In the Garden of the Gods punishment can be administered on many different levels...

In the Garden of the Gods

Fleur Bradley

The warm orange-red color of the giant rocks always made Ben pause, even though he'd passed the park many times before. Detective Ben Hanson drove his new black pickup along the one-way road that circled the rocks of Colorado Springs' Garden of the Gods, a landmark state park that drew tourists year round. It was a Monday morning in March, and not busy. Which enhanced the peaceful tranquility the park exuded. A peace Hanson knew had been rudely disturbed.

It wasn't long before he hit the roadblock, where his partner Minsk was already waiting for him. Hanson parked his pickup along the road.

“New?” Minsk circled the pickup. He kicked the tires, then shook his head. “Too much chrome.”

“It was time for a change,” Hanson said. The car he traded in wasn't that bad, but it used to be his wife Christine's. She went missing --or left him, he wasn't sure-- three years ago, and he finally felt it was time to move on. He bought the truck on impulse, since it seemed like a good place to start.

“The body is right down here,” Minsk said, reminding them both of the task at hand.

The two men walked along the dirt trail, which looped further away from the road as they went. Under a pine tree was the body of a trim, tanned woman in gym clothes, curled up into a fetal position. One of her well-worn sneakers lay a few feet away from her body. Her short black hair appeared to be caked with mud, which Hanson, as he got closer to the body, realized was actually blood.

“Some serious head trauma,” Hanson said to Minsk , who was observing the scene with both hands in his coat pockets, the usual grim look on his face. “You think there's any possibility this could have been an accident?”

Minsk shook his head. “In the mountains, maybe. But not on a level path like this one.”

Hanson nodded in agreement.

“Plus,” Minsk went on, “the woman is a professional athlete, or at least she used to be. Won some marathon a few years back, then dropped off the radar. Her name is Carmen Suarez.”

“That's some quick investigating,” Hanson said.

Minsk grinned. “I would like to take the credit, but one of the patrol cops is a sports fanatic. Said this woman was a big deal, once upon a time.”

Hanson leaned a little closer to the body. “She had one serious blow to the head. How long has she been here?”

“Doc says two hours, at the most. It's Monday, so there weren't too many people around, but eventually some hiking tourists found her. Judging from her clothes, I would say she was out for a run.” Minsk started heading for the road. “There a blood trail, leading to the road. Nothing concrete yet, but the doc suggested we look for a long, circular object. Like a pipe, or a baseball bat.”

Hanson looked back to where Carmen Suarez's body lay rolled under the tree. “So she was hit during her run. Then she tried to make it back to the road to get some help, but headed back and curled up under the tree. Why?”

“Scared, confused from the head wound. Maybe her killer was waiting for her.”

Hanson nodded. “Besides the trail of blood, do we have any footprints?”

Minsk shook his head. “Lots of trampling before the scene was secured. We took a few casts, but I don't think it'll help much. Too many prints for any of them to be useful.”

“It sounds like we'll be doing a lot of legwork,” Hanson said. “Where does she live?”

Minsk pulled a notepad out of his pocket. “I have an address.”

Along the road, cars were slowing past the yellow crime scene tape, people stretching to get a glimpse. A redheaded woman hung out of the window of a large green SUV. If only they knew, Hanson thought. If only they would have been here a few hours ago, when Carmen Suarez could have used their help.

Minsk irritably waved the crowd along. “Rubberneckers.”

*

Carmen Suarez's apartment was on the worst part of the bad part of Colorado Springs . Two liquor stores, a video store and a tattoo parlor made up the strip mall on her block along with what once was a gas station. A few men lingered near a parked car and shot Minsk and Hanson a warning look when they entered the apartment building.

The communal hall that led to Carmen's third floor studio had the unmistakable smell of poverty: urine, garbage and mold.

“It's hard to picture her living here,” Hanson commented when Minsk opened the door.
The apartment was very sparsely furnished, with just a loveseat, coffee table and small television on a crate. Next to a tiny kitchen was a small bathroom, decorated with pink towels that seemed to amplify the sadness of the place.

“I imagined an athlete of her caliber living better than this,” Hanson said.

“Apparently she was working nights at a local supermarket, so she would have time to train during the day.” Minsk opened the fridge. Inside were two dozen eggs and a box of power bars. “What a life,” he mumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” A short Hispanic woman in a black floral dress stood in the doorway, bouncing a fat baby boy on her hip. “You have no business here.”

“We're with the Colorado Springs Police Department,” Hanson said. It was funny, Hanson thought as they showed the woman their badges, how he and Minsk naturally took on their roles: Hanson the soft, approachable cop, Minsk burly and authoritative.

“She's done nothing to no one,” the woman said, jutting her chin, but she took a step back.

“Are you her neighbor?” Hanson asked, still keeping his distance, which was hard in the cramped apartment. Minsk lingered nearby in the kitchen.

“Maybe.” The woman sighed. “I'm Emmy, I live below her. Is she ok?”

“Carmen was found dead in The Garden of the Gods park.”

Emmy bit her lip. “I knew it would happen. I told her he was no good for her.”

“Who?” Minsk stepped closer now.

“The ex - boyfriend. She moved out last month.”

“What's his name?”

“Ryan Barley. He lives up north, in those fancy apartments.” Emmy looked at her baby boy, stroked his hair. “Guys only get you into trouble.”

*

The apartment complex had an exclusive air to it: located on a hill, gated access, fountain at the entry, stucco arches and neatly trimmed shrubbery. Hanson parked the truck, and walked to the second-floor apartment's private entryway.

It took Ryan Barley a good two minutes to answer the door. His blonde hair looked like he just came out of bed, and he wore sweatpants with a grimy white shirt.

“We're here about Carmen Suarez,” Hanson said once they were inside the apartment. Clothes and crushed cans littered the floor, an empty pizza box served as an ashtray.

“When are you guys going to lay off already?” Barley sat on one of the black leather sofas in the room, arms spread along the backrest. “Carmen dropped the charges. She moved out last month.”

Hanson paused. Charges? “We're not here about that,” he recovered. They would just have to check on that later. “Carmen Suarez was found dead this morning near one of the Garden of the Gods trails. We believe she was murdered.”

Barley seemed to freeze for a moment, then squinted. “Doesn't surprise me. She knew how to piss someone off. It was bound to catch up with her sometime.”

“Is there any family of Ms. Suarez we might contact?” Hanson asked, feeling Minsk tense behind him.

“She doesn't have any.” Barley crossed his arms.

“You own a baseball bat?” Minsk asked.

“No.” Barley smiled. “Is that it?”

“For now,” Minsk said in his basso voice from behind Hanson.

Barley shrugged. “Sure.”

“We're sorry for your loss,” Hanson said, wondering why he even did.

They had a quick dinner at a chain family restaurant near the mall, since that was closest. Minsk chewed his sandwich in silence, while staring out the window.

“I should've run the guy through the system first,” Minsk finally said once he finished eating. “Damn stupid.”

“I didn't check his record either,” Hanson said. “Could've been big trouble.”

Minsk waved his hand dismissively. “My screw-up. Let's just get the bastard now. Did you see how cold he reacted when you told him she was dead?”

Hanson nodded. “So what's his story?”

“I had one of our guys check him out. Apparently, Barley had rich parents that left him double-digit millions. Has a record for assault, some bar fight. Lots of speeding tickets. There was a domestic battery charge, but it was dropped shortly before Carmen moved out.”

“Interesting, but that still doesn't give us any solid evidence to tie him to the murder.” Hanson finished his last bite of turkey sandwich. “Do we have any witnesses?”

Minsk shook his head. “She was killed around noon, according to the docs. Some early-season tourists, but it's a large park. Easy to commit murder without any witnesses.”

Hanson was silent.

“Whatcha thinking?”

“No witnesses. Abusive ex-boyfriend.” Hanson drank his soda, thought some more. “How long was she with this Barley?”

Minsk pulled out his notebook. “Two years. Interestingly, her career stalled about the same time she started seeing this guy.”

“So what made her decide to leave him?”
Minsk shrugged. “Maybe she got sick of being his punching bag.”
Hanson shook his head. “You don't spend all that time being afraid, putting up with abuse, and then suddenly come to your senses. Somebody helped her, encouraged her. Maybe she had a new boyfriend.”

Minsk flipped a page in his notebook. “This supermarket she worked at is right around the corner.” He stood and dropped a twenty on the table. “Let's go check it out.”

*

“Carmen's dead?” The manager of the supermarket dropped a clipboard on the desk and shifted in his chair. The two detectives were standing in his small office, as there was nowhere to sit.

“Afraid so,” Hanson said. “Could you tell us what kind of employee Carmen was?”

“Sure,” the manager, a tiny man to go with the tiny office, nodded. “Though there's not much I can tell you. She worked the night shift, something to do with athletics, I think.”

“She was training for a marathon.”

“Sure.” The manager shrugged. “She worked mostly evenings, the seven to two shift.”

“Any employees she talked to? Had breaks with?”

The manager shook his head. “No. She would come in, work and leave. She took her breaks alone.” He smiled. “The other employees didn't like her much, because she worked so hard. You know, she made them look bad.”

“Did you ever see anybody pick her up, or drop her off?”

“No. But I don't hang around and watch people leave. I have a job to do, you know what I mean.” He stood. “Speaking of which, I should get back to work.”

“Thank you,” Hanson said and led the way out of the office onto the supermarket floor. Rod Stewart was singing softly over the speaker system.

“She ever talk to any of the other worker bees?” Minsk said, as they walked to the front of the store with the manager.

“Not that I remember.” The manager paused. “Besides Emmy of course. They live in the same building, I think I heard them talk about it once. But I'm sure you knew that.”

Hanson nodded. Minsk clenched his jaw.

“Now that you mention it,” the manager said, “I think they had some sort of disagreement, last I saw.”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?” Hanson asked.

The manager shrugged. “No, they just looked like they were arguing. I didn't really pay that much attention, you know, I have…”

“A job to do, right,” Minsk said.

The manager turned and disappeared into one of the aisles.

*

“Man, I'm feeling like I'm two steps behind everyone today,” Minsk said while he drove down the I-25, swerving through the evening traffic at eighty miles an hour. He asked to drive the new truck, and Hanson now regretted agreeing to let him.

“Easy…” Hanson mumbled.

“We're supposed to be the damned detectives here.” Minsk went on while cutting somebody off in the left lane. “Seems like we're just along for the ride.”

“Speaking of the ride, slow it down.” Hanson held his seat belt. “It's not as if everyone's been entirely truthful here. Emmy could have told us she worked with Carmen.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minsk said as he slowed to exit to Emmy and Carmen's apartment building. “But we gotta get a little sharper now, Watson. I'm tired of getting caught with my pants down.”

Hanson knew enough to be silent the rest of the way. When they knocked on Emmy's door, she opened it almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting for them to show.

“Can you make this quick? My mom will be here soon to take care of the baby,” she said when they all sat in the living room. “I have to go to work.”

“This won't take long,” Hanson said.

Emmy's apartment was identical to Carmen's, but much more cramped with a foldaway crib, plastic toys and a big sofa and recliner that looked from a different era. Something spicy was cooking on the stove, and the air seemed devoid of oxygen. Hanson tugged at his collar. Even on his most desperate days after his wife disappeared, his house hadn't looked like this, had it?
“You didn't tell us you and Carmen worked at the same supermarket,” Hanson started, leaning forward on the sofa that seemed to want to swallow him whole. “Is that how you met?”

“Sure.” Emmy studied her nails. “She started working at the store a few months ago. What's the big deal?”

“She tell you about her boyfriend beating her?” Minsk asked, while he stood over the chair Emmy sat in.

“No,” Emmy said defensively, as Minsk leaned closer.

“We're trying to figure out what happened, Emmy,” Hanson said in a softer tone.

Emmy sighed. “I saw the bruises on her arms, and I told her to leave. Then a few months ago, she had ‘em on her neck. I told her to go the cops --to you guys,” she said, motioning to Minsk .

“When did she move out?” Minsk asked, still in a deep voice.

Soft wails came from the foldaway crib. Emmy stood and picked the baby up, making soft shushing sounds and giving him tiny kisses on his head. “At first he wouldn't let her leave. But then Carmen offered to drop the charges…”

Emmy sat back down. “She wanted to win a marathon again. Make a comeback, you know.”

“So you got her the apartment here?” Hanson asked.

Emmy looked away. “I mentioned there was a place empty. I said she could do better. Not that this dump is so great, you know. But Carmen and Ryan were wrong for each other, you know. Like I said, she could do better.”

Minsk suddenly stepped around the recliner and nudged his foot under the couch near where Hanson was sitting. A crushed can lay by his foot. “ Carmen could do better, huh?”

Emmy stared at the can. “She could,” she mumbled

“You snatched that golden boy right up, didn't you?” Minsk went on.

“It wasn't like that.”

“Sure it was. You saw your chance, talked her into moving out and made your move. But then she caught on,” Minsk continued, leaning closer to Emmy and the baby. “And you had to get rid of her to keep your plan to escape this dump.”

“That's not true!” The baby started wailing very loud now, and Emmy got up to get him a bottle. “Carmen was better off without him,” she said when she sat back in the recliner, rocking as she fed the boy. “She just pushes Ryan, you know. He isn't like that with me.”

“Sure,” Minsk said and laughed.

“Carmen moved on. And Ryan's with me now, so why would he kill her? Why would I?” The baby cried between gulps and Emmy stroked his cheek. “Besides, we have an alibi.”

“ We ?” Hanson asked.

“Ryan and me. We were at the emergency room all this morning, with the baby. He has an ear infection.”

“We'll check on that,” Hanson said and stood.

Minsk was still looming over Emmy, but his expression softened somewhat as he looked at the baby. “How long do you think it'll be before he starts hurting you?”

“I can take care of myself,” Emmy said, while she stroked her baby's face. “Besides, he's fine with me .”

*

“What now?” Hanson said as they sat in his new truck. “Check the alibi?”

“Sure,” Minsk said, defeated. “It'll probably be confirmed. And we're back at nothing.” He banged the dashboard. “Dammit!”

“Hey, hey, new car!” Hanson said, stroking the dash as if comforting it. “I'm as tired of chasing my tail as you are, but there's no need to be abusing my wheels.”

“Wheels?”

“That's what the salesman called it,” Hanson said.

Minsk opened his door and shook his head. “I'm packing it in for today.” He stepped out of the truck, then stuck his head back inside before he closed the door. “Something ain't right about this one. I'm losing my touch.”

“Let's start from scratch tomorrow,” Hanson said. “We'll go back to Garden of the Gods. I want to retrace Carmen's steps. Figure out what we're missing here.”

*

The next morning, they parked Hanson's pickup in the parking lot Carmen had parked her car just a day ago, before she went for her run. A red Jeep was the only other car there, and some hikers were lacing their boots in the back. They looked up with suspicion as the detectives started on the hiking trail, in their suits and dress shoes.

“I should have brought my hiking boots,” Hanson joked. He avoided any athletic activity like the plague. His wife Chris had been the one into sports, hiking, skiing when she could.

“You should,” Minsk said. “It's not a bad trail.”

“You hike?”

“With the wife, sometimes. I ain't so young anymore, you know. At my age, you have to start making payments for your good health.”

Hanson thought of Christine. How her hikes always made her perk up –and suddenly, Hanson felt the coin drop. “Carmen Suarez was practicing for a marathon ,” he said. Excited, he started for the brush along the road.

“So?” Minsk said, trailing behind.

“She wouldn't be running on the trail.” The two men stopped as they reached the edge of the one lane road. “She was running on the road,” Hanson mumbled.

“And I'll bet she was hit by a car, not a bat,” Minsk said, now walking fast along the road, toward where Carmen had been found.

Hanson strained to keep up with his partner's pace. “So how did she end up with the head injury alone? If it was a car accident, you would think there would be broken legs, something. I don't remember seeing anything.”

Minsk stopped walking. “It was right here,” he said.

The two men looked to their right, to the tree where Carmen had died from her injuries.

“The shoe,” Hanson said. “One of her sneakers was lying right by her foot. I assumed she lost it during the attack, but what if she was running, and stopped to tie her shoe. She would be bent down, head out…”

“Whack,” Minsk said. The two men were silent for a minute, while they replayed the eerie scenario in their minds.

“We were looking at this all wrong,” Hanson said. “This is a simple hit-and-run. Carmen just happened to have an abusive boyfriend, and got scared. Or maybe she was just confused from the blow to the head.”

The men walked back along the road, toward the parking lot.

“Could be anybody,” Minsk said. “And since it took us a whole day to chase down bogus leads, we're behind. Again .”

“At least now we know what happened,” Hanson tried. “I'm sure the medical examiner will find something. And there will be evidence on the car that hit her.”

“Which our driver has had plenty of time to clean by now.” Minsk shook his head as they reached Hanson's pickup. “If we even find this car.”

They drove on the one-way road around the giant red rocks, approaching a small parking lot near a scenic point. A couple kissed goodbye and the man got into an older-model sedan, the redheaded woman into a green SUV.

“Stop!” Minsk slammed the window.

“My wheels, Minsk ,” Hanson said irritably, but he stopped the car, blocking the SUV. The man in the sedan backed out behind them and drove off.

“I could be wrong,” Minsk said while he opened his door. “But I think we just found our car.”

The woman fumbled to roll down the window, and tried a firm stare. “Can I help you?”

Minsk leaned on her car door. “You were here yesterday.”

“Excuse me?” The woman tried to roll up her window, but Minsk 's arm was blocking her.

“You drove by, when we here to investigate the murder.”

“A murder? I thought…”

“You thought what?” Hanson said behind Minsk .

“I thought it was just an accident,” the woman said. Her eyes were darting like a trapped animal looking for an escape.

“A woman was hit by a car and left to die,” Minsk said, leaning into the car now.

“Her name was Carmen Suarez,” Hanson added.

Minsk stepped back and walked to the front of the SUV. A large horizontal bar shaped like a bullhorn was attached to the grille on the front of the vehicle. The thought of Carmen Suarez's head pounded by that monstrosity made Henson's stomach tighten.

“I don't know what you're looking for,” the woman called from the truck.

Minsk got on his knees and looked closely at the shiny bullhorn. After a long inspection, he got back up. “You did a good job cleaning,” he said as he walked back to the window.

“I didn't do anything,” the woman said, nearly in tears.

“What's your name?” Henson asked.

“Megan.”

“Megan, why did you run? You could have helped her.”

She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “My husband… he can't find out.”

“That man who just drove away, you were meeting him here yesterday too, weren't you?”

Megan nodded. “He's my brother-in-law. I couldn't… I can't…” She looked up.

Then she put the SUV in reverse and pushed the gas, backing right into the side of Hanson's truck, pulverizing the side and flipping it over.

Hanson groaned as he saw the wreckage the woman made of the side of his new truck.

*

“Thanks for the ride,” Hanson said when Minsk pulled up in front of his house.

Minsk started laughing. “Cheer up, kid. It's just a car.”
“Easy for you to say. I had that truck three days .”

Minsk laughed some more. “Maybe the gods in the garden were punishing you for bad taste.”

“At least we caught her. And a quick confession, after she destroyed my pickup.” He paused. “So was there any blood on that bullhorn of her SUV?”

“If there was, I didn't see it.” Minsk 's expression darkened. “That was about the only decent detective work I did on this case. Don't like goofing around like that.”

Hanson opened his door. “Tomorrow's another day.”

“Another car ,” Minsk said, grinning. “Get yourself something different this time, kid. You looked stupid in that pickup, with all the chrome.”

Hanson smiled. “Wheels, Minsk .” He paused. Getting rid of the car made sense, he knew that. Still, every change was a move away from Christine, like he was giving up on her coming back. “Maybe I'll wait.”