Found money

by James Grippando

  “And then?”

  “Then he drove to the dam where his father raped a woman and blew his brains out.”

  Rusch smirked. “My specialty.”

  “Just don’t screw it up. I have everything riding on this.” The words lingered for a moment, then he hung up the phone.

  60

  Ryan reached Denver long after dark. He’d been thinking about the meeting on the long drive up and was starting to feel vulnerable. He stopped at Norm’s house in Cherry Creek before heading out to the dam.

  “What now?” asked Norm. He was standing at the back door, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. He was wearing his eyeglasses, having removed his contact lenses for bed.

  “I need a favor,” said Ryan. “Can I come in?”

  He stepped aside. “Just be quiet about it. Kids are asleep.”

  “It’s just me, not the prize patrol.” Ryan went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and borrowed a Pepsi. Norm sat at the table.

  Ryan sipped his soda. “I have a meeting tonight.”

  “Who with?”

  “Marilyn Gaslow.”

  “You just have to ask her about that letter, don’t you.” Norm was practically groaning.

  “Of course.”

  “Isn’t it enough for you to have it in writing?”

  Ryan came to the table. “The letter is no good until someone confirms it’s true. I want to hear it straight from her that my father never raped her.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be true?”

  Ryan sat across from his friend, his expression solemn. “Have you ever stopped to think what stake Amy Parkens’s mother might have had in this?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’m talking about motive. Why would she write that letter to my father?”

  “Because Marilyn wouldn’t do it. And it was the right thing to do.”

  “That’s one explanation. Another is that she and my dad were in this thing together.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Maybe that two hundred thousand dollars my father sent Amy Parkens wasn’t just an unsolicited expression of gratitude for the way Debby Parkens stepped up to the plate and did the right thing. It could have been part of their deal. My dad and Amy’s mother, co-conspirators.”

  “You’re saying Debby Parkens betrayed her best friend Marilyn Gaslow?”

  “For money.”

  Norm shook his head. “That would be like me selling you out.”

  “Or like Judas, who took his money and then hung himself from a tree. Betrayal always has consequences. Did you ever think maybe that’s why Amy’s mother killed herself?”

  “Or why somebody killed her.”

  Ryan paused, then said, “Somebody like Marilyn.”

  They looked cautiously at one another, each waiting for the other to say they were talking crazy. Neither said a word.

  “What’s your plan?” asked Norm.

  Ryan smiled with his eyes. “I knew you’d see it my way. I told her to meet me at Cheesman Dam. I figured if I was going to get an honest answer — or at least an honest reaction — from her, it made sense to get her back on the spot where the rape either happened or didn’t happen.”

  “And if she says what you want her to say… then what?”

  “I want my father’s name cleared forever. I want Marilyn’s voice on tape. I need to be wired.”

  “You can record it, but I want you to understand that it’s not something you could ever use in court against her. The only way to do this legally would be to work with law enforcement.”

  “I’m not looking for something I can use in a courtroom. This is for me and my family. I want my mother to hear it.”

  “So do I,” said Norm. “Let me call my investigator. He’ll fit you up, no problem.” He rose and stepped toward the telephone on the kitchen counter.

  “I want a bulletproof vest, too. Just in case. And I need to borrow your gun.”

  Norm held the phone, poised to dial. “Marilyn Gaslow is not going to shoot you.”

  “No. But I’ve invited someone else to the meeting besides Marilyn. Someone a little less predictable. Someone who says she can return my father’s gun to me.”

  Norm hung up the phone and returned to the table. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “Yeah,” said Ryan, “let’s talk.”

  61

  They returned to the Clover Leaf Apartments after ten o’clock. Gram went inside to turn down Taylor’s bed while Amy went up to Mrs. Bentley’s to pick her up. Rather than take her impressionable daughter to the old house, Amy had left her with their usual sitter.

  Amy knocked once. The door opened. Mrs. Bentley was standing in the doorway. Marilyn Gaslow was standing right behind her, flashing a look that bordered on terror.

  “Marilyn?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I stopped by your apartment, but no one was there. Your neighbor said to check with Mrs. Bentley.”

  “Is Taylor okay?”

  Mrs. Bentley answered. “She’s fine. Asleep since nine o’clock.”

  Marilyn said, “I have to talk to you. In private.”

  Amy was confused but curious. She got Mrs. Bentley to watch Taylor for a while longer, then stepped into the hall with Marilyn.

  “What’s this all about?”

  Marilyn glanced over her shoulder, almost paranoid. “Can we talk someplace private?”

  “My apartment’s right upstairs.”

  “I mean totally private. Not even your grandmother.”

  The tone worried Amy. She led Marilyn down the hall to the laundry room, dug her key from her purse, and opened the door. “Nobody comes in here after ten o’clock. It closes then.”

  She pushed the metal door open and stepped inside. Marilyn followed. A bare fluorescent light made the tiny room too bright. The walls were yellow-painted cinder block, no windows. Six white washing machines lined one side. Stacked dryers lined another. A few mateless socks lay scattered on the linoleum floor. Amy closed the door and locked it. An empty chair waited by the soda machine, but neither one took it. They went to the folding table in the center of the room and stood at opposite ends, facing each other.

  “Okay,” said Amy. “Now tell me. What’s going on?”

  Marilyn struggled for words, struggled to look at Amy. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I wish there was some unselfish explanation for my dishonesty. I’d like to be able to tell you it was for your own good.”

  “Please. I’ve heard that one enough for one lifetime.”

  Marilyn nodded, knowing the old story. “That always sounds so hollow, doesn’t it? Rarely is it ever for the benefit of anyone but the person who is being dishonest. But I was able to fool myself for years. I told myself it was for your own safety that I didn’t tell you the truth. Only tonight did I admit to myself that all the deception was for my benefit — for the good of my career. It took something pretty drastic to get me to realize that.”

  “What?”

  “I realized that unless you know the truth, you are going to get yourself killed.” She looked away, then back. “Just like your mother.”

  Amy went cold. “My mother was murdered, wasn’t she.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Stop lying! Ryan Duffy showed me Mom’s letter. I know the rape never happened.”

  “That’s not what it says. It says Frank Duffy didn’t rape me.”

  Her voice lowered, but the tone was just as bitter. “What’s the difference?”

  “I was raped.”

  A tense silence fell between them. “By who?”

  She paused, then said, “Joe.”

  “You married the man who raped you?”

  “I didn’t know it was him. I thought it was Frank.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Listen to me, please. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.” She quickly recounted the drive to Cheesman Dam fo
rty-six years ago, the drinking that led to her passing out. “The next thing I knew, I was in the police station. My parents were there. A counselor was there. I had been raped. Joe denied ever laying a hand me. He made a real scene of it, accusing Frank of raping me when he drove me home. He even punched Frank in the face.”

  “And they believed Joe?”

  “Frank ran with the rough crowd in high school. Never did anything major, but enough to make the police think he was capable of rape. Joe was the perfect kid from the perfect family.”

  “Couldn’t they do a blood test from the semen?”

  “They were both O-positive. Something like forty percent of the population is O-positive. And of course this was decades before they started doing DNA testing.”

  “So Frank got charged.”

  “And convicted.”

  “How did you find out the truth? What is the truth?”

  “The truth is, Joe raped me after I passed out. Before any of us ever left Cheesman Dam. Before I got sick.”

  Amy stepped away from the table, taking it all in. “When did you find all this out?”

  “Joe finally told me. Years after we were married.”

  “He just confessed?”

  “No. Joe is one of those even-tempered gentlemen who blow a gasket every now and then. He could get pretty rough, especially if he drank. One time I actually had to hit him to keep him off me. He came back and said something like, ‘I’ll rape you again, bitch.’ It was the again that hung him. I forced it out of him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I wanted to tell Frank Duffy how sorry I was. But if I ever told anyone, Joe swore he’d say our sex was consensual and that it was my idea to put the blame on Frank Duffy, just to save my reputation.”

  “But… you told my mother.”

  “Yes. I had to.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Marilyn tried to step closer, but Amy kept her distance. Marilyn said, “It was the same night your mother told me she had cancer. She was worried about you. She asked me to be your guardian.”

  Amy was confused, anguished. “What did you say?”

  “I was torn. I wanted to. I would have done anything for Debby and you.”

  “But you didn’t say yes.”

  “I couldn’t give her an unconditional yes. I thought this thing with Frank Duffy was a potential noose around my neck. The absolute worst thing for you would be to lose your mother to cancer and then lose your guardian because she was embroiled in a rape scandal. I wanted Debby to know everything that could possibly impact on my perceived fitness to be your guardian. So I told her I had decided to divorce Joe. And I told her why.”

  “You told her Frank Duffy didn’t rape you. You told her it was Joe.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And then she wrote to Frank Duffy and told him exactly what you said. Why?”

  “I don’t know why. Maybe she thought Frank might need the letter to clear his name someday. Whatever she was thinking, I’ve always felt somewhat betrayed by that.”

  The rage returned. “And that’s when Frank Duffy started to blackmail you and Joe.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then my mother was shot.”

  “After. Yes.”

  “Oh, my God. It’s like Ryan Duffy said. You and Joe are in this together. You killed my mother for telling his father the truth.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “That’s why Joe paid all that extortion. You weren’t just hiding the rape. It was the murder. You killed my mother for writing that letter to Frank Duffy. And then you paid Frank Duffy to hide the letter and keep your motive a secret.”

  “Amy, I didn’t kill her.”

  “Then Joe did.”

  Marilyn was silent.

  Amy came around the table, ready to strike her. “Joe killed her, didn’t he!”

  Marilyn stepped back, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know. I swear to God, I don’t know.”

  “You know, Marilyn. In your heart, you know.”

  She covered her face, her hands shaking. “Don’t you think it’s been hell for me? Yes, in my heart I’ve suspected.”

  “Then why didn’t you do something? Just go to the police.”

  “I couldn’t. Not after Joe started paying the blackmail. The way he set it up, the whole scheme looked like it was designed to protect my reputation, my career. The police would have thought I was behind the murder. Not Joe.”

  “Why shouldn’t I think the same thing?”

  “Because now Joe’s motive is finally apparent. It was a long-term investment for him. The blackmail, the murder. He controls me. And if I get this appointment to the Board of Governors, he’ll control the Federal Reserve.”

  “You let him control you.”

  “I made a bad decision, and it snowballed. But I would never have done anything to hurt your mother. Or you. I’m a victim here, too. How do you think it feels after forty-six years? To be deceived into marrying the man who raped me. And to be manipulated by him still, twenty years after the divorce.”

  Marilyn wiped away a tear. Amy felt every right to be angry, but she felt sorry for her, too.

  “All I want,” she said, seething, “is to find the man who killed my mother. And make him pay.”

  “I can understand that. But if you’re looking for an actual trigger man, it wouldn’t have been Joe. Not personally, I mean.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Probably a man named Rusch. He’s been with Joe for years. He does the kind of work Joe never talked about, not even when we were married.”

  “How do I meet this Mr. Rusch?”

  “Trust me. You never want to meet him.”

  She stepped closer, right in Marilyn’s face.

  “Take me to him.”

  “Amy, the reason I came here is to make sure you don’t meet him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Somebody faxed your mother’s letter to me this morning and said to meet them at Cheesman Dam tonight. I called Joe and told him about it. He’s sending Rusch in my place, in my Mercedes. It’s a trap.”

  “A trap for who?”

  “For whoever faxed the letter to me. I was afraid it might have been you.”

  “I didn’t fax you anything.”

  “Then it had to be Ryan Duffy.” Marilyn stiffened, concerned. She dug her phone from her purse. “Somebody has to warn him.”

  Amy stopped her from dialing. “Let it go.”

  “But Rusch will be waiting for him in my car.”

  Amy’s eyes narrowed, as if revenge were in sight. “And I’ll be waiting for Rusch.”

  “He’s a professional. He’ll kill you like a fly.”

  “Not if you’re with me, he won’t.”

  Marilyn hesitated. She should have been afraid, but for over forty years she’d let fear control her.

  “All right. But we can’t just walk into this without any backup. It’ll cost me, but let me do that much.”

  Amy thought for a second, then nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Of course it does,” she said with a thin smile.

  “What’s a guardian for, anyway?”

  “Let’s take a ride. Maybe we’ll both find out.”

  62

  The wrought-iron gate at the end of Marilyn’s driveway was closed, but the old stone wall was easily scaled. Rusch cleared the cherry hedge on the inside and cut across the lawn, his black coveralls making him virtually invisible in the night. The silver 800 series Mercedes was unlocked, parked beneath the portico. He opened the door, dropped his black leather bag on the passenger side, and checked the glove box. As promised, the car key was inside, along with the electronic transmitter for the iron gate. Rusch fired up the engine, opened the gate, and backed out of the driveway.

  He dialed Kozelka on the car phone as he pulled away. “Got the car. I’m on my way to the dam.”

  “Did Marilyn see you?”

  “I don’t think she’s
home. I peeked in the garage. Her Volvo was gone.”

  “Probably didn’t want to be anywhere near her house when you came by. Just as well. Did you take care of the ex-wife and her lawyer yet?”

  “Everything’s in place. Package was delivered to Jackson’s house around ten. That should take care of itself.”

  “Make sure of it. That goes double at the dam. Duffy’s a smart guy.”

  “That’s why I’d still rather take him out someplace else. Pop him by surprise.”

  “Can’t do it. It’s the same reason we had to frame him rather than kill him before. You never know when the FBI might be watching him.”

  “Like tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” said Kozelka. “This is a business transaction for Duffy. He won’t show up unless he’s sure the FBI isn’t following him.”

  “So this is our one and only clean shot at him.”

  “That’s why I’m using my best man, Rusch. Do it right. And once it’s done, don’t call me for a month.”

  “Is this a paid vacation?” he asked as the car stopped at a traffic light.

  “Anywhere you want.”

  “It’s a toss-up. Fiji or Piedmont Springs,” he said dryly, then hung up the phone.

  Marilyn’s Volvo took her and Amy back to Denver in well under an hour. Marilyn had phoned ahead before she and Amy left Boulder, so Jeb Stockton was expecting them. Jeb didn’t ask for details on the phone, and Marilyn didn’t offer. All she had to say was that she needed his help and was calling in the personal favors. Jeb agreed to meet them tonight at his downtown office.

  Jeb headed the Denver office of a statewide private investigation firm, which sounded more impressive than it was. It was actually just a two-man operation, both retired ex-cops who would take a case anywhere in Colorado, so long as they could bring their fishing poles along. In that sense, it was “statewide.” Jeb’s law enforcement career had spanned nearly four decades, culminating with a twelve-year stint as Denver County sheriff. His election was due in no small part to the money Marilyn had raised for his campaigns. She considered him a friend, though she had politely stemmed his efforts to take it further than that. Jeb was handsome enough, but not her type. He had the rugged look of the Old West, with wind-burned skin and smoky gray hair. He rarely went anywhere without his cowboy boots and ten-gallon hat, even before his retirement. He wasn’t the slickest ex-cop around, but slickness was no asset in places as far off the beaten track as Cheesman Dam. Outside the city lights, there was no one more dependable than Jeb. Most important, he could be trusted.