Custer's Last Stand

As he entered the crime scene inside the front door, the lead detective spied him and called out, "Hey Cap how ya doing?"

Benteen lied and said, "Good Lieutenant Calhoun, we got a typical murder-suicide family beef? It seems like we are getting these all the time now." He asked without emotion or expecting a definitive answer.

Captain Benteen knew he was in the last stage of his career because he almost gagged at the sight and smells that surrounded him. His stomach turned into knots. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain an outwardly cool demeanor. He always hated the sickeningly sweet smell of drying blood. And, there was blood, bone, and brain matter everywhere.

When a cop first gets on the job, scenes like this are shocking and some officers seek help to cope. Usually though, they just throw up and keep going because it doesn't look good for fellow officers to see you like that. It isn't a real confidence booster. In point of fact, Capt. Benteen had noticed two piles of fresh bile outside off the sidewalk before he stepped into the house.

After a few years, a cop becomes numb to the pain and suffering. If you don't, it will eat you alive or turn you into one of the walking dead. Some quit at this point. That's why there are so many inexperienced cops on the streets. To Benteen, it appeared they were getting younger and younger. And society just kept expecting more and more from them. It was a recipe for disaster.

And finally, if an officer hasn't already quit, they will reach the last stage. A small, seemingly innocuous thing can be the breaking point. Benteen had seen hardened veterans breakdown and cry at the sight of a small dog whimpering because it hurt its leg. It's too late at this point. You can retire or bite off the end of your gun barrel, or do both. Captain Benteen had no intention of retiring. He had nothing else left.

"Well, Cap, yes and no...."

Benteen waited patiently for the Lt. to continue. He was used to how Calhoun's mind worked. It was a rare occasion when the Lieutenant's brain and mouth worked in concert. No one cared because Lt. Calhoun's brain and gun hand worked perfectly together. There was more than one cop on BPD that owed their lives to him.

"Maybe it would be better if we just wait until Algernon returns? Not surprisingly, he is handling the CSA on this one."

"Where is he?"

"He's interviewing the hubby's brother a few blocks over." He pointed to what remained of George Armstrong Custer's body still sitting in the chair. "He's working on a theory."

Benteen gave a quick snort and nodded his head, frustrated but understanding.

"Yeah, one of the uniforms drove him, and yes, he sat in the back seat." Now Capt. Benteen laughed out loud and shook his head at a smiling Calhoun.

The thing about Crime Scene Analyst Algernon Smith was, well, he was different. Most thought him downright weird, but Benteen and Calhoun knew that Smith was a savant when it came to crime scenes. His "theories" were better than most proven facts. There was a ten-dollar buy-in pool going at the station picking the month and year that Smith would be wrong about something. The pool had been in place for about five years now. Benteen figured he would win the pot eventually, because he had chosen, never. Of course, he would probably be dead and unable to collect.

Smith didn't have a license to drive, he never had one. He said it was too dangerous. He liked to ride in the back of marked units. He would put his hands behind his back and yell for help to passersby as some poor patrol officer, still on probation, drove him around. Even the rookies knew better than to fuck with Smith though.

How did Algernon get employed with the PD? Well, being the governor's nephew didn't hurt, but if 'weird' was a disqualifier for employment, the department would have a lot more openings than it did. Doesn't everyone want to line up for a job where you get spit on, assaulted, and shot at? The bottom line was, Smith was the best crime scene analyst anyone had ever known.

Just then, Algernon returned.

"OK, Algernon, give me the story. To me, it looks like all of the others." Benteen repeated himself because he had nothing better to say. "Just your run-of-the-mill, ho-hum everyday domestic murder-suicide. It seems as if they happen every day now."

"It looks that way on the surface boss, but this is far from that, very far."

That piqued Benteen's interest and he raised his eyebrows waiting for Smith to continue. He didn't want to get blamed for having Algernon start over. At that point, a young uniform walked in and handed some notes to Algernon then turned and left quickly before the smell got to her.

"Well for starters, Captain, our shooter over there," he pointed at the body sitting serenely in a chair, "was a dead man before he pulled the trigger."

"Ok? And we know that because?"

"I found this over there." After pointing to the den he quickly handed some paperwork to the Captain. "This says that our shooter, the husband, George A. Custer, had terminal cancer. If I read it right, he maybe had two to three months left."

"Ok, that's interesting, but..." Captain Benteen could tell that Smith was excited and had a lot of interesting things to say, but it would take time.

"Let me start at the beginning Cap." Benteen and Calhoun, who had been waiting patiently for Smith's narrative to begin, rolled their eyes at each other. "To me, it looks like the husband, our suspect, was waiting for his wife to get home. I also think he expected his wife's 'friend' to be with her."

Calhoun started to say something and then thought better of it.

"Victim #1, is the wife's companion and he died first. His ID showed him to be Sage Waterman, age 27. We don't have anything more on him. Nor do we as of yet have a connection to the Custers. Victim #2 is the wife, Lizzie Custer."

Benteen hated to, but he had to interrupt at this point. "But, you think Waterman was the wife's lover, and hubby over there was waiting for them to arrive? That's interesting. I wonder how he knew?"

Miraculously Algernon didn't start over at the beginning but continued on. That further convinced Benteen and Calhoun that this was a very different situation altogether.

"Right, meaning the wife told her hubby she was bringing her boyfriend home. As you can see Waterman barely made it in the door before hubby dropped him with one shot, right between the eyes. You can still see the look of surprise on his face."

Although Captain Benteen didn't fully buy into it, Algernon believed that the expression on a dead person's face told a story. Benteen looked at GA's body and the expression on his face was calm and peaceful. If you overlooked the fact that a good portion of the top of his skull was missing, you might have thought he was asleep. His wife, on the other hand, had a look of absolute horror and pain etched forever on hers. Her mouth was stretched wide open as if her final act was to scream hideously. You could still see the tear stains and dried mucous from her nose and mouth too. Benteen shuddered to think of what she experienced before she died.

Lizzie Custer's body was lying face up. It looked as if she was trying to get upstairs. She'd been shot in the doorway, just like Waterman, but it took time for her to die. Her blood trail went right past her husband's feet. "What was she doing Algernon? Trying to get upstairs?"

"They had four kids, Captain."

The color drained from Benteen's face. He was nauseous and he felt the bile in his nearly empty stomach start to rise. He started to dash for the door, because the Chief didn't like a cop, especially the Captain of Detectives, throwing up all over a crime scene.

"Captain, wait! They weren't home Cap, they weren't in the house! They were at the brother's house. That's why I went there. Well, part of it anyway."

He successfully fought his stomachs revolt, and trying to regain his dignity and composure Benteen calmly asked, "Did the brother offer any insight?"

"Well, Captain, he was of course shocked when he was informed of his brother's death. When he had recovered, I asked him how the kids came to be with him. The brother, Boston Custer, told me that earlier that afternoon George came by with his four kids in tow and asked if they could spend the weekend. He apologized for such short notice, but that George and Lizzie needed some privacy to work some things out. Boston said it was no bother, their kids loved to play together.

"When I asked him if he noticed anything unusual with his brother's demeanor, he said only that George seemed a little sad and distant recently. The interesting part is, later on, just a few minutes before the shooting here, George called Boston on his cell phone." Algernon took out his phone and played a recording for Calhoun and Benteen. He had recorded his conversation with Boston to make certain he got it right. He hit play.

"Yeah, so like I said, I got a call from George. He said, 'thanks for taking care of my kids for me, Boston. I'm sorry to get you mixed up in all this.' "He seemed despondent and I got worried. I told him no sweat we always do. You know we'll watch out for them. 'Yeah, you're a good guy, thanks for being my brother.' He told me. Then the phone just went dead." Algernon shut the recording off and put the phone back in his pocket.

Benteen was listening but was still close to hyperventilating and passing out. God damn it, I'm getting too old for this shit. He took a moment to gather himself. "If the kids weren't here, then why head up there?"

Algernon got a look on his face that neither Benteen nor Calhoun had ever seen from him before. The mask that he always wore was gone. He looked like he was going to cry. They were shocked.

Smith just whispered haltingly. "I...I...I'm thinking the husband told her... they were up there..." He was going to say more, but couldn't go on.

Calhoun spoke for the first time in the past ten minutes. "Jesus H. Christ. He must have hated her something awful." All three of them nodded their heads slowly in unison.

Benteen finished Algernon's thought. "He shot her in the abdomen. He wanted her to die slowly."

Smith just nodded in the affirmative.

Lt. Calhoun spoke again. "Jesus H. Christ."

"We are getting to the really good part now Cap." There was an excited edge to Smith's voice.

"The neighbors said they heard two very quick shots in succession, boom-boom. The third shot came about ten to fifteen minutes later. No big deal right? Except, look closely at the weapon, Captain. It's an 1873 Colt single action Cavalry model. This guy knew what he was doing; which leads me to the big news of the day." He paused for effect.

"For god's sakes Smith, spit it out." Calhoun was really stressing. He'd been on the job almost as long as Benteen.

"Well, you both know about the shooting earlier this evening at Pablo's across town?"

"Yeah," Benteen stated warily. "They are already chalking that one up to being a 'Telefon' deal." Benteen was referring to a 1977 Charles Bronson movie, called Telefon. In the movie, seemingly normal everyday people would receive a phone call, and then suddenly go on a murderous rampage. It was becoming popular for the authorities to refer to any unexplained inexplicable homicide, one without any motive or connection between suspect and victims, as a 'Telefon' act.

"No, Captain, it wasn't." He pointed to GA's corpse he declared, "I think this guy did it."

It takes a lot to surprise a veteran cop, never mind shock them. But both Calhoun and Benteen's jaws dropped and their eyes shot wide open. "Jesus H. Christ!"

"We'll have to wait for the forensics, but this guy did it, I'm positive. The question I can't answer yet is, why? Why did this seemingly mild-mannered history professor cap three ladies in a crowded restaurant then calmly walk out? Then he goes home, and kills two more people, then offs himself, when he would have been dead anyway long before he could go to trial?"

"I'd never argue with you, but you have to give us more than that to tie him into Pablo's, Algernon."

He nodded his head in agreement. "Well Captain, I talked to the suits handling it. The story they put together is that a couple of hours ago, a white male adult calmly walked into Pablo's Hole In The Wall, pulled out a pistol cross-handed from his waistband, then stated quietly, "You are evil, and you have to be stopped." He fired three headshots in just over a second, catching all three right between the eyes. He put the weapon back into his waistband and calmly walked out. And, a couple of the wit's said the shooter walked right up to the table. He didn't shoot randomly or gaze around looking for anyone."

He paused for effect. "Most witnesses, those that weren't catatonic anyway, could only describe the weapon as a big, old-fashioned, silver gun. However, there was one avid firearm sportsman there, who told the detectives that, the weapon looked like a single action, 1873 Colt." He let that sink in before continuing. "He also said that the shooter used a quick draw 'fanning' action with his off hand to get the shots off so quickly.

"He shoots three people right between the eyes with a single action revolver in less than two seconds? And he's using a shooting technique that even experienced shooters sometimes shoot their toe off. Not a lot of those guys running around, even in Billings. Yeah, Mr. George Armstrong Custer is our shooter from Pablo's. I'm positive of it."

"Jesus H. Christ."

"God damn it, Calhoun, can't you come up with anything else?" For some reason, Benteen was livid with him. His nerves were getting the best of him too. "Ok, Algernon, but why?"

"Well Captain, I'm pretty sure we are going to find out in a day or two."

"How so?"

"Well, I found this in the shooter's wallet." Algernon handed him a receipt from the post office around the corner with today's date and a time shortly after the Pablo's shooting. It was for nearly a hundred dollars worth of First Class postage.

"So I stopped off at the P.O. on my way back and talked to the clerk. Nice lady too. Good at her job. She gave a description that matches our shooter down to the bolo tie. He had a tote filled with letters addressed to the whole world that he needed to be scanned with postage."

"Shit, I wonder if we can get our hands on any of the letters?" Benteen really wanted to read one.

"We will. One of the letters was addressed to you, Captain." Algernon spoke sheepishly.

It was Benteen's turn now. "Jesus H. Christ!" His chest started to hurt and he couldn't breathe. He had to get out of there now. Without making further comment, he stumbled towards the door, desperate for fresh air. He left a stunned Lt. Calhoun and Smith behind him. He didn't actually make it to the lawn; he retched right on the porch. That's when Benteen realized he had been to one crime scene too many. He was done.

Now it was the street-hardened veteran cameraman's turn to be shocked. With his camera still trained on Isabel, he saw a detective puke right on the porch of the crime scene house in the corner of his view finder. He shuddered at what it must look like inside the house. But, he never let his camera waver from focusing on Isabel's made-for-television face. She was the perfect female news mouthpiece. She had a body every man wanted to fuck, and a face that every woman could forgive. The cameraman hadn't fucked Isabel though, because his wife didn't watch TV. Isabel could, in addition to reading teleprompters flawlessly, actually adlib now and then without sounding like a six-year-old. A rare skill in this business.

"I'm standing here with a neighbor, a Mrs. Caroline Hargrove. Mrs. Hargrove, has anything like this ever happened in this area before?" Isabel's tone made the viewers think she didn't already know the answer.

"No, it's such a nice and friendly quiet neighborhood. Everyone is so nice. All the children play together." She was close to tears and wringing her hands.

"I know it's hard for you because you knew the victims so well..." Mrs. Hargrove had been told not to give out any names.

"They were such a nice family. They obviously loved each other. It doesn't make any sense." She broke down at that point. The cameraman was ecstatic, now that's great television!

Isabel gently patted Ms. Hargrove on the shoulder then turned back to the camera and focused her blue eyes into the camera as her cameraman zoomed in for the final close-up. It was a well practiced routine. "A very hard day indeed. Now back to you Bill in the studio."

Right on cue, the view switched back to William Cook, who was shaking his head in sympathy. "Another terrible, senseless gun tragedy." He maintained his compassionate posture for a few moments, then he sat up straight and his face brightened. "Well, folks, we have to go to commercial break now, but you're definitely going to want to stay tuned. When we come back, Mary Hannah Ross will join us from the Seven Blackfoot's Ranch, where she will be speaking with the farmer who has grown the largest squash in the State's history!"

Epilogue:

A couple of days later, Captain Fredrik Benteen sat quietly in his brightly lit but unkempt office reading his letter.

Dear Captain Benteen,

My name is George Armstrong Custer, but I'm sure you know all about me by now. I don't know if I did the right thing, but I did the only thing I could to end the madness that affected more than my family.

The key I've included in this letter is to P.O. Box 117 at the post office. Inside is the detailed information regarding what I uncovered while doing my research. I won't bore you with all the details included in it.

You might still be waiting for the ballistics to confirm it, but, Yes, I killed the three women at Pablo's Hole in the Wall. They deserved to die for what they had done. In addition to destroying my family's life, my research showed that they were accountable for two other 2 murder-suicides, one of which involved the family children. Additionally, their actions led to three divorces, and several husbands serving time for spousal abuse convictions.

I don't know how they did it, but somehow they convinced my wife to follow a path of self-destruction. Lizzie was an adult and made her own choices despite me offering her numerous opportunities to cease her devastating sick fantasy, she continued down her path.

When I learned of my terminal condition I knew I had to act. I couldn't leave my children in the hands of that madwoman and her sick friends.

In the end, I was left with no choice but to...

Captain Benteen sighed wearily. He folded the letter without finishing it and placed it back into the case folder along with the key. He gathered his belongings and looked around the room one last time. He pushed his chair back from the desk, and quietly stood. Benteen stared down at the file and quickly tapped on it twice. He gave another deep sigh then turned, and calmly headed for the personnel office.

We always have choices, asshole.

After Captain Benteen left the personnel office of the Billings, MT Police Department, he walked unannounced into the Chief's office, and wordlessly, placed his shield and firearm on the desk. Benteen turned and left without saying a word. The stunned Chief was very worried and told his staff that Benteen looked like a dead man walking. No one had seen or heard from him since. Not that anyone looked very hard for him though. They were probably afraid that whatever Benteen was going through was contagious. Besides, if his first retirement check wasn't cashed, they would know. In any case, no one in Billings ever saw Captain Benteen again.

About a month after Captain Benteen disappeared, a very conflicted Boston Custer entered the Little Big Horn National Monument. He was torn between the love of his little brother and the acts of violence he had committed. Why didn't you talk to me GA? Maybe together, we could have figured it out.