Murder in Montana

By Anna Schilke

It is her quest is to rid the world, or at least Billings Montana, of men who prey on women for sexual exploitation. One by one they locate her and she snuffs them out. How many will succumb to her vengeance before Detectives Joe Crawford and Quinton Ryan arrest her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483535159

Book preview

ignition.

Chapter 1

Detective Quinton Ryan, exasperated, ran a hand through his hair. Being a homicide detective in Billings, Montana normally was a boring job. About the only killings that ever happened were usually downtown and involved drugs and/or alcohol. Fights over mood altering substances ordinarily were relatively easy to solve. Someone was around at the bar, at the party, or on the street who saw something either at the beginning or at the ending of such altercations. A few questions here and there, you find out who was in the know, you talked to them, and it all came together. But this dead man’s body had him stumped.

Ryan was in his early 40's, a veteran of the military but relatively new to civilian law enforcement. In the Air Force as Military Police, he had served his country for years, culminating during the war on terrorism overseas. He still favored the short haircut that marked his military service. His haircut was the only thing about him that suggested a disciplined individual. He was rather sloppy in his attire. The women in the office joked it was because he did not have a wife to help him pick out suitable clothes. Medium height, medium build, not many could tell by looking at him that he was trained to take down any opponent. He kept up with his physical training, working out almost every day to stay in shape. Recently he had taken up marital arts more for an aid in physical condition than to learn how to defend himself without the use of weaponry.

Retiring from combat forces, he had taken this position as a homicide detective mainly just for something to do. Testing had always been easy for him and the detective test was no different; he sailed through the exam with flying colors. Even though he did not have the three to five years street experience normally required for a homicide detective, his military career, and the Police Chief being a former fraternity brother of his father’s at Montana State University, helped surpass that obstacle. His father was from Montana, but he had been raised in Colorado. Ryan had never lived in Montana, and with his military career, he had not visited Montana since he was a kid on vacation.

Although Billings was the largest city in Montana, it still was a sleepy little town compared to other cities and other states’ crime rate. There were only 38 homicides in all of Montana last year, and only four in Yellowstone County. Show him another city of 100,000 that had only four murders a year, and he would move there. At this rate he really only had to work once every three months. Well, that was not totally true, as a detective, he was involved with anything that needed investigation — mostly robberies. But his specialty was homicide.

Quinton’s personality was so engaging, everyone was attracted to him. All the other officers in the department, all the administrative staff, everyone liked Officer Ryan. Even on the streets, the people liked him.

The same could not be said of his partner, Joe Crawford. Crawford grew up tough and stayed that way. Not caring if people liked him or not, he roared through life like a lawnmower, spreading chaff this way and that. Blunt as well as tactless, no one had to guess at what he thought about any thing or anyone. Amazingly enough, he had stayed married to his high school sweetheart for almost thirty years. Karen was a striking woman. At department get-togethers, she was posed and personable. Watching the two of them together, it was obvious that they were devoted to each other. But such opposites. No one could understand what the lady saw in him but if she were asked, she would tell them the truth. For all of Joe’s bullheadedness and brusque manner, he was a caring lover and friend. She was secure in knowing that he cherished her and that he worked hard to support his family. His family was the most important thing in the world to him and she knew it. He dealt in crises every day, all day, at work. At home, there were comfort and peace.

Crawford’s background was markedly different than Ryan’s as well. Not finishing high school, he had secured his GED and put himself through the law enforcement academy in Helena. $3,900.00 was inexpensive investment for a career education. He worked his way up as a peace officer from a beat cop to a Sargent to a Detective, struggling every step of the way. He did not take tests well, his evaluations were never outstanding, and there were always discipline issues. Yet his intuitiveness and street smarts helped. For all his crudeness, Crawford was a good cop. In all aspects, he held high standards for himself in morals and in integrity.

Standing only slightly taller than Ryan, the two of them looked vaguely similar. Similar build anyway. On closer inspection, one could note that Crawford’s hair was darker than Ryan’s. And his eyes were brown where Ryan’s were blue. They both had a similar authoritative presence, though. And both seemed to shop at the same western clothing store. With boots and wranglers, they looked more like just-came-to-town cowboys than homicide detectives. Crawford did not spend the time working out as Ryan did, but still he was in excellent physical condition. He was as baffled about the naked man’s death as Ryan was.

They had not been called when the dead guy's body was found. The rookie cop who took the call saw a dead guy lying in bed: no sign of foul play, struggle, or violence. She did not think it was a crime scene: a heart attack, or an overdose, who knows what she thought or if she even thought. She radioed for the Coroner and compromised the shit out of the scene. The Medical Examiner decided that there should be an autopsy, which is generally the practice, although sometimes overlooked if the workload was high, for any unattended death and always for a homicide. But no one thought this was a homicide. An autopsy is a postmortem medical examination of a corpse to determine manner and cause of death for an official report; if the manner and cause were known an autopsy is not necessary. Only about twenty-five percent of all deaths are subject to an autopsy.

There had to be an autopsy on this body due to the fact the Medical Examiner happened to lift the eyelids of the victim and notice the red eyes. Coronary blood vessels burst when a person suffocates. The Coroner ruled the death asphyxiation and the body was sent to the state crime lab in Missoula for an autopsy. Tissues from various organs are sent to the lab for further analysis. While waiting for the crime lab report, the Medical Examiner had met with police and the District Attorney to answer questions and offer suggestions about the asphyxiation. That started the inquiries but not the investigation. When the toxicology report came back from the crime lab, a month later, it confirmed the drugs and alcohol but did not answer the question of asphyxiation. By the time the toxicology report arrived, nothing could be recovered from the motel. The rookie got suspended, but, that did not do anything to help the investigation.

The drug Rohypnol was found in the man’s system, that did not make sense to detective Ryan. Usually used on women, Rohypnol, known as a date rape drug, was popular in clubs. Rohypnol, a prescription sedative, was not approved for use in the United States; however, it was prescribed as close as Mexico as a sleep aid. It was similar to valium, though several times stronger. Illicit use of Rohypnol began in the late 1970's in Europe, but did not become a problem in the United States until the early 1990's. It replaced the quaaludes of the 60's and 70's as the date rape drug of choice. Odorless, and tasteless, it quickly dissolves in alcohol or other beverages, it was usually used with alcohol. Victims seldom realize they havd been drugged until it was too late to resist sexual assaults. And the next day they could not remember anything from the night before. Seldom any type of prosecution happens because the victim's total amnesia of the previous evening, they cannot identify the assailant.

Another factor in the use of Rohypnol was that is was very inexpensive compared to other drugs. Often it was used to increase the effects of alcohol or pot to produce a rapid and dramatic high, or to ease the coming down off of a cocaine high. Some, young people especially, used it alone for a high. When used repeatedly, physical and mental dependence occurs. Use of Rohypnol caused a decrease in blood pressure, dizziness, confusion, difficulty moving or speaking, blackouts, trouble breathing, coma, and death.

What puzzled the detectives was that the autopsy report indicated there was not enough Rohypnol and alcohol in the man’s system to cause death. Ryan ran his hand through his hair once again. Reading the autopsy report confused him as to the cause of death. Asphyxiation rarely occurred in a sex encounters, especially when there were not any marks on the victims neck, neither new nor old bruises. If the victim and his partner or assailant engaged in the practice of restricted air, choking, to enhance the orgasm, there would be indicators on the neck of the victim. Yet, there were no marks with the coroner’s report and the death by suffocation not overdose.

Ryan looked up from reading the report. Well, it tells us something. I don’t know what it tells us, but it tells us something.

Crawford grunted in reply, his eyes still glued to the pages in front of him.

Quinton knew Joe’s grunt signaled that he was on to something. Ryan waited patiently. Crawford had uncanny intuition.

Ryan recalled the first time he was called out on a homicide. Dispatch said the guy who called 911 was pretty upset. Seems a neighbor dropped dead on his doorstep. It turned out to be more complicated than that. Detective Ryan opened the door to the apartment building to see the rear end of a large man, naked, sprawled on the stairs, wedged in the threshold half in and half out of an apartment. Seems the man who lived in the apartment was awakened by his neighbor, the now dead man, pounding on his door and shouting. When he opened his front door, he saw the guy who lived downstairs, naked and bleeding from several areas on his body, the man fell dead at his feet.

The dead man bled from several knife wounds on his torso. In the blood on the stairs and in the dead man’s apartment, somebody or some bodies had stepped in the blood and left clear footprints in the apartment, on the stairs and out of the main door of the building.

Crawford had called for the blood sniffing dogs bought to the crime scene immediately. Before the officers had secured the scene and finished the site investigation, the dogs and their handler were on-site. Ryan and Crawford left with the dogs and the handler. The dogs led them directly to a nearby motel that advertised rooms for the week, kitchenettes, and HBO.

No one was in the room, but bloodied clothes were found stuffed into a garbage bag. As they searched the room, the dogs strained on their leashes away from the motel. On a hunch, they allowed the dogs to continue tracking the blood scent. This time the dogs led them to the X bar T bar. Entering the bar, the dogs went directly to two women sitting at a table drinking beer. The women still had blood on their shoes.

Arrests made, each woman incriminated the other. With the exception of who started the knifing, the stories were markedly similar. Questioning the bartender collaborated much of the women’s stories. The dead man, Hal Allenson, was a regular at the bar, had been for years. Allenson, a disabled veteran, did not hold down a regular job. The night he was killed, he was selling silver dollar belt buckles in the bar, flashing around a large roll of money … mostly one dollar bills. Allenson and the two women left the bar together with two 18-packs of beer.

Allenson was well liked around the neighborhood, a large big hearted man who always helped out others. With probably a less than average IQ, he was a gentle giant. Standing six foot five and weighing over 300 pounds, his size alone intimidated people who did not know of his kind heart. The bartender, later friends and family members as well, surmised that the women told Hal some sort of sad story. He bought some beer and invited them to drink at his house. The women said much the same thing. When Hal had the money, he was generous with buying alcohol for others. The other regulars at the bar were just as generous in return when he was short on cash.

Hal had a peculiar quirk, he always went to bed at the same time every night whether people were drinking in his house or not, whether he was visiting relatives, or wherever he was at that time of night. At twelve midnight, he laid down to sleep. And he always slept in the nude.

The women admitted to wanting to rob Allenson, and they denied any sexual activity with the man. Allenson’s friends and relatives were consistent with claims that Hal no longer, at his age, tried to pick up women for the night. Although the media were convinced there was a menage troi.

At this point, the story became speculative. But the general thought was that Hal went to bed at his usual time and once asleep, the women went into his room to take the roll of cash from his pants. Allenson awoke to the robbery and defended his property. The women panicked, grabbed kitchen knives from a knife block on the counter and proceeded to stab Allenson several times in the chest in defense of themselves. One stab wound nicked his heart.

The women now lived on 27th Street, Billings — Montana’s Women’s Prison. It is no wonder that they plead guilty to deliberate homicide. If they were willing to stab a man for a roll of one dollar bills, they had trouble living in the real world. This way, they get their medical and dental care, three meals a day, and a roof over their heads, everything they need to live a hassle free life; no job, no rent, and no responsibilities.

That was the first dead body Ryan had to deal with, and it was easy to solve.

The next homicide was easier. Neighbors heard a commotion outside and called the police. A husband and wife are outside, she has him down on the ground, stabbing him with a knife. He was dead by the time the police arrive. Motive, none. Reasoning, Post-Menstrual Syndrome, PMS. She will spend a few years in the state mental hospital in Warm Springs, no time behind regular prison bars, and it’s over. A clear case, open and shut.

Finally Crawford looked up from the autopsy report.

Ryan asked, What do you have?

Crawford shrugged. I don’t know, he admitted, what keeps coming to mind is a hate crime.

Hate crime? Do you think the guy was gay and targeted by some homophobic?

Crawford shrugged again. I don’t know. That’s just what keeps coming to mind.

Does it always take a month to get a tox screen?

Crawford shrugged. Sometimes. This guy Vetter was a nobody from the south-side. Anything else coming in would have taken a higher priority in the lab.

The dead man’s name was Bob Vetter. He had lived with a woman named Eleanor Smith on the south side and had a series of short-term employment. His rap sheet showed a few misdemeanors, paraphernalia, contributing, possession of less than 60 grams, and criminal mischief. Nothing substantial, nothing that stood out. It appeared he was a small time crook who tried to be a bigger one.

Ryan had hoped the autopsy report would have stated asphyxiation by drowning on his own vomit, but that was not the case. The report stated no fluid was found in his lungs. The rookie cop had not bothered to note if vomit was around the mouth or not when she made her fucked up report.

So … we're nowhere? Ryan asked his partner.

We gotta find out what smothered the guy. The drugs and alcohol in his system didn't kill him, he didn't choke on vomit – let's go see if we can find out what took his breath away. Crawford abruptly stood.

Where we going? Ryan prepared to head out the door.

Vetter's ol' lady's house.

Chapter 2

Ryan and Crawford arrived at the address. A woman answered the door, she emerged from the dim interior looking as worn and as faded as her jeans and t-shirt. Her shoulders permanently slumped, her hair uncombed, she leaned against the door jam with the exhaustion and fatigue of a spent woman. She asked them what they wanted. They flashed their badges and requested permission to come inside and ask her a few questions about Bob. Her brown eyes glanced at the badges, she looked at them with a tired gaze. Dark circles and bags hung below solemn eyes. Wrinkles lined her face. She was slight, weighing about one hundred pounds.

She opened the door further, indicating allowance to enter, turned and walked back inside. The detectives followed her to a dingy, dirty kitchen. Unwashed dishes lined the counter top and the garbage overflowed. She sat at a table that had two additional available mismatched chairs. A fourth chair was wedged between the table and a window. She lit a cigarette and waved a hand at the other chairs around the table. They sat.

When officers had come to this house to ask if she wanted to identify and claim the body, she had said she would identify it but not claim it. That was all Ryan had heard about the woman and the situation.

Whadda ya want?

Ryan spoke. We don’t know. We hoped you could help us.

Help how? He's been gone a month, ya know.

We're sorry for your loss. Ryan leaned forward and softened his voice. We would like you to come downtown with us.

She squinted through blue haze, Why?

The autopsy report has come back from Missoula and we would like to talk to you about the findings.

The woman stared hard at each of them in turn before turning her face to the window and taking a deep drag off of her cigarette. But not before the detectives saw a glint of tears in her eyes. They allowed her a few minutes to gather her emotions.

In a husky voice and still looking out of the window, she asked, Do ya know what happened?

We don’t know, Ryan said. Would you come with us?

She shrugged and took a drag, still not looking at them. He was found about a month ago dead in a motel room. He didn't come home and that ain’t like him. I figured something must have happened. What do ya need to know?

Crawford asked, Was he gay?

The woman turned and glared at him. What the fuck … ? She looked at them and then down at the table. She took a few more drags off of her cigarette. Grinding it out in an already overflowing ashtray, she lit another one. She took a deep drag off of it and letting the air out slowly. Her eyes went from one detective to the other. Alright, I'll go to the cop shop or wherever in the hell we gotta go. But I gotta be back in time to go to work. With the cigarette dangling out of the corner of her mouth, she pushed herself up out of the chair by using both hands on the table. Let's go, goddamnit.

The ride to the station was in silence. Once there, the officer's escorted her to a private room simply furnished with a table and three chairs.

Eleanor slumped down into the nearest chair. The officers sat across from her. Ryan leaned forward arms folded at the elbows on the table. Crawford leaned back, his chair on two legs, his arms folded across his chest.

Eleanor shrugged, So, what happened and what you want from me?

Ryan held up a hand in a gesture that was meant to calm her. He was found nude, ya know. There were drugs and alcohol in his system. Do you know if he ever used Rohypnol? It’s known as roofies, roche, rope, or rib on the streets. Had he ever said anything to you about anything with those names? It’s usually used as a date rape drug. And since he was a guy … we thought maybe … . He let the sentence trail off.

Look, said she, Bob was my ol’ man. We’ve been together since my husband kicked me out about eight years ago. He never did no drugs. He drank some, but he didn’t do no drugs.

Was he on any prescription medication?

No.

Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure. He hated doctors.

Why is that?

I dunno, but he musta went to a doc a few months ago, ‘cuz he was gumpin' around here for a few days about doctors at that time.

Had he been sick?

Not that I remember.

Was Bob a nervous man? Did he get upset easily? Did he have times that he was unable to leave the house, or have heart palpitations?

What cha mean?

Another drug found in his system was Klonopin. It’s usually prescribed to treat panic attacks.

Naw, he never panicked over anything. And he didn’t take no drugs, street kind or other kind.

Eleanor, Ryan began in a gentle voice, we believe you.

Don’t call me that, Her voice took on some anger. I don’t like it. I never did. That’s what my daddy used to call me.

All right ma’am, how do you wish for us to address you?

Most people call me Ellen or Elly. She looked away from them to the blank wall, fingers nervously twitching for a cigarette. He used to call me Norrie when he wanted to be real good to me. Like for a couple of days after he roughed me up some.

Can we get back to the topic? Crawford said.

Ryan shot his partner a withering glance. Would Crawford ever learn not to be so damn focused on questions and getting the answers?

The woman shrugged and turned her gaze back to Detective Ryan. What cha wanna know?

Let’s get back to the question of the drugs, Crawford said. If he didn’t use them, why were some found in his system?

I dunno. She did not look at him.

Ellen, Ryan said, can you tell us about the night Bob disappeared. It was a Saturday night. When was the last time you saw him? Do you remember?

Yeah, I remember; I remember 'cuz it was the last time I saw Bob alive. I worked the second shift down at the convenience store, four to midnight. When I left, he was sittin’ on the couch watching TV and drinking a beer. He wasn’t there when I got home.

Did you two talk? Or did he say anything to you about his plans for the night?

Naw, he didn’t say nuttin’ about no plans.

Do you usually work the second shift?

She shrugged. Second or third. Third is midnight to eight in the morning. I work second today. I gotta be there. I can't lose my job 'cuz of sittin' here.

Did anything strange or unusual happen that day. Or did Bob act or seem any different to you?

Naw, it was a normal day. We slept til about noon, then I got up and fixed us some dinner. Then I got ready to go to work.

What did Bob usually do when you were at work?

I dunno. He watched TV most the time.

Did he have a job?

Nuttin’ that you would call regular work.

Did he ever go out and look for a job?

She shrugged again and her hands twitched for a cigarette. She put her hand on the rim of the table, rubbing its edge. She watched her fingers playing along the lip table. Sometimes, she said.

Ryan’s voice became gentle. Elly, we know that Bob sometimes did favors for others to make a little cash. We know he sometimes delivered drugs. It’s all right to tell us what you know. Whatever you tell us isn’t going to hurt him and it might just help us find whoever killed him.

A tear hit the table.

He was good to me. He didn’t beat me up like my husband used to. Oh, he knocked me around sometimes, but nuttin’ serious, you know. Like nuttin’ that ever landed me in the hospital. He’d buy groceries once in a while and sometimes he’d even cook us something onest in a while.

Ryan reached out and patted her arm. I know he was a good man to you, Elly. We know he was. That’s why we want to find out who killed him. Please help us.

She pulled her arm away from his comfort and wiped her eyes. She reached for her pack of cigarettes. It was empty. Damn, she muttered and crumpled the empty pack of generic cigs.

Ryan sat back in his chair, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro reds. He handed her the pack. Go ahead, he said, help yourself. I'll go get an ashtray.

Eleanor said, thanks, as she reached a trembling hand to the pack.

When he came back in, neither Crawford nor Eleanor had moved, although she puffed absentmindedly on a cigarette. He laid the ashtray on the table in front of her.

I know this is hard for you, Ellen, Ryan said. Just talk at your own speed and tell us whatever you think may help us on this case.

Eleanor lit another cigarette and took a drag deep into her lungs. Exhaling, she sighed. I guess it ain’t gonna hurt him iffn I tell you some things. She glanced up