Pool of Lies

by J. M. Zambrano

  “You think I'd risk giving Morgan Bayfield something like that over me? When she was a prime suspect in Kevin's murder? Don't you remember? I was wearing a wire.”

  You just answered my question with three questions. Was Morgan's arrest just more smoke and mirrors?

  Wait and see, Rae.

  “We never saw Reggie,” Veronica said. “At least I didn't. I left Morgan at the top of the stairs. I went out the front entrance. That's not where I'm going with this.”

  “So where are you going?”

  “To a very dark place, especially for you, Rae.”

  Rae wondered what could be darker than the Lassiter case with all its twisted arteries. So Morgan went down the back stairs? Was Reggie already dead? How could she miss seeing him? But how would she know who he was?

  “Victor Markov didn't kill Anthony.”

  Rae felt her chest constrict. Not there. I won't go there.

  “Reggie Navarro was a member of the swat team that took out Markov. They were positioned on the roof of the house next door. Markov had a little twenty-two. He shot at Anthony, but the fatal shot came from a much larger weapon. A swat team rifle.”

  Veronica's words seemed to be coming from a distance. But not far enough. Rae could still hear her. She leaned away and closed her eyes.

  “Did you ever read Anthony's … autopsy report?”

  Rae shook her head emphatically. Tears squeezed through her tightly-closed eyes. No…no…no… Deidre's was the only autopsy report she'd ever read.

  “It was Reggie's fire that pierced Anthony's vest, not Markov's puny little twenty-two bullet.”

  “Why wasn't I told?” she finally choked out. “Why didn't somebody do something?”

  “Covering up death by friendly fire isn't exactly new, Rae. It isn't confined to the military.”

  Veronica's words, painful knives, hacked away at Rae's old scar tissue revealing the true message. “But you're really saying it wasn't friendly.”

  “It was deemed to be friendly fire. Reggie was put on indefinite administrative leave. Then he resigned and went with Wheat Ridge.”

  “And all the time, you had information that it was deliberate?” Rae's senses heightened at each incision of the word-knives, as if someone had turned up the volume on a bad movie.

  “Reggie had been stalking me for a year. He was obsessed with me. He thought…what you first thought…that Anthony and I were involved. He followed me to the family planning clinic, not bothering to find out that the fertility clinic was part of the operation. He must have seen Anthony go in at a different time because he confronted me and threatened to report us both. Reggie thought I was going for an abortion.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That it was none of his business. I didn't bother to explain. Why should I? I told him I'd report him for stalking me. Since the law had been tightened up to make it a felony, I thought he'd see that he had too much to lose. I was wrong.” Veronica hung her head. Rae could see her shoulders quivering.

  Anthony died because of you? “Why didn't you do something?” A volcano of rage was building in Rae's midsection.

  “Once I saw what Reggie was capable of, I was scared for the new life inside of me. Besides, I had no proof. He'd drag Anthony's name through the mud along with mine. You'd be thinking what you first thought. Only you'd still be raw from the newness of Anthony's death.”

  You really think I'm less raw now? Only she was. The anger peaked and ebbed without her usual vitriolic discharge. Maybe the scar tissue had to be cut away before she could really heal. No, it hurts too much.

  “It wouldn't bring Anthony back,” Veronica whispered. “I know your temper, Rae. I've felt its full force. Better get it over with now.” She bowed her head as if expecting a blow.

  You just think you've felt it full-force. Rae tried to summon back her dissipated rage. Mind shots from the past danced before her eyes, including a vision of Veronica, pregnant and alone. Her choice.

  The last thing Rae pictured was the pinched, bitter face of an old woman--her own face reflected in her car window on the day she'd last seen Sam Garvin. Bitter old woman.

  Rae jumped to her feet. “I can't do this.”

  “Please, Rae…”

  She ran down the bike path, leaving Veronica behind at the picnic table with tears chasing the mascara down her cheeks. She narrowly avoided running down a mom and toddler, scared a flock of scavenging crows up into the Scotch pines, nearly tripped over a kid fastening his roller blades.

  I…won't…be…this…person.

  Then stop running, Rae.

  Chapter 53

  Stephen and Callie arrived on July second, a Saturday. Rae had offered to pick them up at DIA, but Stephen had insisted on renting a car.

  When they drove up in the blue compact, Rae stifled an urge to run out and greet them. She'd been waiting for half an hour by the front window, crouched on the window seat like one of her cats. Now she strained to get a look at the woman in Stephen's life as the two exited the car.

  Callie was tall, about Veronica's height which Rae guessed to be around five-eight, but with a lot of pale hair the color of corn silk. From a distance, her skin looked pale, too. Definitely not the look of a Floridian.

  Rae hurried to the door to welcome them. Every time she looked at her son, Rae marveled at his likeness to Anthony expressed in his hunky, six-two frame, the huge, deep-set hazel eyes. Stephen's hair was medium brown, whereas Anthony's had been nearly black. Rae drank in the sight of her son, then grabbed him in a bear-hug and felt his kiss on her cheek.

  He detached himself gently and said, “Mom, this is Callie.”

  She's gorgeous, thought Rae as she wavered between shaking Callie's hand and hugging her. Why was resentment seeping into her craw like moldy chicken scratch? She hadn't felt this way when Tori married Jeffrey.

  In the living room, Callie took the initiative. “Mrs. Esposito, it's a pleasure to meet you.” She followed this with a firm handshake.

  Rae squeezed equally hard on Callie's slender, short-nailed fingers. “Please call me 'Rae.' You're making me feel like the hundred-year-old woman.”

  “Oh, sure. Rae.” Now Callie was holding onto Stephen's arm like she owned him. He was beaming at her as if he enjoyed being owned by her.

  Like when she had to tell me he was in the shower, she's marking her territory. If she pees on him, I'll hit her.

  “As they say,” Callie continued in that same infuriatingly perky voice, “fifty is the new thirty.”

  Bitch! I'm only forty-eight.

  “I'll just go back out and get our bags,” Stephen said. “You two can get acquainted.” His smile at Rae asked, Isn't she something?

  Yes, son, she certainly is. Rae smiled back.

  In the kitchen, Callie expressed a preference for herbal tea. She and Veronica should get along just great.

  Rae and Veronica had made their peace. She and Justin would be joining them on the Fourth.

  “Where are you from, Callie?” Rae asked as she brought out her new assortment of tea bags. Callie's complexion was so fair, it seemed translucent. Her clear, gray eyes held intelligence and mischief.

  “Wisconsin,” replied Callie.

  I knew it couldn't be Florida. Her skin hates the sun. “That's where you and Stephen are going for Christmas?” The information Rae had gotten from Tori was still prickling her. The bigger holiday would be spent with her folks.

  “No. My parents have a second home in Miami. That's where we'll spend Christmas.”

  Rae tried to paste a smile on her face. She must have done a crappy job.

  “We've got it planned to divide the holidays equally. Next year, we'll come to Colorado. That is…I mean…”

  Rae was suddenly ashamed. “Of course it is. All right. That's what you meant?”

  Callie nodded, smiling a perfect-teeth smile.

  Get this over with. You're going to love her. Even if you end up hating her. Rae gave Callie a big hug. It felt
like holding a startled deer.

  *****

  As she prepared chicken dinner, Rae could hear Stephen and Callie's voices coming from the porch.

  “I think it's so great your mom raises her own food. My grandparents had a dairy, but I don't think I could ever pluck a chicken.”

  Rae rolled her eyes. The chicken had come, in parts, from Whole Foods in Boulder. She heard Stephen's laughter, then his reply. “Honey, when one of Mom's chickens dies, it's from old age.”

  Then their voices got lower. Rae imagined him telling Callie about his mom, the farmer who couldn't kill food animals.

  Callie giggled, notching up her volume a bit. “Does that mean those Black Angus critters we saw up front aren't going to be our Fourth of July barbeque?”

  “Babe, you'd break a tooth if you ever took a bite out of one of those old guys. They were our Four-H projects that never got to the fair.”

  *****

  Next morning when she did her barn chores, Rae thought about how really pleasant dinner had been. Callie talked almost non-stop, but Rae was getting used to her. She learned Callie's last name was Nordstrom. “Like the department store, but no relation.”

  Callie didn't fit Rae's image of a criminologist, but maybe she'd change her mind about that career. On the plus side, maybe she'd change Stephen's mind about becoming a FEEB.

  The kids were up when Rae returned to the kitchen. Callie had put on a pot of coffee for her. Both kids drank herbal tea and ate Total cereal with skim milk. While on the porch feeding the cats, she heard the phone ring.

  “Shall I answer that?” Callie offered.

  You sure do love to answer other people's phones. Before Rae could reply, she heard Callie's cheerful “Good morning. Esposito residence.”

  Then, silence.

  As Rae came back into the kitchen, she saw a bright crimson flush creeping up Callie's neck onto her cheeks, turning her milk-white flesh the color of an evening sunset. Callie held the phone out toward her as if it were road-kill. “It's a man,” she said, her voice suddenly small.

  Rae glanced at the caller ID and took the phone from Callie. “Hi, Burt. Just a minute.” She covered the receiver with her hand, turning to Callie. “It's the ditch company. We're getting water today.”

  Callie still wore the same dazed, embarrassed look.

  At the other end of the line, Burt enlightened her. “I told her not to bother you--just to ask how many inches you wanted this time.”

  Chapter 54

  As it turned out, the only ones exhibiting tension during the introduction of Justin to Stephen and Callie were Rae and Veronica. They'd stood like nervous mother hens while the young people did what, well, young people do. They shook hands--no soggy kisses and hugs. After all, two of them were guys.

  Callie wore navy shorts and a pretty flowered blouse in pale blue that matched her sandals. Rae noted Callie's lightly tanned legs, thinking the tan probably came from a spray can.

  It was a time to get acquainted, both during and after the barbeque on Rae's wide, wrap-around porch. Justin didn't seem to have any trouble bridging the generation gap between himself and his new-found brother and future sister-in-law. Rae and Veronica grinned at each other as they heard the three swapping grade-school horror stories.

  “They're not talking down to him,” Veronica said. “That's a good thing. It's something I've never done, even when he was a toddler.” She laughed. “He says I treat him like a person, not a kid.”

  “That's what parents end up doing with an only child. I'm one. You tend to relate better with adults, don't you think?” Rae asked, making an assumption.

  “I wouldn't know,” Veronica said. “I'm one of four. None of us are close.”

  When the sun set over Longs Peak in a burst of vermilion, and the echo of firecrackers reverberated from the neighbors' down the road, Stephen offered to drive them all to the fairgrounds for the public fireworks display.

  Rae and Veronica opted to stay behind and watch the show from the porch. “Fat chance you'll find a place to park,” Rae said. “You should have thought of this earlier.”

  “Spontaneity, Rae,” said Callie, answering for Stephen. “We'll take our chances.”

  When the three young people had driven away, Rae looked at Veronica. “I'm getting used to her,” she said.

  “I'm not going to touch that one.” Veronica smiled, looking more relaxed than Rae had ever seen her. Maybe it was the three glasses of merlot.

  Rae began to fidget with her wine glass, twisting its stem, feeling like she had a goat head in her shoe again and not being able to take it off to empty out the irritant. “I've been thinking,” she began.

  “Don't do too much of that. It'll give you a headache,” Veronica said with a laugh in her voice.

  Veronica cracking jokes? What have we come to? Rae's giggle sent wine down the wrong path and out her nose. When she'd cleared her throat, she picked up the sobering thread she'd begun, “Deidre's dead. And JJ Camacho is still as free as a bird. Kevin's dead. And Morgan and Sam are getting married like their day has come. It's like the books are out of balance, as my mom used to say.”

  Veronica shrugged. “Sometimes that's just the way it is.”

  “But I want things to tally up.”

  “You want neat answers?”

  “Yep. Like the rows of corn across the road. Neat, symmetrical.”

  “You won't always get that in police work, Rae.”

  “At least, can I expect some housecleaning? Did they decide anything about Marsh and Wehr?”

  “Commander Marsh has taken an early retirement, effective July first. Sergeant Wehr was put on sixty days unpaid leave.”

  “I guess that's better than nothing.”

  She was about to confide about Danny and his regression to fiscal irresponsibility when Veronica pointed toward the fairgrounds. “Look, Rae, the fireworks have started.”

  A star-burst of red, white and blue split open the night sky.

  “Happy Fourth of July, Veronica.”

  The women clinked their glasses, then raised them in a toast to the falling bits of brilliance in the southern sky.

  Chapter 55

  Lakewood, Colorado

  September

  The Colorado Front Range usually gets its first dusting of snow around Halloween. Frosty skies and pumpkins accompany little ones bundled up for trick-or-treat.

  Once in a while in September, winter plays a dirty trick on trees still decked out in summer finery, and sends in a blast of things to come.

  Soccer Mom saw the big, slate-gray clouds sitting low over the mountains like cats getting ready to pounce. But the kids had to go to practice, and the storm would probably not hit till they were home, tucked in their beds…she hoped.

  By the time they'd finished practice and were hopping into her SUV, Soccer Mom knew she'd misjudged the storm's progression. The sodden cloud, now nearly black, opened like a mouth and began disgorging increasingly huge globs of snow. The four boys--two of them hers and two she'd vowed to deliver safely to their doorstep--began to shiver. She started the engine and turned on the defroster, noting the exterior temperature reading. In the past hour, it had dropped nearly forty degrees.

  Complete dark came too quickly, the moon-sliver having been devoured early on by the storm. Soccer Mom had to cross the Graystone Lake Bridge to reach the boys' home in the Peardale section. She drove cautiously, thankful that her new all-weather tires were still getting traction in the increasing accumulation of icy snow.

  Through the narrowing vision path blasted by her wipers and defroster, she could barely make out the smaller vehicle as it cut in front of her and barreled onto the bridge. All four boys screamed as she pulled over, shaken by the irresponsibility of the other driver.

  Mom and boys all watched with suspended breathing as the small car slid precariously close to the right guardrail of the bridge. Then, as the driver appeared to over-correct, the vehicle plunged through the guardrail on the opposite side,
into the icy waters. As the boys began to cry, Soccer Mom pressed in nine-one-one on her cell phone.

  Chapter 56

  At six a.m. the following morning, Rae was out in the wake of the storm, assessing the remnants of her garden. As she knocked snow off trees and shrubs with a broom, a pale sun shivered in the eastern sky.

  Rae surveyed the ruin around her. Rose bushes in the midst of their final blooming for the season were stripped. Whole sections of Russian olive trees were strewn across the lawn. One big, broken cottonwood branch lay across the back gate. She could almost hear the trees groaning. The snow and ice were supposed to wait until all the leaves were gone and the sap stored safely underground.

  The cell phone in the pocket of her thermal coveralls vibrated. Who'd be calling at six a.m.? Her heart lurched as she grabbed the phone and looked at the caller ID.

  “Veronica?” Relief. Not one of the kids. “Hey, what's up?”

  “Me. I've been up all night. There was an accident on the Graystone Lake Bridge last night. Teenager going too fast for road conditions.”

  “Not--”

  “Oh, no one you know. And he survived. Broken bones and frostbite. His car was totaled, though.”

  “You called because…”

  “I thought you'd want to know if we got anything on JJ Camacho.”

  Rae dropped the broom she was holding in her other hand. “You've got a real lead this time?”

  “Better than that. We've got him. We're ninety percent sure.”

  “He's in custody?”

  “He's in the morgue. When the rescue team went down for the kid, they found a big, black Lincoln Town Car with a body in it. The car has been confirmed as Deidre's.”

  “Why aren't you sure it's him?” Rae plopped down in the slush on the back steps, not even feeling the wet that seeped through her coveralls.

  “The medical examiner thinks he may have been under water for at least six months.”

  “Six months? But he was texting Kevin.”