From the redwood deck of Ken Palmer’s mountainside home, Nicoletti looked down on the shimmering lights of Colorado Springs. Palmer finished his sixth phone call since Nicoletti’s arrival.
“That was the last piece of your puzzle, Nico.”
Palmer read through several pages of notes as he sat on a lounge chair, a beer bottle between his legs.
“The colonel’s daughter took her cat to a veterinary clinic off North Academy Boulevard. Her last appointment was two weeks before she disappeared. Unfortunately, Durbin never worked there.”
“Shit. Well, beating the victim didn’t fit the pattern, so I guess it was too much to expect. But—”
“Hey, ol’ buddy. Calm down now. I said he didn’t work there. I didn’t say he’d never been there.” Palmer waited just long enough for Nicoletti to start to lose his patience. “Durbin had applied for a job there as a dog groomer. The lady vet didn’t like him. Said he gave her the creeps. But she took his application anyway and stamped it with a date and time before filing it away.”
“Palmer, get to the point.” Nicoletti lit a cigarette and dropped the match in his empty beer bottle.
“Hey, can I get you another beer?”
“Fuck you. Now, let’s hear it.”
“I see you haven’t picked up any social graces since your retirement.” Palmer pulled one of the papers close to his face, angling it toward the light coming from the living room. “The time stamp puts Durbin at the clinic at one thirty-five in the afternoon. According to the clinic’s appointment book, ten minutes later, at one forty-five, the colonel’s daughter brought her cat in for a rabies shot.”
“He could have easily been in the parking lot, seen her go in, and waited to follow her home.” Nicoletti stood up and began to pace along the deck railing.
“That’s the way I see it. Not that I want to spoil the moment, but I’m going to need to pay the guy who helped dig all this up for you. He checked out eight clinics between yesterday and today. That’s sixteen hours at fifty bucks an hour. You can write the check to my company and I’ll pay him.”
“I need a gun. One that won’t come back to you.”
“Nico, I know we’ve been over this already, but are you sure you want to handle it this way?”
Palmer waited, but Nicoletti did not answer.
“I mean, you know Durbin is your man. And now there’s a pretty good chance we can pin him on at least one if not two murders in Colorado.”
“Forget it, Palmer. The cops haven’t surfaced him as a suspect in any of the murders, and if they screw up and he gets wind of their interest in him, he’ll run.”
“Yeah, but if they look at all the cases now and focus on Durbin as their only suspect, who knows what they might turn up.” Palmer didn’t sound very convincing. “And if he runs, so what? They’ll catch him.”
“And what happens while the cops are trying to figure it out? Do they put Durbin under twenty-four-hour surveillance? For how long? A few weeks? Six months? They don’t have the manpower for that, and what they do have doesn’t have the experience. And if he burns them and runs, whose daughter or wife will he kill next?”
From a file cabinet in his paneled study, Palmer removed a .45 caliber pistol. He set it on the desk in front of Nicoletti. “This will do the job. It’s clean, and when you bring it back, I can change out the barrel and firing pin.”
“Too big and too noisy for this job. At night, you can hear a twig snap halfway across this town.” Nicoletti did not touch the pistol.
Palmer sighed and reluctantly reached to the back of the filing cabinet. Nicoletti leaned forward as Palmer unwrapped a red flannel cloth to reveal a .22 caliber Beretta, a box of ammunition, and a silencer. “Took this little beauty from a smuggler in Del Rio about twenty years ago. Been saving it for a special occasion. Guess this one is as good as any.”
Nicoletti took the flannel package and examined the pistol. “How does it shoot?”
“Within twenty feet it’s pretty much dead-on.” Palmer returned the .45 to the cabinet and closed the drawer. “You want to try it out?”
“I’ll have plenty of time for that along the way.”
“Leave it with me tonight. I’ll clean it up and oil it. It’s been sitting in that drawer for a couple of years. I’ll bring it to your hotel in the morning with the box of ammo. When you’re done practicing, load the magazine and throw the rest of the ammunition away.”
“Got it.”
“Nico, if you use it, I never want to see it again. Take it apart and scatter the pieces across hell.” Palmer looked at the gun on the table. “I’d really like to have the silencer back if you can manage it.”
“I’ll also need to borrow your Jeep for a few days. You can keep my rental car until I get back.”
“And what am I going to tell my wife when she asks where the Jeep is?”
“Tell her I borrowed it to go camping and fishing. Say I needed to clear my head and you suggested a trip into the mountains.” Nicoletti looked around the room. “I’ll need to use some of your gear. I won’t be staying in any hotels along the way.” Nicoletti looked one more time at the small pistol. “Now, don’t forget—”
“I know, call the lady reporter twice a day: once in the morning, by nine, from your hotel room phone; and again at night, around ten, from your cell phone.”
“Her name is Anne.”
“Does she know what you’re up to?”
“No. And she isn’t going to.”
“Remember, Nico, they said this Durbin was quick and strong.”
“Relax, old man. I’ve no intention of turning this into a wrestling match.”