Ever Present Danger (17 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“Somethin’ horrible’s happened! Th—there’s blood all over the wall—all over them!”

Ivy started to go inside, and Bill grabbed her arm. “Ivy, don’t. Let’s call 911!”

She pulled her arm free and went inside, her eyes darting from one blood-soaked body to the next, her mind trying to assimilate the carnage. She went over to where Pete lay, his eyes open and void of life, and saw the gaping hole in his forehead and the shower of red on the wall. A wave of nausea swept over her. She held her hand over her mouth and ran into the bathroom and retched. Seconds later, she realized Bill was standing behind her.

“You okay?” he said.

Ivy shook her head, wondering if she ever would be.

“All three of them are dead. I checked. Come on, let’s go out in the hallway, away from all this.”

He took Ivy by the arm and led her out of the room, then took his cell phone out of his pocket and keyed in three numbers.

“Hello, I’m callin’ from the third floor of the Phantom Hollow Lodge. Three men have been shot in one of the guest rooms, and I’m pretty sure they’re dead…No, I’m attendin’ a class reunion…What?…” Bill turned and looked at the door. “Room 312…Yeah, my name’s Bill Ziwicki: Z-i-w-i-c-k-i…I don’t know if their wallets are missin’. I didn’t think to check…No, I’m not goin’ anywhere…Look, I’m not thinkin’ straight. Please just send help!”

Bill folded his phone and put it in his jacket pocket. “None of this seems real.”

Ivy leaned against the wall and then slid down into a sitting position. “Who would just kill them in cold blood like that?”

“I can’t imagine.”

Minutes passed and then Ivy heard the elevator bell. A man who appeared to be a hotel security guard ran down the hall toward them.

“I need to seal off 312,” the security guard said. “Sheriff’s orders.”

Bill moved over and sat next to Ivy. “Don’t worry, we’re not goin’ back in there.”

“Are you the one who called 911?”

Bill nodded. “The victims are friends of ours from the class reunion. They got a little drunk, and we came up to check on them. The door was unlocked.”

The security guard went in the room and came out half a minute later, his face a peculiar shade of gray. He picked up his walkie-talkie and put it to his lips. “Artie, this is Seth. Do you read me? Over…I’ve checked out the damage in 312. Three dead males. All shot at close range. A real bloodbath. The couple that discovered them is still here. Over…Copy that. I’ll secure the room till the sheriff arrives. Out.”

A door opened and a male guest poked his head out in the hallway. “The party’s over. Think you could tone it down? We’re trying to sleep in here.”

“Sorry for the noise,” the security guard said. “Go back to bed. We’ve just had a little mishap here.”

Mishap?
Ivy put her face in hands and tried to will away the bloody images that kept popping into her mind, hoping she would wake to find it was all a bad dream.

CAROLYN GRIFFITH HEARD a ringing noise and groped the nightstand till she found the telephone. “Hello,” she said sleepily.

“Carolyn, it’s Flint. I need to talk with Elam.”

Carolyn squinted until she could make out the digital numbers on the alarm clock: 4:15. “What’s wrong?”

“Just let me talk to Elam.”

“All right, Flint. Hang on.” She reached over and gently shook the body on the other side of the bed. “Wake up. The phone’s for you.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Elam Griffith turned over and took the receiver from her hand. “What’s up?”

“Three of Ivy’s classmates were murdered at the Phantom Hollow Lodge sometime during the reunion: Pete Barton. Reg Morrison. Denny Richards. All shot in the head with a Glock .45.”

“Lord have mercy.” Elam reached over and took Carolyn’s hand.

“Ivy and another classmate, a guy named Bill Ziwicki, found them. They’re down here at the sheriff’s department, answering questions.”

“Good grief. You don’t think Ivy had anything to do with it?”

“Not at all. She’s been very helpful. She’s really shaken, though. I was at the scene. It wasn’t pretty.”

“You want me to come down there?”

“No. We need to finish getting her statement, but she’s going to need plenty of TLC when she gets home. I wanted to give you a heads-up. KTNR is running the story on
Daybreak
, if you’re interested in knowing the details.”

“Okay, Flint. Thanks. Be gentle with my girl.”

“Will do.”

Elam handed the receiver back to Carolyn. “I can hardly believe this: Pete, Reg, and Denny were—”

“Yeah, I could hear every word.” Carolyn lay stunned, her hand clutching Elam’s, her mind trying to comprehend the magnitude of the situation. “I hate it that Ivy’s alone. We should be with her.”

“You heard what Flint said. He doesn’t want us down there right now.”

“Well,
Ivy
might. I can’t imagine how shaken she must be.”

Sheriff Flint Carter stood on the other side of the two-way mirror and listened to Investigator Buck Lowry’s questioning of Ivy Griffith.

“I know I’ve asked this already,” Buck said, “but I need to hear you tell me again. Who sat at your table at the reunion?”

Ivy rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her palms. “Me. Pete Barton. Reg Morrison. Denny Richards. Jason Arnold and his wife Caitlin. Chart Severson and his wife Morgan. That’s it.”

“So the eight of you were together all evening?”

“Yes and no. We got up to dance and mingle, but we always came back to the table.”

“Who left the dance first?”

“Caitlin had a headache, so she and Jason went back to their room around twelve-thirty. Chart and Morgan left later. I didn’t pay attention to the time. I know they were staying with Chart’s parents and wanted to get home in time for Morgan to nurse the baby. Pete, Reg, and Denny left after that.”

Buck wrote something on the yellow pad in front of him. “Tell me again what time they left.”

“Around 1:20. Reg and Denny were smashed and getting really obnoxious. I suggested Pete take them back to their room. He left with them and said he’d be right back.”

“Did you see anyone else leave right after they did?”

“Sure. People were coming and going all the time. The rest-rooms are right there in the hallway.”

“Do you know where Bill Ziwicki was when the guys left?”

“I saw him at the bar.”

“Can anyone else confirm that?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Just covering all bases.”

“So now you were all by yourself at the table?”

“Actually, Kendra Miller came over and started talking. I forget her married name: Clements or something like that. She talked my ear off for twenty-five minutes. I remember because I kept looking at my watch wondering what was taking Pete so long.”

“So at this point, Pete had been gone twenty-five minutes?”

Ivy nodded. “Yes.”

“And that’s when Bill Ziwicki asked you to dance?”

“Right. And after that, the band packed up. I didn’t want to leave without saying something to Pete, so I found out Reg and Denny’s room number and went looking for him. Bill went with me. That’s when we discovered them shot.”

“So it was your idea to go find Pete?”

“Yes.”

“When you saw the guys had been shot, did you make any attempt to revive them?”

Ivy shook her head, her chin quivering. “I just remember feeling sick and running into the bathroom. Bill came in right after that and said he checked, and they were all dead. At that moment, I just wanted to die…” Ivy’s voice failed.

Flint moved away from the two-way mirror and over to the coffeepot and stood next to Lieutenant Bobby Knolls. “I’m satisfied that Ivy and Bill’s stories are consistent.”

Bobby filled Flint’s cup with coffee, and then his own. “So where’s the connection between these murders and Joe Hadley’s?
There has to be one. All four victims were basketball jocks. All in the same graduatin’ class. All popular. Seems a little too coincidental.”

“Then again, if it was the same killer, why did he wait ten years to take out these three?”

“Maybe he was waiting till they were together. Class reunion was the perfect chance.”

Flint took a sip of coffee. “But it’s not the first time the victims attended a class reunion. And it was totally unplanned that all three victims went up to Room 312. I’m not convinced that whoever did this planned to kill all three of them.”

“So you think the shooter might’ve had a personal grudge against one of the three, and the other two guys got in the way?”

“It’s possible. I’ll tell you what I know for a fact: This isn’t the time to get territorial. The ATF’s already here, and I need to bring in the FBI. We’re going to need all the help we can get to flesh out the facts, and we’ve got more than a hundred fifty classmates and spouses to question.”

Bobby glanced over at the other interrogation room and set his coffee cup on the table. “Looks like it’s my turn to play bad cop with Ziwicki.”

Carolyn Griffith sat on the living room couch, an afghan wrapped around her, her eyes fixed on nothing. She wondered how her already-fragile daughter was handling the horror she had witnessed.

“The news is coming on.” Elam took the remote off mute.

“Good morning, Southwest Colorado. This is Jillian Parker.”

“And I’m Watson Smyth. Welcome to
Daybreak
. The small community of Jacob’s Ear was shaken early this morning by a triple homicide at the renowned Phantom Hollow Lodge. A 911 operator in Tanner County received a call at 2:13 a.m. from a male caller at the lodge, who reported three men had been found shot to death in one of the guest rooms.

“The caller, twenty-eight-year-old William Ziwicki of Jacob’s Ear, was at the lodge attending his tenth high school reunion
when he and another classmate, Ivy Griffith, also of Jacob’s Ear, made the gruesome discovery.

“According to a spokesperson from the sheriff’s department, the victims were classmates of Ziwicki and Griffith and were also there for the reunion. Their names have not been released, pending notification of next of kin. But according to Griffith, who shared a table with the victims prior to their leaving the dance, all three left intoxicated and—”

“Watson, let me interrupt here. We just learned the identity of the victims, and I’d like to pass that information along to our viewers. The victims were: Peter Justin Barton, twenty-eight, of Jacob’s Ear; Reginald Zachary Morrison, twenty-seven, of Telluride; and Dennis Patrick Richards, twenty-eight, of Durango. All pronounced dead at the scene from a gunshot wound to the head.”

“What a tragedy, Jillian. Do we know if the sheriff’s department has established a motive for the murders? Or if there are any suspects?”

“They’re not commenting on that at this time. But we do know that the ATF and FBI are involved in the investigation, and that all the attendees at the reunion have been detained for questioning. And don’t forget that earlier this month, the bones of another classmate, Joseph Ryan Hadley, were uncovered at a construction site on the south end of what used to be Collier Ranch. Hadley disappeared ten years ago, and the recent autopsy revealed that he died of strangulation. Authorities have no leads in that case and won’t say whether they think last night’s murders are in any way linked to Hadley’s. Needless to say, we’ll be following this story carefully and will interrupt our regular programming with any breaking news that might develop.”

“Thanks, Jillian. Our hearts really go out to the families of these victims. In other news this morning, a fire broke out overnight and destroyed a warehouse in Durango…”

Elam turned off the TV, and the two of them sat in silence.

Finally Carolyn said, “What are we going to tell Montana?”

“The truth. Might have to clean it up a bit. No point in putting those images in the boy’s head.”

“I really hate this—especially so soon after Lu’s death. I really wanted Ivy and Montana to get settled here. Who knows how long it’ll take now.”

“Well, I’ve got to talk to Ivy about Harriett Barclay’s accusation that she stole a tube of lipstick. I’ve already put it off longer than I should’ve.”

“Ivy’s already got a lot to deal with. Can’t it wait?”

Elam brushed his mustache with his fingers. “If I’m going to stand by our daughter, I’ve got to be sure she’s leveling with us.”

“You don’t think she had anything to do with the shootings?”

“No, of course not. But if she’s desperate enough to steal, we need to address the issue of finances now before she really does get into trouble.”

Flint Carter stood at the two-way mirror, a cup of cold coffee in his hand, and listened intently as Bobby Knolls continued to push Bill Ziwicki as far as he could.

“So you didn’t really like Pete Barton and Reg Morrison and Denny Richards?”

Bill shook his head. “I never said that. I said they didn’t really like
me
. I’m used to it. And it’s not like I’m not the only one. I’ve never been part of the in crowd. But I thought they were cool. Everybody did.”

“Must’ve made you mad that they didn’t speak to you.”

“Not really. I doubt they even knew I was at the reunion.”

“So how’d you feel about them?”

“I told you, I thought they were cool.”

Bobby folded his arms across his chest and balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. “You own a handgun?”

“No. I own several huntin’ rifles, though. I love to hunt.”

“Ever fired a handgun?”

“No. Never been interested in them.”

“You a good shot?”

Bill nodded. “Yeah, I bag my limit every season.”

“You have any problem with us testing your hands for gunpowder residue?”

“No. But I resent the implication. I didn’t shoot those guys. I’m the one who called 911, remember?”