The driver stood and, as he did, Caspian grabbed him by the collar and forced him out of the way. Brown was ten feet from the car when Caspian dropped in behind the wheel and punched the gas. The door was still standing wide open. The car had come to rest at a forty-five degree angle, sitting partway across two lanes. Traffic was sluggishly swerving around it.
The car surged forward. Brown pulled his gun and fired. His first two bullets punched holes in the yellow part of the front quarter panel. Caspian ducked as low as he could at the sounds of gunfire and jerked the wheel wildly. The car swerved, but he kept his foot on the accelerator.
Brown adjusted his aim and fired again. This time he took out the right front tire. It went flat instantly. The car jerked to the right and smashed into a passing Subaru wagon. The front end of Caspian’s car crumpled on impact and the airbags deployed. He recovered quickly, ducked out the open door and kept his head low.
Brown sprinted to the car.
Caspian was seeing stars from the blow from the airbag. He scrambled on all fours around the front end of the car. The briefcase was gone, lost either somewhere back in the street or inside the taxi. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.
• • •
Miller had picked up Smith in the Tahoe. They were speeding up Fifth Avenue, weaving though traffic. Smith had his window down and he heard the gunshots.
He glanced at Miller
“Let’s go.”
• • •
Brown ran up to the open door of the taxi and saw that there was no one inside the car. He needed to grab Caspian and get out of the street before the cops started showing up. People on the sidewalks had scrambled for cover at the first pop of gunfire.
There was no sign of Caspian.
The Subaru had been T-boned and the driver was having to climb out through the passenger’s door. He was groaning in pain and holding his shoulder.
Brown saw a flash of movement ahead and spotted Caspian moving with his head down and scrambling between cars parked at the curb. All he could see was his backside. He had orders not to kill him, but he could not under any circumstances let him get away.
Brown jogged alongside the row of cars. Caspian saw him, pivoted and scrambled through a gap. But his move was too slow.
Brown aimed at Caspian’s leg and fired. The round caught Caspian in the upper thigh. He fell onto his back and clutched his leg. His face twisted into a mask of pain.
Brown pounced.
Caspian looked up at him. “Who are you?”
“Shut up,” Brown said.
• • •
Five seconds later, the black Tahoe skidded to a stop four feet away and they shoved the hobbled Caspian into the second row seat. They slammed the doors and tore out in a cloud of tire smoke. Smith was seated up front and he turned around to get his first look at the mysterious Mr. Caspian.
56
They landed at Sardy Field and Coburn taxied the small aircraft to a sheet metal hanger and killed the engine. Coburn removed his headset and shouldered open his door, and then helped her out the other side. Sabrina ducked under the wing and put her arms straight out, raised up on her toes to stretch her legs after a half day of riding in the stiff aircraft seat.
“Holy cow, I’m in the middle of nowhere,” she said.
Coburn came around the tail and led her through a small building to the parking lot. “Give me your cell.”
He made a call to Maggie Tyler and then they sat on a bench and watched traffic on the adjacent highway until an ancient Toyota Land Cruiser turned in and stopped next to them. A vibrant woman of perhaps thirty-two jumped out and wrapped her arms around Coburn’s neck.
“Hey gorgeous,” she said, bright white teeth showing in a big smile.
She was short and lean and in fabulous shape. She wore jeans, lightweight hiking boots, and a Patagonia vest over a form-fitting long underwear top. Her hair was long and blond and fluttered in the mountain breeze. She wore no makeup, no lipstick, and there was no polish on her nails.
“Maggie, you look younger every time I see you.”
Maggie looked at Sabrina and loosened her grip around Coburn’s neck.
“Who’s your friend?” Maggie asked.
Coburn made the introduction. “This is Sabrina. Sabrina, meet Maggie Tyler.”
Maggie managed an affable smile. “Welcome to Aspen.”
Sabrina could see the obvious history between Coburn and the blonde. “Big thanks,” she replied.
Maggie’s eyes immediately went back to Coburn. “Let’s load up.”
The Land Cruiser drove like a tank. Coburn rode shotgun. Sabrina folded herself into the seat behind him and watched the scenery pass through windows specked with dried mud.
“I made a few calls this morning,” Maggie said. “A friend of a friend is a loan agent at one of the banks in town and she told me that Gabriella Goldman is in town.”
“Get an address?”
Maggie nodded. “The Goldmans live off Maroon Road.”
The Land Cruiser turned right off the highway onto a wide two-lane road. The Maroon Bells were visible in the distance rising above the town in the distance. Snow was still visible in the higher elevations.
“What do you know about Gabriella Goldman?” Coburn asked.
“A whole lot of nothing,” Maggie said. She downshifted as she followed a curve in the long narrow drive. “I’ve known of her for years, but she’s private. The Goldmans don’t party. Mr. Goldman is some kind of big deal in Hollywood, but here he tends to hide away and keep to himself. Gabriella is apparently a real granola head and keeps to herself.”
“Does the name Brian Ripley mean anything to you?” Coburn watched her eyes track out ahead of them as she navigated the road.
“Hmmm.....no,” she said, shaking her head.
Coburn twisted back around in his seat. “You’re sure?”
“Who’s Ripley?” Maggie asked.
“A name from an obituary,” he answered.
“Dead?”
Coburn didn’t answer.
The road branched at a stand of bleached-white aspens. With the sun overhead the trees seemed to glow. Maggie followed the split to the right. Suddenly they were in a clearing and the main residence sprawled before them. It was a magnificent structure. A true architectural masterpiece of logs and stone and glass. The drive made the subtle transition from asphalt to brick and formed a sweeping circle past the front of the massive home.
Maggie parked and they gathered in front of the Land Cruiser.
“Did you get a home phone number?” Coburn asked.
“No.”
“A cell?”
“No. We will have to knock on the door and hope for the best.”
Wide steps made from gorgeous, hand-selected river stone led up to the entry. The porch overhang was supported by a row of pillars forged from massive rough-hewn timbers. The entry itself was an archway that towered twelve feet overhead. Glass inlay was set into the double doors, depicting scenes of bull elk grazing in a mountain meadow.
Maggie approached the door and pressed the doorbell. The air was cool and smelled of pine and moss and impending afternoon rain.
The door opened.
Coburn turned.
“Mrs. Goldman?’ he asked.
The woman hesitated. She made eye contact with each of them, and saw the Land Cruiser parked beyond.
“That’s right,” she answered after a moment. The tone was pleasant but formal. “I’m Mrs. Goldman and this is private property. Perhaps you overlooked the trespassing signs.”
“My name is John Coburn.”
“Should that mean something to me?” she asked.
“Not necessarily.”
“You don’t look familiar.”
“I’d like to talk to you about Brian Ripley,” he said.
57
Gabriella Goldman invited them inside, showed them into a sitting room with a wonderful view of the mountains and o
ffered them drinks. She was older than Coburn had expected, by close to a decade. She had the look of a woman who was once truly gorgeous but had spent too many years in the sun and wind.
The ceiling was vaulted with heavy pine beams hoisted high overhead to support the weight. The windows facing the mountains were tall and wide and flooded with gorgeous natural light. The decor was rustic and expensive. Everything was made of hardwood and brass and iron. There were mounted animal heads on the walls.
“How did you know Brian?” Gabriella asked.
“I went to school with him,” Coburn said.
“Brian never mentioned school.”
“We roomed together at USC. He dropped out and I never saw him again.”
“USC?”
Coburn nodded. “Brian and I were both pre-med.”
“I’m shocked. He wasn’t doctor material.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing really. He never struck me as possessing enough discipline. The Brian I knew and loved was a ski bum.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At a bar in town. I’m a local. I came to Aspen when I was very young. My father worked for the county and my mother made candles to sell in shops. Brian came for the snow one winter and I saw him and fell hard. He was gorgeous. I was few years older, but he was definitely my type.” She grinned, maybe a tad embarrassed. “I used to be into younger men, but I got over that, obviously.”
“You got married?”
Gabriella nodded. “We married quickly. He moved into my place. The sex was amazing. I mean really amazing. We just had this wild chemistry. It wasn’t normal. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I couldn’t get pregnant, but that was probably for the best. When he started traveling, it was hard on me. I’d gotten used to frequent sex. It was hard to do without while he was away.”
“Traveling?”
She nodded. “He spent lots of time in Europe and Asia, mountain climbing and skiing. Brian was an adrenaline junkie. He was always in search of a bigger, better mountain, a bigger, better thrill.”
“How could he afford to live like that?” he asked.
Gabriella shrugged. “He’d always find a way.”
“Did he work?”
“Not much. He had an aversion to employment. Which is why the pre-med reference took me by surprise. Brian had a way of getting by. I don’t remember him ever having a bank account. At least not while we were married.”
“How long were you married?”
“Couple of years. Maybe a little longer. Closer to three, I guess. Seems like a lifetime ago now.”
Maggie sat next to Coburn, and her posture mirrored his. Her blonde hair was tucked behind her ears.
Sabrina remained standing. She listened without expression.
“Why are you here?” Gabriella asked, eyes sweeping to each of them, but eventually settling on Coburn.
“Brian was my friend. We met at USC and roomed together, and then one day he walked out of our dorm and dropped off the face of the earth. I’m interested in knowing what happened to him after that.”
“He died.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“He was only twenty-five. He was killed a few miles from here. It was a snow slide.”
Coburn nodded.
“You know?” Gabriella asked.
“I’ve read about the accident.”
“I carried around a lot of anger for a lot of years because he was so reckless. After I got past the tears, I hated him. Then I simply missed him terribly. Now I can barely recall his face. Funny how time works like that.”
“Did you see the body?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “There was no body. Brian was lost in the avalanche. I remember the search. They used dogs and helicopters and picked over every inch of that mountainside. But there’s just no way to find a person buried under that much snow. I’m sure that in the spring when the thaw came the animals got to him. It took a long time for me to give up hope, but at a certain point you just have to accept reality. Brian wasn’t coming home.”
A moment passed. Gabriella’s gaze fell to her lap. The memory wasn’t pleasant.
Gabriella took a long look at Sabrina.
“You aren’t local.”
“New York,” Sabrina said.
“What brings you to Aspen?”
“We came to see you,” Coburn said.
“How did you know about me?”
“We found an article about the accident online. It mentioned a wife. Then we found your wedding announcement online also.”
“Why would you want to find me?”
“To learn about Brian and his life.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Brian’s been dead a long time.”
“The part of his life we’re interested in are the years between college and his death. Those three or four years.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For the moment, let’s chalk it up to curiosity,” he said.
“What do you want from me?”
“Did you save any of his stuff?”
“All of it. Not that there was a lot.”
“Where is it?”
Gabriella sighed. “Lawrence doesn’t know about Brian. He wouldn’t approve.”
“The new husband?” Sabrina asked.
Gabriella nodded. “He’s not a sentimental man. Especially when it comes to other men I’ve slept with.”
“Where do you keep Brian’s things?” Coburn pressed.
“In the barn. The big barn out back.”
“Can we see?”
“What’s this really about? I’m not stupid. This isn’t strictly about curiosity. You came all the way from New York. What exactly are you looking for?”
“We are trying to fill in some blanks,” he said.
“Brian never mentioned you. Why is that?”
“Wish I had an answer. But I don’t think that’s the only thing he failed to mention.”
58
The barn was open on both ends and there was an orange Kubota tractor with a hay attachment bolted on the back parked just inside. Gabriella led them into the shade of the barn past the idle Kubota. The slab floor was swept clean except for the mud that had been tracked in. Motes of dust spun through the air that smelled of hay and manure, pine and cedar. There were stalls on either side, with horses bedded down in clean straw.
The aisle between the horse stalls was wide. A leather saddle with riding blankets was stacked on the floor below heavy rope hanging from the wood pegs on the wall. The breeze in the aisle was cool.
They climbed stairs to a second level and Gabriella stopped at a wooden ladder built into a wall. The rungs were made of two by fours. The ladder stretched up through an opening in the ceiling.
“That’s a loft,” Gabriella said. “Nothing up there but boxes. Serves as a catchall.”
They watched her take hold of the upright beams of the ladder and make the short climb and followed one at a time. Muted light came through opaque glass at either end of the attic. Dust particles were visible in the shafts of yellowed light, suspended in the air and floating without direction. The attic was a big open space the length and width of the barn with a ceiling that sloped with the pitch of the roof.
The attic was indeed a catchall. There were stacks of boxes against the walls. Layers of dust had settled across everything. The walls were unfinished and fiberglass insulation and electrical wiring were visible between the wooden wall studs.
Gabriella hit a wall switch and lights came on. The white metal fixtures were suspended from the rafters by chains. The attic smelled of sawdust and old cardboard. The boxes were stacked six or seven deep. Some were taped up and some simply had the cardboard flaps folded over. There were a number of plastic tubs with snap-on lids.
Gabriella stood with her hands on her hips. She glanced from one end of the attic to the other. “What a mess,” she sighed. “Can’t remember the last time I was up here.”
�
��Where is Brian’s stuff?” Coburn asked.
Gabriella gestured with the flutter of a hand. “Over here, I think.”
The four of them began moving boxes. Gabriella navigated among the maze of cardboard. Most of the boxes were labeled with bold black marker. The contents were described simply as MAGAZINES, OLD CLOTHES, CHRISTMAS, BUSINESS STUFF, TAX DOCUMENTS, GABRIELLA’S CD’S. Some weighed a ton and some seemed nearly empty.
They helped Gabriella move stuff aside to make an aisle inward toward the northernmost wall. Coburn did all the heavy lifting.
“Brian’s stuff is on bottom,” Gabriella said. She eased down onto her knees, pitching her shoulders forward, tilting and angling her neck to read what she’d written in marker on the side of each box. “I wanted to make sure Lawrence didn’t stumble across any of it.”
“He knows about the marriage?” Sabrina asked.
She nodded, looking up at them.
“He knows about both of my previous marriages,” Gabriella said. “I was married for about ten minutes to another guy, a few years after Brian’s death. A ski instructor from Austria who turned out to be a misogynist and a cheat. Anyway, Lawrence chooses to pretend that I didn’t have a life prior to him.”
Gabriella twisted out of the way and pointed to a row of boxes lined against the wall. “All three of those,” she said.
Coburn hauled them out. Maggie and Sabrina each grabbed an end of a long Rubbermaid tub and dragged it clear of the pyramid of cardboard to use as a table. Coburn set the first box on top of the tub. The box was sealed with duct tape. He picked at one end of the tape with his fingernail then peeled it up one side, across the seam on top and down the opposite side. The four cardboard flaps were warped and dusty from years of storage.
He stepped aside to let Brian Ripley’s widow have a look. She folded the flaps open and caught her breath as she peered down at the contents.
“Clothes,” she sighed. “After all these years they still smell like him.”
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