I asked what defense Welle might concoct for arranging to have his wife, Gloria, murdered by Brian Sample.
Lauren smiled and said she couldn't think of a single one.
It became clear that Lauren wasn't at all concerned about the ill-advised decision that Kimber and I had made to enter Raymond Welle's home while seeking shelter from the storm of Kimber's panic attack. Based on my rendition of events she was far more concerned about my claim of self-defense for burying the butt of Kimber's gun into the side of Phil Barrett's head. She pointed out that my only corroborating witness was unconscious the last time I had seen him. After a few more questions, our much-too-brief reunion was over. Lauren kissed me again and left. She had some negotiating to do on my behalf.
The minutes passed like a gallstone. Waiting, it turned out, had been much easier when I was asleep.
After a half hour she returned.
"I need you to think carefully," she said, her back to the closed door.
"Have you told anyone but me about Welle's responsibility for Gloria's murder?"
"No. I didn't have a chance to say much of anything before they started treating me like a criminal."
"And you're absolutely certain about what Welle told you?"
"Yes, he confessed to arranging Gloria's murder. It was an insurance scheme with Brian Sample. Ray walked me through motive, plan, everything."
"You'll testify against him?"
"Of course."
Her eyes brightened.
"Good. The police don't seem to know anything about it. I'm going to offer them a little trade. I think it will be your ticket out of here."
"Great. Any news on Kimber?"
"He survived the surgery and corroborated your account of Phil's death."
I hissed, "Yessss," as I thrust my fist into the air like Sam always did at Avalanche games.
She walked up to me and ran her fingers from the back of my head to the base of my spine and embraced me tightly.
"I don't usually do this with clients," she purred.
"But occasionally?"
"I try to take it one client at a time."
The interview with the assembled authorities lasted over three hours.
Lauren stayed with me for the duration. The discussion covered the entire previous night. The meeting with Rat. The trip to Clark. The blow down Phil Barrett's demise. Cathy Franklin's demise. Douglas Levin's stalking of his wife and shooting at her at the Welle fundraiser in Denver. Barrett killing Dorothy.
The apparent discovery of Dorothy Levin's body. Rescuing Flynn and Russ from their Lincoln Log jail. Kimber's panic attack and the decision to seek shelter at the Silky Road Ranch. The confrontation with Ray Welle and Welle's admission that he had arranged for his wife's murder. The closet.
Everything I knew. Three times.
At ten minutes after six they handed me an envelope with my car keys and my wallet in it and told me I was free to go. I'd find my car outside in the lot.
Sam was waiting for Lauren and me at the bottom of the concrete steps.
"If you were my kid," he said with a big smile when he saw me, "I wouldn't let you go out of the house without a helmet on." "Or at least a lawyer in tow," I said as I kissed Lauren on the cheek.
"Thanks for driving her up here, Sam."
He shrugged.
"Gotta keep that baby of yours happy. I take it you're free to go?"
"Apparently. I traded my freedom for that of a congressman."
His eyebrows reached for his hairline.
"Welle?"
I nodded.
"He murdered his wife, Sam."
His eyebrows reached for the sky.
"No? I told you the story of that kidnapping was goofy. You have details? You know how he did it?"
"I do. How about I fill you in a little later?"
"Sure." He pointed toward his Cherokee. Satoshi was sitting on the front seat.
She waved. Sam said, "Satoshis anxious to hear what you learned about her sister. Are you up to it?"
"Yeah. Let me get a shower, wake up a little. I want my head to be clear when I tell her what happened to Mariko. Ask her if that's okay."
Sam sauntered over and spoke to Satoshi before he returned to my car.
"She said that she's waited years and that minutes and hours are irrelevant."
While I was spending my day in custody, the bedrooms at the B and B had been shuffled. Satoshi was going to share Kimber's room with Flynn, and Sam was bunking with Russ. I was delighted to make room in my bed for Lauren.
I showered for almost twenty minutes. The shower could have been better only if Lauren had offered to soap my back and any other parts of my body particularly in need of attention. But she didn't.
Russ had made arrangements with Libby for us all to dine together privately in the breakfast room of the B and B. As barter he had offered her gossip-laden details that wouldn't be in the next mornings paper about what had transpired in the blow down Libby had made some calls to get enough food delivered for a feast and was supplying the beer and wine herself. Russ suspected that she was angling for an invitation to the repast. But it wouldn't be forthcoming. He asked me what I thought about Libby attending. I voted no. He asked me if I wanted to invite Percy Smith. I voted no again. This was going to be a very private party.
The aromas of nourishment greeted me-I thought I smelted abundant garlic and a blast of curry-as I toweled off from my shower and began to shave away the whiskers of the last thirty-six hours. I scraped my face in short strokes in an effort to keep my hand from shaking. The reality of what had transpired since the previous sundown was descending upon me with a gravity that left me fighting back tears. I felt a sense of guilt about what had happened to Kimber but found most of my compassion directed to Dell Franklin, who seemed the most complete victim in the whole tragedy.
Lauren could tell that I was taking too long in the bathroom. She finally entered without knocking and embraced me from behind.
"We're all okay," she whispered.
"All three of us." I stopped fighting back my tears, and together we slunk down to the damp floor. We huddled together on the tiny octagonal tiles until most of our fears were soothed away.
The night started in the kitchen of the B and B and ended where everything having to do with me and Locard and the two dead girls had begun-on Joey Franklin's time-share jet. The party that occurred in between wasn't a festive affair. It was more like a hybrid between sitting shivah and attending an Irish wake. There was no shortage of lives to celebrate and unfortunately no shortage of lives to mourn.
There were a lot of stories to tell.
The first thing I did after I finished dressing was search out Satoshi. I found her where she had been waiting for me in the parlor. I took her by the hand and led her into the deserted kitchen of the B and B so we could be alone.
She hopped up to sit on the Up of the granite-topped island. She said, "I have a feeling I shouldn't be standing."
I sat on a stool.
"I probably shouldn't be standing either." I caressed my tired eyes with my knuckles.
"Are you ready, whatever that means?"
Satoshi nodded.
"I've been waiting a long time."
"Okay." I started with
"I know how your sister died," and told the story of Mariko's senseless murder deliberately so that Satoshi could chew each detail separately and digest it slowly, the way she had nibbled away her carton of yogurt the day we'd first met at Stanford.
She wept almost nonstop while I spoke, but she refused my offers of comfort.
"They were both heroes," she said when she was certain I was done.
"Mariko and Tami."
"Yes," I agreed.
Her next question surprised me in the way that people often do. She asked, "What's going to happen to Mr. Franklin? Do you think there's a possibility that I can talk to him?" I said I didn't know. I said it twice. Then I added, "He knows what Joey did to you, Satoshi. He just found out."