Silent Witness (24 page)
Anthony Barnes sat in a booth in the deserted confines of the Lucky Gent nursing his fourth Budweiser. A lone janitor and the hum of the overhead ceiling fans were the only sounds disturbing the quiet. From five in the evening until closing, the Lucky Gent buzzed with the raucous sound of the jukebox and the incessant chatter of bar patrons. Barnes needed the quiet time, especially on a day like today when he needed to think.
Things had suddenly become complicated and now he was in jeopardy. It was time to act, to take control of his destiny. Barnes removed the 22 caliber Colt revolver from the waistband of his pants, opened the cylinder, and checked the loads. It was a good gun when there was work to do up close; it was easily concealed and relatively quiet when discharged. He finished the beer and grabbed a fresh six pack from the cooler before heading to his SUV. He had work to do.
***
“What the hell do you think the pick and shovel thing is all about?” Kate asked.
“It's hard to say, but I've got a pretty good idea what it's not. You can bet that he doesn't have a gardening project going on at the Lucky Gent.”
“Maybe he needs the tools at his Ogden house.”
“Maybe.”
As we approached the Lucky Gent, Anthony Barnes pulled out of the parking lot and shot past us going in the opposite direction. “Christ, do you think he saw us?” I said.
“Hard to tell,” said Kate, as she hung a U-ball and punched the accelerator on the Dodge. We closed ground quickly on Barnes but tried to keep several cars between us to avoid detection. He meandered through town and eventually headed up Emigration Canyon.
“What do you think he's up to?” Kate said.
“I wish I knew, but I've got a bad feeling that he's up to no good.”
We continued to climb until we reached an elevation that put us above the multi-million dollar homes that dotted the hillsides and the businesses that occupied the canyon floor. At this elevation, the canyon resembled remote wilderness. We stayed well back giving Barnes plenty of room. Eventually, his brake lights came on and he turned on to a narrow dirt road and disappeared into a grove of aspen trees. We didn't dare follow with the car, so I took Kate's hand-held radio, jumped out, and followed on foot. Kate took up a stationary position a little further up the road and waited for my call.
I'd hiked parts of Emigration Canyon in the past but I'd never been in this area before. I crept down the winding road with as much stealth as I could manage considering I was dressed in slick-soled Nordstrom's penny-loafersâhardly ideal for back-country hiking. The road dropped gradually until it abruptly came to a dead-end about two hundred yards from the highway. The Explorer was parked at the end of the road. Barnes was nowhere in sight.
I had only one good option. I could see a rocky outcrop above the road where I could stay out of sight and wait for Barnes to return. I nearly killed myself climbing up there in my penny-loafers. I had no idea where he'd gone, and to do anything else seemed foolhardy. I radioed Kate and then settled down to wait. I sat for over an hour before Barnes emerged from what looked like an old game trail. He was drinking a beer and carrying the pick and shovel that his aunt, Rosy Tafoya, had told us about. He put the tools away, tossed the beer can, and climbed into the Explorer. The dirt road was so narrow that he had to back out to the highway.
I used the radio and alerted Kate. We agreed that she would follow Barnes while I went in search of the dig site. I figured that he couldn't have hiked in too far. I followed the game trail a short distance taking frequent detours off the trail into places that looked flat enough to allow digging. I spotted a tall mound of what looked like freshly turned dirt.
I approached tentatively, unsure of what I might find. What I saw shocked me. I muttered to myself, “Holy shit,” as I reached for the hand-held radio. Kate asked me to switch to a secure channel before transmitting, one that couldn't be monitored by the press or the general public.
“What have you got, Sam?”
“You know those garden tools we were wondering about? Well, he put them to good use. He's dug a grave up here. The only thing missing is an occupant. My guess is that he's already killed somebody and needs to bury the body, or he's about to kill somebody. Are you still with him?”
“Yeah, I followed him down the canyon about two miles. He stopped at a little joint on the south side of the highway called This is the Place Bar & Grill. He got out of the Explorer and was talking on his cell for awhile, and then went inside.”
“What do you think he's up to?”
“My guess is that he's waiting for somebody.”
She was probably right. And I could take a pretty good guess at who that somebody might be. “We're going to need backup up here right away,” I said. “I'm not sure what's going on, but I've got a feeling that things are about to get dicey. I'd keep the uniforms away. I suspect these guys will spook easily.”
“I'm a step ahead of you,” she said. “I'll have Vince and his new partner here momentarily. Then I'll come and get you.” The Vince she was referring to was Vince Turner, her former partner. Turner had recently been assigned a new partner who he was breaking into the homicide division.
I walked back to the paved road and waited. Kate arrived momentarily. It was starting to get cold and dark. I figured we had less than an hour of daylight. I didn't fancy the idea of spooking around Emigration Canyon when I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. But at least I had an idea about how we might manage the situation.
“You still mount shotguns in the trunks of these cars?”
“Sure do.” Kate popped the trunk lid and I retrieved the shotgun.
“Why don't I take the shotgun and return to where Barnes parked the Explorer. I'd say that it's about thirty yards from there to the gravesite. I'll take a position of concealment and wait. You guys follow Barnes no matter where he goes. If he doesn't come back here, you forget about me and stick with him. We can't afford to lose him. If necessary, I can use the hand-held to call dispatch and have somebody pick me up.”
“Okay,” said Kate. “I'll call you on the radio the minute he moves. And if he does return here, we'll come in on foot behind him.”
“Don't spook him. Give him enough room.” I grabbed a light jacket I'd left in the car and started back down the dirt road.
“Hey,” said Kate. “I gotta future planned with you. Watch yourself out there. And don't cut loose with that shotgun on us.”
“Hell, I might be able to start a whole new trend in body piercing.”
She smiled and drove away.
I walked down the road to the dead end. A little ways further, I found a new hiding place near the gravesite. If they returned, I would have a ring-side seat for the evening's entertainment. If there was any gun play, it would happen at close range. I waited for about a half hour before the radio cracked.
“Sam, Plow and Ambrose just picked up Anthony. They're in Rodney's car and they're headed your way.”
It was nearly dark when I heard the sound of an approaching car. The autumn sun had long since disappeared from this ravine. I was cold, yet my hands were sweating as I gripped the 12-gauge shotgun. I jacked a round into the chamber. Strange, that at a time like this, I'd remember a line from an old John Belushi movie where he said, “It's so quiet up here you can hear a mouse get a hard on.” That's how this place felt. I remained hidden as I heard the car slowly roll to a stop. I heard car doors slam and the faint sound of voices.
***
“I don't know why the hell we had to come way out here in the middle of bumfuck,” said Ambrose.
“Relax, Stevie,” said Plow. “We can't afford to be seen together in public, you know that. This place gives us lots of privacy.”
“Let's get it over with so we can get the hell out of here,” said Barnes.
“Get what over with?” said Ambrose, a note of alarm in his voice.
“I've been thinking, Stevie,” said Plow. “And it occurs to me that your usefulness has come to an abrupt end. You're, how can I say it gently, no longer relevant.”
“What do you mean? What about us,” pled Ambrose.
“There isn't any us, Stevie. In fact, there never was. Only in your mind, I'm afraid. I believe Tony has a little spot over in the trees he'd like to show you.” Barnes pointed the twenty-two at Ambrose and motioned for him to start walking down the narrow game trail. Barnes followed, and Plow brought up the rear. By the time they reached the gravesite, I could distinctly hear Ambrose crying and pleading with Rodney to spare his life.
“Stop groveling, Stevie,” said Plow. “For once in your life, show a little class for Christ's sake.”
I stuck my head up just high enough to see what was going on. I could see Barnes pointing a small handgun at Ambrose. Rodney was standing next to Barnes but slightly behind him. There was no way I would allow this exchange to end with Barnes summarily executing Steven Ambrose.
“Ya' know, boys,” said Plow, “there's an old maximâcan't remember who said it, but that's not really important. It says three people can keep a secret as long as two of them are dead.”
Suddenly, Plow pulled his own handgun and fired twice, striking Barnes in the upper torso. Barnes staggered back a step or two and then fell. Ambrose cried out like a dog that had just had his tail slammed in a car door.
I jumped up leveling the shotgun, and yelled, “Drop it, Rodney.”
He turned to face me.
“Don't even think about it. I'll plaster you all over this canyon.”
He thought about it for an instant. Then he dropped the gun.
“Down on the ground, face down,” I yelled. “Do it now.” He did.
I grabbed the hand-held radio. “Shots fired, suspect down. Roll the paramedics, code three.”
Within seconds, Kate and the others arrived. Ambrose and Plow were cuffed, separated, and placed in the back of two police cars. Barnes was moaning and seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. He was seriously wounded. Turner called for a life flight chopper while I went to work on Barnes. I thought he might be in shock. I elevated his feet and did the best I could to stop the bleeding. He was subsequently air-lifted to the University of Utah Hospital and rushed into surgery.
My hands were sticky with his blood. They were shaking badly and I couldn't make them stop. Kate walked over and placed her hands over mine, saying, “Whoa, Sam, calm down. Everything's okay now. It's over.”
Of course, it wasn't over. In a matter of minutes, the area was turned into a major crime scene complete with detectives, evidence technicians, photographers, and enough department brass from the sheriff's office and Salt Lake City PD to hold a police convention. The only thing missing were the convention hookers. The press swarmed the place. Everybody wanted pictures of the grave. The story would lead on every evening TV news broadcast.
During the next several hours, Steven Ambrose was forced to confront the sober reality that had it not been for the presence of Kate and me, he would have been killed and buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Barnes and Plow had calculated his demise in about as cold and calculated a fashion as humanly possible.
What Anthony Barnes never expected was the double-cross by Rodney. He'd badly misjudged how far Plow was willing to go to hide the murder of Arnold Ginsberg to protect himself. Had things gone according to Rodney's plan, Barnes would have joined Ambrose in the grave.
Both men were booked at Salt Lake City PD and would undergo the same experience later at the jail. Plow immediately invoked his right to remain silent and demanded a lawyer. That wasn't the case with Ambrose.
Prior to the Ambrose interrogation, Kate and I met with Deputy District Attorney Megan Doherty to plot the interrogation. As the on-call deputy prosecutor, Doherty had to respond day or night to these kinds of incidents. I'd never met her, but Kate had worked with her on prior occasions.
After conferring, we met Ambrose in the interrogation room. Doherty began. “Hello, Mr. Ambrose. My name is Megan Doherty. I'm a deputy prosecutor with the Salt Lake County Attorney's Office. I believe you know Lt. McConnell and Detective Kincaid. If you don't, you probably should. From what I understand, they saved your life tonight.”
Ambrose nodded.
“Let me explain what's going to happen next. I'm going to make you an offer, and I'm only going to make it once. If you turn it down, it won't be offered again. Do you understand?”
Again he nodded.
“My office intends to charge Rodney Plow with one count of conspiracy to commit first degree murder in the death of Arnold Ginsberg. We also plan to charge you and Anthony Barnes, if he lives, with one count of conspiracy to commit first degree murder and a second count each of murder in the first degree. In the state of Utah, each of these offenses is punishable by death or life in prison. We plan to pursue the ultimate penalty against all three of you.
“Are you following me, Mr. Ambrose?”
“Yes.”
“I'm confident with the physical evidence we already have, which includes your DNA on the victim's clothing as well as what Mr. Kincaid saw tonight, that we'll get those death sentences.
“Are you interested in making a deal, Mr. Ambrose?”
“Maybe. What exactly are you proposing?”
“In exchange for your full cooperation in the investigation, including your testimony against Plow and Barnes, if he lives, we will allow you to enter a nolo contendere or a guilty plea to one count of second degree murder.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Second degree murder carries a prison sentence of five years minimum and up to life. In your case, that means the death penalty is off the table. You will have to serve the five year minimum, probably more. Exactly how much more will depend on how you conduct yourself in prison and what you can tell the state parole board.”
“Probably a lot more than five years,” I thought to myself.
He sighed. “Will you guarantee this offer in writing?”
“At the appropriate time, yes, we will. I want to emphasize that this offer is contingent upon your complete cooperation with Lt. McConnell and Mr. Kincaid. You must answer all their questions fully and honestly or we'll walk away from the deal. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, Mr. Ambrose. We're gonna leave the room and give you some time to think over the offer. We'll return shortly.”
As we stood, Ambrose said, “You don't need to leave. I accept your offer, but I want it in writing.”
Doherty shook her head. “I can arrange that while you talk with the detectives. Fair enough?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” said Doherty. “I'll step out of the room and go prepare the offer. I'll leave you to talk with the detectives.”
Kate walked Ambrose through the Miranda warnings and then had him sign a waiver form. He gave us permission to record the interview. Kate began. “Let's start at the beginning, Steven. Tell us how you became acquainted with Rodney Plow and Arnold Ginsberg.”
I met Rodney at the health club maybe a year, year-and-a-half-ago. He and Arnold belonged to the club although Arnold rarely came in. I worked there as a personal trainer. I also operate a massage business.”
“When did your relationship with Rodney become physical?”
He thought for a moment. “I don't exactly remember, but it must have been eight, nine months ago.”
“Rodney came to your massage studio. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever give a massage to Arnold?”
“No, I didn't. I would have. He just never came in.”
“And when did you and Rodney first begin discussing the idea of killing Arnold?”
“It's not exactly the kind of thing you jot down, but I'd say it was between three and four months ago.”
“Whose idea was it?”
“His, not mine. I'm not that kind of person.”
“And what did you think when Rodney first proposed the idea?”
“I told him I thought it was a crazy idea and that I didn't want any part of it.”
“How did he respond to that?”
“At first he just laughed and told me to forget about itâthat he was just kidding. But he never let it go. He'd always bring it up, over and over, until I realized one day, that the idea of killing Ginsberg didn't freak me out any longer.”
“What was in it for you, Steven?” I asked.
“That's the really funny part in light of what's happened. Rod told me he loved me and that with Arnold out of the way, we'd be able to have a life together. He also said that with the money he stood to inherit, plus the insurance, we'd be set financially. We talked about moving to Hawaii or maybe Costa Rica. Some place warm.”
“And you were in love with him?”
“Absolutely, I still am.”
“You mentioned insurance money. Tell us what you know about that?”
“At first, I didn't know anything. Then one night after we'd been partying hard and had gotten high, Rod told me there was a $500,000 term life insurance policy on Arnold.”
“And I suppose he was the beneficiary of that policy?” I said.
“What Rod said was that he'd taken out the policy himself, and forged Arnold's signature on the application. I guess it was one of the those companies where you fill out an application and mail in your payment without ever having to take a physical.”
“Do you know the name of the insurance company?”
“He told me once, but I don't remember.”
“Tell us how Barnes became part of the murder plot?”
“I'm not really clear about that, but Rod introduced him to me. I just assumed they knew each other from the Lucky Gent. Rod hung out at the place.”
“When did that happen?”
“When did what happen? I don't understand your question.”
“Sorry. When did Rod first introduce you to Barnes?”
Ambrose scratched his forehead. “About two months ago, I think.”
Kate said, “Why do you think Rodney brought Barnes into the plot?”
“Rod knew I was scared, and I guess he figured that I'd never be able to do it by myself. He told me more than once that Barnes was a tough, ex-military guy who had the stomach for it. He also thought there was no way anybody would ever connect him to Barnes.”
“By âit,' you mean that Barnes was a guy who had the stomach to carry out a murder-for-hire?”
Ambrose winced. “Yes,” he said.
“Who actually planned the murder?”
“Rod and Anthony. By the time we sat down to discuss things, they already knew what they were going to do. Rod wanted the killing to look like Arnold had been executedâa lot easier to blame it on that crazy polygamist cult, the Bradshaws.”
“What do you mean, blame it on the Bradshaws?”
“After they pulled the armored car robbery, the one that Arnold witnessed, Rod saw a great opportunity. He figured that if we killed Arnold right before the scheduled court hearing for Walter Bradshaw, the cops would blame it on the Bradshaws. The timing of the murder also gave Rod a chance to work out his own alibi.”
“Speaking of alibis, we assume your stay at the Snowbird Lodge was done to establish an alibi for yourself. Is that true?”
“Yeah, I thought if Rod was going to all the trouble of making sure he had an alibi, I should probably have one, too. The Snowbird thing was all I could think of.”
“What about the choice of murder weapons? Tell us about that.”
“Not much to tell, really. Guns are noisy. Anthony wanted to use a knife. I couldn't handle that, so for me, we settled on the tire iron.”
“When you say, âwe,' does that include Rodney?”
“Yeah, Rod was in it right down to choosing the murder weapons.”
We were about out of questions, at least for this interview, when Vince Turner walked in. He handed Kate a note and whispered something in her ear. She turned off the recording equipment and turned to Ambrose.
“Steven, you might be interested in this. It seems that Rodney is indeed, a Rodney. He's just not a Plow. We just received a hit on Rodney's fingerprints from the FBI's Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It seems Rodney's real last name is Shields, not Plow. His California State prison identification number is 16745911. He's got a fairly lengthy criminal record for check and credit card forgeries, theft, and a couple of fraud counts. One of the fraud cases earned him a sixteen month stint in the California State prison at Chino.”
I shook my head. “Well, I'll be damned.”