Murder On The Colorado Trail

By Bruce Weiner

Forced out of the Navy after an 8-year stint, Jonas Fisher needs a new direction. He sets his mind and heart on being a newspaper reporter. The only problem is that he has neither the experience nor the education he needs. But the wind is at his back, and through sheer grit and a little luck, he lands a job with a small paper in Colorado. Friends and enemies quickly pile up as he works to prove he’s up to the challenge. After settling in and meeting with some success, he becomes immersed in trying to unravel a murder and ends up with a lot more than he bargained for...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Weiner
• Release date: Jul 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989154628

Book preview

Prologue

The contest between good and evil traces back to man’s first days on the planet. Many of the earliest battles between those opposing forces are well chronicled, for example in the Old Testament of the Bible, but without any clear insight as to their ultimate origin. The Hebrew Kabbalah was developed in part to fill that void. The Kabbalah is a set of teachings, dating back nearly a thousand years, which are meant to explain the complex relationship between our eternal and mysterious creator and the mortal and finite beings he created.

Kabbalah’s philosophy about good vs. evil is based on the belief that both came from God. This is, of course, in opposition to the widely held belief among some religions that God has an alter ego, so to speak, represented in the Devil.

The perpetual conflict between good and evil is symbolized within Hebrew traditions by the two inverted triangles that comprise the Star of David. They represent the various contradictions inherent in man’s nature, including both good vs. evil and, closely interrelated, spiritualism vs. materialism. One triangle points upward towards the heavens, representing man’s spiritual nature. The second triangle points down toward the earth, representing man’s materialistic side. The sides of the triangle can also be seen to represent the three protagonists in the struggle between good and evil, that is, the perpetrator, the victim and the protector-avenger. That third character in the triad plays differing roles, depending upon whether or not the perpetrator has triumphed over the intended victim. That the conflict between good and evil is constantly in play, in various forms and stages throughout our life and across the entirety of the human domain, in and of itself bears no special interest. Instead, it is the unique details of how these opposing forces tug and pull at the protagonists and ultimately, it is how they play out that grabs us. It is those personal battles, between real people, whose lives touch us and we come to care about, that captures our imagination time and time again.

It is against that backdrop that this story, on the eternal continuum between the forces of good and the forces of evil, plays out in a small town in southwest Colorado.

Chapter One

It was a soft, sunny, spring morning in Southwest Colorado. It was also a Saturday, which meant that Laura Laraby could relax after another hectic week of teaching at the Chief Ouray School. After 37 years she was used to the pace, if not quite as up to it as she was when she first started out so many years ago. Six classes a day, twenty to twenty-five students filing in and out for fifty minute periods. Her kids, well most of them anyway, adored her, and she them. But after so many years, she was finally ready to call it quits and take a break, having decided that this year would be her last.

In two months she would leave the Chief Ouray School for good. Come September it would be someone else, taking her place to educate a new set of young minds.

Laura’s house stood just north of the City of Ouray, up a long gravel drive off route 550. As she stood there in her yard, she fondled her necklace, a keepsake left her by her mother. Along with the house, it was her lifeline back to all of the positive memories she had of her mother and her childhood. It was a large pendent, circle-shaped and attached to a thin silver chain. Small diamonds lined the outer edge. She assumed that they couldn’t be real diamonds because her parents never had much money. But she’d never had it appraised. It was too valuable as a keepsake to be concerned with how many dollars it might be worth.

Laura’s father died when she was five. Her mother used the life insurance money to pay off the house. Her mother, who had up until then been a stay at home mom, went to work full time as an office clerk after her father's death. She barely made enough money to pay the utilities, keep food on the table and the car running. The little bit left over was saved for Laura’s education.

Laura really didn’t remember her father or when he died, at age 28, of cancer. Although they were poor, her mother’s love and her best friend Emily provided all the makings she needed for a happy childhood. The single bad experience of her childhood she had long since erased from her mind.

But right now was not the time for looking back, but looking forward. And today, Saturday, she just wanted to put on her gloves, grab her tools and get into her garden. This somehow reminded her of an old nursery rhyme from her childhood:

Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?

With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row.

It’s funny how things pop into and out of your head, she thought as she headed toward the back of the house, where her sprawling garden of nearly half an acre awaited. She knew exactly what she wanted to do with the rest of her life and was looking forward to it. Nurturing her plants and watching them grow, spending more quality time with the few close friends she had and an occasional trip outside her tightly structured little world. Even at 59, Laura was still relatively young and old age seemed a long way off.

Oh, yes, she knew exactly what she wanted as she headed into retirement in her scenic corner of Southwest Colorado. But it’s often difficult to foresee the unexpected. The road of life, after all, has many curves and unknown hazards in its path.

Chapter Two

Jonas Fisher was experiencing one of those curves in the road of life as he walked down the gangway of the U.S.S. Nimitz for the last time. While he still had a month to go until he was officially a civilian again, today was his last in uniform, having been granted 30 days paid separation leave to look for a civilian job.

With the Iraq war over, the President’s commitment to reduce operations in Afghanistan and the ongoing battle in Congress to cut the national debt, the Navy could no longer afford to maintain its current troop levels. Three months ago while at sea, Jonas was called into his CO’s office and given the news. He was one of 5000 sailors being riffed from the Navy, RIF being the military’s acronym for Reduction in Force. After eight years in the Navy, it was time to move on.

Although not of his own choosing, he couldn’t say that he was altogether unhappy to be leaving the Navy. When he had stepped on board the Nimitz for the first time he was just a kid, barely a high school graduate. Many of his shipmates had been his age, or close to it. Eight years later, most of his shipmates were still in their late teens and early 20s, but he had morphed into being a relative old-timer, even though he was only 26. And the years toiling on the flight deck for 14 to 16 hours a day, sometimes seven days a week, had taken a toll. He felt more and more that servicing Navy jets on the flight deck of a carrier, no matter how noble the mission, was becoming less and less like a calling and more and more like an everyday job, one that he no longer looked forward to.

As he stood there on the dock, waiting for his friend Rick to pick him up, he starred back at the monster of a ship that had been his home for much of his Navy service. Longer than three football fields and nearly as wide as one, and with a crew of over 4500, the U.S.S. Nimitz had served its country well during his time aboard. The ship and crew had supported operations in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya. The Nimitz and her sister ships gave the nation a series of formidable platforms from which to project its power, where and when it was needed. He and his shipmates had certainly demonstrated that in a big way during his tours on board.

Jonas was justifiably proud of his service, having done his job and done it well. Being a history buff of sorts, he liked to think of the Nimitz and his time aboard her in relation to the broad sweep of Navy history. Although he would have been happy serving aboard any carrier, he was particularly glad when he first heard he was going to the Nimitz.

The first nuclear powered carrier in the fleet, it was named after Fleet Admiral Chester William Nimitz, the last five-star admiral to hold that rank in the Navy. Admiral Nimitz commanded all of the United States’ air, land and sea forces in the Pacific in World War II and lead the U.S. to victory against the Japanese in that theater. As a result, he was designated to sign for the United States on board the U.S.S. Missouri in Tokyo Bay when the Japanese formally surrendered on September 2, 1945.

Much to his chagrin, most of Jonas’s shipmates were clueless about all but the ship’s most recent history. Few knew anything of the Naval legend for which the ship was named, outside of recognizing his picture that was posted in numerous places around the ship.

That wasn’t the only thing, however, that stood him apart from his shipmates. When their shifts were over, most of his shipmates just wanted to relax and chew the fat or blow off some steam. Jonas was different. He looked forward to using his down time to read or study. Although he wasn’t averse to having a drink with the guys during their shore leave sojourns, when he gave himself some goof off time, it was often spent alone, watching a good movie or playing his guitar.

With only a high school education when he entered the Navy, Jonas had tried to take advantage of the college courses offered on board, especially since the Navy paid the bill. The frantic pace on board the carrier, however, limited has educational opportunities when they were at sea, which accounted for more than half of his total time in the Navy.

While he completed a few courses, he mainly focused on reading, journalism, history and, for a break, murder mysteries. He loved murder mysteries because they were puzzles, and he loved solving puzzles and trying to guess in advance where the plot of each mystery was headed as he was reading. His powers of observation were keen and although, thankfully, there were no murders to solve on board the ship, he did, to his own delight, solve some minor mysteries that others could not.

The few college courses he was able to complete focused on communications and working toward a degree, related to his interest in one day being a journalist, more specifically a newspaper reporter. His uncle had been a reporter and Jonas had been bitten by the writing bug after having had several of his articles published in the Stars and Stripes and the Navy Times. He also managed, over the years, to get a few articles into the ship's newsletter.

It wasn’t much in the way of journalistic experience, but enough to give him encouragement. When he told his friends about his aspirations to be a reporter, they invariably just shook their heads. Get real, one of his shipmates said. You don’t have a degree or any significant experience. You’re dreaming if you think you’re going to land a job as a reporter. You need to look at how your Navy skills transfer over to the civilian side and focus there.

Of course his shipmate had a point. Finding any job was going to be a challenge. The economy at the moment was in the toilet, and he’d only have a month after departing the Nimitz to land a job before his last Navy paycheck. But he’d find something, he knew he would. It might take some time and a lot of work, but he had confidence in his ability and he had always been a ‘glass is half full’ kind of guy.

Yes, it was a good eight year run and, on reflection, one he mostly enjoyed. But he was not one of those ‘fast burners’ and not as gung ho as many of his shipmates, especially after he failed to get through a try at becoming a Navy Seal. And of course, there was that one black mark in his record, the reprimand for insubordination.

So Jonas was less than surprised when the CO gave him the news. The question was, what was he really going to do now? Upon reflection, his skills servicing aircraft on the flight deck of a carrier didn’t translate particularly well to civilian life. The comparable jobs working for a commercial aviation firm or airline were limited and hard to come by and, at any rate, that wasn’t really what he wanted.

Having finished staring at the Nimitz and reflecting on his uncertain future, he turned around and saw his friend Rick standing at the curb, leaning against his car. It was a blue and white Mini-Cooper, which looked like it had been freshly washed and polished. I didn’t hear you pull up, said Jonas. How long have you been here?

About five minutes, replied Rick. I saw you staring up at her, like you were in a trance. I didn’t want to break the mood. You gonna miss her?

I don’t know. I don't think so. I spent a long time living in her cramped quarters and working my butt off 12 to 16 hours a day. I don’t think I was cut out to be a Navy lifer. I’m ready for something else.

They got in the car, with Jonas’s duffle thrown in the back. He had more stuff, but that was sitting in storage, put there when he started his last deployment. He didn’t have a place of his own. Not since the divorce three years ago. Upon hearing the news about the RIF, Rick had offered his place as a temporary sanctuary until Jonas had a chance to find a job and settle in somewhere. Jonas had few real friends and was glad for the lifeline.

Rick said, I’m going to drop you off at the apartment. I’ve got to head back to work. There’s stuff in the fridge. You can help yourself. I should be home about six. We can head out for some pizza or a burger, have a beer or two, and do some catching up.

Rick’s apartment was in Kearny Mesa, a 10 mile drive from the Nimitz’s dock location at North Island. Rick worked for an auto dealership as a grease monkey, although, as he was explaining to Jonas, the job title was auto repair specialist. Seeing as how cars were rapidly morphing to be as much computer as mechanical, Rick thought of himself as more of a computer technician than a mechanic. As they were turning north onto Route 163, Rick was explaining, in as much technical jargon as he could muster, how sophisticated maintaining cars had become.

Jonas was trying to be polite and listen to his friend’s jabbering about the ins and outs of car repair, but his mind was elsewhere. How was he going to find a job? He couldn’t stay with Rick very long in his one bedroom apartment. He could manage the couch for a short while, but he knew he was imposing and was sure he would be cramping Nick’s style while he was there. Rick had a girl friend and, as Rick had indicated, the relationship had long passed the casual stage.

Jonas was hoping to find work locally so he could stay in San Diego. The weather was great and he liked to hike the hills or walk the beaches along the coast. But San Diego was also an expensive place to live. He had some savings, mostly his half of the inheritance he got when his mother passed away two years ago. It was still tucked away in the bank, earning a little interest. But out of the Navy and back on land he would undoubtedly need a car if he was going to stick around, and a decent place to live wouldn’t come cheap.

Also on the downside of staying in San Diego were the memories of a failed marriage. Sea duty had taken its toll. It had now been four years since the divorce, and the pain and regrets still lingered.

He had gotten the word via letter, aboard ship in the Indian Ocean. It was one of those Dear John letters featured prominently in a lot of those old World War II movies. She was attractive and intelligent. After they had been married awhile, she realized that she didn’t handle being alone very well and he was away at sea for six months at a time. She didn’t make friends easily and, not one to sit around the house, took a job as an assistant in a veterinarian hospital. The vet was good looking, outgoing and single. The two hit it off in more ways than one and the rest, as they say, was history.

They got to Rick’s place and Jonas hauled in his duffle, dropping it on the floor next to the living room couch. He’d have to live out of the bag, since Rick had no free storage space. The apartment was on the small side, even for a one bedroom. The living room and kitchen were merged into one contiguous space. Although cramped, the windows were relatively large and the sun lit up the place, giving it a warm, welcoming feel.

You can use the laptop for your job searches while I’m gone, Rick suggested. The computer was sitting on a rather cluttered looking desk, next to the couch. Rick grabbed his keys and headed off back to work, leaving Jonas with the spare key to the apartment, in case he wanted to get some exercise and take a foot tour of the neighborhood.

Jonas opened the laptop and logged into his email account. As he expected, there were no responses to the two dozen resumes he had sent out over the past two weeks while they were still at sea. After checking his email, he was going to do some job searches, but he got an itch to do some walking first. He was hungry and decided to try the strip mall they had passed as they got close to the apartment.

He stepped out of the apartment and San Diego was its usual ‘sunny and 70 degrees’. The weather was so constant most of the year that Jonas wondered why the local news stations bothered with a weather segment.

As it turned out, he remembered correctly about the strip mall. It was only five blocks from Rick’s apartment and he was there in a leisurely 15 minutes. As luck would have it, they had a Starbucks tucked away in the corner of the mall and he decided to grab a newspaper and head on in for an orange juice and a sandwich. He wasn’t a coffee drinker, really odd for a sailor. His friends on board ship had constantly needled him about it. How can you be in the Navy and not drink coffee? they would ask somewhat seriously. Isn’t that a violation of the Navy code?

Coffee was an acquired taste, one he was never able to acclimate himself to. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t keep up the pace quite as well as some of his shipmates. No caffeine to provide a stimulus.

As he sat in Starbucks, perusing the local paper and thinking about his future, he couldn’t help feeling that not only could he write as well as the articles he found there, he could do better. But how could he break into the reporting business? He had no degree. His experience was barely a few articles published in military papers. Sure, Andy Rooney had gotten his start with Stars & Stripes, but he had been a no kidding wartime correspondent, not a casual contributor.

Hell with it, he thought. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He would continue his searches for newspaper jobs and answer every ad. What did he have to lose? Maybe, just maybe, he’d catch a break.

He got back to Rick’s apartment just before six. He’d do his job searching tomorrow, he decided, along with working on which car he wanted to buy, since he would need one soon. He’d also visit the local library and see what he could find on reporting to pad his knowledge. He had some communications classes under his belt, but nothing specific on writing for a newspaper. Anything he could pick up might be useful if, by some chance, he actually landed an interview.

A plan of sorts in place, it was time for dinner out. A few beers, a few laughs. Tonight was a night to loosen up. He’d pick up the tab. It was the least he could do to repay Rick’s friendship and hospitality. They hit a pizza parlor a few miles from the apartment.

Your girlfriend’s not jealous you’re out with me and not her? Jonas asked.

Sally’s not the jealous type, Rick said. Anyway, I’ll see her tomorrow and will probably sleep over, so you can have the bed.

Jonas told Rick about his plan to pursue a job as a newspaper reporter. Rick’s response was predictable. Ok, but what’s your backup plan? Jonas was quiet. He really didn’t have one.

Chapter Three

Jackson Fundy was one mean son-of-a-bitch. But then again, what else was he likely to be, rotting away in a cell in the Colorado State Penitentiary. CSP, as it was commonly known, is home to some of Colorado’s most violent offenders. It's situated on a twenty acre site in Canon City, Colorado, 110 miles south of Denver on U.S. Route 50.

Fundy had a long rap sheet beginning at age 16, but the crime that landed him in the state pen put him in a whole new league compared to his previous crimes. During a robbery of a warehouse in Boulder, he and his accomplice were discovered by the night guard, who he then stabbed and left for dead.

The guard survived, however, and identified Fundy, who was convicted of armed robbery and attempted murder, earning him a 20-year stretch in the pen. The guard failed to get a good look at Fundy’s accomplice, however, who got away and was never identified. Fundy wouldn’t reveal his partner’s identity, which cost him five more years than he would have otherwise gotten.

When he first got to CSP, Fundy had, shall we say, a real attitude problem. Even by CSP standards, he was one mean hombre. In his first year he got into multiple fights and ended up in solitary confinement three separate times. After that, however, he began to figure out the system and was able to stay out of serious trouble. Not that he stopped fighting with other prisoners, just that he was able to keep those altercations under the radar of the prison guards.

But in the past year he had undergone an even more significant transformation. Almost overnight, it seemed, he had become a model prisoner. His cellmates and the guards didn’t know what to make of it and he wasn’t giving them any hints, in spite of a lot of prodding.

It’s not that he actually became friendly or sought more interaction with the other prisoners or the guards. He was a loner and had no one in the prison that he could call a friend. But he stopped getting into arguments and fights and he did what he was told by the guards, without any resistance or giving them any lip. At first the guards thought that he must be getting drugs, but they sent him for multiple drug tests, all of which came back negative.

What no one knew and what he wouldn’t tell them is that the radical change they saw could be traced to a chance encounter during lunch in the prison cafeteria. While sitting quietly eating his meal, he overheard one of the other prisoners talking about how, because of a recent court ruling, he might finally be able to find out who his biological parents were. This inmate went on to say that he had connected with someone on the outside to help him file the necessary papers to have his adoption records opened so he could identify, and hopefully meet, his real parents.

It took only a moment for this conversation to hit home for Jackson Fundy and give him motivation to focus on getting out of prison. This could be his opportunity for payback, one way or another. His biological parents, for whatever reason, had given him away. And by giving him up, they had condemned him, at least in his mind, to a life of misery. He had once before filed legal papers to discover their identity, before going to prison. But that was before the new court ruling and his request had been summarily denied by the court.

Jackson Fundy’s adoptive family had been a story of good intentions gone wrong. He had few good memories of his childhood. His adopted father John had lost his job when Fundy was six, and started drinking and became abusive, frequently beating both Jackson and his adopted mother. This went on sporadically, even after John found another job. His adoptive mother Lucy, having had enough of the abuse, left John and took Jackson with her. Jackson had had one good friend in school that he often hung out with, which was key to his emotional survival and an escape from his abusive home life. When Lucy left John, they moved to a small apartment on the other side of town and to another school, too far away to see his friend. Jackson was never able to make friends easily, and quickly came to feel isolated in his new school.

Lucy filed for and was ultimately granted a divorce. In the meantime, she had to get a job to pay the bills and put food on the table. John, although employed, was providing very little in the way of child support or alimony, and never bothered to contact or have any interaction with Jackson.

The abuse and now the divorce took a heavy toll on young Jackson. He wasn’t fitting in at his new school. He had no friends and had become very much a loner. As such, he was often picked on by the other children. Before long, he started getting into trouble at school.

At first it was small things, like stopping up the sink in the bathroom to make the water overflow or writing graffiti on the wall. But over time, his mischief became progressively worse. Feeling overwhelmed, but not knowing where to turn for help, Lucy asked her parents if she could send Jackson to them for a while, until she could catch her breath and get the rest of her life under control. Already in their late 60s, her parents turned her down.

Lucy, saddled with a child who was increasingly becoming unmanageable and an income that left her wondering how she was going to pay the bills each month, began to follow her ex’s path into drinking. Even though he was only ten, it wasn’t hard for Jackson to get the impression that he was no longer wanted. As a sign of rebellion, Jackson was showing more and more signs of anti-social behavior and had graduated to shoplifting and vandalism.

Caught by the police running away after a second shoplifting incident, he was held in detention until Lucy came to the station to sign for him. But when she got the call, Lucy refused to come get him. She told the police that she could no longer control him, that he was adopted and it was obvious that he had defective genes and would never be anything but a petty thief, or worse.

Abandoned a second time and with no other family to look to for support, Jackson continued on a downward spiral. He was continually in and out of foster care and then juvenile facilities until he was an adult, finally ending up in CSP after the conviction for attempted murder.

Although he’d only completed ten of his twenty year sentence, he had become eligible for parole. His first parole hearing was to be the following week. Normally, he couldn’t hope to be paroled for at least another five years, but Colorado, like many other states, was under a budget crunch and needed to reduce its inmate population. Colorado’s Department of Corrections was also under pressure from a Federal judge, who directed the state to reduce what had become habitual overcrowding at CSP.

Jackson was sure that he had fooled the psychiatrist that interviewed him for his parole hearing into thinking that he was rehabilitated. Next week, he would meet the parole board and fool them too. Although there was no guarantee, he felt confident that within a few months he would be out of prison, the court would grant his request to reveal the identity of his birth parents and he would satisfy his yearning for some form of payback for his miserable life.

Chapter Four

It was two days later, and Jonas had been busy at working the job hunting scene. He found multiple sites on the internet that listed newspaper reporting jobs and responded to a large number of them. The good news was that there were literally hundreds of openings, spread across probably every state in the country. The bad news was that those listings that detailed their requirements were asking for a minimum of a four year degree, either in journalism, communications or a related field. And they wanted hard experience. Many job listings also asked for experience in photography and photo editing software, none of which he had.

It would have been easy, given the credentials and experience that he didn’t have, to just give up and focus elsewhere. But his inner confidence and determination to be a newspaper reporter wouldn’t let him. And since virtually all of the listings wanted applications submitted on-line via email, it was easy to crank out a lot of submissions in a relatively short time. The only thing that would slow him down was doing the cover letters. Each one would have to be tailored to the specific location, type of publication and job requirements for each position. Since his resume was rather thin, it would have to be the cover letter that carried the day.

It two days he had gotten nearly 100 applications out via email. But it was starting to get rather tedious and he would need some kind of positive response soon in order to keep himself motivated to maintain the effort.

Hoping to get some free professional advice, he also made some cold calls to a few of the reporters at the local San Diego newspaper, the Times. Getting their phone numbers was easy, since all of the paper’s staff were listed in the Times’ on-line directory. He made six calls, and in each case he left a voice mail with the number of his new smart phone, something he was sure he would need as a reporter and certainly handy for his job search. Although not as good as a computer, the direct internet connection from his phone meant that he wouldn’t have to totally rely on using Rick’s laptop.

In his voice mail to the reporters, Jonas mentioned his just completed tour on the Nimitz and that he had a story that might interest them. He hoped that it might be enough of a carrot to earn a return call. If they knew the real reason for his call up front, he felt they were much less likely to phone back.

The next day he got up early and checked his email. There were some responses to his on-line applications, but he’d already learned after the first day of sending them out that some papers set up automated responses, just to tell the applicant that their application had been received and would be reviewed. Today’s responses were all of the automated variety.

An automated response rarely indicated when the application would be reviewed or when or if the applicant could expect to hear anything further. As he was starting to learn, for more than ninety percent of the applications there would be no substantive response at all. Having been rapidly accepted by the Navy right out of high school, being rejected or totally ignored when applying for a job was a new experience for Jonas. It was a wakeup call as it were, into the life of a job hunter in the real world.

After checking his email and feeling a bit down by the lack of any real responses, he checked his voice mail. Wow, he had one. Hmm...The only people who knew his new cell phone number were Ricky, his sister who he rarely talked to and the reporters at the San Diego Times that he had left messages with.

He nervously fumbled with the phone as he called the voice mail number to retrieve his message. It was Maria Campbell, one of the reporters. She gave him her cell phone number and asked him to call, saying that yes, she’d like to hear what he has for a story. This made him even more nervous. What would she say when she heard why he was really calling?

He dialed the number and a few seconds later heard, Maria Campbell? Jonas responded, Hi, Maria, this is Jonas Fisher, the sailor from the Nimitz.

Ah, yes, Jonas. I’ve only got a few minutes right now and I’d like to hear more about this story of yours, but you’ll have to give me more information before I’d go to the trouble of a face-to-face. I’ve got a busy schedule and don’t have time to waste.

At that moment, Jonas could feel a lump in his throat. He could feel a big time rejection coming as soon as he got out ‘the rest of the story’. Well, sometimes you just get flat out surprised. When he told her about wanting to become a newspaper reporter and getting some advice, she actually said ok, she would meet with him.

As it happened, she had a brother in the Navy, who she hadn’t seen for more than two years and was out somewhere in the Mediterranean on a battleship. Maria told him that she could meet him at a restaurant near the newspaper’s offices at noon the next day. He gave her an emphatic thank you and hung up, his spirits suddenly soaring.

The next day, after pumping out another dozen or so applications in the morning, he headed out for the lunch with Maria Campbell. Rick had agreed to loan Jonas his car, but that meant Jonas had to be up at o-dark-thirty to have Rick at the car dealership in time to start work at 6:30.

Not being familiar with the area around the newspaper, Jonas was going to take no chances and leave plenty of extra time to get to the restaurant. When he got there, he realized that he had no idea what Maria Campbell looked like. He figured that he was there before she was, got a table and left his and her name with the hostess, so that the hostess could match them up when Maria came in. He ordered an ice tea and waited, checking his phone in case she had tried to call.

At ten past noon he began to worry. No Maria. Was she not going to make it? She hadn’t called. He had her cell phone number. Should he call her? Just then, he saw a tall, rather thin brunette walk in. She was what you would call professionally dressed, wearing a white blouse with a medium length black skirt and carrying a small handbag. She spoke briefly to the hostess, who pointed her in Jonas’s direction.

As she turned toward him, he couldn’t help notice how attractive she was. Then he couldn’t help notice the large diamond wedding band on her left hand. He said to himself, Ok, Jonas, we’re going to keep this strictly professional.

He stood as she approached the table and they shook hands. Jonas thanked her for coming and giving him the opportunity. Maria said, I barely have an hour. I have another interview for a story immediately after lunch and I can’t be late. Let’s order and then we’ll talk. I’ve been here before and know what I want. I do too, Jonas replied, having been through the menu while he was waiting for her. He got the waiter’s attention and they ordered. Maria started off the conversation.

Ok, Jonas, the first thing I want to know is why you want to be a newspaper reporter. Jonas paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. When I graduated high school and joined the Navy, it was for two reasons. First, I wanted to get away from Saginaw. We never traveled much when I was a kid. In fact, I’d never been out of the state before I left for the Navy. Second, and I know this is going to sound hokey, I wanted to serve my country. My father was in the military, as were my two grandfathers and their grandfathers before them.

Ok, I served, for eight years, he continued. We accomplished our mission in Iraq. We’ve brought al Qaeda to its knees. Now the Navy says they don’t need me anymore. Fine. No problem. My uncle was a reporter and I thought the world of him. He taught me how important the fourth estate was as a part of our democracy. While I was at sea on the Nimitz, I wrote a couple of articles, one published in the Stars and Stripes and the other in the Navy Times. I caught the bug. I want to do this and I believe that I can be good at it.

Maria paused before answering. Ok, that was good. I’m dutifully impressed.

Then she asked him what he thought his qualifications were, aside from the two articles he had published. Noting that there wasn’t much, beyond a few communications classes, she said, I’m sorry Jonas. I’d like to be more supportive, but without a degree and with your limited writing experience, I don’t see how you can expect to break in.

I don’t mind going back to school, but I’m out of a job and there’s nothing else I really have an interest in doing right now. Other than more school and getting my degree, is there anything else you can think of that might help?

No, I can’t, but maybe you need to test your skills a little more before going out and tilting at more windmills. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll talk to my boss, and see if he’ll allow you to shadow me on some of my assignments for a few days. If he says yes, at the end of each assignment, you’ll write an article, based on the information we’ve gathered. Then I’ll critique your articles and we’ll see if they stack up. Now, I can’t promise that my boss is going to go along, but I’m willing to pitch it. What do you think?

Jonas didn’t hesitate. Wow, that would be great. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.

Maria was instantly afraid that he was getting ahead of her. Remember, I haven’t promised this. And you’ll have to give me a few days. My boss is very busy and so am I.

Ok, Jonas responded, I’ll wait to hear from you.

She got up to go and he thanked her again for spending her time. As he paid the check, he couldn’t help but be excited. It was going to be hard, waiting to hear whether she could get her boss on board with her proposal.

Chapter Five

Jackson Fundy had met the parole board and, in his mind, passed with flying colors. They would grant his parole. He was sure of it. Not that it had been a slam dunk. What he had not been aware of going into the hearing was that, at the time hearing is scheduled, a notice is sent out to the person or persons injured or, in the case of murder, the family of the deceased. In this case, the guard who he stabbed was notified by mail of the date of the parole hearing and given the option of either appearing or sending a statement, either in support of or against parole.

Fortunate for Fundy, Arturo Ricardo, the guard he stabbed, chose to do neither. His wife wanted him to appear, and argue against parole for the son of a bitch who nearly killed him. But Arturo had moved on. After leaving the hospital and recovering from his wounds, his brother-in-law had hired him to help manage his growing company, which specialized in home re-modeling. More money and less risk. The way Arturo saw it, if he stayed out of it, the chances of ever encountering Jackson Fundy again were next to nil. But if he fought the parole, who knows what the crazy bastard would do when he finally got out. He might decide to hold a grudge and track Arturo down. Arturo was by no means a coward, but he just wanted to put the experience beyond him and enjoy his kids and grandkids.

Within the next 30 days, Fundy expected to be a free man. One hurdle out of the way. But an even bigger hurdle was potentially ahead, discovering the identity of his biological parents and getting some payback for his miserable existence. Even with the recent court ruling, he still had to get a judge to grant his request to unseal the file and reveal his parents’ identity.

When Fundy had overheard the conversation in the cafeteria and first realized that getting his record unsealed was a possibility, he was left without an understanding of the details of how it could be done. The inmate he’d overheard was probably one of those so-called jailhouse lawyers, who spent their free time in the prison library pouring through law books. Prison inmates could easily be dismissed as lacking a lot of intelligence, since they were obviously dumb enough get caught committing a crime. But many were, in fact, quite intelligent, and landed in prison because of bad luck, the percentages just caught up with them or they let their emotions trump their smarts.

Jackson, however, could not put himself in the smart group. He was not, on his own, capable of researching the complexities of the law and figuring out the steps he needed to follow to process his request. But he was smart enough to figure out another way to accomplish the same goal. It wasn’t hard, really. He would just wait for one of the women who would be contacting him in the next few weeks, and then ask them to assist him with his quest.

How did he know he would be contacted? Easy. Since he first arrived as CSP, there had been continual flow of mail from women who professed interest in him, offering their moral and material support and to be his lifeline to the outside world.

At first, he thought it must be a mistake, that these women were confusing him with someone else. He couldn’t understand how women he didn’t even know, had never met or hadn’t even seen, could be interested in someone doing hard time for a crime such as his.

It didn’t take long, through various conversations with some of his fellow prisoners over the next few weeks, to understand that this was, in fact, a well established phenomenon. Even stranger, it seemed that the more serious the crime, the more women seemed to be interested in the perpetrator. Fundy averaged a letter from one of these prison groupies every 1 to 2 weeks. Actual murderers, he found out, often got as many as 1 or 2 a day, with serial killers receiving the most.

He hadn’t kept any of the letters he received from these women, however. He wasn’t interested, at least not previously, in some groupie he couldn’t physically engage with, even though some, who sent along a photo, were quite attractive. He did actually read through the first few letters he received, curious about what these women had to say and what might be motivating them to write. But he soon became bored with the same old drivel that seemed to thread through each one and he began tossing them out without even opening them.

Keeping some of those letters, of course, would have proved useful now. But he hadn’t and he was never one to regret past deeds, or missed opportunities. He’d just bide his time and another letter would be along within a week or two.

Sure enough, five days later, he got a letter in the mail from a Grace Swendon in Pueblo. No picture, but what she looked like really didn’t matter. He would write her back, confident that he would successfully enlist her help and another piece of the puzzle would fall into place.

The next day, however, the news was not so good. The parole board was supposed to meet the day after he met it, to vote on all of the cases they had heard and make a decision. One of the board members, however, had taken ill and was rushed to the hospital. The meeting of the board would have to be rescheduled and Fundy would have to wait a little longer to get the board’s decision. While anything but happy about it, Fundy chalked it up to being just a small bump in the road. In the meantime he’d be working on Grace Swendon.

Chapter Six

Three days had passed since Jonas had lunched with Maria Campbell and she hadn’t called. He was getting anxious that she might not or that there was bad news coming. Had she forgotten? Was she having trouble convincing her boss to allow him to play shadow reporter for a week? While he had been waiting to hear, he continued to crank out job applications, anywhere and everywhere he could. His job prospects, however, seemed to be getting worse by the day, as the no replies and outright rejections continued to trickle in.

In the meantime, he finally decided that he had to have a car to get around, and enlisted Rick to take him out car shopping over the weekend, although he had pretty much decided on a Honda CR-Z. Rick tried to get him to consider his Mini-Copper as an option, or a pickup truck, which might be more practical, depending on where he ended up getting a job. But Jonas had focused on the Honda. It was reasonably priced and got good gas mileage. Perhaps equally important, he would be able to get it serviced more easily then a Mini-Cooper, anywhere he landed across the country, an important consideration since he didn’t know where he might end up getting a job.

The car, however, was going to take a big bite out of his savings. He took advantage of the fact that he was still officially employed by the Navy for a few more weeks and secured a loan from the Navy Credit Union at a very low rate. Even though he dodged having to take an immediate hit on his savings to pay for the car now, the monthly payment and insurance were going to add considerably to an escalating cost of living, without a job on the horizon to cover it.

He was getting ready to walk out the door and head for another walk to the strip mall when his cell phone rang. It was Maria Campbell. He answered immediately with a mix or excitement and trepidation.

Hello, Maria, how are you? She ignored his pro forma question and got right to the point. Good news, Jonas. It took a lot of convincing, but my boss okayed the proposal. How does next week sound?

Jonas paused for a moment, not quite believing his good luck. That’s fantastic he responded. Starting Monday? What time? Where do I meet you?

She said, We have a few administrative items to take care of and some ground rules to go over before we start on Monday. I don’t have time to discuss them now. I’ve got to run to get a story done and meet a four o’clock deadline. I’ll see you in the lobby of the newspaper’s headquarters building on 23rd Street, promptly at 7:30 on Monday. Got it?

Yes ma’am, he blurted out. She responded, Ok, Monday. See you then. Have a good weekend, and hung up before he could wish her the same.

He felt almost weightless as his spirits soared. What a break, he thought. And even though he had a lot to do over the weekend to keep himself busy, it was going to be agony trying to pass the time before he started on this new adventure, albeit a limited one.

It was at that point that he missed not having someone who he was close to that he could share the news with. He could call his sister, but they were anything but close, especially after the divorce. She had expressed doubts about the marriage from the outset. Unlike Jonas, his sister was religious. A Jew and a Catholic, like oil and vinegar. It won’t work out. When the marriage ended in divorce, she didn’t exactly say ‘I told you so’, but the thought came through nonetheless. At any rate, he doubted that she would understand his excitement. And they had barely talked since their mother had passed away. Being four years apart in age, they had never had a lot in common.

He did call Rick. He wasn’t like a best friend would be, if he had one, but he was still a friend and he’d get it, he’d understand. But at that moment he realized that he really did need someone, to fill the void left by his divorce to Paula. But he couldn’t get serious with someone until he sorted out his immediate problem, how he was going to make a living.

When Rick got home from work he said, Hey, Jonas, I know that this has been a big day for you and you’d probably like to do a little celebrating. I promised to take Sally out tonight, but under the circumstances, I don’t think she’d mind if you tagged along. In fact, although it’s rather short notice, she could probably rustle up one of her friends to join us. She’s got some really nice friends, good looking, too.

No thanks, said Jonas, not wanting to be the third wheel and not in the mood to meet someone. I need to keep working on these job applications and start checking out ads for places to rent. You’ve been really nice not pushing the issue, but it’s awfully close quarters with the two of us sharing your space and I know I’m cramping your style.

Rick replied, Hey man, don’t sweat it. I’m sure something will turn up soon. Anyway, after next week I’m going to be gone for a week. Sally’s taking me up to Santa Barbara to meet her parents. That will give you some space all to your own for a bit and maybe by the time I get back something will sort out. But if not, I don’t want you to feel pressured, ok.

Jonas thanked him again and thought maybe, just maybe, something would.

Chapter Seven

The next day, as he had promised, Rick took Jonas out car shopping. They didn’t start out until after noon, however, Rick having spent the night at Sally’s and not returning home until late morning. They hit four different car dealers along automobile row, just a few miles from Rick’s apartment. But they could have saved the time, because Jonas ended up with his original choice, the Honda CR-Z. By the time the haggling and paperwork was done, it was nearly 5 o’clock.

As they were about to leave the lot, Rick got a call from Sally. Hi Ricky, she said. She liked calling him Ricky because she knew it annoyed him and she liked being a tease. Are you guys still car shopping.

No, we just finished he responded. Jonas has his new car, a fire red babe magnet.

Great, said Sally. "Why don’t we celebrate at that cozy Italian place you like so much. I just talked to my friend, Nancy Reiser. She’s not doing anything and

Reviews for Murder On The Colorado Trail

[David Parrott · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Headline in the Ouray newspaper: Intrepid rookie journalist & sidekicks triumph over cliches, poor proofreading and nothing in the plot involving the Colorado Trail.