Chapter 41

The squad room at the substation was half the size of the two offices. There was a white melamine table in the center, the kind used at flea markets and garage sales, six metal folding chairs around it. Romero, Martinez and Chacon were comparing notes on the case. They had foam coffee cups in front of them. A box of donuts sat next to the yellow pads, pens and clipboards.

“Okay,” Romero said. “Here’s where we stand.

According to ballistics, the bullet that killed Charlie Cooper and the one that injured McCabe were the same, a Glock automatic. Rifling characteristics were identical. So either Cooper fired it or someone else had access to it.”

They browsed through photos of the crime scene. Four women each with their throats cut. Chacon felt uncomfortable reviewing the photos. It was enough to have been in attendance at the autopsies. “The killer took the time to pose each one,” Romero said, “and put a tag around her neck with the words BITCH, WHORE, WHITE TRASH and LOSER. Don’t remember ever seeing that in past cases. That’s a fact we haven’t released to the media.”

Martinez was the rookie detective, still feeling his way around crime scenes. “Look at this victim. Still has her earrings and necklace on. Spooky.”

Romero pushed a couple more photos toward the two detectives. “Other than at the throat, not much evidence of assault. Same weapon—a medium-sized butcher knife with a narrow blade—found at the scene. Kept sharp, maybe for butchering beef or deer. Probably from the ranch house. We found a set of old knives that the owner said were in a kitchen drawer when he moved into the property. They all have similar handles.”

“How about the guy who owns the ruins?” asked Chacon, reaching for a donut. The powdered sugar spilled on his tie. He ceremoniously wiped it off with a napkin.

“McCabe told me he didn’t know the underground shaft existed,” Romero said. “They weren’t at that advanced stage of exploration. He and his archaeological crew hadn’t done much more than surface digging—arrowheads, beads and such.”

“You think he’s telling the truth?” asked Chacon, as he unrolled yet another Tootsie Roll. “I noticed he didn’t hang around the site too long after the bodies were taken out. Seemed like he was anxious to get out of there.”

“‘Crisssake, he’s an ex-sheriff,” Romero said. “And a long-time friend of Medrano’s to boot.”

“Ex-cop, you say? Like they never killed anyone except in the line of duty? Maybe that’s why he’s not a working cop anymore. Did you ever look into his record?” Chacon continued to dig at Romero.

“I think it was as much of a shock to him as it was to us. And remember, there’s been no active exploration at those ruins since the 1950s. And even then it was superficial; they didn’t have the technology that exists now. McCabe planned on conducting serious archaeological studies later this summer. For your information,” Romero added, “McCabe has an impeccable record. Heroic, for that matter. Let’s move on, here.”

“So spell it out for us,” said Martinez. “We got a suspect?”

“Cooper’s girlfriend is our main suspect,” Romero said. “We figure she not only killed the women, but also did in Cooper.”

“I don’t see anything in the file that points directly to her,” Chacon said. “There’s no indication that she was anywhere near him when he was killed.”

“Jemimah Hodge, the department’s Forensic Psychologist, is in Denver following up on a lead on the girlfriend,” Romero said. “As soon as she gets back, I’ll fill you in. Until then, I think we need to pursue any pending tips, just in case there are loose threads.”

“Sounds like we’re moving full speed ahead,” said Chacon. “But it’s going to take a little more than our blond coworker’s theories to convince me. She a detective, or what?”

Romero let Chacon’s remark slide by him. Chacon continued on. “Hey, we know you’re sweet on her, Amigo, but from where I sit, we need a lot more than just sheer conjecture to solve this crime.”

Romero stood up and removed his jacket. It was too warm a day to be in full uniform. “Don’t be such an asshole, Arty Boy. You’re just pissed because she’s the only one around here with answers. I don’t see you offering any earth-shattering solutions.” He sat back down and shuffled papers from the folder.

Chacon prodded on. “The jury’s still out on that. We need some hard evidence. Don’t see much of it in the file.” Martinez chimed in. “All right you guys. Settle down. I see where Rick’s going with this. We have to proceed with caution and not put all our eggs in one basket. Much of the circumstantial evidence is pointing to the girlfriend. Who else could it be? She had daily access to him.”

“You both know how easily coincidence can be explained away,” said Romero. “So we need to continue following up on any tips that come in, no matter how far-fetched. When Dr. Hodge returns, I’m sure she’ll have it all lined up for us.”

“Well, Lieutenant. Let’s hope your pretty little girlfriend can come up with the goods. Don’t want to ruin your chances of getting her in the sack,” Chacon chortled and snuffed his cigarette out in his coffee cup.

Chacon didn’t see the right jab coming at his face.