His cell in hand, Oliver called his travel agent. “Hey you sexy thing.”
“Yes, darling Oliver. What can I do for you?”
“You can book me on a flight to Denver.”
“Denver, I thought you were going to London.”
“Cancel that one sweetheart, my plans have changed and I’m in a hurry.”
“Okay, where are you?”
“I’m on my way to the airport but traffic is heavy and I need another hour.”
She paused and then said, “I can get you on a direct flight in an hour and a half.”
“Great, put it on my card. I’ll need a rental car in Denver, and can you get me a room at the hotel in Lost Bell, Colorado.”
“Where?” she asked.
“They don’t have an airport, but they’ve got a hotel. If that one is full, try a bed and breakfast. The last resort would be a room in Glenwood Springs. Find something and then text me the information, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“Dinner when I come back?”
“Oh,” she playfully moaned, “if only you were not too young for me.”
Oliver chuckled and disconnected the call. He checked his watch and then got back on the Major Deegan Expressway. Next, he dialed his office, put the phone on speaker and then set it in the holder so he could keep both hands on the wheel.
“Lawson, where are you?” the man asked.
“I’ve hit a little snag.”
“What sort of snag?”
“I have to go to Denver for a few days.”
The voice on the other end started to rise. “What for? I need you in London tomorrow.”
“Sorry, can’t go to London.”
“Listen, Lawson, if you don’t show up in London, you’re fired.”
Oliver grinned, “Don’t forget to deposit my last pay check, I might need it.” Just as he expected, the call was abruptly disconnected. “I feel better already,” Oliver muttered.
He truly hated living in New York anyway and with his silver tongue when it came to sales, he could work anywhere. Denver offered a lot of possibilities and with any luck, he wouldn’t be coming back except to get the few things out his apartment. His job kept him from making any long lasting relationships, which was okay because he still hadn’t found the woman of his dreams. At his young age of only twenty-one, he figured he had plenty of time to find her, just not in New York.
Oliver got to the airport in plenty of time, and parked the company car in the massive parking lot. He went through security, walked to the ticket counter, checked his luggage and decided to carry his laptop on. If he got bored later, he could always delete all the annoying company emails he constantly received. As he expected, his travel agent had taken care of everything. Even so, he had time to kill before his flight left, which made him a little fidgety. He went to a bar, ordered a drink and then tried to call Steven. No answer. Next, he called Margo, the woman who sent the text, but she didn’t answer either. He prayed that meant both were already on their way, and he again kicked himself for living so far away. The flight would take a good four hours, he had to pick up the rental car in Denver, and then he faced another four hours of driving time. However, because of the different time zones, he was about to gain three hours of daylight.
The good son that he was, Oliver placed a call to his mother, explained the situation and promised to let her know when it was over. No son ever loved a mother more than Oliver loved his, and if he came back to New York, it would only be to see her.
One thing though – he was truly sorry to hear Davet Bouchard was dead.
At last, his flight was called, he hurried out of the bar, and boarded the plane.
CHAPTER 2
SEATED IN HIS CUBICAL, in an office he shared with a multitude of reporters, Joe Dixon searched for the home phone number and then called the lead detective in the Fowler case. “Detective Tucker?”
“Yes.”
“This is Joe Dixon at the Denver Divide.”
“The newspaper?”
“Yes, Sir. I got an anonymous call saying Davet Bouchard is dead. I was wondering if you have a comment.”
Seated in his favorite chair at home, the ex-detective sat up a little straighter. “I am truly sorry to hear that. How did he die?”
“His car went off a cliff outside of Lost Bell, Colorado.”
“When?”
“Yesterday some time. I verified it with the Sherriff.”
“Are you positive it was Dave Bouchard? That’s a pretty common name.”
“Not Dave, Davet. Not many with that first name.”
“True. The call was anonymous; you say? Was it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.” Eager to write his article, Joe started to become annoyed by all the detective’s questions. “How about giving me something I can print?”
“I’ll say this for the man, at the trial he never once wavered in his account of what happened. I believed every word he said.”
“Thanks, detective. You have a good day now.”
“Same to you.”
Andrew Tucker hung up the phone. Everyone called him Andy, and by the time he retired he was more than ready to spend his days fishing, tending his flower garden, and enjoying a good long rest. That lasted about two weeks before boredom and loneliness set in. He married at age twenty-eight, spent too many hours working cases, and lost his wife to a man who had far more time to spend with her. Andy didn’t remarry – once was enough for him, and instead made the people in the department his family. Therefore, he had no children either, and regretted the decision.
Of all the cases he worked, the Fowler case bothered him the most. It should have been a simple embezzlement trial with an easy conviction, but it became much more than that, and in the end he had more questions than answers. A second witness, the owner of an ad agency, was found shot in his home after Fowler was arrested, and Andy always suspected it was a murder for hire. He just couldn’t connect Fowler to it. They got him on the embezzlement charge and that had to be good enough. More interesting still – the money was never found. Andy believed Davet Bouchard’s testimony and every word Fowler’s wife said too, until the truth about her hit him square in the face. Was it too late to find out what happened to the money? The answer to that was to find Paige Fowler.
Now the star witness was gone and Andy couldn’t help but wonder if Davet Bouchard’s death was an accident or another murder. Either way, the man didn’t deserve to suffer such a horrible death. If it wasn’t an accident, he knew just who killed him, and this time he might be lucky enough to catch her.
Andy Tucker packed a bag, got in his car, and started to leave his home in Denver. Abruptly, he hit the brakes and stopped at the end of his driveway. He went back in his house to get a road map and a pistol he hadn’t fired in ages, and then returned to his car. He studied the map for a moment, and then headed for Interstate 70.
JOE DIXON WAS A REPORTER after all, with a nose for news and he was rarely wrong. The only problem Joe had was convincing his editor to let him go to a little Colorado town that was barely on the map. The best way to convince him was to write a spectacular front page story recounting all the details of the biggest embezzlement trial Denver had ever seen. In his youth, it was that very trial that convinced Joe he wanted to become a reporter.
He knew the sensational facts of the case and the aftermath like the back of his hand, or at least thought he did. He opened a new file on his computer, popped the bones in his fingers and got to work:
STAR WITNESS IN FOWLER TRIAL DEAD AT 63
In Denver’s most sensational embezzlement trial, it was Davet Bouchard whose damaging testimony won the case for the prosecution. Mace Fowler started his career as an airline pilot. A handsome, smart man with a beautiful wife, Fowler soon got promoted to the head office and was put in charge of marketing. According to trial testimony, he discovered a way to get non-traceable kickbacks from advertising agencies, and pocketed over three million dollars befor
e he got caught.
Bouchard testified to accidentally finding a bag full of cash just as Mace Fowler was about to skip town. Bouchard’s was not the only testimony, as the airline had been investigating Fowler for weeks prior to his arrest, but it was Bouchard who actually saw the money.
Some said his wife, Paige Fowler, was somehow involved, although she denied knowing anything about it. After Fowler was convicted and subsequently committed suicide in his jail cell, Paige Fowler moved away and has not been heard from since.
Davet Bouchard died in an automobile accident near Lost Bell, Colorado.
The money was never recovered.
SATISFIED WITH HIS story, Joe Dixon sent the story via email to his editor for approval. It was accompanied by a request to do a follow-up story from Lost Bell. The story was accepted and even praised, but citing budget restraints the request to do a follow-up was denied. Joe was disappointed. He knew there was more to the story – there had to be, but he would lose his job if he went anyway, even if he paid for it himself.
TO COLETTE BOUCHARD, the steep sides of the canyon after she exited the long Eisenhower tunnel, seemed to glow in shades of gold and purple, but then, everything looked more colorful in the afternoon. Another two hours or less and she would be in Lost Bell.
In Glenwood Springs, Colette spent the last of her money on something to eat, and then set out once more. An hour later, she took the off-ramp, and turned down a two lane highway that took her deeper into the mountains. Long ago, someone built a castle on a hill and she could see it from the road. When she spotted it, she slowed to get a better look. The yard, if one could all it that, looked more like a jungle with both new and old growth crowding out anything remotely resembling a pathway.
Colette would never forget the night she and three friends broke into the three-story gray-stone castle. The rooms still smelled of smoke from fireplaces that had not been cleaned before the last occupants departed. The furniture was gone, the light from their flashlights revealed cob webs, the floors creaked, the building moaned, and Emma Rose desperately wanted to get out of there. Ben and Artie pretended bravery, but Colette could tell Artie’s eyes were wider than normal.
Colette was fascinated with the castle. The ceilings had delicate gold ornaments in the corners, the dusty wood floors must have looked spectacular when they were polished, and the decaying curtains, she suspected, were made of the finest gold velvet. Her daydreams of owning it someday lasted for months. They were about to go upstairs when they heard what Emma Rose swore was footsteps. Artie didn’t stick around long enough to know if it was or wasn’t, and the other two were not far behind him. Colette, on the other hand was about to climb the stairs just to see what it was, when Ben grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. She swore she would never forgive him for that.
There was a time when the four friends were inseparable. Emma Rose, a freshman in high school, and Ben, a senior, were madly in love. Colette and Emma Rose were best friends, Artie and Ben were good buddies, and seldom did two go anywhere without the other two. Artie was fun to be around, but he and Colette never quite made it to girlfriend / boyfriend status.
Breaking into the castle was something her father never heard about. If he had, he would have grounded her until she was thirty-four. She was not allowed to leave town without his express permission and not until after reciting his endless list of cautions. Even then, she had to have an adult with her. He let Colette go with her friends to ride horses, go climbing or ride bicycles east of town, but going west was out of the question. In the west was a dangerous mountain highway, and he rarely let her go that direction, no matter who would be doing the driving. Unfortunately, the only way to get to the castle was to go west. For once, Emma Rose, the town’s best source of local news, didn’t tell anyone. Of course, Colette threatened to kill her if she did.
It was just after she rounded a wide bend in the road that Colette spotted a man walking along the side of the road. She slowed, stopped a few feet ahead of him and then leaned over and opened the passenger door. It didn’t take long for the man to toss his Navy issued dark blue duffle bag in the back, climb in the passenger side and shut the door.
“You always pick up strange men?” Ben Walker asked.
“I’ve seen stranger than you.” She checked for traffic in her side mirror and then started off again.
At first he didn’t recognize her and when he did, he said, “Well, if it isn’t The Other! Hoping to sneak into town after dark so no one will see you?”
“Yep, and hoping to sneak right back out again too.”
“Didn’t you swear never to come back?”
“The way I remember it; you swore never to come back too.” She playfully looked him up and down. Colette always though he was fine, but a couple of years of maturity had increased his appearance even more. His hair was darker than she remembered, but then, it had been a while since she saw him. “Gained a little weight, I see.”
He beamed. “Pure muscle, head to toe. Wanna see?”
“No thanks,” she answered. “Nobody ever bought the castle, did they.”
“Someone did, otherwise the county would have taken it over by now and made it into a tourist trap. It’s just that no one ever improved the place or moved in. I tried to do a search on the internet one time, but I couldn’t find any sign of an owner.”
“Most people probably don’t even know it’s there.” She took her eyes off the road just long enough to look at his face again. He seemed so grown up, but then two years away from parents would make anyone grow up. “The Navy throw you out?”
“Nope. Tell me, why are you coming back?”
“Even The Other has to go home when the old man dies.”
His mouth dropped. “You’re kidding. The old man died? I talked to Mom Last Sunday and she never said a word about it.”
“He died yesterday according to Sheriff Steele.”
“Who killed him?”
Colette laughed. “Why do you think someone killed him? I figure he finally offed himself. He was never happy. I can’t remember one single day when he was not as grumpy as a grizzly bear.”
“Nah, he isn’t the type to kill himself. A heart attack, maybe?”
“Maybe. Last time I baked him a birthday cake, he was sixty-one so maybe his heart finally did give out.”
“Really? I didn’t know he was that old. Did he ever tell you what happened to your mother?”
“Nope. We had a big fight about it just before I left. He said it was none of my business.”
Ben shook his head. “Whose business is it, if not yours?”
“That’s what I wanted to know.” She softly giggled. “Your mom must have mentioned all the screaming and yelling I did right before I left.”
“Come to think of it, she did mention it. She said she’d seen you mad plenty of times, but not like that. I was sorry I missed it. You always were the best entertainment in town.”
On the straightaway, Colette slowed and let the car behind her pass. Ahead were more curves than straight places going up to the top of a mountain, and she hated it when drivers ignored the no passing signs and tried to find a way around her anyway. “So here you are,” she said, “and the only thing I was looking forward to, was not having you constantly watch me from your bedroom window across the street.”
Ben chuckled. “I’m disappointed too. Not once did you undress with the curtains open. It was a bitter, heartbreaking disappointment for a kid my age. I don’t suppose you could...”
“Not a chance.”
He let out a slow exaggerated sigh and changed the subject. “So all you know about your mother is that she was a Cherokee?”
“That’s all he ever said.” As she started up the mountain, Colette glanced at Ben again. She used to feel an odd kind of excitement each time she saw him, and amazingly, the feeling was still there. “You like the Navy?”
“Yep, I have seen the world and it has seen me. There’s a whole lot of water out there
– a lot more than Mrs. Bresser told us about in school.”
“You think Mrs. Bresser ever made it out of Despair?”
“Not unless she took a cruise while I was gone, but then, who can afford a cruise?”
“I know I can’t.”
He chuckled. “It feels like home already. You’re the only one I know who calls our beloved little town, Despair.”
Colette nearly spit out the word, “Beloved?”
“To tell the truth, I always loved it there. Of course, I didn’t have your old man for a father. What was it you used to call him?”
“Jawbone.” She completed the next curve and started around one going in the opposite direction.
“That’s right, I remember now.” Ben turned his body a little more toward her so he could see her better. “You sure grew up nice.”
“You pick up that line from a movie?”
“I’m serious, you look spectacular.”
“Ben Walker, don’t tell me you learned the art of compliments in the Navy. You’ve never flattered me before in your entire life.”
“You never gave me a reason to – always walking around as hot headed as Mr. Brenner’s bull. Just because everyone called you, The Other, doesn’t mean they might have dropped it and liked you someday.”
“Really? They called me the other but they meant half-breed. The Other was just more politically correct.”
“Face it, the town was 86 percent white, 4 percent Black, 9 percent Spanish, and one half of one percent other. You were the other.”
“Right, half French, and half Cherokee. Thanks for reminding me.”
The Locked Room Page 2