Chapter 19
Joe was monitoring the scanner at the bunk house when the call went out for Tribal Police at Frontier Village. He checked the make and model of Smith’s truck against dispatch’s. He called Oriole and Fred to alert them to the possibility of Smith’s involvement. “Look, Marlene said he left the office about five minutes after we were there. His truck is a white, Ford F150. Let’s meet at the Village and see if anyone can verify it’s Smith.” Joe could feel a resolution coming.
“Oriole, check with dispatch on the BOLO. See if we got any bites.” Fred and Oriole were lights and sirens on their way to the Village. The parking lot was already filled with emergency personnel, Tribal police, Prescott City Police, Sheriff’s Office personnel and the Village security. They didn’t learn anything new from officers at the scene except they did get a partial license plate on the BMW that left shortly after the shot was fired. They added a BOLO on what they had on the Beemer. The witness identified the license plate of the truck and it was confirmed as Smith’s. Contact with dispatch provided an update on the location of the truck. Prescott Valley Police had observed it on 69 proceeding south out of Prescott Valley. All units in the area were alerted to observe and report only. A sheriff’s unit on 169 reported the truck was eastbound and the Beemer was sighted not too far behind. A complete license plate was provided by the sheriff’s unit and the car came back registered to Gary Patterson of Prescott.
“I told you Patterson was too slick for my liking. He’s up to his neck in this. He might even have been the one to eliminate Stutz.” Fred did an I told you so with his right eye brow.
“But what’s his connection to Smith, drugs? It makes no sense. Why jeopardize a career for drugs?” Oriole struggled with the identification they had received.
“Well, we have Patterson at the Village and on the 169 and we have Smith at the Village and on 169. I’d say there is a direct connection of something. Remember when Patterson paled during the interview? Maybe, just maybe he really didn’t know about the death of Stutz. Maybe that’s why he was so surprised. But why eliminate Janelle? There must be something else we don’t know, a missing piece that ties her to Smith or Patterson and they had to get rid of her. We may never have that if we can’t get Patterson or Smith to pony up.” Fred was talking through his thoughts on the problem they faced as they sped down the highway.
Smith had worked his way to the top of the quarry and concealed himself on a ledge so he wasn’t back lit by the moon. As he waited, he plotted his next move after getting the money from Patterson. Off in the distance he heard the approach of a vehicle. He readied his rifle and scope in the shooting stand.
Patterson turned off the main road and drove slowly over the ruts to avoid damage to his prize BMW. He stopped at the turnoff, killed the engine and lights, remaining in his car for five minutes to let the noise settle into the darkness. He turned off the interior light switch so the overhead lights would not come on, and got out very quietly. Knowing Smith was already at the quarry, he moved off the road and walked toward the quarry. He circled around the parking area to a knoll where he could observe the quarry. In his left hand, he carried the money Smith had demanded, in his right he carried the rifle he had recently fired. He stopped frequently to listen and watch the area for any signs of movement, knowing that Smith was concealed somewhere nearby. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness hoping to see where Smith was hiding, but all he saw was the quarry, the ridge and the mesquite bushes.
Suddenly, the night was transfixed by the sound of gunshots. Patterson flattened himself to the sandy ditch dropping the money and bringing the rifle up ready. All he could see was the quarry, no Smith, no gun, no nothing. He inched forward on his elbows imbedding gravel in his forearms. Looking over the edge of the ditch, he caught movement to the right and off about 50 yards. He could see a person in a crouched run moving to his left searching back and forth. Patterson thought it looked like Smith, but in the limited light and these conditions he wasn’t positive.
Smith had watched Patterson’s arrival from on top the quarry and decided to move down the back side of the hill to provide a welcome committee. He arrived in the wash about the same time he saw Patterson get out of the Beemer. Smith waited until he could see Patterson’s outline against the moonlit sky and then brought his rifle up to his shoulder. Smith figured to get the money and get out before the cops arrived and if that meant leaving Patterson dead or dying, so be it. Patterson had already betrayed him and tried to take him out. Turn about was fair play as far as Smith was concerned.
Smith took aim at where he thought Patterson might be hiding and let off one round, moved to the left and let off a round and swung to the right and let off a third round. Either he would get close enough to hit Patterson or scare him into remaining where he was hiding. Either way it got Smith closer to Patterson’s car and in accurate shooting distance of Patterson. Smith moved on a belly crawl through the wash avoiding the sagebrush and cactus, maintaining quiet as much as he could. He poked his head up in time to see Patterson, 20 feet away, reach into his car. Smith crawled the last 15 feet of the wash to come up behind the BMW.
Patterson held onto his rifle and dropped to the ground using the car as shelter. He listened to the darkness hoping for a sound that would alert him to Smith’s whereabouts. He knew his ill placed shots had created this situation and didn’t plan on repeating that mistake. He’d taken one life; he had no compunction about taking another for his survival.
Smith took careful aim at the shadow Patterson presented and shot for his leg. The resounding boom rang in his ears as he watched Patterson fall to the ground and scream in pain.
Patterson grabbed his rifle from the ground where it had fallen, rolled over and aimed in the direction of the shot that had entered his left calf. His shot went wild, but caused Smith to flatten behind the car. Patterson could feel the blood running down his leg into his boot. He knew he needed to get attention immediately and also knew he couldn’t get out without taking care of Smith first.
Smith eased around the front of the car being careful to step quietly. He felt sure he had struck Patterson, but wasn’t sure of the damage. His goal was to get done fast and get the money and drugs and get out. He raised up at the driver’s side front bumper to see Patterson facing away from him. He lifted the .22 and carefully took aim at Patterson’s broad back, took in a breath and squeezed the trigger. The shot entered Patterson’s upper back ripping its way through the lung causing internal hemorrhaging. Smith waited a minute to see if Patterson was still a danger to him, walked up to the dying Patterson and smiled.
“You mother fucker, I told you not to ever double cross me and we’d do fine. Instead what’d you do, try to set me up for Stutz’s murder.” Smith grabbed Patterson’s shoulder and his rifle and rolled him over on his back. “Where’s the money and meth?”
“I’m dying. I can’t breathe.” Blood tinged with air bubbles oozed out his lips. “I didn’t bring the money or meth. You killed me for nothing.”
Smith opened the driver’s door and searched the front seat for his booty. Finding nothing he popped the trunk and leaned over the back seat looking for the money and drugs. “You fucker. I’d better find it or I’ll make you into a pin cushion.” He backed out of the car, kicked Patterson on his way to the trunk. He lifted the tarp and underneath found his treasure. He grabbed the briefcase and turned to leave.
Patterson had rolled up into a sitting position propped against the BMW. He reached into his left inside coat pocket and pulled out a snub nosed .38. He crossed his arms over his stomach, left over right to conceal the gun. “Smith, you can’t just leave me here, you gotta call the police so they’ll come find me.”
“Now that’s just what I’m going to do. Put my neck in a noose for your rotten hide.” Smith said as he rounded the back end of the car and peered at Patterson.
Patterson took careful aim and shot Smith in the chest, once, twice, before Smith fell face first in the
dirt. Patterson reached into his right coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed 911.
“911 what is your emergency?”
“I’ve been shot. I shot him back. I’m dying. I’m out on Old Cherry Road.” Patterson laid the cell phone down with the line still open hoping emergency personnel would triangulate and get to him.
Fred and Oriole got the relay that their subjects were somewhere on Old Cherry Road. Fred called for backup and drove like crazy to the coordinates dispatch provided from the open cell phone line. When they arrived, they cut their lights, got out, and carefully crept up on the scene.
“Police.” Fred announced as he shone his flashlight on the scene. Oriole had moved off to the left and rear of the BMW and had her Glock out with her flashlight in her left hand.
“You take Smith, I got Patterson.” Fred whispered as he walked up to Patterson and kicked the .38 away, then bent down and checked for a pulse.
Oriole kicked the rifle away from Smith, placed her fingers on his carotid artery and found no pulse. “Smith’s dead. What’s Patterson’s status?”
“I got a faint pulse. Call for paramedics. I’ll check him for other weapons.”
“Patterson. Tell me what happened.”
Patterson strained to talk as blood oozed, “Smith was going crazy, he shot me. I fired in self defense. He was blackmailing me.”
“Who killed Stutz? Come on Patterson who killed Marvin?”
“Smith. He killed Janelle and Stutz. He was running drugs through Yavapai County and Stutz found out.” Patterson coughed and more blood dribbled down his chin.
“Why were you involved? What were you doing with Smith? I found the briefcase with the money. What’s that all about?”
“Smith wanted the money tonight. I brought it to him. He killed me. I’m dying. I know it.”
“Paramedics were called they’ll be here in a minute. Talk to me. Tell me what was going on. It’ll be good to clear your soul. There’s more to this than you’re telling us. I know you were running drugs with Smith. I know Smith killed Janelle, but he didn’t kill Stutz. You did. Didn’t you?” Fred was talking fast holding his recorder close to Patterson’s lips.
“How did you find out? How did you know? It was an accident. Then Smith got scared and wanted to hide the body so it wouldn’t be connected to our operation. We had a good thing going.” He coughed again.”We were making about 50 grand a month, socking it away. Planning to move to a South Sea Island as soon as I figured I had enough.” Another cough and Patterson paled. “Meth came in almost every other day. We ran it out up north 89 and across Jerome to Camp Verde, north to Flagstaff and points east or south to Phoenix and points east and west. We were set to make millions and Stutz found out ‘cause Smith got stupid and careless. I met up with Stutz to see what he knew. He thought I was gay like he was. He figured Smith was running drugs. We had to eliminate him. Then Janelle put 2 and 2 together and Smith did her.” Patterson fell over on his side and flood drained from his mouth.
Oriole had used her walkie talkie and to talk to paramedics and gave a brief summary of the situation to dispatch.
Paramedics arrived in less than five minutes from the Dewey Humboldt station, but Patterson was dead by the time they pulled up.
Oriole and Fred began processing the scene for evidence. They went back to the office, wrote up their reports, called Joe and let him know the status and went home.
Chapter 20
Back at the ranch, Summer had put supper on hold, and provided snacks while waiting for Oriole and Fred to make it back to the war room. Joe, Marlowe, Chalcey and Summer we’re ready for Fred and Oriole when they drove in the yard, knowing a case had been solved and they’d be able to take some time to relax for a few days. Salads of every kind were on the huge dining room table: Chinese cabbage, potato salad, tossed salad and fruit salad. Cold cuts were in the frig waiting with all the condiments. Beer and wine were cooling.
“Mom, Uncle Fred. Tell us. Tell us. Come on give it to us.” Chalcey was begging for all the gory details.
“Hi, honey. Nothing to tell. Case closed. You’ll read about it tomorrow. Let’s eat. Tell me about your day. What did you and Summer do while Marlowe was saving criminals?” Oriole wrapped her arms around her daughter and squeezed.
“Oriole, you stop talking that way to my granddaughter. My clients are not criminals. They are people who are entitled to representation and can’t afford to hire Jerry Spence.” Marlowe circled both her daughter and granddaughter with her arms.
Joe looked at Oriole and Chalcey as they hugged and missed the closeness of family.
Summer stood back, wiped her hands on a tee towel, and assessed her descendants with a calculating knowledge that these women, old and young, were solid, loving, honest and wholesome.
The respect and love that permeated the house reminded Summer of early days with her mother and father and she silently said a blessing in their honor.
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About the author:
M. Alex Harris lives and works in Prescott, Arizona. Born in Oregon, she attended the University of Oregon and Northwestern School of Law at Lewis and Clark College in Portland. For the last two decades, she has served as an attorney, judge, mediator, and teacher, handling a wide variety of cases: death penalty to special education issues. She and her husband have an Appaloosa,(Spottypants), two goats, three dogs and at last count, five grandchildren. For the last 30 years, she has taught at community colleges and universities sharing her love of education with others. As a former law enforcement officer, her husband, Kevin McCarthy, provides technical advice for her books.
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