"Sounds good. Chief Smith. My wife's pretty tired. She will probably just sack out on the sofa in the plane."
He exhaled in a short burst through his nostrils. A feral snort.
"Well, if there's two of them I got dibs on the other," he said. I was about to chuckle at the juvenile humor until I realized that the man was serious. He pointed at my chest and said, "How about you get the cab," then looked down at his watch.
"Say, twenty minutes."
The word echoing about inside my head was asshole. I tried to smile, but I couldn't. I did manage a nod to his departing back. I promised myself it was the last directive I would take from the man.
A. J. Simes appeared as tired as Lauren as she approached us to say good-bye.
She was leaning more heavily on her cane than she had been earlier in the day.
She couldn't miss the evidence of Lauren's decline, and smiled sympathetically at me.
"I think we may have asked too much of your wife today. Sorry. I will admit that I'm tempted to sack out next to her."
"She'll be fine. I think she's thrilled at the chance to be working with Mary Wright."
"She should be. Marys a prize. What about you? Are you comfortable with what you heard today, Alan?" I said, "Reasonably, A. J. I'll admit that I'm not too thrilled about interviewing Raymond Welle. The rest of the case seems interesting-fascinating, actually. But, given the expertise of this group, I feel like a total novice with all this-I'm counting on your guidance to help me through it."
She touched my arm. I couldn't tell whether it was an act of reassurance or whether it offered some protection against her losing her balance.
"Don't worry, I'll provide whatever guidance you need. But if I read you right last year, before this is over you'll probably be telling me to get my nose out of your face." I said, "I doubt that will happen. This work must be very satisfying for all of you in Locard. To be able to go back and offer consolation, or at least closure, to the victims' families on all these old cases."
"Not just old cases. What we revisit are cold cases. The way I look at our work is that our goal is to try to raise the dead. Or the presumed dead. Or the feared dead. If we do our work well, we bring them back long enough to help us solve the crime that took them away. When Kimber and I and a few others started all this a few years ago, I wanted to call the organization Lazarus. No one else liked the name though. But I thought it would be the most fitting label of all."
"I can see how it would be."
A. J. shifted her weight and tried to disguise a grimace.
"And it has been very satisfying. For someone like me who isn't able to participate professionally in the Bureau any longer, it provides an opportunity to satisfy a true need. For others on the team, it provides a sense of camaraderie, of collegiality, and a feeling of being able to directly impact justice in a way that their career paths often deny them." I said, "I don't actually know too much about Vidocq, your counterpart in Philadelphia, but what I saw today leaves me with the impression that you do things a bit differently than they do."
"We can't match them in reputation, but we have every bit as much expertise. Our profile is lower, by design. Our style is more proactive. Our membership is, well-how should I put it?-less mainstream. We're less hesitant to dive in and investigate where we need to. Lister calls the difference between Vidocq and Locard the difference between cogitation and investigation.
But Vidocq has certainly enjoyed its successes."
"What about Lister? Where does he fit?"
My question caused her to smile.
"That… is another story. A long one. One that will have to wait until a time when your wife and I aren't so tired. I'll phone you tomorrow or the next day in Colorado and we'll begin to map out an initial strategy for how to approach our particular piece of this puzzle. Then we'll get started filling in the holes. I'm grateful, Alan, that you agreed to help. I definitely wanted someone I could trust on this one. Please say good-bye to Lauren for me and express my gratitude to her as well." She turned to leave. I said, "Before you go, A. J.-the jet that we flew out on?
It belongs to Joey Franklin, isn't that right?"
She tightened her eyes.
"Yes, he owns a piece of the plane. Apparently, it's a time-share arrangement.
He buys an eighth or a quarter interest or something and then he gets to use so many hours a year to fly around to his golf tournaments and things. I recall that your ethical knife has a very sharp blade, so I think I know what you're concerned about. A possible conflict of interest, right? I've mentioned it to Kimber already. We'll have to keep an eye on it and see what develops with the young girl's brother. If money to aid the investigation continues to flow from the Franklin family, we may have something to be worried about."
"You probably already know this, but Lauren and I and Chief Smith are flying back on the jet in an hour."
She shrugged.
"My advice? Enjoy the flight. It'll be much easier on Lauren than going commercial." She touched my arm again and nodded at my wife.
"When is she due?"
Very little escaped A. J."s attention.
"Beginning of October. Thanks for asking.
The pregnancy has gone well so far."
"Is she stable?" From the slight alteration in tone, I discerned that she was asking about Lauren's MS, not her pregnancy.
"The pregnancy has been kind to her as far as her illness is concerned. It's after that has me concerned. You know? The stress of having a newborn?" Lauren s neurologist had told us that pregnancy was often a period of respite and remission for women with multiple sclerosis. Unfortunately, the protection often ended abruptly with delivery.
"I know," said A. J. "Her role on this case shouldn't be too difficult. If it gets to be too much for her, let me know. Mary and I are friends." She adjusted her weight on her cane.
"We'll talk soon."
She held out her hand. I responded by leaning in and giving her a quick hug.
Into her ear, I said, "You feeling okay? Honestly."
She pulled back.
"Honestly? I can't complain."
I watched her walk away and then went in search of a phone to call for a car to take us to the airport.
Lauren woke to an almost empty loft. She was embarrassed by her fatigue, as I figured she would be.
Kimber Lister saw us toward the elevator.
"The car is here. Downstairs, idling at the curb. Chief Smith does not endeavor to travel as lightly as the two of you. His luggage is, believe me, not insubstantial for such an abbreviated visit. He's downstairs now, loading his things." He placed a hand on the small of each of our backs.
"These days when we at Locard introduce new cases always turn out to be quite hectic for me. My principal regret is that I usually don't get a chance to acquaint myself with my guests as thoroughly as I would like.
Please forgive me if I have not managed to be an attentive host. I pray we will have another opportunity to visit and that on that occasion you will permit me to properly express my gratitude for your participation and your sacrifice on our behalf."
I wondered how he could construct sentences like that after a day as draining as this one had been. I said, "You've been very kind. Your home is quite lovely.
And we'd welcome another chance to get to know you better, as well. We're honored to have been asked to participate. And we appreciate your hospitality."
He closed his eyes briefly and nodded his head in some manner of acknowledgment.
Lauren stopped in front of the elevator in the foyer.
"The film we saw earlier?
Was that your work?"
Lister blushed.
"Yes," he said.
"I… composed that piece. An avocation of mine."
"You have talent, Mr. Lister. I was captivated."
"Kimber, please. You're too kind."
"I'm not being insincere."
"Well. Thank you, then."
"You'r
e quite welcome. Alan and I both hope we're able to provide enough help to warrant A. J.s faith in us."
Lister laughed.
"I do not concern myself with that for even a moment. A. J. Simes does not assess people incorrectly. That is why she's such a valuable member of the Locard team."
The elevator arrived. Lister kissed Lauren on the cheek and told us both to be well.
The taxi waiting downstairs was, fortunately, a huge something from General Motors. Percy Smith was already sitting in the backseat staring at his watch in a manner that I figured was intended to induce our guilt at being tardy. I don't think Lauren noticed. I was irritated by his pettiness.
Apparently Smith had already given the driver directions, for the car lurched from the curb the second I closed the door behind me. I asked the driver to please switch on the air conditioner. Lauren's MS caused her to be intolerant of heat. I assumed her pregnancy would only aggravate her discomfort.
Smith said, "I don't like air-conditioning."
I leaned forward and faced him, Lauren between us. Intentionally forcing civility into my voice, "I'm sorry. Chief Smith. My wife requires the air-conditioning for her health. I hope you can accommodate her for the brief amount of time it will take us to get across town to the airport."
As the words came out of my mouth, I felt as though I were talking like Kimber Lister.
Without a word, Smith pressed the button that raised his window. When the glass finally sealed shut, he muttered, "On such a fine day, too."
I began to wonder whether this private jet with ten seats was going to be large enough for the three of us.
The flight attendant on this leg was a gentleman in his fifties named Hans. He was solicitous and professional in getting us settled on board. Lauren noticed, as I did, that the interior of this plane was slightly different than the one on which we'd flown east. I wondered out loud whether Joey Franklin leased an entire fleet.
Chief Smith spoke for the first time since muttering about having to close his window.
"Joey actually leases time in the air, not on a specific plane. Any plane in the fleet that's the right size might arrive when he calls for service.
He uses them mostly to get to his golf tournaments. Shares the cost with one of his buddies."
Lauren was settling down on one of the leather sofas, fumbling for her seat belt.
"It certainly is a pleasant way to fly."
"Can't beat it," said Smith.
"Can't beat it. Hans? A cold beer would be great right about now. One of those green ones, from your homeland."
Hans looked right at me and, his face otherwise impassive, raised one reddish blond eyebrow about an eighth of an inch before he said, "I'm from Germany, sir.
The beer you are requesting is, I believe, Heineken. It is made in Holland." He turned as a soldier might and retraced his steps to the galley to retrieve Percy's beer. Percy glared at him; Percy didn't care in what country his beer was made, but he didn't like being corrected by the help.
Lauren had apparently decided to put more effort into being cordial to our traveling companion than I had. She asked, "Have you flown on Mr. Franklin's airplane before, Chief Smith?"
"Yep. Came out here for the first Locard meeting." Lauren asked
"How did it come about that you requested Locard to reopen the investigation of the murder of the two girls? " He took the beer from Hans, immediately finishing almost half of the contents. "I took over the force in Steamboat almost two years ago. Weren't too many cases left for me to clean up in town. And none anywhere near as serious as this one. Even though it was a sheriff's case and not a city case I was naturally interested it being a homicide and all and so I made it a point to familiarize myself with everyone who had been involved back then. It was Mr. Franklin senior, not Joey who told me about Locard. I'd never heard of them.
He'd seen something in some newspaper about that kidnapping they solved in Texas. That high school boy? You remember? So I asked the sheriff if he minded if I started looking at the stuff he had in his files. Sheriff didn't care. So I reinterviewed some of the witnesses. Inventoried the evidence that hadn't been misplaced. I actually pulled everything together that I could even put it all together in a new murder book and Mr. Franklin senior and I came out and met Kimber and three or four others a couple of months back. That's how it all got started." Lauren asked, "What about the other family? Marikos family?"
"Long gone. Back in Japan for all I know."
"So they haven't been consulted? You don't know how they feel about the work we are going to be doing?"
Percy shrugged.
"Why would they object?"
I was about to press to try and determine whether any effort had been made to contact the Hamamoto family, but the captain was walking to the back of the plane. She was a tall woman with intricate braids that had been pinned up at the sides of her head. She had swimmer's shoulders. She introduced herself to her three passengers and said we'd begin taxiing in about three minutes and that the first hour or so looked to be pretty bumpy. A big wall of thunderstorms was heading north out of the Virginias.
"So I want y'all to listen to his safety instructions extra carefully." She waited. I nodded.
"Good. Now enjoy your flight. Our first stop today is Yampa Valley Regional Airport, then we'll be heading off on a very short hop to Jefferson County."
Hans had been waiting patiently for the captain to finish speaking. He stepped forward and leaned from his waist toward Lauren.
"A refreshment, miss, while we taxi? Perhaps a warm towel for your hands and face?" he inquired.
I leaned down and raised one of Lauren's legs to my lap and removed her shoe.
As I began to massage her foot, I decided I was going to do everything in my power to enjoy this flight.
Lauren and Percy quickly fell asleep and Hans covered each of them with a quilted blanket. Lauren stirred each time the plane encountered turbulence, which was frequently, once opening her eyes and gazing at me before rolling onto her side. I reached over and tightened her seat belt a little, briefly resting my hand on the slight swell in her abdomen. Percy Smith didn't move at all. I made a silent bet to myself that he would snore.
The conversation that accompanied dinner was banal, and was mostly focused on Percy's background because Percy displayed absolutely no interest in either Lauren or me. He lost no time in letting us know that he had played football for Tom Osborne at Nebraska-although it turned out he had actually played very little football for Tom Osborne at Nebraska. Lauren stopped him before he launched into a description of the knee rehab he had endured for the ACL he'd torn during his sophomore year. He was equally eager to boast that he had married a beautiful cheerleader named Judy. He lifted a fat wallet from his hip pocket and showed us a worn picture of Judy in her Nebraska cheerleader outfit.
Judy Smith was quite pretty. Percy explained that his "wife's people are from Routt County. Mining. Cattle. Old-timers." Lauren asked if he and Judy had any children.
He replied, "Yeah. Two" 0-kay. In Percy's mind, I guessed that covered the topic.
Percy's life didn't fascinate me enough to continue the conversation in the direction it was heading. I changed the subject back to the issue of the two dead girls.
"What about the man you replaced in Steamboat? What was his name? Barrett? What did he think about the way his investigation concluded?"
"I didn't replace Barrett. Barrett was Routt County sheriff. And he left in ninety-two or ninety-three. I replaced Tim Whitney."
"So you don't know Sheriff Barrett?"
"Didn't say that. Phil Barrett still works for Congressman Welle he's some bigwig on his staff and they both still call Steamboat home. We've crossed paths a few times since I've been in town. Played golf with him once. Man has more slices than a deli. Barrett, not Welle. And he can't putt to save his life." Lauren asked, "Have you discussed the case with him?"
Percy scratched himself on the back of the neck but didn't reply.<
br />
Her fork in midair, Lauren persisted.
"I have to wonder how he feels about his work being scrutinized by a bunch of strangers."
I was surprised to observe Percy appear thoughtful. After a moment's contemplation, he said, "Nobody would like this case solved more than Phil Barrett. Well, maybe Mr. Franklin. But after him, Phil Barrett wants the answers the most." Lauren said, "I've been wondering about something else. Was Mr. Barrett the sheriff when Raymond Welle's wife was killed?"
Percy Smith seemed to find the change in direction curious. His eyebrows jumped up and caused the shape of eyes to change from narrow ovals to nickel-sized circles.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Evenly, Lauren said, "It has nothing to do with anything as far as I know. I knew her, that's all. Gloria Welle. I'm just asking."
Percy nodded in a manner that said
"I knew that," although it was apparent that he hadn't been aware of Lauren's connection to the Welles.
"That nastiness happened when Phil Barrett was sheriff. Not a pretty chapter in the congressman's life. Thank goodness I don't have to reopen that one." I said, "I'm not sure what you mean by that."
Percy gestured at Hans as though the man was a waiter in a diner. When Hans hesitated, Percy stared him down until he approached. Percy didn't look toward either Lauren or me when he continued.
"Just that it's solved, that's all. That case had all the pieces this other one doesn't. Witnesses who saw something, forensics that mean something, ballistics that handed us a gun, a motive that made sense-the whole nine yards.
I wish we had some of that going for us with the Franklin case."
"And the Hamamoto case," Lauren added.
"Yeah. That, too. Coffee, Hans. I need sugar." Percy reached into a leather carry-on and removed a paperback copy of Tom Clancy's latest. The book appeared to have been through a war that was fought in a humid climate. Percy folded it open, cracking the spine mercilessly. I guessed he was on page 60 or so.
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