“I was one of those who was in favor of his coming to Freedom. Perhaps it was the bill of goods he sold me regarding how much he wanted his family out of Chicago and away from a big city. I keep wondering what it was about him that got to me.”
“He had a way of doing that, of getting to people. Ever since he was a kid.”
“Well, he surely got to me. In hindsight, I think it was because he seemed so devoted to his work. He took things seriously and spared no effort in his quest to be perfect at each and every turn.”
“You noticed,” Kelly said. “That was his parlor trick. He always made people believe his faux seriousness.”
“You think it was a trick?”
“I do. I think it was a more complicated trick than what met the eye. It wasn’t about his seriousness regarding the job, his quest to be perfect, as you put it. It was his seriousness as it applied to him succeeding at his con. Making you believe he was the best there was, when all the time it was about pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes regarding what he was really up to.”
“Killing people.”
“Not just that. It was how he killed them. The level of preparation and expertise it took. And making sure no one ever caught on. My shrink refers to it as his psychosis.”
“Your shrink?”
“My psychiatrist. Thanks to my parents, I’ve been seeing her ever since I got back here.”
She withdrew into herself for several moments.
I watched her consider what she wanted to say next, discard the first thoughts that crossed her mind, then settle on it. “He fooled me. For the longest time. I’m in analysis to learn how that could have happened. And to prevent it from ever happening again.”
“And the children?”
“The baby’s too young to know anything other than he’s no longer here. Burton Junior is four, though, and he keeps asking when his daddy will be coming home.”
“Burton, Junior?”
“Yes. After his father.”
“Buzz’s name was Burton?”
“It was.”
“Mine too.”
“Your name is Burton?”
“Burton, Junior.”
“But they call you Buddy.”
“Yes.”
“Buddy and Buzz. Nicknames. What an odd coincidence.”
“Yes.”
“What is it that brought you here?”
“He haunts me.”
“He fooled you, too.”
“He was very good at it.”
“He was.”
After an awkward silence, I asked, “How are you faring?”
“With my shrink?”
“With your life.”
“I know there’s light at the end of the tunnel. I just haven’t spotted it yet.”
“But you will.”
“Yes. And I also believe I’ll be a better person and mother once I do.”
“He told me his death would be on my conscience.”
“Of course he did.”
“It was the last thing he ever said.”
She chuckled. “And you bought it?”
“I might have.”
“Get over it, Buddy. May I call you Buddy?”
“Better than Burton.”
“Don’t stay caught up in his game. He knew there was no other way out. He would have been bonkers had he gone to jail. This was his exit strategy. As carefully planned as was everything else in his life. Don’t buy it, Buddy. He set you up in the hope you would. That you’d suffer because of it.”
I considered all she was saying and somewhere inside, I knew it was true. He set me up to be his victim.
“Thank you, Kelly. You’re right, of course.”
“Funny,” she said.
“What is?”
“Gullibility. We believe what we want to believe and everything else be damned.”
“Even when we know it to be wrong.”
“Especially then.”
SIXTY-SIX
I slung my duffel into the backseat and slipped into Johnny’s car.
He was parked in front of a gate at the rear of the property that offered access to the gardener’s shack. The real estate manager had provided me with a key, in large part because the gate was not within eyesight of the building’s main entrances and thusly afforded unnoticeable egress.
I ducked down as Johnny stepped on the gas and swept us away from the building before any of the media throngs could react.
“What’s with the duffel?” Johnny asked.
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Get where?”
“The courthouse.”
“That’s where I’m taking you?”
“And hopefully a whole lot faster, too.”
We slipped into the underground parking garage and headed for my office, where Marsha Russo joined us.
“I’m taking a sabbatical,” I announced.
“You’re what?” Marsha exclaimed.
“I’m going to disappear for a while.”
“Disappear where?”
“Wherever the four winds blow.”
“Does he know?” Johnny asked.
“He will in about twenty minutes.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I’m serious, Buddy. Why are you doing this?”
“Between us, my head hurts. It was one thing when the old man’s trajectory was a straight line to his destiny. Now that it’s uncertain, which, by the way, pleases me no end, I see an opening for a little offline reflection.
“He won’t understand, but in truth, this ride I’m on has no boundaries. No time constraints. No respite. So, before I go completely bonkers, I’m going to seize the moment and get off it for a spell.
“In the words of Ayn Rand, I plan to examine my premises and pray I find answers that will enhance my prerogatives.”
Johnny and Marsha exchanged glances.
“For how long?” she asked.
“Not long.”
“And you’re dropping this hotcake onto my lap,” Johnny said.
“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
I found him in his office, seemingly robust, the beneficiary of the experimental drug regimen. “My son the headliner,” he joshed.
“The reluctant headliner.”
“You’ve become a local legend, Buddy. It’s time to accept it and allow fate to embrace you.”
“No.”
“What no? You’re on a trajectory straight to Sacramento.”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Buddy. There’s talk of you succeeding the Governor.”
“I have no interest in becoming Governor. Or of holding any elected office, for that matter. I came here to assist you, and now that you’re doing so well, I’m heading off for a little R and R, rest and reconsideration.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have to get away from this circus, Dad. From the politics and the unwanted attention. I watched a corrupt Russian opioid purveyor, whom I jumped through hoops to apprehend, make bail for some cockamamie political reasons and then predictably flee the country.
“I saw a Sheriff’s Department deputy blow his brains out as a means of achieving revenge against me for uncovering the fact he was a psychotic serial killer.
“Frankly, it’s worn me out. So, I’m done for a while. When I agreed to come here I had no idea what I was in for.”
“You can’t be serious, Buddy.”
“I’m serious.”
“But surely you’ll come back once this episode of yours calms down.”
“It’s likely.”
“But not certain.”
“Fairly certain.”
&n
bsp; “But not wholly.”
When I said nothing, he went on. “What will I do without you?”
I knew it was only a matter of time before it became about him.
“Johnny’s here,” I said by way of mollification. “And, in the long run, he’s far better suited for the job than I.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it.”
“Maybe. But that’s how I see it.”
“What if I insisted you stay?”
“Wouldn’t make any difference.”
The old man remained silent.
“I love you, Dad. More now than ever. You’re in the best shape you’ve been in for a while. Everyone here adores you and you have an excellent staff. Run your show. Because that’s what it is. Your show.”
“How will I find you?”
“Cell phone.”
“And you’ll answer it?”
“I promise.”
I stood as did he. We embraced. There were tears in both of our eyes. I gripped his hand and kissed his cheek.
Then I hurriedly left the office and raced down to the car park where Johnny was waiting.
He revved the engine as I climbed in. “How did it go?”
“He knows.”
“And he’s okay with it?”
“Let’s just say he knows.”
The gloom of the garage gave way to bright sunshine as we sped away from the courthouse. “Where to?” Johnny asked.
“Freedom.”
“The airport or the state of mind?”
“Both.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
The key was where she said it would be. The cabin was located steps from a ski run, on a mountainside bordered by a vast forest, beneath a crystal clear sky.
It had been constructed of rough-hewn logs and mortar. Small yet accommodating. Thick, colorful Indian rugs blanketed the redwood plank floor in an open space that contained a sitting corner, a dining area, and a kitchen.
A pair of well-worn sofas, two overstuffed armchairs, and three mismatched tables fronted a brick-lined walk-in fireplace. The dining area hosted an oval oak table with six ladder-backed armchairs. It abutted a pale blue-and-white-tiled kitchen that featured an ancient O’Keefe & Merritt four-burner stove and a relatively new Maytag fridge.
The bedroom boasted a queen-sized bed, a pair of wooden night tables, a dresser, and an ample closet. A whirlpool bathtub and shower combo monopolized the better part of the small bathroom. A sink, a toilet, and a bidet rounded out the balance.
I threw my duffel onto the bed and stepped out the back door through a tiny changing hut and onto the ski run. The windblown aroma of the surrounding forest invaded my senses.
This was Jordyn’s sanctuary. Where she sought refuge. Where she rediscovered herself and found the energy to plow forward.
I felt at home here and understood that what Jordyn found in her mountain retreat was what I had been seeking, too.
After a visit to Park City, where I loaded up on food and drink, I strapped on my hiking boots and headed off into the hills.
A hint of winter was in the air and a few snow flurries swept over me. I experienced a sense of relief. As if a huge weight had been lifted.
I hiked the hills for three-plus hours. Despite the chill, I broke a sweat. I looked forward to a hot bath. By the time I reached the cabin, the sun had already begun its descent.
I filled the tub, shed my clothes, and settled my aching bones into the steamy whirlpool where I spent nearly an hour.
I was drying off and thinking about dinner when I thought I heard the cabin door open.
I hastily tied the towel around my waist and stepped into the bedroom where I discovered Jordyn Yates lifting her suitcase onto the bed.
“Surprise,” she said.
I stared at her slack-jawed. Then the towel fell off.
“Your fly is open,” she snickered.
I clumsily picked up the towel and did my best to cover myself. “What are you doing here?”
She tossed a copy of The Los Angeles Times onto the bed. Its headline read, RUSSIAN BILLIONAIRE FOUND DEAD IN SIBERIA.
“You sure got that right,” she gloated.
“Yeah, well, kudos for me. Why are you here?”
“I wanted you to see the paper.”
“That’s why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Tell me why you’re really here.”
“I needed a rest.”
“You needed a rest?”
“Yes.”
“Did you forget you had lent the cabin to me?”
“Not at all.”
“You mean you came here on purpose.”
“I did.”
“Knowing I was here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I disagree with your assessment.”
“What assessment?”
“The assessment of our relationship…past and present.”
“In what way?”
“In every way.”
“So, that being the case, what happens now?”
“You use your imagination is what happens now,” she said as she wrested the towel from my grasp and wrapped her arms around me.
Acknowledgments
WITH GRATITUDE…
…to the amazing Poisoned Pen Press team…Diane DiBiase, Holli Roach, and Beth Deveny,
…to the indefatigable Michael Barson,
…to the indispensable Annette Rogers,
…to the incredible Barbara Peters,
…and to Robert Rosenwald, who continues to make the trains run on time.
And, thanks to Steven Brandman, Miles Brandman, Roy Gnan, and Melanie Mintz,
…to my longtime friend and partner, Tom Selleck,
…with special thanks and love to Tom Distler,
…and to Jeffrey, Selma and Arthur Brandman, who inspired and nurtured the dream.
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