by David Archer
“I’ll be there,” Sam said, and then he was gone.
Forsyth grinned. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Relax, Karen, this will all be over soon.”
* * * * *
James Wilfrid Weintraub was a creature of habit. When he had hung up the phone from talking to Sam, he had sat at his desk for only a few moments before rising and heading for the door. Twice each week he had lunch at Marconi’s, and this was one of those days. Letting his body operate on autopilot allowed him to think about what Prichard had told him, and he was already out on the sidewalk in front of his building before he even realized it. His feet carried him three doors down and turned into the restaurant without even consulting his conscious mind.
The maître d’ smiled at him and led the way to the table he always used. A waiter set the customary chilled water glass in front of him and handed him a menu. Weintraub waived it away and ordered the veal that he loved without thinking.
Alyssa was dead. That thought kept rolling over and over, and though he wanted to reject it with every fiber of his being, the fact that she had not been seen in more than two weeks just seemed to confirm it. He let his memory show him a collage of images from his granddaughter’s life, from when she was just a newborn to the last time he’d seen her almost three weeks earlier.
She was a beautiful girl, and so full of promise for the future. His daughter had been so proud when Alyssa was born, so proud to show the baby off to her grandpa, and Weintraub had lavished gifts on the child since that day. She was his precious little angel, he’d always thought, and it was to him she would run when that lousy father of hers would go into one of his moods.
George Russell, Alyssa’s father, had seemed like a fine young man when he had become Weintraub’s son-in-law. He was a dentist who had recently opened his own practice and seemed to be doing well. For the first few years, George was nothing but a blessing to the family, but then Alyssa was born. For most men, having a child will cause them to suddenly take life more seriously. For George, it seemed to represent only a greater burden.
The doctors said George had always suffered from depression, but he had managed to keep it under control for most of his life. It wasn’t until he became a father that it really became obvious and began to affect those around him. When Alyssa was a baby, he would occasionally slip into a funk and begin to worry about things that shouldn’t have been any kind of serious issue, but as she grew, his depression got worse.
By the time she was ten years old, George’s depression reached the point that it was interfering with every aspect of his life. His wife and daughter had given up trying to reach him during those periods, and were avoiding him as much as they could. His dental practice began to suffer due to constant rescheduling of appointments, and it wasn’t long before even his most loyal patients were going elsewhere. Weintraub had convinced him to take on a couple of other young dentists, and limit himself to a managerial capacity. That, at least, preserved the family’s income.
In the last couple of years, however, George had started to become belligerent during his episodes. The slightest insult could set him off, and he would often go into a verbal rage that would last for hours. The whole thing had come to a head six months earlier, when George had grown angry at Alyssa for closing her bedroom door while he was talking to her, and literally kicked it down.
Weintraub had pulled strings to get George into a hospital in California, a place that was known for its treatment of depression and anger issues, but with sufficient discretion to keep the treatment from ever becoming publicly known. George had spent three months there, and seemed to be doing better when he got home.
Unfortunately, his anger and belligerence had already taken their toll on Alyssa. During his absence, she had begun acting out, getting into minor trouble and running with kids who demonstrated a lack of respect for authority. She had begun to display a similar attitude, even to her grandfather.
It was during lunch at Marconi’s that he finally opened up about the issue to someone he thought he could trust. Monica Purvis had been a rising star in his law firm, but she had become disillusioned after successfully defending a man who had been charged with the rape and murder of a young woman. Her duty as an attorney was to provide the best defense she possibly could, and she had done that duty despite the fact that she was personally certain of his guilt.
A month later, she had tendered her resignation from the firm and accepted a position with the Denver District Attorney’s office. She and Weintraub had remained friends, and often met for lunch to discuss cases before facing each other in court.
They had also become lovers, carrying on an occasional affair that had already lasted more than two years. That was why Weintraub had confided in her; he felt that she could be trusted, and that she genuinely cared about him and his family.
And now he had to face the fact that that confidence had led to the death of the granddaughter he loved more than anyone or anything else in the world. Tears were slowly running down his cheeks as he waited for his lunch to be delivered, but then a motion to his left caught his eye.
A police officer was approaching his table, directed by the maître d’. Weintraub looked up, and his heart began pounding as he wondered if this officer was bringing him the official news of Alyssa’s death. The look on the officer’s face was grim, reinforcing Weintraub’s assumption, but he never got to hear the words themselves.
James Wilfrid Weintraub blinked furiously several times, and then both hands went to his chest. A strangled cry came from his mouth as he pitched forward, and then his final breath exited with a rattling sound.
He had never told anyone what his doctor had said only a few weeks before. He had never shared the fact that his heart was enlarged and exhibiting signs of congestive failure.
He hadn’t even told Monica.
A few people screamed, and paramedics were called immediately. They worked on the old man for a few minutes, but it was quickly apparent that he was gone. A patrol officer who happened to be present when Weintraub collapsed watched long enough to be sure there was no hope, then turned and hurried out the door.
When he was away from the restaurant, he took out a cell phone and dialed a number. “It’s Wright,” he said. “Talk about a stroke of luck. The lawyer, Weintraub? He just keeled over of a heart attack, he’s dead.”
On the other end of the call, Forsyth shook his head as he watched Karen pull into the parking lot. “Somehow, I don’t think my end of this is going to be that easy. I’ll call you once I’m done, okay?”
“Yeah,” Wright said. “Let me know where to pick you up when it’s over.”
15
Sam hung up the phone and took the next left turn. Arvada was off to the north, and Jamison was on the west end of town. Hopefully, he and Karen could figure out a next move that would bring this mess to a conclusion.
Sam glanced at the clock on the truck’s fancy radio and saw that it was already ten minutes after one. He had expected some sort of announcement by the police regarding the murder of Marty Fletcher to be released around noon, so he turned on the radio and tuned it to the local all-news station.
The first two stories he heard were about the antics of the new president and a celebrity who had passed away. The third story began, but was suddenly interrupted by the ominous music that always accompanied a breaking news announcement.
“We interrupt our regularly scheduled news broadcast to announce the sudden passing of prominent Denver attorney James Wilfrid Weintraub. Mr. Weintraub collapsed only minutes ago at Marconi’s restaurant, where he had just ordered lunch. Witnesses said he was apparently clutching his chest, and paramedics on the scene believe he may have suffered a massive coronary. We’ll bring you more information as it becomes available.”
Sam was so stunned he had to pull the truck over. He had spoken to Weintraub less than twenty minutes earlier, giving him the terrible news of the death of his granddaughter. Apparently it was too much for the old man to h
andle.
There wasn’t time to worry about it, though, so after a couple of minutes he put the truck back in gear and continued on toward the old factory. The frustrating thing was that, without Weintraub, it might not be possible to implicate Monica Purvis. Sam would have to wait and find out how Karen learned of her involvement, but bringing her to justice might have to wait for another time.
The Rayburn Appliance company had gone out of business nearly 8 years earlier, and a couple of their facilities in other locations had been bought up by some of their competitors. Their factory in Denver, however, was the oldest one they’d had and was already in poor condition when the company folded. As a result, it had sat empty all this time.
The police made occasional sweeps of the building, rounding up or running off the homeless and drug dealers who tried to use it as shelter. Normally, they would have left the homeless alone, but the building was so bad that it was considered unsafe. Two sections had collapsed already, and a couple of old veterans had lost their lives. The city tried to keep it boarded up, but some people always found a way to get inside.
The big parking lot was occasionally used for car shows, swap meets and as a hangout for kids at night, but during weekdays it was usually abandoned. When it came into view, Sam saw Karen’s car sitting far toward the back and gave the truck some throttle as he headed toward it. He pulled up with her on his left, and leaned out the window as he put the truck in park and shut off the engine.
“Got here as fast as I could,” he said. “I gotta tell you, I was scared to death when I found out Monica was involved. How did you—”
A sudden movement caught his eye as David Forsyth rose from where he’d been crouched on the other side of Karen’s car. He had a gun in his right hand, and Sam was staring down the barrel.
“Hey, Sam,” Forsyth said. “Sorry we have to meet again under conditions like these, but I need you to keep your hands where I can see them and step out of the truck.”
Sam thought about going for his own gun, but then he saw that Forsyth had another pistol in his left, and that it was pointed through the window at Karen. If he made a move, Karen was certain to be shot. He held his hands out the window and used the outside door handle to pop it open.
“Hey, Dave,” he said as he stepped out onto the concrete. “What’s this all about?”
“Give it up, Sam. I’ve already got Karen’s copy of the video, now I just need yours. You hand it over and this can all end peacefully.”
Still keeping his hands visible, Sam grinned at him. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Once I let Karen make a copy, I figured keeping that video with me might be a mistake. It’s stashed away somewhere safe, and if anything happens to either of us I can guarantee it will go straight to the FBI.”
Forsyth’s face suddenly went sour, and he tightened his grip on the gun aimed at Sam. “Now, that was stupid, Sam,” he said. “Aren’t you already in enough trouble? I hear they’re looking for you on a couple of different murder charges at the moment, right? If you’d just hand that video over, you might have a chance to get away. I’m sure not going to try and take you in, and I know Karen won’t. How about you come over and get into the car, and tell Karen where it is. She can drive us there and let you fetch it, and then you guys can drop me off and go your merry way.”
When a man has a gun pointed at you and you’re certain he’s willing to use it, the only thing you can do is try to keep him calm and look for an opening. Sam bit his bottom lip as if thinking it over, then shrugged his shoulders. “And if I do, you’ll let us go? No sudden bullets in the back of the head?”
“You have my word,” Forsyth said. “Let’s face it, Sam, without the video there’s nothing you can do to tie us to what happened. You can talk all you want, but it’ll be your word against four cops, so it’s not likely anyone’s going to believe you. Hell, especially when you’re already wanted for murder. You give me that video, Karen can go on with her life and you can get back in that truck and head for Canada, for all I care.”
Sam shrugged again. “What about Tracy Jensen? I tried to give the video to Jerry Lemmons, to get her back. Will you let her go?”
Forsyth looked confused. “Who the hell is she? I don’t know any Tracy Jensen.”
Sam’s heart sank. “She was working with the guy who made the video, trying to work it out with Lemmons so nobody else would get hurt. She disappeared a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure Lemmons has her locked away somewhere. Any idea where that might be?”
It was Forsyth’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “I’m afraid not, old buddy. Tell you what, though, let’s take care of our business, and then I’ll see what I can find out.”
Sam looked him in the eye for another moment, then nodded slowly. He walked carefully around the front of Karen’s car, then turned his back when Forsyth ordered him to do so. A moment later, he felt his Glock lifted from its holster and Forsyth told him to climb into the front seat.
Sam opened the door and got in as Forsyth slid into the backseat. The car was an unmarked, which meant there was no divider between the front and back seat. With three guns, Forsyth could easily kill either or both of them whenever he chose.
“Okay, now tell her where to go,” Forsyth said.
Sam looked over at Karen, who gave him a rueful smile. “It’s at my friend Harry’s place in Northglenn,” he said. “Jump on I-25 and head north, I’ll tell you where to get off.”
Karen started the car and left the parking lot, then turned right onto West 52nd Avenue. She followed it for a mile and then merged onto Interstate 76, which would lead to I-25.
Sam turned his head enough to look into the backseat. “Dave,” he said, “you know I saw the video. It was pretty obvious to me you didn’t really want to be involved in that whole thing, so how about you change sides and help us do this the right way? It was Driscoll and Slocum and Lemmons who were really to blame for all this. Lemmons is already dead, but he had the idea of letting Driscoll and Slocum take the heat. We could still do that.”
“Yeah? And how would that work?”
“Simple enough,” Sam said. “We forget about the videos completely. Lemmons said Driscoll and Slocum killed all three of the kids, and then blackmailed the rest of you into helping to cover it up by threatening to claim you were involved. If you back up my statement that one of them heard Lemmons giving me his confession, that’s enough motive for them to kill him, and would get me off that hook. As for Fletcher, I’d say we could probably find some evidence that Lemmons sent them out to get him, too. You and Wright just admit that Lemmons ordered you to go along, but now you want to come clean. If the four of us stick together on it, it can work.”
Forsyth was watching him as he spoke, but Sam could read his face. The man wasn’t going for it.
“Trouble with that, Sam,” Forsyth said, “is that I don’t trust you not to change your story at the last minute. The way it is now, you give me that video and no one is ever going to believe anything you two say about it, anyway. I think we’re going to stick to my plan. You give me the video, and then you hightail it out of town. Karen here is smart, she’s not going to talk about this at all, are you, Karen?”
Karen didn’t answer, so Forsyth poked the back of her head with a gun barrel. She flinched, then said, “I won’t say a word.” She flicked her eyes in Sam’s direction, and he could see just how frightened she really was in that glance.
Sam turned back to face the windshield, his mind racing. He didn’t believe for a second that Forsyth was going to let them go; despite what he was saying, both Sam and Karen had sterling reputations, and it was unlikely their statements would go unheeded. If both of them told the same story, there was a very good chance the FBI would launch an investigation, and sooner or later one of the four dirty cops would crack under questioning. The only hope they had was to eliminate everyone who might know the truth, and he was certain that was what Forsyth had been told.
The only question was whether the man
was actually capable of murder. Sam wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think Forsyth had ever fired his gun in the line of duty, and he kept thinking about the way he had reacted when the girl had died. He was the only one there who had wanted to try to save her, so there was a chance...
The car merged onto the northbound interstate, meaning that Sam had maybe another twenty minutes to come up with a miracle. He thought of Lemmons’s pistol, still tucked into the glove box of the truck, and suddenly wished he had stuffed it into his sock.
Might as well wish for Bruce Lee to come to my rescue, Sam thought. Damn thing wouldn’t have stayed in my sock, anyway.
Sam’s old friend Harry Winslow really did have a house in Northglenn, but Sam didn’t have a key to it. It had been locked up since Harry got his big promotion and moved off to DC, but there was another destination in Northglenn that Sam had in mind.
Harry had once been the Denver station chief for the Department of Homeland Security. That was before DHS genuinely considered Denver a potential terrorist hotbed, but Sam had been instrumental in breaking up a terrorist cell that operated from there a little over a year before. Back then, Harry’s entire office consisted of a couple of guys who were essentially just a pair of computer hackers, operating out of a rundown building in the back streets of the suburb.
When Harry’s budget for the office was increased after that near disaster, he had gotten a nicer place downtown, but he had kept Ron Thomas and Jeff Donaldson in the same location they had used for three years. And then, when Harry had gotten the big promotion and moved up to DHS headquarters in DC, Ron and Jeff had decided it was time to enter the private sector. Still operating from the same building, they now hired their services out to clients all over the world who had a lawful use for them. Their specialties were network security and industrial and corporate counterespionage, and they were very good at both.