“Within two or three days, I would assume,” Sarah said.
Right.
THE WOMAN PICKED UP a thin monogrammed leather briefcase from the floor, set it on the table, opened it and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Part of the investigation that I’ve been doing on this matter concerns your client,” she said. “Here’s what we found so far. Ms. Devenelle did in fact arrive in Bangkok on April 11th, as she claims. Here’s a copy of her airplane ticket.”
London accepted the document and studied it.
It was a copy of an airplane ticket, obviously genuine.
She set it on the table and asked, “How’d you get this?”
“We have resources,” the woman said. “She then returned to the U.S. on April 25th.”
“No, we just talked about that,” London said. “She returned on May 10th, give or take a few days.”
The woman handed her another document and said, “This is a copy of her airplane ticket returning to the U.S. on April 25th.”
London studied it.
It looked genuine.
Like the first one.
“No, this isn’t right,” she said.
“Your client then stayed in the United States for approximately two weeks, until May 5th,” the lawyer said. “This is a copy of her bank statement for April and this is her statement for May.”
London studied the additional documents.
“As you can see, your client made a number of credit card purchases here in the U.S. between April 25th and May 5th,” Sarah said. “She gassed up the car a number of times and ate at Fisherman’s Wharf twice, among other things. She also wrote a number of checks and paid a number of bills. Copies of the drafts are attached. You can see the signatures belong to her.”
London found the woman’s conclusions to be sound and said nothing.
“Then your client returned to Bangkok on May 5th,” Sarah said. “Here’s a copy of her airline ticket. While she was there she stayed at the Baiyoke Sky Hotel and made a number of credit card purchases. Those are also on her bank statements. Then she returned to the U.S. on May 10th. Here’s a copy of her return ticket.”
“Something’s wrong,” London said. “This can’t be right.”
Sarah Woodward leaned across the table.
“Here’s what’s wrong,” she said. “Your client, Venta Devenelle, is a fraud and a liar. She claims she was in Bangkok in sexual slavery when in fact she was right here in the good old United States eating lobster at Fisherman’s Wharf. She concocted the whole stupid story to try to extort money from this firm. Then she looked around for a lawyer inexperienced enough to believe her.” She sipped coffee, looked London directly in the eyes and added, “And found you.”
London’s heart raced.
She felt faint.
The woman shuffled the papers and handed them to London. “Here,” she said. “Take these with you and have a little heart-to-heart with your client.”
London took the papers and headed for the door.
“One more thing,” Sarah said. “There are lawyers in this firm who are convinced that you’re in a conspiracy with this woman to try to extort money. That’s a criminal offense, a felony criminal offense to be precise. They’re hell-bent on taking the whole matter to the D.A. and pressing charges. So far, I’ve been able to talk them out of it. But if I see your face again, or hear anything more about this ridiculous matter—well, let’s just say that wouldn’t be a good thing. Have a nice day and a nice life.”
87
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Morning
TEFFINGER WOKE THURSDAY MORNING from a deep, drug-enhanced sleep. He staggered to the bathroom, took a long piss, splashed water on his face and headed back to bed. Before he could get back to sleep, Kate Baxter called and said, “Guess where I am?”
He didn’t know.
“Des Moines,” she said.
“Des Moines, Iowa?”
“Right.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I tracked our truck driver to here,” she said.
“You mean the Vail Pass woman?”
“Right,” she said. “She’s on the road right now, but will be back late this afternoon. I’ve got her scheduled to work with a sketch artist. With any luck, sometime late today we’re going to have a composite of the man she picked up.”
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“I already talked to Jena Vernon,” Kate said. “They’re ready to put it on the air as soon as we fax it to them.”
“I don’t suppose the daughter has shown up yet.”
“Not that I heard.”
HE DIDN’T WAKE UP AGAIN UNTIL NOON. The doctors released him, reluctantly, and he headed directly to 7-Eleven for coffee and then to Alan English’s house to check the digital camera.
There were no pictures on it.
Not a one, maybe because there had never been any, maybe because Venta went there last night and erased them.
He didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
88
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Afternoon
JEKKER SLIPPED IN AND OUT of a nasty dream where a hit man stuck a gun in the back of his head and pulled the trigger without emotion. He woke in a cold sweat mid-afternoon and took it as a premonition. Deep down he still had his doubts that the Frenchman had been a rogue as alleged by his contact. If the Frenchman had been engaged to kill Jekker, then this latest fiasco at Teffinger’s house last night only made matters worse.
Fine.
Two can tango.
The pain in his head disappeared and his eye opened up enough now that he could see with no problem. He jogged all the way to the end of his driveway and up Highway 74 for a mile. The helicopter was gone as of sometime yesterday. The boulder still blocked the road in the opposite direction. The lack of traffic in the canyon created a nice silence that framed the sounds of the river.
An hour of exercise capped off the run.
He stashed the bow and quiver in the mountain in preparation of tonight, just in case, then he fetched Tessa Blake from the boxcar and let her make supper.
In a couple of hours it would be dark, time for her to die once and for all.
89
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Afternoon
LONDON REPORTED TO CACTUS DAN’S at noon, slipped on her apron and realized that she really was a waitress and not a lawyer. She had deluded herself for a while, but no longer. A real lawyer would have never fallen for Venta’s stupid story, not in a million lifetimes.
She reached into her back pocket to see if the letter was still there; the letter from the Colorado Supreme Court three months ago confirming her status as a duly licensed attorney in the State of Colorado.
It was.
She pulled it out, ripped it in pieces and threw it into the 30-gallon garbage can in the kitchen. Ten seconds later Amy walked over and scraped two used dishes on top of it—so befitting, such an absolutely perfect statement.
VENTA DIDN’T ANSWER HER PHONE ALL DAY.
London left ten messages asking her to come to the restaurant at London’s 4:00 p.m. break to meet on an important matter. Miraculously, the woman actually showed up, smiling, looking lovely.
London grabbed her backpack, led her client outside to the sidewalk, and confronted her with the story that Sarah Woodward told this morning about Venta being in the States and eating lobster when she claimed to be in sexual slavery in Bangkok. She handed the airline tickets and bank statements to Venta and waited for an explanation.
Something.
Anything.
But Venta said nothing.
“You lied to me,” London said. “I can’t believe that you actually lied to me about the whole thing and that I actually fell for it. How in the hell did you even think something like that up?”
Venta looked vacant and then walked away.
“At least say you’re sorry!” London shouted.
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The woman didn’t even turn around.
“Liar!” London shouted.
Venta turned, looked over her shoulder and then kept walking.
London looked for a rock or something to throw at the woman but found nothing.
Then she slumped down on the sidewalk and cried.
90
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Afternoon
WHEN VENTA DIDN’T ANSWER her cell phone all day long, Teffinger called London to see if she knew where the woman was.
“Venta and I are through,” London said.
“Why, what’s going on?”
“That’s a confidential attorney-client matter. She can tell you, but I can’t.”
“Wow. That doesn’t sound good.”
He almost hung up when he heard her talking.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
He was.
“As long as I have you on the phone, I may as well tell you something. This relates to Porter Potter,” she said.
Teffinger scratched his head.
The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“He supposedly slipped and cracked his head while changing a light bulb,” London added.
Bingo.
Right.
“What about him?”
“I don’t think his death was an accident,” London said.
“Why not?”
“I think that Vesper & Bennett had him killed,” she said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because that’s what they do in high-stakes cases.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“Nothing concrete,” London said. “Here’s my theory about the man. Vesper & Bennett took his deposition right before he died. That deposition actually helped V&B’s client.”
“So?”
“What I think happened is this,” she said. “Somehow they got him to lie in his deposition. I don’t know if they paid him or threatened him or what. But somehow they got to him. Then, after they got what they wanted, they had him killed. That way he couldn’t recant his testimony later or contradict himself at trial. All they need to do now is sit back and read his deposition into the record. The story can’t be changed.”
“That’s a wild theory,” Teffinger said.
“It’s a wild world,” she said.
Then the line went dead.
91
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Evening
THE WIND KICKED UP AND A DRIZZLE SET IN. Jekker sat in the middle boxcar with the door open and the laptop booted up, pecking at the keyboard as he waited for darkness. The pain in his face subsided, but he still couldn’t breathe through his nose. It would be better to get out of Denver for a while and deal with a hit man when he was in better condition.
He called Bethany and said, “I have a crazy idea.”
“Like what?”
“I was thinking that maybe you and me could head out of town somewhere for a while,” he said. “I’ve got money, so don’t even worry about that.”
“Somewhere where?” she asked.
“Wherever you want.”
A pause.
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” she said.
“Okay, California then.”
“Are you serious?”
He was.
Very serious.
“I’ll be your surfer girl,” she said.
Nice.
Very nice.
“I have to tie up a few loose ends and then I’ll come over to your place, probably sometime between eleven and twelve,” he said. “We’ll leave in the morning if that works for you.”
It did.
“Oh,” he added. “I took a fall rock-climbing. My face is a little messed up, so be warned.”
92
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Evening
TEFFINGER PACED next to the windows and called Venta once again, for the Nth time, and got her voice mail again, for the Nth time.
Damn it.
Where was she?
Night approached.
Rain fell.
Everyone had gone home except Sydney who was busy coordinating with the TV stations to get the composite sketch on the news tonight—the sketch of the man who dumped Brandy Zucker’s car at Vail Pass; the sketch obtained by Kate Baxter from the Des Moines truck driver who gave the man a ride.
Sydney hung up the phone, walked over and said, “It’s all set up.”
Teffinger frowned.
“I hope the weatherman can handle what’s coming,” he said.
Suddenly his cell phone rang.
He answered as fast as he could, hoping it was Venta.
The voice of Jena Vernon, the TV 8 reporter, came through. “Teff! I just saw the fax of that guy you’re looking for. I know that guy!”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she said. “I met him up on Highway 74 when our helicopter came down. He said he lived a mile down the road from there.”
Teffinger stopped walking.
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“Positive.”
“How positive—50 percent or 80 percent or what?”
“Ninety-five percent.”
“Hold it,” he said. “I’m trying to think. What’s the best way up there?”
“There isn’t one,” she said. “The road’s still blocked with the boulder. You’d have to swing all the way up I-70 and through Evergreen to get around the back way.”
Not good.
That would take an hour.
“He drives an Audi,” she added. “A brown Audi.”
Teffinger remembered that the ex-cheerleader across the street from the for-sale house saw a medium-colored foreign car.
TEFFINGER STRAPPED HIMSELF IN tighter than tight, put his armrests into a death grip, and held his breath as Air One left earth and rumbled upward into a wet and ominous sky.
Sydney said, “You should see your face.”
He ignored her and concentrated on the jarring and shaking of the chopper.
He smacked the pilot on the side of the head to get his attention and said, “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“Relax.”
“It feels like this thing is falling apart.”
“For the last time, relax.”
Streets appeared and disappeared below them.
Santa Fe.
Alameda.
C-470.
Then the twinkling city lights dropped behind as they entered Bear Creek Canyon, flying low, with the spotlight on.
“There’s the boulder!” Sydney said.
Teffinger looked.
The back end of a squashed vehicle protruded from under a rock the size of a bus.
“Keep going,” he said.
“What are we looking for exactly?” the pilot asked.
“A brown Audi.”
“Nice of you to mention that.”
“Sorry.”
Five minutes later Teffinger said, “Turn around. We went too far.”
They doubled back.
Then Sydney said, “There! A road—”
They followed it.
At the end they found three structures that looked like boxcars. A man and a woman were outside in the rain, looking up. Suddenly the woman ran. The man chased her and punched her in the back of the head. She went down. The man punched her again, picked her up, ran to a brown car and threw her in the back seat.
“We need to get down there!” Teffinger said.
“Too many trees,” the pilot said.
“Squeeze in somewhere!”
Suddenly bright flashes appeared from the ground.
And bullets hit them.
Bamm!
Bamm!
Bamm!
Bamm!
Then the chopper made a terrible noise.
The headlights of the car turned on and the vehic
le sped down the road towards Highway 74.
“We’re going down,” the pilot said.
“Get in front of him!” Teffinger said.
“I don’t know if—”
“Block him in I said!”
The car reached Highway 74 and sped up the canyon.
The chopper followed.
Sputtering.
Losing altitude.
Smoke entered the cabin.
Then the engine seized and the aircraft dropped straight down.
Teffinger’s stomach shot into his mouth.
He braced himself.
Then they crashed.
93
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Night
JEKKER RACED UP HIGHWAY 74, barely in control, trying desperately to stay in front of the helicopter. If it blocked him in he was screwed, totally forever screwed. It was right on his ass, so close that he could hear the rumble of the blades.
Then suddenly the spotlight dropped out of the sky and hit the ground behind him. It exploded in a bright flash and went out.
It crashed!
So perfect!
So absolutely perfect!
He brought his foot off the accelerator and got the vehicle back to a safe speed.
He was free.
Free!
Yeah, baby.
The road curved to the right.
Then something bad happened.
Suddenly a hand appeared from the back seat, Tessa Blake’s hand.
It grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the left.
The Audi almost rolled but didn’t. Instead it left the road, shot over an embankment and splashed into the river.
The headlights went out.
Icy water entered the interior.
94
Day Eleven—June 21
Thursday Night
THE CHOPPER HIT THE GROUND with a spine-compressing thud. Teffinger was hurt, but didn’t know how bad and didn’t have time to find out. He got his seatbelt off and frantically felt for the door handle.
He couldn’t find it.
Then cold rain entered the cabin and someone grabbed his shirt.
Attorney's Run (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) Page 24