She continued. "Don't you think we really should have some sort of protection over the front door? It's so exposed. Look."
I didn't need to look. "I thought we'd decided not to." My protest was meek. I was playing purely for appearances.
"We're going this far..." She allowed her words to hang. "Anyway, the drawings are already done."
I sighed. "You liked the design with the two pillars, didn't you?"
She smiled and touched me lightly on the back of my neck, letting her fingers drift up into my hair, she said "Yes."
"I'll call Dresden with the change order." I said, wondering what a covered entryway would cost us.
My guess was twenty-five hundred. Dresden seemed to have an affinity for that number.
On our way back to the Hill. I told Lauren I needed to let Sawyer know what I'd learned about D.B, and asked if she wanted to come to the Boulderado with me, she declined but handed me her portable phone in case she wanted to reach me.
"What about the Glock?"
"It's handy."
"You'll keep Emily with you?"
"She won't leave ray side."
I dropped her off at the house and watched her walk inside and close the door before I drove away, her gait seemed strong, that was good.
A. J, told me on the house phone at the hotel that Sawyer was out shopping, walking the Mall. Milt had gone out looking for her.
The Boulderado is only a block north of the Downtown Boulder Mall, the center of culture and commerce downtown, the Mall is a four-block-long segment of Pearl Street that was bricked over and closed to traffic back in the seventies. It quickly became the anchor of a revitalized downtown business and retail district.
I guessed Sawyer would be looking for clothes. Given what I'd seen of her wardrobe to date, and knowing what I knew about women's retail on the Mall from traipsing after Lauren, I guessed that Sawyer would gravitate to either Solo or Jila. I tried Solo first, she wasn't browsing the racks in there.
But she was in Jila.
As soon as the door closed behind me I heard Sawyer's voice from the dressing room, she and a salesclerk were arguing the relative merits of travelina with rayon. I lowered myself to an upholstered bench near the front door and waited for Sawyer to emerge, a minute or so later she paraded out wearing a long brown skirt and a short-sleeved cardigan that was the color of old blood. I watched her examine the outfit in the three-way mirror for about ten seconds before I said. "It's a keeper."
She didn't turn to face me, she said. "I knew you were there."
"No, you didn't."
"You'really like it?"
"Yes; I do, the color is great."
She spun and looked over her shoulder at her butt. "I’ve missed this,” she said. "You know how long it's been since I’ve shopped with a man? Heard a male opinion about stuff like this? Buying clothes together is such an intimate act, don't you think? I think it is."
I hoped the question was rhetorical. I gave both of us some room with my nonresponse, she twirled once more. To the salesclerk she said. "This skirt's wonderful. But I'll take the other sweater." She threw a coquettish smile at me over her shoulder to let me know what she thought of my taste.
"Where can we get some tea?" she asked as we stepped outside onto Broadway.
"Around the corner." I said, and led her to Bookends, a cafe adjacent to the Boulder Bookstore on the Mall. I asked her to hold the only outdoor table that was available in the busy cafe and stepped inside to the counter, where I ordered her some tea and poured myself a glass of water.
I carried a small tray to the table and sat down across from her, she proceeded to prepare her tea with an elaborate sense of ritual that sang a melody of solitude and privacy. I watched the practiced steps, feeling a little like a voyeur, and said. "Milt Custer has been looking for you since you left the hotel, and Simes isn't at all happy you insisted on coming over here while Milt was in the shower."
Finally, she sipped some tea from the cup. "Maybe she's stewing because she didn't get to share that wonderful suite with Milt last night, anyway, think. Would you go shopping for clothes with Milt Custer?"
"I don't imagine he was exactly offering his services as a personal shopper. I think bodyguard is more what he had in mind."
"Nobody's going to gun me down in someplace this public. It's not our guy's style."
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. "I have some news, the murderer isn't our D. B. Cooper fink from the unit. Sawyer. I went back this morning and saw his old boss, he finally told me what I think he knew all along. D.B.'s real name is Corey Rand. Ring a bell?"
Her eyes flattened, but she nodded. "Yes. Yes, it does. I remember now."
"Do you remember how angry he was at Arnie? Remember that Community Meeting?"
She was silent a moment before replying, "Yes .., yes. But then Araie had that effect on more than a few of his patients." Her voice sparked suddenly. "Arnie was absolutely livid at Susan for telling the university attorney not to contest the challenge that— what's his name. Rand?"
I nodded.
"— that Rand made to the seventy-two-hour hold."
"I'm not surprised it pissed Arnie off. But the truth is he probably shouldn't have been on the hold in the first place, anyway; it's too bad. I thought he was a good match for us. This Corey Rand, the characterological structure that he brings to the table fits the profile we put together real well."
"But?"
"But Corey Rand died in ‘995.’ tracked down his widow, spoke with her on the phone." Anticipating Sawyer's next question. I added. "Sounds like he had a cerebral aneurysm while he was driving a car. Died."
She leaned back on her chair, holding the teacup in both hands, she was gazing up the Mall to the west, where the foothills framed the entrance to Boulder Canyon, the sky above was a dazzling blue. "Boulder certainly is pretty. How's the shrink situation here?"
I was taken aback by the non sequitur, but followed the best I could. "Congested. Like the traffic, the managed-care fungus has taken its toll."
"Too bad, any prisons close by?"
"Just the county jail. State and federal prisons are a few hours south of here, clustered around Canon City and Florence. Supermax is there, too."
"That's what airplanes are for,” she said. "Boulder does have an airport, doesn't it?"
"A little one, there's a bigger one about ten miles east of here in Jefferson County."
"Ten miles? That would work fine."
"You would actually be able to climb back into your airplane and fly again, without any real trepidation, wouldn't you? Even after what happened yesterday in Arizona?"
"I have a propensity for denial. Haven't you noticed?"
I hadn't, but didn't want to rush into that admission without some additional thought.
"So are you thinking of moving? Leaving California?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant, not even wanting to consider how Sawyer's presence in Boulder would complicate my life.
She shrugged, she wasn't looking at me, she was watching the pedestrians pass by in a steady stream on the Mall, she shook her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "Is there a local ordinance against unattractive people living here? But to answer your question, nothing is tying me to California, and it's peaceful here. Reminds me a little bit of Santa Barbara. I like the feel of the place."
"It is a nice town." I said, suddenly a reluctant booster for the Chamber of Commerce.
"Where do you and Lauren live?"
"The house we're renovating is on the east side of the valley, about five miles across town. Place called Spanish Hills."
Over the rim of her teacup she asked. "Why is it called that?"
"I don't have a clue."
"I think I'd like it better close to this." She waved her hand at the Mall. "In town, here, there's a lot going on."
I considered the likelihood that she was pulling my chain. Just hoping to watch me squirm.
I tried not to squirm. "I guess we're back to square one
." I said.
"You and me?" she said, still not making eye contact, the sun fell behind some wind-driven clouds and a shadow swept over us with the alacrity of an omen.
I didn't know what she meant by her question, she probably knew that.
"No. I meant, you know, in regard to suspects." I clarified.
"Ah;" she allowed. "There's that, too."
I didn't want to talk about Sawyer and me, whatever that meant, in a crowded public cafe on the Downtown Boulder Mall. I did want to know what had caused her to leave her residency, and me, without warning just before Christmas in ‘982.’ also wanted to know why she was so averse to a man needing her. But now wasn't the time.
I was surprised when she rescued me from my reverie by saying. "Why do you think he wouldn't tell you D.B.'s name the first time? The boss man from Rocky Flats. Why did you have to go back?"
I leaned across the table again. "This Corey Rand wasn't a flake, he sounds like he was overbearing and obsessive at work, but he wasn't delusional. Careful, precise, by-the-book, that's how he's described."
Sawyer placed her teacup on its saucer and her elbows on the edge of the table, she moved her face to within inches of mine. When I inhaled. I tasted her perfume. Sawyer saw Milt Custer strolling down the Mall from the west, he was taking a detour around a street magician who had drawn quite a crowd, she called out to him, and he returned a wave before he wandered through the bookstore and joined us on the patio, he didn't seem at all distressed that he hadn't found Sawyer before that moment, he held up a heavy bag. "You ever been to that bookstore in the next block up there?"
"You mean Stage House? Used books?"
"No, no. Mysteries, they have everything. Everything."
Sawyer was intrigued by the prospect. I could tell. I said. "The Rue Morgue. I'll show you where it is after we're done."
She said. "Milt, alan found out that the other suspect we had is dead. Has been for a while, we can't offer you any leads."
I was hoping she wouldn't make any D. B. Cooper jokes, she didn't.
Milt was looking around as though wondering why no waitress had shown up at our table. I said. "It's counter service. Milt. What are you hungry for? I'll go get it for you."
He held up a finger to slow me down and turned his attention back to Sawyer. "If you two would just put together a patient roster for me. I wouldn't need any leads. I could merely start comparing names with the immigration records."
"You know we can't do that."
"I'm an ex-fed, young lady. I know all about rules and regulations. My feeling is that basically you gotta know when to keep them and when to bleep them. If you know what I mean."
I said. "Sam would agree with you on that."
Sawyer touched Milt on the arm and changed the timbre of her voice to something conspiratorial. "Milt, are your colleagues in the FBI still looking for D. B. Cooper?"
I'm sure I paled.
Milt laughed. "You bet. To some of the older guys, like me, he's still the biggest fish in the whole damn sea. Why?"
"No reason,” she said. "Just a personal interest of mine."
"In hijackers?"
Sawyer shrugged and brushed her hair back from her face, hooking it momentarily behind her ears, she said. "Milton Custer. I want you to tell me. Now honestlv, mind you, are you sweet on A. J. Simes?"
Milt's face blushed to the color of a Winesap.
He turned to me and said. "Just coffee for me, thanks."
THIRTY
I was returning to the table with Milt's coffee when Lauren's cell phone rang in my pocket. I wasn't anywhere close to coordinated enough to answer the phone while walking with a hot cup of coffee, so I tried to act nonchalant as I strolled through the crowded dining room and then outside to the patio, the stupid phone chirping rhythmically in my pocket with every oilier step.
As I set the mug down in front of Milt. Sawyer raised an eyebrow and asked. "Is that your phone?"
"Yeah." I said, expecting to hear from one of Lauren's colleagues or friends as I pulled it from my pocket. I punched "talk" and said. "Hello."
All I heard in return was a loud clunk, the person on the other end had dropped the phone. I repeated my "hello" and waited for whoever it was to recover the receiver from the floor. I listened some more. In the receiver, in the background. I could hear a piercing wheeep, wheeep, wheeep. I wondered what the noise was.
Sawyer and Milt looked at me expectantly. Mostly for their benefit. I again said. "Hello?"
With astonishing rapidity my neurons started to fire.
Who knew I had this phone with me? Lauren.
What was the wheeep, wheeep, wheeep I was hearing in the distance? The smoke alarm.
Why had she dropped the phone?
Because she had passed out.
Oh shit. I stood up and said. "Lauren's in trouble. I think the house may be on fire, that's his thing, right? Fire. I have to go."
Sawyer said. "Wait, alan. Call 9” first. Where's your car?"
"Around the corner, on Eleventh."
Milt threw money on the table as though we still had a bill to pay and told me to hand him the phone. I did, and one after another we jumped the wrought-iron railing and started running down the herringboned bricks of the Mall toward the corner.
I fumbled open the doors to the Land Cruiser and jumped in. Somewhere in my consciousness I could hear Milt's voice, precise and authoritative, giving instructions to the dispatch operator at 9”. Finally he asked me for the address of the house. I was pulling a hard right onto Pearl Street as I told him.
"Tell them we want an ambulance, too." I yelled at Milt. In the rearview mirror I watched him nod.
I ran a red light to turn onto Ninth, cutting off a family on bicycles, the mother yelled something at me and flipped me off. I deserved it and I didn't care, the intersection at Canyon was a much dicier proposition than the one at Ninth. Running a red blind at Canyon Boulevard was out of the question. Fortunately, the light turned green just as I decided to chance it, the light at Arapahoe was green too, and I knew I was home free. Eight more blocks, no more lights.
Sawyer opened her window, and in the distance I could hear sirens, lots of them, and hoped they were heading to the house. I checked the sky to the west for smoke, but couldn't see anything.
Sawyer asked. "What did she say? Your wife?"
"She just dropped the phone. Didn't say anything. But I could hear the smoke alarm in the background. It's only a few more blocks."
Just before I turned off of Ninth, I saw an ambulance in my rearview mirror three blocks back, lights flashing. To no one in particular I said. "The ambulance is right behind us."
Milt asked. "What's your friend's number? Sam Purdy's?"
I told him.
He was talking to Sam as I pulled in front of the house, a big green pumper was coming down the street in the opposite direction. I couldn't see any smoke comina from the house, and my hopes rose.
I ran to the door. Milt right behind me, the wheeep, wheeep, wheeep pierced the quiet neighborhood.
Of course, the door was locked, and of course, it was deadbolted, after fumbling with the unfamiliar keys I got both locks open and rushed inside. Behind me I could hear firefighters yelling at me to stay where I was.
Right, that was gonna happen.
Inside. I smelled no smoke. Nothing. I yelled. "Lauren!" But she didn't answer me.
With a fresh bolus of adrenaline. I realized that Emily wasn't greeting me at the door, nor was she trying to eat Milt Custer's leg. I said to Milt. "The dog's not here. Something's seriously wrong, she's always at the door."
I ran to the kitchen. No Lauren. Living room. No.
"Lauren!"
Bedroom?
Before I reached the door to the bedroom. I smelled vomit.
She wasn't on the bed, wasn't in the adjacent bathroom. I finally spotted her lying on the floor in front of the closet, one leg folded below her, one arm across her chest, her eyes were closed and she wasn't mov
ing.
Milt yelled to the firefighters. "In here, she's in here, the bedroom. Get the paramedics."
I lowered myself to her, her heart was beating as though it were powered by hummingbird wings, her respiration was weak. "Lauren." I said. "Wake up. Please wake up."
Behind me. I heard the clomping of at least two people's feet. To one of them. Milt said. "I think she's cyanotic."
From somewhere deep in the house, maybe the basement. I heard a baritone voice yell. "CO is over two-thirty down here. Evacuate. Get everybody out of the house, now, we need to ventilate this place. Get the fan set up out front."
The paramedics pushed me out of the way; and Milt grabbed me by the arm with a hold that had the strength of a Doberman's jaws. In seconds they had Lauren loaded into a stretcher and were taking her outside.
The moment that the paramedic cleared the front door with the leading edge of the stretcher, she screamed. "CO poisoning. I need one hundred percent oh-two, fifteen liters. Get it ready. Set up for an IV and call for the chopper, we need to get her to Denver."
The words I'd heard from the basement finally registered. "CO" meant carbon monoxide. Lauren had been poisoned.
I heard someone say; "She must have been breathing it for a while to totally pass out." Someone else asked about brain damage.
My mind was spinning. Milt finally let go of my arm just as Sam Purdy drove up and leaped from his car, he ignored me at first, conferring with a firefighter to get the facts, then he ran over to me and placed a hand on each of my biceps, at the exact same moment that he said. "Where's— ?"
I yelled "Emily!"
We bolted back inside past a stunned firefighter who was setting up a device that looked like a portable airplane propeller on wheels, he yelled. "No! You can't go in there!"
Sam said. "Don't worry about it, Alan, a few minutes' exposure doesn't hurt you."
I said. "I don't really care."
This house was as new to Emily as it was to me, and she didn't have favorite places picked out yet. I didn't know where to look for her. Sam and I ran from room to room calling her name, he would yell. "Not in the living room." I would yell, "Not in the kitchen."
When I ran past the door at the top of the basement stairs I smelled the pungent stink of vomit again and called. "Basement. Sam."
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