“Do you need anything else?”
“A shower curtain?”
“No problem. Will you be okay until I get back?”
“Sure,” she said, taking a nervous step toward him.
Sully pulled her into his arms. “Do you have a gun, Charley?”
“No, I detest guns,” she reminded him, her slender arms wrapping around his waist. “I’ll never own a gun. A gun killed my mother.”
“Come with me to get the locks.”
“No, really I’ll be fine.” She stepped back and said, “I’ll put the chain across the door and stay right here until you get back.”
Sully reluctantly agreed. But he made sure she slid the chain lock across the door before leaving her. What would she say when he told her about his retail business? He put that out of his mind and drove to the nearest big box store to get the new doorknobs with locks and keys. When he returned, she looked through the peephole before letting him in.
She’d been busy. Her apartment’s countertops and floors were clean. She said she’d stripped her bed and put the dirty linens into an apartment-sized washer. A fresh comforter and sheets were already on the bed. A black garbage bag held the plants she couldn’t save, and she was repotting a lone white orchid she hoped to salvage.
Charley washed her hands and stopped to look at what he’d bought. She agreed the locks he’d bought were perfect and so was the shower curtain. As he installed the new front door lock, she made ham and cheese sandwiches for the two of them. After pouring iced tea into glasses, they took their plates into the living room. Charley turned on the noon news and Sully wished she hadn’t. Another body of a young woman had been found in a cave-like tunnel. This time, the grisly discovery was made by police dogs and police searching for clues to the two previous murders. The coroner’s guess was this third victim, by the name of Yolonda Garcia, had been dead for a couple of weeks. In her hand was toadflax.
“Most folks, even locals, aren’t familiar with the history of Old Colorado City,” the male television reporter, standing on Colorado Avenue not far from Charley’s flower shop, wassaying. “Established in 1859, now part of Colorado Springs, Old Colorado City used to be the wild side of town. Once home to saloons, gambling halls, brothels, and prostitutes, the law didn’t exist. But what labeled this frontier town as peculiar were the countless cave-like tunnels. Those cave tunnels do still exist.” The reporter waved a hand, indicating the underground passageways were everywhere in the vicinity. “These caves and tunnels were originally dug in a time of conflict between Anglo-American pioneers and Native Americans. During raids by the Arapaho and Cheyenne, the pioneers used the tunnels as escape routes between houses and businesses. Over the years, many of the houses were converted into storefronts. But the caves and tunnels were left intact and, running rampant, some of them eventually connected legitimate businesses to secret, sleazy dealings underneath the streets. Until recently, it was thought that this seedy underworld was long gone. The Cave Killer has proven otherwise.”
“I didn’t know about those cave tunnels, did you?” Sully asked.
“No. I had no idea at all,” Charley said in obvious shock. “Yolanda, the latest murder victim, was in a class with Heather and me,” she told him while shaking her head. “Grace Lightner was strangled a month ago. They think Heather was killed three weeks ago, and now Yolanda was killed two weeks ago. Somebody is killing girls a week apart.”
A knock sounded at the front door, and Charley jumped.
“I’ll get it,” Sully said and got off the couch. He crossed the room and opened the door to a middle-aged man in a white shirt and dark suit. “May I help you?”
“Sorry to disturb you. I’m Detective Burt Groves from the Colorado Springs Police Department,” the officer said and showed him a badge. “Is Charlotte Cooper here?”
“Yes,”Sully replied and allowed him into the apartment.
“I’m Charlotte Cooper,” Charley said, coming forward.
“Miss Cooper, I’m in charge of the cases involving three females, all in their twenties, who have been recently murdered here in Old Colorado City.” Groves, probably in his early fifties, had a kind face and a crease of concern across his forehead. “I am also aware of your mother’s murder and an assault on you. I’m here in hopes you can tell me about those incidents to help us ascertain if there is a possible link between the crimes.”
“Of course,” Charley said and turned to Sully. “Detective Groves, this is my friend, Sullivan Custis.”
Detective Groves paused to look at Sully and asked, “Is your father, Sullivan Owen Custis, the former sheriff of El Paso County?”
“Yes, sir,” Sully said. “That’s him.”
“Please tell Owen that his ol’ buddy Burt Groves said hello.”
Sully nodded as the connection clicked. “I’ve heard my dad mention your name,” he said, shaking hands with his father’s friend. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“Please, sit down, Detective Groves,” Charley said and swung her hand toward the wingback chair. He took a seat, and Charley sat down on the sofa. When she looked at Sully and smiled, he sat on the sofa too.
“First of all, I’m sorry for your loss,” Detective Groves said to Charley. Then he asked several questions and took some notes. “I know you said the suspect wore a ski mask and hoodie, but is there anything specific that could help us identify him?”
“Yes, as I told the police officers who showed up here that day, he had a tattoo of a scorpion on his collarbone.” Charley once again indicated on herself the approximate location.
“Right, I have that in my report.” Detective Groves nodded and listened intently as they told him about the vandalism to Charley’s car, duplex, and shop. “Whether we have onemurderer or multiple murderers, you fit the profile of the young women strangled. Be careful.”
“I know.” Charley flinched. “I’ll be careful.”
