"You done with him? Welle?"
I thought of the case notes I'd requested.
"No, probably not. If I had to guess I'd say I'll probably talk with him again."
"Some advice? Keep an eye out when you do. Things may not be what they seem."
"And sometimes," I said, "a cigar is just a cigar."
He shook his head a little to let me know I wasn't really getting it.
"These cold cases… they aren't really ever very cold, especially not to the people who might get burned by them. The more you stir up the embers, the more dangerous everything becomes. Sleeping dogs," is how he concluded.
"Sleeping dogs."
"Are you suggesting you don't like what Locard is doing?"
"No, no. Not at all.
What I'm suggesting-no, what I'm guaranteeing-is that whoever murdered those two girls isn't going to like what Locard is doing. Don't forget it."
Lauren arrived with the news that dessert was ready. Sam finished his beer in one long pull and stood to go inside.
After Sam left to go home, I called A. J. Simes. It was almost eleven on the East Coast. A. J. sounded exhausted. I asked if she was feeling okay.
"Good enough," was her reply.
She'd heard about the shooting at the tennis house, of course; it was one of the lead stories on the national news. She didn't know I'd been a witness at the event. Her curiosity about the ambush was cursory, however. She implied that the FBI members of Locard would funnel any necessary information into the pipeline, information more reliable than my impressions. The questions that were foremost on A. J."s mind had to do with my interviews with Taro Hamamoto and Raymond Welle and my impressions of the psychotherapy Welle had done with Mariko Hamamoto.
I shared my conclusions, told A. J. that it looked like Welle had done a decent enough job with Mariko and that his story about her presenting problems and the therapy outcome was consistent with Taro Hamamoto's account.
"Hamamoto didn't tell me anything about his daughter that we didn't already know. He's still trying to come to terms with it, A. J. With the murder."
"Wouldn't you be?" she replied.
"I'm sure I would." I informed A. J. that I was about to fax her a detailed report about my trip to Vancouver to see Mariko's father. I asked, "Does Locard have any information about a drug arrest in Steamboat Springs involving Mariko and Tami maybe six, eight months prior to their disappearance?"
"No. Absolutely not. What kind of arrest?"
"Possession. According to Taro Hamamoto, the girls were picked up smoking dope with some tourists."
"And?"
"He says the charges were eventually dropped. Why doesn't Locard know about this?"
"I don't know. But I'll look into it."
I then told A. J. about the contacts I'd received from Dorothy Levin. A. J. peppered me for details about Levin's calls and questions, and asked twice for reassurance that Ms. Levin wasn't on to the Locard investigation.
Twice I gave her the reassurance. I also relayed my suspicion that Dorothy had a source inside Welle's Washington, D. C." office. A. J. seemed to concur with that impression.
We discussed strategies for what I should do next. She wanted me to write up what I had so far, then sit tight while some other avenues were being developed.
"What other avenues?" I asked.
"Soon," she said.
"And under no circumstances should you contact Welle again without clearing it with me first."
"How about talking with some people who knew the girls? Would that be okay?"
"No one in Welle's camp?"
"No"
"Fine. And Alan? You're doing a great job."
"Oh, A. J.? One last thing."
"Yes."
"I'd like to talk with Hamamotos other daughter"
"I assumed that would be your next request. You're convinced it will add something?"
"She was old enough when her sister was murdered to be a reliable informant about her sister's lifestyle. And there are no records of interviews with her in the material you sent me."
"None? You're sure."
"I've checked twice."
"Go ahead and plan it. I'll talk to the committee and let you know if there's a problem."
The moment I hung up with Simes the phone rang again.
"It's me. Dorothy. You survive all the excitement?"
"Yes. You find your hotel okay?"
"I did, I did. If you're ever looking for it, it's a black glass box behind a bank. What I'm calling about is… I just want to know your impression of what you saw today. Now that things have settled a little bit. No more bullets whizzing past our heads. Was Welle really the target? What do you think?"
I was silent while I thought about how I wanted to answer. Just when I was about to speak, she said, "Don't worry. We're still on background." I heard her take a bite of something.
"Room service isn't bad here. It's Italian. I love room service. Don't you love room service?"
"I have a cop friend here in Boulder who thinks that if Welle was the target of an assassination then the target shoot was pure amateur hour. Wrong weapon at the wrong distance fired at the wrong target in the wrong circumstances."
"You agree with your friend?"
"I just know what I saw. Somebody shooting at the doorway of a building where a controversial congressman was raising campaign funds to run for the Senate. It doesn't make sense to rule him out as a target. It doesn't make sense to assume he was the target, either."
"That's what I'm thinking, too. I'm trying to put together a list of the other people who were close to the doorway so I can rule them out as possible targets.
I have the names of the two people who were hit by debris and a few others' names, too. Do you know who any of those people were?"
"Sorry. I don't run in the rich-white-guys-over-forty-five circles. But I'll bet the Denver papers and the local TV station shows manage to run most of them down for you."
"Figured you wouldn't know, but thought I'd ask. I've got the Channel 2 news on right now. They're not giving out names. And I can't wait for the Denver papers to fill out my piece. I only have half an hour till deadline." I heard her light a cigarette.
"At least they still let you smoke in hotel rooms in this state.
That's something, right? I was afraid I'd be out on the roof with coyotes or something." She sucked hard and exhaled before she continued.
"The shooter's escape was well planned today, don't you think? Have you thought about that? The getaway? Not amateurish at all. And you were right about the white van being found at that grocery store close by. King Soopers? What kind of a name is that, anyway? I thought Winn Dixie was a stupid name for a supermarket. But King Soopers? In case you care, the van had been stolen the night before in… Aurora. That's like a suburb, right? No witnesses yet who saw anybody switch vehicles in the parking lot. I bet the guy just got out of the van, walked in one door of the store, walked right out another, and got into his second vehicle."
Made sense to me.
"Are you heading back to D.C. in the morning?"
"I could. But I have some people to see in Steamboat Springs on Monday about this campaign-finance thing. How far away is that? Looks close enough on the map. I may just spend the weekend there."
"If you drive, it's over three hours by car assuming you don't get lost in the mountains."
"You mean I have an alternative? I can fly there? There's an airport?"
"Yes. Yampa Valley."
The nicotine was invigorating her.
"Cool. Maybe I'll do that. That's Yampa spelled how? Y-a-m-p-a? Like it sounds?
Bet you it's one of those little planes though, isn't it? I don't really like them. Too… tubey. And I like jets more than propellers. I wonder why that is…"
I didn't know why it was but I suspected Dorothy didn't need to hear that from me.