“Whoever had them.”
“Is it possible you knew this JJ person?”
“I hope not. I hope to God not.” He clutched his temples and rambled on. “Crack heads don’t have great memories. Dead brain cells y’ know.” Noticing Sandy’s expression of disgust, Danny exerted the needed effort to produce real tears.
“Straighten up. The first thing you’re going to do is go down to the Jeffco Courthouse and update your letters of administration and get about a dozen certified copies.”
Danny nodded solemnly. At least Sandy was giving him advice. That meant he wasn’t withdrawing as his counsel.
“Then you and Rae are going to the Wheat Ridge and Lakewood Police Departments where you'll get their reports on Deidre. Read them. See if anything jogs your memory. We need to find out what really happened to your wife.”
“Rae? Rae hates me. Why would she go along?”
As proof, he held up the Kleenex he’d used on his face. It was streaked with blood from the wound Rae had inflicted.
“That little scratch? If she didn’t care about you, she never would’ve lost it like that. You really don’t know her that well, do you?”
“I guess not, but what do we need the police reports for? Dee's death was an accident.”
“You really don't know?”
“Know what?”
“Your wife's family thinks she was murdered by the drug dealer they believe you hooked her up with.”
Things seemed suddenly darker--literally. He looked out the window to see the first salvo of rain hit Boulder.
Then Sandy asked, “What have you done with the money, Danny?”
“Money?”
“Yes, money. There are bills to be paid including mine and Rae's. Among the documents Gil sent over were title reports on your wife's real estate.”
“I can explain.”
“They want you out as P/R. Tell me something I can use to deflect that.”
Rae drove away from Sandy’s office through pelting early May rain. On the Diagonal Highway, she headed northeast, a white-knuckled runaway from her own demons.
My God. I’ve just hit a client in the face. He could…but he won’t…Damn you, Danny Lassiter. How could you end up a crack-head?
Her visibility was impaired, but notching up the wiper speed didn’t help. Reined-in tears slipped their bits and dashed down her face, carrying away all traces of her makeup.
Rae pulled off the highway in Niwot, drove down a dirt road that ran past a small lake where red-winged blackbirds staked their spring claims amidst the skeletons of last year’s cattails. There she parked and let the tide of emotion carry her back thirteen years to that day when the sun went black and the world--as she knew it--ended.
*****
Anthony Esposito. Anthony--never “Tony.” Rae called him her Four-H man. Handsome, healthy, hunk, husband. Her husband. In the privacy of her heart, she substituted “horny” for “healthy.” He was both, but there were some things she didn’t need to say aloud.
Anthony was a Denver cop. Rae had just inherited her grandmother’s farm in Longmont. They made big plans to finish raising the kids on Grandma’s farm. Real Four-H. The works. Anthony would take early retirement in about ten years and they’d be full-time farmers. The kids, aged ten and twelve, were ecstatic. The world was so sweet it hurt her teeth.
Then on the second of May, in the middle of a spring snow storm, Anthony responded to a domestic violence call on Marion Street, at one of those fine old Victorian houses that had been converted to apartments.
A man named Victor Markov was high on something. Rae didn’t remember his substance of choice--just his wild eyes reflecting emotions askew. When she saw his picture on the evening news, she imagined how Anthony must have felt looking into those wanton eyes.
A woman and a young boy of about five had been in the apartment with Markov--his wife and son, whom he had determined were not worthy to go on living.
Anthony had talked the man out of the apartment, onto the street where he stood between Markov and the apartment building. Markov had seemed about to hand over his pistol to Anthony. As a precaution, a swat team hovered on the adjacent roof. Rae had read the report a dozen times. Everything seemed to be under control. Anthony wore a bullet-proof Kevlar vest--just in case.
Then the stupid woman--Mrs. Markov--came barreling out of the building, yelling God knows what, preceded by the little boy, and Markov had turned the gun on his family. But somehow, it was Anthony whose blood first stained the snow. Defective vest. Who knew? The manufacturer paid a price. It seemed there were other widows created by those vests, but there was no way to place a value. Not with money. Not even Markov’s life could make a difference.
Rae had to see it. The place where Anthony fell. See his blood turning brown on the snow, the sight burning across her brain, like frames from a bad movie. Rewind, replay. Her brain kept doing this. Time after time. Blood on the snow. And the woman’s screams, replayed on the evening news, high on whatever the man was on.
Witnesses said Anthony threw himself in front of the woman and child, both of whom escaped unharmed. Rae didn’t want to believe this. She didn’t want a dead hero husband. Why didn’t he just shoot the son-of-a-bitch?
Within a fraction of a second the swat team on the adjacent roof fired, turning Markov into a sieve. But that fraction of a second was all it took...to be too late...for Anthony.
In the days that followed, Rae moved outside her body, retracing Anthony’s every step, undoing the done deed. He was in the locker room and missed the initial call. A traffic jam prevented him from reaching Marion Street in time. Markov killed his wife and child, then turned the pistol on himself. Anything but what was. Rae followed Anthony doggedly into the snow in front of the Markovs’ apartment. No, no. Let him shoot her. Let him shoot me!
But Anthony hadn’t listened. It made no difference that the media made him a hero. To Rae, he was a deserter--until time slapped her alongside the head and sent self-pity flying from her heart.
Nate found Morgan sleeping in her darkened bedroom when he returned home from the Lakewood Police Department. The new pain meds her doctor had prescribed were turning her into a zombie. She was always either asleep or in pain.
He had Lakewood’s report now, but it had a bunch of holes in it--blacked-out names. Not only Dee’s, but apparently the person she accused of doing unspeakable things to her.
He’d found the Colorado Revised Statutes on the internet and perused the relevant sections. Law enforcement agency reports came under a separate section from other documents subject to public disclosure. Now he understood why some of the content might not be deemed public information. This would explain why Deidre’s name had been blacked out. But what would explain the obliteration of her assailant’s name?
As he’d read the report, he’d felt a curious detachment. Then his brain focused on how he could use this information to pry the truth out of Morgan. How would this truth impact their marriage? More importantly, how would his prying impact both his marriage and his continued employment at Bayfield Enterprises? Nathan Farris had not been mentioned in Jerome Bayfield’s will.
“Uncle Nate,” Beth’s voice broke his thought pattern. He hadn't heard her enter the room.
“Shhhh.” He put a finger to his lips. Morgan stirred, a frown creasing her brow. Why were teenagers always so loud?
“Uncle Nate,” whispered Beth, and he realized she had not been loud, had merely spoken in a normal voice. “I need to go to the mall. Can I have some money? Please.”
Morgan spoke without opening her eyes. “Beth? Why aren’t you in school?”
A long sigh escaped Beth’s lips. “It’s after school, Aunt Morgan. I’m supposed to meet Amy at the mall, only I need some money.”
As he watched Morgan slowly open her eyes, Nate wondered how long she’d been awake.
“Nathan, get my purse from the dresser, please.” Morgan’s voice sagged, but she managed a weak smile in Beth’s direction.
A stab of resentment burned his gut. Instead of reaching for Morgan’s purse, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills.
“Not too much,” said Morgan.
He peeled off a twenty and handed it to Beth. “Home for dinner?”
“After the mall we’ll probably eat at Scooters and just hang. I won’t be late.” She hugged him, then went over to the bed and gently kissed Morgan on the cheek. He saw Morgan whisper something in Beth’s ear and Beth’s quick nod. Girl talk?
A sweet kid, he thought. A lot of sadness still lurked in her blue eyes. With her pert little upturned nose, she barely looked her age, especially since she’d stopped wearing makeup--as if her face was in mourning. Amazing that she came from Deidre.
“Thanks, Uncle Nate,” Beth said as she walked out of the room. That must’ve been what the whisper was about. Morgan was big on manners.
No bounce in Beth's step, though. The pall of her mother’s death seemed to weigh heavily on her, though they hadn’t been close. He noticed that her hair was different--pulled back severely. When had that happened? He remembered that it had been a jangle of blond curls at Deidre’s funeral.
“Not late means by eight.” Morgan’s voice was stronger now.
“Eight?” Beth whined from the hallway. “You can’t be serious.”
“And call when you’re ready to come home. I don’t want you on a bus after dark.”
At least she’s going with her friends again, he thought, not moping in her room.
When Beth had left, Nate sat on the bed and took Morgan’s hand in his. “How do you feel?”
“The same. Meds just take the edge off--if I’m lucky.” Morgan struggled to sit up in bed.
Nate propped pillows behind her. “Maybe we should change doctors.” He watched the muscles in Morgan’s jaw tighten.
“He’s doing all he can,” she said.
He rubbed her arm while he fed her one bit of news from the Lakewood Police Report. “I learned something today. Dee didn’t drown. She died of cocaine toxicity.”
She didn’t ask how he came by this information, just shook her head. “They killed her. I don’t care what the report says.”
“They? That JJ person and...Danny?”
She seemed to shrivel before his eyes, her facial muscles sagged. Even the skin under her jaw drooped, like all the life was going out of her. Then she grabbed him with strength that surprised him and held on while appearing to wrestle with what she had to say.
Nate waited, patting Morgan’s back, having no idea what he could have said to elicit such a response. They had openly discussed Danny’s possible involvement in Dee’s death. What had changed?
Finally Morgan’s grip on Nate’s arm subsided. “I should have told you the day it happened.”
“Told me what?”
“It wasn’t Danny. Oh, I still have no use for him, but any involvement he may have had in Deidre’s death was probably marginal at most.”
“What are you talking about?” Nate looked attentively into his wife’s eyes, but his brain was already racing toward an answer. They had not seen Kevin since Morgan’s tantrum over changing the locks only days ago.
“You thought I was just being difficult. About the locks.”
“I got the locksmith out, didn’t I?”
“Kevin threatened me. He and JJ Camacho are in cahoots. Kevin all but admitted they killed Deidre.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d have called the police.”
“Damn right.” Nate reached for the phone on Morgan’s night stand.
“No. That’s why I didn’t tell you. They’ve threatened to hurt Beth.”
He stopped in disbelief. “You just let her go to the mall.”
“What can I do? I can’t keep her locked in the house.”
He reached again for the phone, but Morgan moved it out of his reach. “No. The police can’t pick them both up at once. Kevin said he and JJ are making a point of not being in contact except by cell phone. If one of them gets picked up, the other will grab Beth. We’ve got to think of another way to protect her.”
“I presume they want money. Like with Dee?”
“Sam has already given Kevin a check.”
“Then Sam knows?”
She nodded. “I told him not to tell you. I knew what you’d do. Bringing in the police was what got Deidre killed.”
“They blacked out so many of the names that I can’t tell if Kevin’s mentioned in the Lakewood Police Report. I still don’t have Wheat Ridge’s, but there’s no reason to think they’re going after him. It would have happened by now. Was that what you were worried about? That he’d think you turned him in?”
Morgan stared at him, her expression pulling the rest of it out of him.
He stood up and put a little distance between himself and her bed. “I was there at the office when you were talking to Sam. On the phone.”
“I’m so glad you understand,” she said. “No more secrets between us.”
But he didn’t understand as he stood in the chill of her smile. He’d hoped to draw her out without asking directly. Why should Morgan care about Kevin being mentioned in the police reports? He’d just thrown that out to elicit the true explanation.
Maybe he didn’t really want to know. Her dark, lash-fringed eyes reminded him of a pair of spiders, and he felt caught in something more intricate than he’d imagined.
“I’d better go check on Beth.” The room was smothering him again. “She can't have gotten far.”
“She’s all right.”
“How can you be so sure? We have to find a way to keep her close to home without scaring her to death.”
“She’s meeting Josh Lassiter. They won’t touch her while she’s with him. They don’t want a witness and they certainly don’t need another hostage.”
“She said she was meeting Amy.”
“You know nothing about young girls.” Morgan’s voice sounded amused.
“But how do you--”
“Use your imagination.”
“You listened to her phone conversation?”
Her superior smile answered his question.
“And you’re okay with that? Her being with Josh?”
“At least neither of them is on drugs.”
Averting his face, Nate eased out of Morgan’s room, not wanting her to read his expression. He moved slowly, with the feeling that if he ran, something would grab him. Irrational. He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, then realized how pain-free Morgan had appeared...for several minutes, at least. Another realization brought him up short. Morgan hadn’t asked to see the report. Obviously, she already had a copy.
As for JJ and Kevin not needing another hostage, what a bunch of bull! Wasn’t Danny Lassiter a trust fund kid himself? Wouldn’t that make Danny’s son a good second hostage for the price of one?
Danny remembered the way to Rae’s house, where she still kept her office. Sandy had taken care of his driver’s license problems that stemmed from his lack of insurance and found a carrier willing to take him on. He’d even found a cheap, old Ford pickup for Danny to drive until better times caught up with him.
Sandy had already spoken to Rae and given Danny the go-ahead to call her. When he did, she seemed distant, but agreed to go with him to the various agencies that had information about Deidre.
At the top of a hill, Rae’s white Victorian farm house glistened in the morning sun. Danny remembered it had been a shade of blue when last he’d seen it. A meadowlark called from a fence post, then flew off in a puff of yellow and brown as he drove past fields enclosed in electric fencing. He'd never forget the zap he'd gotten when chasing after Josh across that pasture during one of those early visits.
Horses grazed in a pasture to the west of the long dirt drive. Rae’s Paso Finos. He noticed Andy, Rae’s stud, with his mares, not looking the worse for his recent colic.
Farther down
the road, near a loafing shed, he saw two bony black cows and remembered there had been cattle in Rae's pasture the first time he’d been there. And Josh had wanted to pet all the animals.
This reminded him that his son hadn’t come home the night before. Not that he needed reminding. Driving one-handed, he punched in the number of Josh's new cell phone. He and Josh now had connecting phones--a family plan. And Danny had a new watch--a Timex.
Still no answer from Josh, except the generic voicemail. This wasn’t like his son. Danny had long ago decided that Josh must have mutated away from his parents’ errant ways. But he had to get that stuff out of his head for as long as it took to get this business done with Rae.
He pulled up in front of Rae's house and parked, leaving the engine idling.
Josh had shared with him that he was meeting Beth at the mall last night, and Danny had considered the possibility that they didn’t think of each other as brother and sister. Beth was under age…so was Josh. Danny remembered himself at age fifteen. Raging hormones. Add to that the drug scene even more prevalent today, and he was scared shitless for the kids. In his bid to clean up their home life, what if he'd acted too late?
“Are you going to sit there in that truck all day or what?”
Rae stood at his passenger side window. She wore clean jeans, a tan shirt, and her boots were polished. She was ready for business, but he still had a bunch of garbage swirling around in his head.
Danny turned off the ignition and started to get out of the truck as Rae opened the passenger door to get in.
“Unless you need to use the bathroom, I think we’re ready to go.”
Rae carried a small, worn attaché case that she deposited on the floor as she settled into the passenger seat.
“Just give me a minute.” He wondered how much to tell her before they got to Lakewood P.D. Maybe he’d just ad lib on the fly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her looking at the place on the side of his face where she’d hit him.
“There’s hardly a mark. I’m glad of that.” Her hand wavered, as if to touch the spot, then she retracted it.
Pool of Lies Page 5