by R. J. Jagger
They ended up seated at a small but expensive conference table with fancy coffee cups and coasters. Teffinger looked at Condor and got to the point.
“Jackie Lake made a few phone calls yesterday. One of them was to you.”
Condor nodded.
“That’s true.”
“What was that conversation about?”
“Jackie was in San Francisco taking depositions,” he said. “On Saturday she deposed a woman named Blanch Wethersfield, the assistant CFO of Hedgley Management Group, which is a party that our client, Daniel Dexter, is suing. On Sunday Jackie deposed Johnnie Squares, the CFO of Hedgley. Jackie called me on Sunday to brief me on the depositions. I’m the primary attorney on the case. Jackie and two other attorneys—Peter Slide and Jesse Jones—are working the case with me, under my direction. All four of us have formally entered our appearance in court as counsel of record.”
Teffinger nodded.
“So how’d they go?”
“The depositions?”
“Right.”
“Well, I can’t get into specifics because of attorney-client confidentiality and all that, but I’m probably at liberty to say they went well.”
“What was Jackie’s demeanor?”
“Normal.”
“Did you detect anything wrong or off? Was she agitated or afraid or stressed or anything like that?”
Condor shook his head.
“She was glad the depositions were over,” he said. “Taking a deposition is stressful work if you do it right. There’s a lot to keep organized and remember. You have to think on your feet. It requires a hundred percent concentration.”
“I wouldn't know. I rarely get above fifty and that's with full coffee. Did she mention anything about having a court conflict this morning?”
Condor wrinkled his forehead.
“No, what are you talking about?”
“The Anderson case.”
Condor looked at the other two lawyers who had blank faces.
“I’m not personally familiar with that case,” he said.
“She didn’t mention it?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Teffinger said. “Let me show you something.” Sydney pulled an envelope out of her purse and handed it to Teffinger. He opened it, pulled out a stapled set of papers and flipped to the last page. “This is a text that Jackie sent after she talked to you. The phone number belongs to Pantage Phair.”
“She’s one of our lawyers,” Condor said.
“Right, we’re going to want to talk to her.”
“No problem.”
Condor set the papers down and said, “I have no idea what kind of conflict she developed. She didn’t mention it when she talked to me.”
“So it developed after she talked to you,” Teffinger said.
Condor shook his head.
“Not necessarily,” he said. “She could have had it earlier. There’d be no reason for her to mention it to me. I’m not the person who would cover for her or arrange for it to be covered. That would fall in the purview of her secretary or another attorney who was working the case with her. I’m guessing that if we check the file we’ll find that Pantage was a co-attorney on the case.”
Teffinger nodded.
That made sense.
“So who killed her? Do you have any idea?”
No.
He didn’t.
The woman had no enemies, no conflicts, and no drama that any of them were aware of. She was a good lawyer doing a good job for her clients and living a normal life. She’d be up for partner in four years and was right on track.
“I don’t know what your resources are,” Condor said. “We’re here though in full force. We’ll hire private investigators and do anything and everything we can to help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Teffinger said. “I’d like to see her office.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“I’ll want to get into her emails.”
“Fine.”
9
Day One
July 18
Monday Afternoon
En route back to Denver flying in calm skies, Yardley called the law office of Baxter & Green, P.C. in Seattle, Washington and asked for Johnnie Axil, Esq. He was on the phone and she said she’d wait. Five minutes later his voice came through, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” she said.
“How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said. “It’s time to decide if you really want to go through with this.”
Silence.
“Yes,” he said.
“Let me be clear,” she said. “You can’t be 99 percent sure. You need to be a hundred. If we go forward, a lot of things are going to happen. Lives are going to change, yours not the least of them. This is the kind of thing that can’t be unwound once it starts.”
“I know that.”
“I know you know that,” Yardley said. “But what I need to know is that you’re at a hundred, not 99. I don’t ever want to get a call from you in the future to the effect that you’ve changed your mind and want to go back to square one. Square one forever disappears if we go forward.”
“We’re going forward,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he said. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. This isn’t a flippant decision.”
“Let me remind you that you’ll be breaking the law,” she said.
“Trust me, I understand all the implications, probably better than you, no offense.”
“None taken.”
“So, what’s the next step?”
“Hold on.”
Yardley pulled the Marlboros out of her purse, tapped one out and lit up.
“Your new name’s going to be Johnnie Preston.”
“Same first name,” he said. “I like that. I kept having a vision of not responding when someone calls it.”
“Now for the big question. Where’s Johnnie Preston going to live?”
“I was thinking about Santa Fe.”
Yardley chewed on it.
It was big enough to get lost in but not by much.
“Have you ever been there?”
“Once on vacation.”
“Does anyone there know you?”
“No.”
“Does your firm have any business going on in New Mexico?”
“No, we’re pretty local.”
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“Some. Not fluently but enough to get by.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What are you going to do when you get there?”
“Open a PI office.”
“Bad choice.”
“Why?”
“It’s boring,” she said. “You spend all your time with documents running down crap little things for crap little clients who stiff you on the bill. It’s not filled with shadows and dangerous dames like what you see in the old black and white movies.”
He chuckled.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“Your decision,” she said. “PIs are regulated by the state. You’re going to need good papers.”
“That’s your job.”
“Right, that’s my job.”
“You can do it I suppose.”
“I can do it, don’t worry.” She blew smoke. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow with more details. I’m going to give you one last chance to change your mind. When we hang up, we’re in motion. That’s the bright line. That’s where there will be no turning back. This is it.”
“In that case, if you’re ready to hang up, then so am I.”
She smiled.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mr. Preston.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up.
10
Day One
July 18
Monday Morning
The 16th Street Mall in the heart of downtown Denver was busy mid-morning but not as insane as
it would be at noon when all the suits and skirts dumped out. Pantage walked past a hotdog vendor set up on the shady side of the street, sitting on a folding director’s chair, reading the Rocky Mountain News. Ten steps later the light caught her at California. In another block or two she’d be at Taylor Sutton’s office.
Her phone rang.
She checked the number.
It was Condor.
Damn it.
She answered.
“Where are you?”
“I have a coffee meeting with a client,” she said.
A pause.
“Cut it short and get back here,” he said. “There’s a detective who wants to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About the text Jackie sent you yesterday.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The light turned green.
She dropped the phone into her purse and walked forward.
What to do?
What to do?
What to do?
She didn’t want to get carted out of the firm in handcuffs. She called Condor back and said, “See if that detective can meet me at Marlowe's. I don’t want to push the client off.”
A pause.
“He can,” Condor said. “About half an hour.”
“I’ll break away when he gets here.”
Marlowe’s was the place to see and be seen in downtown Denver but right now, in the dead zone, there wasn’t much of either going on. Pantage took a booth near the back and sipped coffee as she watched the front door.
Half an hour later a man walked in.
He was the man with the one blue eye and the one green one.
He spotted her.
The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.
He headed back and slid in next to her on the same side of the booth.
“I guess I have a name now,” he said.
“It looks that way,” she said.
A waitress showed up with coffee and wanted to know if Teffinger wanted anything.
“How are your pancakes, on a scale of one to ten?”
She lowered her voice. “Honestly, about a six.”
He smiled.
“Can you stick some strawberries and whipped cream on top and get ’em up to a seven?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
Teffinger looked at Pantage.
“Anything for you?”
A pause, then she said, “Same.”
“Two seven’s coming up.”
Pantage put her hand on Teffinger’s. “I have a favor to ask you,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“I don’t want to go out of here in handcuffs,” she said. “I’ll go peacefully. I won’t be any trouble. You don’t need to put me in anything.”
Teffinger nodded.
Then he put his hand lightly on her head, bent it towards him and pulled her hair back. He looked at the wound for a moment then took a sip of coffee.
“I pictured it as worse,” he said.
Pantage narrowed her eyes.
“I don’t get it.”
“Tell me what happened last night,” he said. “You went over to Jackie’s to pick up a file, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not in any trouble,” Teffinger said. “All I want to know is what happened.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me, I’m sure,” she said.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“I woke up this morning with blood in my hair,” she said. “That’s all I remember. I don’t know what happened last night. I’m pretty sure I killed her but I don’t know why. It’s all blocked out.”
“You didn’t kill her,” Teffinger said.
“I didn’t?”
“No,” he said. “You went over there.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“What I think happened is that you interrupted the murder in progress or shortly after,” Teffinger said. “The neighbor across the street saw a black-haired woman run out of the house being chased by a man. That black-haired woman, in hindsight, was you.”
“I don’t remember being chased.”
“Do you remember a man?”
“No.”
Teffinger exhaled.
“He was closing in on you. Another man was coming up the street, a man with black, shoulder length hair. You screamed out, Help me! Help me! Help me! Do you remember doing that?”
“No.”
“The guy chasing you hit you from behind. You slammed headfirst into a fire hydrant. Do you remember that?”
“No.”
“The two men fought,” Teffinger said. “The one chasing you broke away and ran up the street. The one with the long hair ran after him but lost ground.”
“So the guy got away?”
Teffinger nodded.
“What happened to the other guy, the one with the long hair?”
“We don’t know.”
“He didn’t come back?”
“If he did, the neighbor didn’t see him,” Teffinger said. “What he did see is you lay on the ground for a minute or two, then stagger to your feet, get in a car and drive off.”
Pantage processed it.
“So I didn’t kill Jackie,” she said.
“No. In fact—and this is just between you and me—she was raped,” he said.
Pantage pictured it.
Her chest pounded.
“Here’s the problem,” Teffinger said. “You saw the guy’s face.”
“If I did I don’t remember it. I can’t help you.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Teffinger said. “What I’m getting at is that the guy is going to be a whole lot better off if there wasn’t a witness around.”
The words landed with the force of a sledgehammer.
“Are you saying he’s going to try to kill me?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility.”
11
Day One
July 18
Monday Morning
Teffinger dropped Pantage off at Denver General to get her head and memory checked, in spite of her initial resistance, then headed back to the law firm where Sydney was just finishing going through the victim’s office and emails. As they walked down the stairwell forty-one floors to ground level, he told her about his meeting with Pantage and, particularly, her loss of memory.
“Here’s the problem,” he said. “If her memory comes back at some point—and I assume it will—she’ll be a material witness. Technically I’m in a conflict position because I’ve had a relationship with her, albeit only for a couple of days. If I follow the rules like I’m supposed to, I should bow out of the case.”
“Why?”
“Because if this ever goes to trial, Pantage's credibility will be at issue, just like every other witness in a trial,” Teffinger said. “The defense will argue that she’s lying to support her lover, who happens to be the lead detective on the case.”
“Former lover,” Sydney said.
“No, lover.”
She gave him a look.
“You’re going to make a move on her?”
“No, she’s going to make one on me.”
“You should leave her alone Nick. She’s vulnerable. Take the little guy and let him play in someone else’s back yard if he absolutely has to play somewhere.”
He smiled.
“The little guy?”
“You know what I mean.”
He did.
He did indeed.
“Mr. Roundtree,” he said.
She winced.
“That’s more information than I need,” she said. “You probably should bow out of the case. That’s my point.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone needs to protect her.”
“Not the way I can.”
“Look,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anyone about your past with her. If I were you though, I’d think long and hard about where you’re heading.”
“Long and hard? Are you talking about the little guy again?”
She punched his arm.
“I should get double pay for having to be around you all day.”
“Put in for it,” he said. “You never know.”
Forty-one floors was a long way, even going down. By the time they reached the lobby Teffinger’s legs were on fire and his chest pounded for air. He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
Then his phone rang and the voice of Leigh Sandt came through.
“Your victim out there in Denver is number six,” she said. “At least number six. Before her there’s Brooklyn Winnfield, Ashley Gibson, Rikki Amberdeck, Abby Night and Kimberly Johnson, in that order. They were all killed the exact same way, namely repeatedly strangled while they were being raped and then got their left ear cut off.”
Teffinger exhaled.
“What cities?”
“All over,” she said. “Are you at the office?”
“I will be in ten minutes.”
“Check your email when you get there,” she said. “I’m gong to start sending the files over.”
“Come to Denver,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s not my case plus I’m swamped.”
“Whose case is it?”
“A newbie by the name of Dale Radcliff.”
“Did you tell him about the Denver victim?”
“I did,” she said. “His reaction was, I knew there’d be another one. Conspicuously absent was any mention that he wanted to jump on a plane and head to where the fresh blood was.”
“So you come then.”
“Read my lips Teffinger, I’m swamped. I would if I could, you know that, but I can’t.”
“Not even for me?”
She laughed.
“Especially for you.”
“Come on, when’s your schedule going to clear up?”
“I don’t know, when I’m sixty.”
“That’s thirty years,” he said.
She exhaled.
“Nice try. Look, I’ll see if I can rearrange something, but don’t hold your breath,” she said. “In the meantime, check your emails.”