Beware the glass gallows
Blown by hand and ash
Sand is made from bones
And the blood of English fellows.
The Hangman
The rhyme wasn't the worst of it. John Michael Collins and his wife Adrian were English professors at Wyoming University. The locals found them tide together, sleeping in the peace of comfort of an asbestos windstorm.
CSI boys. They're the best anywhere in the world. The locals are always better even better than Langley or Quantico and have a clue. That's where most are recruited. Part of the clue was buffalo chips they found on Mr. Collins shoes. Usually, "Igor" everyone's nickname for the Hangman, was sharper. The buffalo chips meant two things either a farm or Yellowstone. There were a couple out there or Yellowstone National Park. The park made more sense but
where? It's one of the biggest forests above the equator just east of Africa.
We were gathered in a room at a Best Western. It looked liked an ex cops convention. All that was missing were a couple of nice girls, three boxes of Krispy Kreme Donuts and enough coffee for the 101st Airborne division.
Refreshing to see within a week of being there. Someone had a good idea where to look. Agent Borders knew how to talk cop.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the hangman. The name is sketchy. What we do have is a possible criminal profile, White male, 30-40 years of age, smart, well educated, likes poetry, occasionally writes. It's his calling card. Reports go back as far as 1989 to San Francisco to a little apartment near the bay. Alva Rodriguez and his life partner D. Garcia were found strangled, in 1992, it was Florida, at least three people we know of were killed,
including State Trooper Pete Hollis, who at the time was partner, to Investigator Glass, since then, Alabama, Missouri, and Nebraska have reported similar cases spanning two years apart. "Igor" is at it again. Maybe this time we have a chance to nab the sonofabitch. Any questions?"
"Sir, any reason not to just to nail him. Or does the state introduce to him to a cocktail, at a party of our choosing." A young agent said it.
"Be advised agent, "Igor" is extremely dangerous individual. Under no circumstances take this guy on your own or I'll have your ass on a sling. That goes for everyone here. Use backup, police 101 tactics all the way, and follow the chain of evidence. We want this guy clean if possible. Extreme force is the last option on the menu. Everyone, am I clear? Everything's on standby from class three wiretaps. We got most of Yellowstone wired. Beware of
anyone with a sense of rhyme."
A yes sir steamed from the room in a mist. It was clear. I guess that went for me too. Sorry Pete. I was strictly a guest and a ward of the Federal government. Yellowstone was a big sandbox but everyone got to play.
A network was setup with ten units including local authorities, forest rangers, and federal personnel, and attorneys on standby in Jackson Hole, Denver, and Cheyenne to run interference. We had everything from choppers to horses to rafters sailing down the river looking for this Jack.
Then Igor got lonely and became his alter ego. He gave yours truly a call.
"Once there was a detective, who liked to play Dick Tracy
Then came a girl, her parents called Ms. Lacy
One afternoon, in the middle of June
She woke up with the bats under a blood red moon."
"Igor, so good of you to call. Long time no see. Miss me?
"Igor, really Mr. Glass. If you want to know my name, I'll oblige only you. It's Stanley. If you'll let me call you Livingston." I laughed for a moment.
"Mr. Stanley, I presume. This mean there's another body or you just brushing up on old times?"
"What can I say Mr. Livingston, I'm a missionary to my folly. A lot of people need converting all over the world, certainly a man of the world such as yourself can understand. I've followed your career, as I'm sure you've followed mine. Mobsters, Private investigations, dropping out of sight for over four years.. Trials…tribulations. I must have brought you out of retirement. I'm touched."
"Stanley, sentimentality is not one of your strong suits. The poetry's a nice touch, you a reading man, maybe Joe college type, or just a man with hidden talents. What else is in your closet? Jilted lovers, mean fathers, your mother dress you up in your sister's hand me downs?" I motioned to a young woman agent named Hawes. She motioned back; they were tracing the call. They called it 'cloning' where you can clone the cell or pager of another's
person call.
"Really Mr. Livingston, I'm flattered. I didn't know you cared. Nothing like that, I've got many skeletons in my closet. I'm guessing you do too. Maybe a woman, or two, a sister whose married with kids, divorced, living somewhere in Europe, parents dead natural causes, apologies for your losses. By the way, I've seen your life through witnessed eyes. Witness Protection. Sharp, I bet Colangelo would love to know about the company you keep and your
redheaded friend too." My eyes turned into a blazing fire as he hung up.
"Agent Hawes, give me something, anything!" I barked.
Samantha replied, "Karl, we got an address. The problem is it's in the visitor's center near Old Faithful!"
We were there in a half hour. The center was contained. All tourists in the area; were told to exit courtesy of the park commission. It took work. We carded, checked, and double-checked everyone on the list figuratively speaking. If it wasn't an animal or had antlers, they were interviewed. Only two people didn't check out. One man was in the park illegally. He was seeing a girlfriend who worked at one of the hotels. Another was about 40, gray hair.
His demeanor, showed breeding but a nervousness, indicating something was up.
"Jim, who is he?"
"I think I know him. I just can't place it."
"We asked him his name. He said it was Stanley Livingston."
"Jim, that's Igor. That's the hangman!"
"I'll be a sonofabitch. You talk to him…"
"He called me. He led us here!"
I rushed up to his room and broke the door in. The room was sparse. There were a few bags of luggage, a rope, a toothbrush, and a bus ticket to Cleveland. Tossing his room, we came upon a picture of Mary Jane and me embracing, skiing in Alaska, a picture of Pete and Me by our squad car, other pictures, included a case in Clarkston Florida, and one picture showed Pete and I kneeling over a body. The woman, was elderly, within her lined face had kind
blue eyes. I was giving her mouth-to-mouth trying to revive her. Her name was Joanna Livingston. It was my first year out of the academy. It was 1985. When I saw him and I knew.
"Mr. Livingston I presume? This a grudge thing or just personal." I threw the photographs in his face.
"No it's not a grudge, in case you're wondering. My mother lived another week after your rescue attempt. I was eighteen then. My father attacked her. I wanted revenge and got it. I don't suppose you'll have pity for an orphan. There are two things Detective you need to know. One is I'm dying. I have cancer. Your promise to your partner is moot. Doctors have given me at the most two years to live."
"The second?"
"I've placed a call to Miami. I've told an acquaintance of yours. A charge of his, is staying at the Yellowstone Inn under the name of Stanley Richards. I imagine two gentlemen callers within the next two days. You're welcome to stay."
"Stanley I'm touched. But I'll pass it on to the boys at Quantico."
"I have my moments believe it or not. I caught an arsonist about a week ago, after a small fire destroyed range in Montana on the Bitterroot side. The Hangman monogram and all, she'll be playing with matches no more. You needn't worry about your lady friend."
Jim and I looked at each other like he was crazy. Stanley Livingston was crazy but with a justifiable blindness sort of air. The sonofagun wanted to get caught.
"Stanley, don't even go there! Enjoy the rest of your life!" I walked out and didn't look back. Agent Borders followed police procedure and read him his rights.
Yolanda Carter dreams of owning her own bakery. Employed at a cat shelter, she stumbles across a scheme that threatens to close it down. Will her delicious brownies save them?
