever? Or, in a worse-case scenario, had the killer acquired a
taste for murder? Were the recent homicides only the beginning of a reign of
terror by the mysterious killer? Would the killer keep on taking victims until
he was caught? The sheriff’s last question was given legitimacy with the call
received just as he hit the Shelby city limits.

“Tell
me nothing else has happened,” Sam declared as he answered his phone.

“I
wish I could, sheriff,” Bo responded. “Some hunters found Tia Wray this
morning.”

Sam
slammed his hands on the steering wheel. He could barely contain his
frustration. People were dying everywhere in his county.

“She
was at the bottom of a bluff near the state park,” Bo continued. “It looks like
she’s been there a couple of days.”

“Were
there any signs of trauma?” Sam asked.

“It
appears she was strangled,” Bo responded. “The killer probably used a ligature
to choke her from behind and then just dumped her on the side of the road.”

The
death of the young girl was especially disturbing to Sam since her death marked
the first victim, as far as he knew, who was not at the Red Dog the night Gina
Porter was raped. The killer had departed from his normal method of operation,
that is if the girl’s death was the work of their killer and not a copycat. At
this point, the sheriff wasn’t so sure all the deaths were the work of one
person. The killing of Tia Wray didn't seem to be part of the killer's method
of operation.

Her
death cut the sheriff deep given her young age. The girl's life had been
sidetracked by drugs. That was something she could have overcome had she been
given time. Now, she wouldn't have that chance. Her life was ended because she
became involved with the wrong man, or perhaps, wrong men.

Sam
would never realize it but his gut instinct was spot on with the exception of
the motivation that drove her the day she died. It wasn’t loyalty to Rhody
Turner or her addiction to drugs. Instead, her motivation was old-fashioned
greed.

Just
weeks before the jailbreak, Tia contacted Bart asking his assistance in
springing Rhody from the county lock up. Rhody figured his old friend owed him
a favor since he had maintained his silence about the Red Dog for so many years.
At that time they had all assumed they were not just guilty of rape but also of
premeditated murder for what they thought was the death of Earl Cutts. It was
actually the death of the bar owner that was the motivation behind their
continued silence since the statute of limitations for rape had expired. There
is no statute of limitations for murder.

The
career criminal realized he would be going up the river for a long time on his
most recent drug charge. That was what prompted him to use his trump card when
it came to leveraging Bart’s assistance in his escape. However, Bart, despite
his criminal enterprises, was not inclined to stick his neck out for Rhody since
he would hate to see his many shady dealings come crashing down for being a
party to a jail escape. Bart made a calculated decision to deny his old
friend’s request when it was first made. This was despite Tia’s physical bribe
which he readily accepted, opting to chance no one would believe Rhody’s
version of the Red Dog events. However, with the Red Dog killings came the
realization there would be people who would give credence to the criminal’s
story. The businessman also knew Rhody would be quick to trade him and the
mayor for a lighter sentence. He couldn’t just wait around and take that risk.
Bart was a man of action.

That
was when he contacted Tia and agreed with the plan that called for Bart to
provide a vehicle and transport out of the state. Bart was standing next to
her, listening to her every word, when she made the call to the jail the day of
the escape. In exchange for her cooperation and her agreement to forever leave
Castle County, Bart promised her twenty-five thousand dollars in cash along
with a car of her choice. She readily accepted his generous offer, her greed
overcoming her concern for Rhody’s well-being. However, in doing so she failed
to realize that once the escape was set in motion her usefulness was over. In
fact, she became a liability.

When
it came to Bart, his liabilities didn’t last long. Tia was dead within an hour
of her call. The businessman kindly offered his trusting accomplice a ride to
her apartment where she packed and loaded her baggage in his car. Her return
inside her apartment to check for anything she may have left behind was her
final mistake. Bart made short work of the petite young woman. She never heard
him approach from behind before he strangled her with a dog chain inside her
apartment. Bart prided himself on the kill since he used what was available to
him to commit the murder. The dog chain was lying outside the house after
Tia untied her dog, letting it go free since she wasn't planning to take
the canine with her when she fled town. Anyone could kill with a gun. It was
adapting to one's environment that separated the truly gifted from the rest.

He
resisted stuffing her in the same trunk her boyfriend would end up in that
night, opting to dispose of her body immediately by tossing her remains off the
side of the rarely traveled country road. He would later throw her
belongings in a dumpster. While not needing an excuse for his actions since he
had no conscience, Bart rationalized killing the young girl by telling himself
she would have been quick to point the finger at him once the body of her old
boyfriend was found. Killing Tia Wray wasn't personal, it was just business.

Not
knowing of Bart’s involvement in Tia’s death, the young girl’s murder made Sam
realize he could leave no stone unturned during his visit to SMHI. He had to
find an answer or at least a clue as to the identity of the person who was
leaving the trail of bodies behind. Right now he had nothing, absolutely
nothing. The killer could be a total stranger or his next door neighbor. The
sheriff knew there was no such thing as a perfect crime. There had to be
something he could seize on, something that would flip on the proverbial light
bulb.

With
a feeling of desperation, Sam pulled into the parking lot of the mental
institution Gina Porter once called home. Had she left a clue as to the
identity of the person who was wreaking vengeance on her behalf?

Sam
immediately caught the eye of the receptionist, the same woman he met during
his first visit. She gave him a knowing nod and picked up the phone.

“He’s
here,” Sam heard her say.

“You
can go on back. Ms. Marks is expecting you,” the receptionist invited.

Sam
gave the receptionist a smile as he walked to the administrator’s office where
Agnes Marks was waiting. She had been forewarned about his visit by the call he
made just before he left Easton that morning.

“I
have what you’re looking for,” the middle-aged administrator announced as Sam
walked through the door.

The
administrator pointed to a box full of folders sitting on her desk. She had
collected the files shortly after the sheriff left following his first visit,
anticipating his return.

“I
think I rounded up everything," she said. "I actually had it ready
the day after your last visit. I looked for you to be back a little quicker.”

“Well,
we’ve been kind of busy back in Easton,” Sam responded wryly as his intents had
originally been to come back the next day with the warrant he now handed the
administrator.

“Yes,
I’ve heard,” Agnes replied with a smile crossing her face. “I caught your
interview on Channel Five this morning.”

Sam
couldn’t help but blush since he felt, in hindsight at least, that he went too
far that morning especially given the fact it was on live television.
He was usually in better control of his emotions. He was normally the level-headed
one instead of the cowboy. The pressure, he figured, was getting to him.

“Hey,
don’t worry. I think that Hal guy is a jerk too,” Agnes said as she patted the
sheriff on the shoulder. “Just give me a shout if you have a question. I’ve got
some errands to run around the facility. I hope there’s something in there that
can help you.”

Sam
settled down at Agnes’ desk and began shuffling through the voluminous files in
the box. He donned a pair of reading glasses that he recently began carrying in
his front pocket. It was just another sign of his advancing age. It was more of
an irritation than anything. Just the same, he avoided letting people see them
on his nose. He would conceal them when he could, quickly whisking them off his
face once he was through reading. They would sit on his nose for a couple of
hours this afternoon as he read the book of Gina Porter’s life.

The
files revealed Gina had been in and out of mental health care for much of her
life.  Her last four years were spent under in-house care at SMHI. The
trigger, the doctors wrote, for her mental illness was her victimization at the
age of eighteen. The exact details for her lapse into insanity were not
contained in the paperwork.

Diagnosis
ranged across a litany of mental illnesses, most psychologists agreeing that
post-traumatic stress syndrome had brought about other neuroses and mental
issues. They also agreed her instability could be traced back to one event - an
event that so traumatized her that she would never be the same.

Sam
learned she never got married. Her distrust of all men was understandable given
what she went through. She left home shortly after the incident and never
returned to Castle County again, not even to visit her parents. Both of her
parents were now deceased. Her ties with her parents had been permanently
damaged as the result of what occurred that night. Her reluctance to reveal
what happened to her drove a rift between them. Sam figured her parents went to
their graves never realizing what happened to their daughter. Had she been
ashamed to tell her parents what happened, perhaps fearing they wouldn’t
believe her? It was all so sad.

The
medical records, while illuminating, provided no clue as to anyone who would be
seeking justice for what happened to her. Actually, it was quite the opposite
since she had apparently gone to great lengths to conceal the crime, whether it
was out of shame or fear. She was an only child, her parents were gone, and she
made no close friends during her life so far as Sam could tell. What was
he missing? Was he barking up the wrong tree? It would seem there was no one
who would be her avenger.

“How’s
it going?” Agnes asked as she ducked her head in the door. “You’ve been poring
over them quite a while.”

Sam
finally took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A slight headache was
starting to form in his temples.

“She
was one messed up lady,” Sam admitted. “But then who can blame her - poor kid.”

“I
agree, sheriff. It’s a crying shame someone didn’t pay for what happened,”
Agnes noted. "It's not in the paperwork but many of us kind of knew what
happened that triggered her problems. We just didn't know the exact details.

“Oh,
they’re paying now,” Sam countered. “It just took a while.”

“I
guess it’s true what they say about Karma,” Agnes agreed as she began boxing up
the files that covered her desk.

“So
tell me, did she have any visitors, anyone who she talked about a lot?” Sam
asked.

“No,
not really. She spent most of her time alone,” Agnes said. “She was a very
quiet woman and kept things to herself. That was probably a lot of her
problem.”

Frustrated
by the lack of leads, Sam began helping the administrator clean up the files he
spread across her desk.

“What
about journals, diaries, and things like that?” Sam asked. “Maybe something of
that nature would have something in it.”

Agnes
placed the last of the files in the box, shaking her head at the sheriff’s
question.