The Zen Man (34 page)

Quinn looked over his shoulder at his counterpart. “Dave, call our source at the Denver PD, ask about the girl.”

Dave made the call. After asking the question, he listened intently before flipping the phone lid.

“Little girl’s alive, unhurt. Was with a neighbor last night. Appears Brianna had a date, took the little girl there to stay the night.”

“
Baruch HaShem
,” I murmured. Thank God. I felt a surge of relief, as if a wind had blown through the room. “There’s a link in our cases, Quinn.”

He spoke without moving a muscle, except to speak. “What is it?”

“Don’t know yet. But it’s there. I feel it.”

“Was Brianna a link?”

“She called Walt Dixon two weeks ago, but denied it. I checked her cell phone day before yesterday, didn’t see his number in her history or addresses.”

“She could’ve erased the data.”

“True. Asked if she knew anyone named Dixon or Scarpello. She said no.”

“You buy that?”

I nodded. “She believed Deborah’s killer was out to get her next.”

“Why?”

“Because she knew about some suppressed autopsy photos that evidenced Deborah already being dead when she was stabbed.”

My head was heavy with thoughts and worries and more than its share of fear. I looked at the lampshade next to one of the double beds, the light shining through a ragged silhouette of the bulky Triceratops—I recalled Laura saying it had been the only dinosaur to strike fear into the T-Rex. All the more interesting because the stocky Triceratops was a plant-eater, while the towering T-Rex a carnivorous, predatory monster.

The Triceratops and I shared some traits. Lumbering about, short and awkward, chewing on sustenance—his the leafy stuff, me facts and clues. Wicked had known too much, Brianna had guessed the truth, and now I knew enough from both of them to be next on the hit list.

I was waiting for my inevitable showdown with the killer T-Rex.

“There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.”
—Buddha

A
few minutes later, Laura and I, hand in hand, walked in silence down the rock path from cabin five back to our lodge. The sun shimmered big and yellow, but it was all a bluff because its hot-shot rays shriveled somewhere in the thin, whitish blue overhead, shrinking into thin, chilly gammas by the time they reached this patch of the planet.

Lawyers and poker players, if they’re good at their art, are bluffs, too. I’d always assumed Wicked’s killer was a lawyer, but I’d tried to keep my mind open. Screw that. The killer was an attorney Wicked had once worked with, was currently working a case with, had turned to for advice, or even bedded.

Iris fit three out of four.

“Can’t believe you slugged Quinn,” said Laura, shaking her head, “or brought that gun today. You once said there was always a better way than violence.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I learned eternal nothingness was a preliminary hearing away. Or that you might be hurt…” Or worse. Couldn’t think about that. The thought of living without Laura gutted me.

A red-tailed hawk lifted off a high branch of a nearby cottonwood, emitting a whistling screech, the sound like a sharp A.

A word tried to take shape in my mind, faded, re-emerged.

Ace
.

I stopped, looked at Laura. “I know where those suppressed autopsy photos are.”

She did an exaggerated double-take. “And the answer came to you out of the blue, just like that?”

“Kinda. Remember when I told you about Brianna’s jail visit, how she kept talking about our playing poker in Vegas? She was giving me a code for a name. Ace, short for Candace. She didn’t want to say it because we were being recorded. Candace is a deputy coroner at the Jeffco Coroner’s, had to have shown those photos, at the very least discussed them with Brianna. Probably knows exactly why they’re suppressed, too, although I can guess. It’s Bill Lashley’s first big case. He’s publicly announced the cause of death by stabbing. If those photos surface, he’ll look like an idiot, a liar, or both. Bye-bye career.” I pulled out my cell, hit the speed-dial number. “Need to tell Sam to subpoena Candace for those photos. Also need to discuss Iris with Sam, see how we can trap her into a confession.”

Laura blinked rapidly. “You think that uptight, moralistic judge is the
killer
? But…those towels contained a second DNA match that fits a percentage of white males.”

“Yeah, that throws a wrench into my theory. Maybe Iris placed DNA from one of the men at the retreat on those towels. DNA could also be Garrett’s or Ziggy’s—they’re often around the pools.” I flipped closed the lid on the phone. “He’s not picking up. I’ll drop by his office, or catch him there or at that gourmet sandwich joint that’s always open.”

We stood face to face, inches apart. “Before you go,” she said quietly, “I wanted to tell you…I was jealous…” She lightly brushed something off my jacket, met my gaze. “She loved you.”

When I started to speak, she lay a gentle finger on my lips.

“I’m good with numbers…” Her eyes searched mine. “You were involved with Brianna six years ago…her…your…child’s five.”

Words swelled in my mouth, but I couldn’t talk.

“You met her…the little girl?”

I nodded.

“Does she…”

I pulled her close, felt her body trembling in my arms. “Blue eyes,” I said, fighting to keep control of my voice. “I had curly hair that color as a child, too.”

We tightened our arms around each other, but it wasn’t holding each other, it was holding
onto
each other.

“Oh, Rick,” she murmured against my chest, “All that we’re going through…this isn’t the time to raise a child…”

“I understand.” I hoped I sounded as though I meant it.

“How long have you known?”

“Since my conversation with Brianna in the Jeep.”

With a small shrug of her shoulder, she turned, held out her hand. I took it, and we continued walking down the path. As we rounded a stand of trees, we chanced upon Garrett and Ziggy hunkered next to the hot spring pool where Wicked had been murdered.

“Dude!” said Garrett, seeing me. He shoved a large bottle brush down the PVC tube. “It’s wedged, but I think I’m getting it loose. Weather report says there’s a fast-moving storm, so thought I’d bust it while the sun’s still out.”

There wasn’t any evidence in that pipe, just dirt and rocks, but I didn’t want to burst Garrett’s apprentice-PI bubble.

“I’m going inside to write a note to Sam about issuing a subpoena for those photos,” I said to Laura, “take it with me to his office, leave it if he’s not there.”

I went inside, wrote the note, tucked it into my pocket. Was headed to the door when I spied the box on top of the kitchen cabinets. Curious, I gingerly lifted its edge. Heavy. I lowered the box into my arms and looked inside. It wasn’t that I was surprised to see Brianna’s .38, just surprised Quinn or Laura had decided to return it where I could find it. Or maybe Laura had planned on stashing it elsewhere, later.

I’d take it to Sam’s, have him hold onto it. He wouldn’t be happy, but what else was new.

My head was spinning with tasks and pressures, and for a moment all I could do was stand there, clutching the box. My feet felt soldered to the floor, my heart heavy like a chunk of cold steel in my chest. If only I’d left that gun at Brianna’s, she might have been able to use it. Might have lived.

I flashed on lost opportunities, unspoken words, unfulfilled dreams.

I’m sorry, Scarlet Begonia
.

Move and the way will open.
—Zen proverb

I
stood outside Sam’s office door, one of those carved monolithic mahogany numbers with an imposing polished brass knocker meant to impress clients and instill respect from opponents.

Shivering, I shifted the box under my arm, knocked loudly. Once, twice. In the distance, thunder rumbled across the dark sky. I’d barely made it here ahead of the fast-moving winter storm. Colorado weather wasn’t bluffing this time.

Muffled sounds from inside. The door clicked open.

Sam stared down at me with swollen, pink eyes. From his wrinkled gabardine slacks, rumpled gray cashmere sweater, and bare feet, it wasn’t a stretch to guess he’d slept in his office.

“You look as used up and hung-over as half of Denver on New Year’s day. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? That is, after we talk some business.”

“I don’t do the home thing anymore.” He dragged a hand through his mess of hair. “Why you here? Get arrested again?”

“For a change, no.” I stepped inside, looked around the gloom. Snow began to form on the far windows. “Let’s get some lights on, buddy.”

I flipped a switch, and the room blazed to life. On the Persian rug, next to the bookcase crammed with leather-bound books, lay a puffy gray nylon sleeping bag and a pillow. Next to it, an alarm clock and what appeared to be a half-eaten sandwich. Law office as bachelor pad.

I crossed to his desk and set the box on the edge of it, was ready to explain the gun when I halted. In the center of his desk sat a crystal tumbler filled with dark liquid, next to a mirror with streaks of white powder. Revulsion slammed through me.

“Dude, what the fuck?” I turned, glared at him. “What’s with the toot?”

He rubbed the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ to get me through the night.”

“How many nights you needing that little somethin’? You saw what happened to me. Rick’s little helpers almost put him in the ground, wrecked his career. Flush this shit now. I need a lawyer—a clean, licensed, thinking one.”

As Sam shuffled past me to his desk, I caught the stench of whiskey and cologne, their mix making him smell like closing time at a loser’s bar. He sank into his tufted executive chair, took a sip out of the glass, smacked his lips.

“I’ll put it away when I’m ready,” he groused, setting the glass heavily back down. “So, you want to talk business? What’s up?”

I didn’t hang out around mirrors anymore, but I figured as long as he didn’t cut out a line, I’d say my piece and leave. But first, had to tell him the harder news.

“Brianna was murdered last night.” Brianna.
Dead
. The reality hit me again, filling me with a surreal lightlessness as though the world had flipped a switch.

His bleary eyes fixed somewhere behind my head as we listened to the growling thunder.

“Shit,” he finally whispered. “What happened?”

“Found in her Jeep, in her garage. Carbon monoxide poisoning. They say suicide. I say homicide.”

He shook his head. “That night at your place, it was easy to see she was drinking away her problems. Suicide isn’t a stretch.”

“Look,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even, “I think she was telling the truth about those suppressed autopsy photos. We need to subpoena the Jeffco coroner for
all
autopsy photos and any other findings leading up to their conclusion on the cause of death.”

“I’ll have Daphne do it when she gets in tomorrow.”

“Daphne?” I snorted my frustration. “She supposedly faxed the subpoenas for Deborah’s phone records last week, and we haven’t heard shit. Let’s prepare the other subpoena today so it can be served first thing tomorrow morning. We’re twelve days from the hearing.”

Sam grunted, stared at the mirror.

“Another thing,” I continued, “Deborah and Brianna’s killer are the same person. I think it’s Iris.”

“Lou has motive, too.”

“Iris’s story has giant holes.”

“But it’d take a man to overpower two strong women like Deborah and Brianna. And didn’t you say there’d been a prowler at her house?”

“Lou’s too fat too play prowler. The only thing he could overpower is a plate of lobster.”

“Justin’s young, strong, and trouble.”

“Justin’s a party pussy.”

“He argued with Debby at the retreat.”

“And as I told you, he claimed she was loaded, bugging him for Tracy’s number. Seems Tracy was a coke broker for Deborah.” I looked at the mirror. “Seems she’s a coke broker for a lot of folks.”

“Okay, so she gave me some last night. Big deal. Back on topic, you’re convinced it’s Iris?”

“Iris has a whole lotta man in her.” In my mind’s eye, I saw her hoisting her slim body with those toned arms out the bathroom window. “I think she stayed in the bathroom after comforting Deborah, locked the door, crawled out the window, killed her, returned through the window. Nobody could’ve seen her leave the party that way. And the CrimDefs had other bathrooms to use—so what if that one was locked for a while. I checked the window last night, found a suspicious dent in the screen.”

“There’s a lot of reasons screens get bent, especially at a place that old. I mean, c’mon, it was originally built in the seventies, right?”

A ring tone interrupted our conversation. Sam pulled out his cell, flipped it open.

“Sam Wexler.” Listening, he shifted his gaze to me. “Yes, he’s right here.” He stood, handed me the phone. “It’s Laura. You left your cell at home.”

“I had a lot on my mind when I left…” I felt the weird move into the room as I stared at Sam’s phone in my hand.

It looked just like Brianna’s.

“Something wrong?”

I made an it’s-nothing gesture, studiously avoiding his stare over the top of the tumbler as he downed the rest of the drink.

“What’s happening?” I said into the phone.

“Garrett found what was clogging the pipe,” said Laura. “It’s a fountain pen, with an inscription.”

“Going to Daphne’s office,” Sam mouthed, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to their connecting door, “check on the subpoena.”

I nodded, waiting to speak until the door had closed behind him. “Inscription?”

“It says
My Boon
. Rick, could that be short for Baboon? As in primate nickname?”