“A trap for who?”
“For whoever faxed the letter to me. I was afraid it might have been you.”
“I didn’t fax you anything.”
“Then it had to be Ryan Duffy.” Marilyn stiffened, concerned. She dug her phone from her purse. “Somebody has to warn him.”
Amy stopped her from dialing. “Let it go.”
“But Rusch will be waiting for him in my car.”
Amy’s eyes narrowed, as if revenge were in sight. “And I’ll be waiting for Rusch.”
“He’s a professional. He’ll kill you like a fly.”
“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.”
Marilyn hesitated. She should have been afraid, but for over forty years she’d let fear control her.
“All right. But we can’t just walk into this without any backup. It’ll cost me, but let me do that much.”
Amy thought for a second, then nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Of course it does,” she said with a thin smile.
“What’s a guardian for, anyway?”
“Let’s take a ride. Maybe we’ll both find out.”
62
The wrought-iron gate at the end of Marilyn’s driveway was closed, but the old stone wall was easily scaled. Rusch cleared the cherry hedge on the inside and cut across the lawn, his black coveralls making him virtually invisible in the night. The silver 800 series Mercedes was unlocked, parked beneath the portico. He opened the door, dropped his black leather bag on the passenger side, and checked the glove box. As promised, the car key was inside, along with the electronic transmitter for the iron gate. Rusch fired up the engine, opened the gate, and backed out of the driveway.
He dialed Kozelka on the car phone as he pulled away. “Got the car. I’m on my way to the dam.”
“Did Marilyn see you?”
“I don’t think she’s home. I peeked in the garage. Her Volvo was gone.”
“Probably didn’t want to be anywhere near her house when you came by. Just as well. Did you take care of the ex-wife and her lawyer yet?”
“Everything’s in place. Package was delivered to Jackson’s house around ten. That should take care of itself.”
“Make sure of it. That goes double at the dam. Duffy’s a smart guy.”
“That’s why I’d still rather take him out someplace else. Pop him by surprise.”
“Can’t do it. It’s the same reason we had to frame him rather than kill him before. You never know when the FBI might be watching him.”
“Like tonight.”
“Not tonight,” said Kozelka. “This is a business transaction for Duffy. He won’t show up unless he’s sure the FBI isn’t following him.”
“So this is our one and only clean shot at him.”
“That’s why I’m using my best man, Rusch. Do it right. And once it’s done, don’t call me for a month.”
“Is this a paid vacation?” he asked as the car stopped at a traffic light.
“Anywhere you want.”
“It’s a toss-up. Fiji or Piedmont Springs,” he said dryly, then hung up the phone.
Marilyn’s Volvo took her and Amy back to Denver in well under an hour. Marilyn had phoned ahead before she and Amy left Boulder, so Jeb Stockton was expecting them. Jeb didn’t ask for details on the phone, and Marilyn didn’t offer. All she had to say was that she needed his help and was calling in the personal favors. Jeb agreed to meet them tonight at his downtown office.
Jeb headed the Denver office of a statewide private investigation firm, which sounded more impressive than it was. It was actually just a two-man operation, both retired ex-cops who would take a case anywhere in Colorado, so long as they could bring their fishing poles along. In that sense, it was “statewide.” Jeb’s law enforcement career had spanned nearly four decades, culminating with a twelve-year stint as Denver County sheriff. His election was due in no small part to the money Marilyn had raised for his campaigns. She considered him a friend, though she had politely stemmed his efforts to take it further than that. Jeb was handsome enough, but not her type. He had the rugged look of the Old West, with wind-burned skin and smoky gray hair. He rarely went anywhere without his cowboy boots and ten-gallon hat, even before his retirement. He wasn’t the slickest ex-cop around, but slickness was no asset in places as far off the beaten track as Cheesman Dam. Outside the city lights, there was no one more dependable than Jeb. Most important, he could be trusted.
Marilyn followed the exit ramp off the express-way and steered into downtown Denver. It was after midnight, so the traffic lights had changed over to a string of blinking amber dots. Stores and offices on either side of the street were secured for the night, some with roll-up metal gates that resembled garage doors. A group of homeless people were haggling with a police officer on the corner. The Volvo cruised through one quiet intersection after another, passing only a handful of cars along the way.
Amy checked the street signs, then glanced back at Marilyn. “So, your friend Jeb will take us up to the dam, I presume?”
“Right. We’ll use his van as a staging area. Park it somewhere out of sight. I’ll be wired, so the two of you can hang back and listen from inside the van while I talk to Rusch.”
Amy looked confused. “What do you mean, hang back? I’m talking to Rusch.”
As the car slowly turned the corner, Marilyn caught Amy’s eye. “Don’t argue with me.”
“There’s no argument. This is something I have to do.”
“Amy, this is a risk a young mother shouldn’t be taking. It isn’t necessary. It isn’t even logical. Rusch won’t tell you anything. He won’t tell me anything if you’re standing at my side. The only chance of getting him to say anything about your mother’s death is if I go alone.”
Amy wanted to argue, but she sensed Marilyn was right. “This wasn’t the way I envisioned it.”
“If you think about how this is likely to unfold, it’s our only alternative.”
“How do you see it?”
“It basically boils down to one likely scenario. When I talked to Joe this afternoon, he told me to leave the keys in my Mercedes, so I presume Rusch is going to use the car somehow. My guess is he’ll park it out in the open for Duffy to see. Duffy will walk right up to the car, thinking it’s me inside. When he does, Rusch will either shoot him on the spot or put him in the trunk and then shoot him somewhere else. I think it’s fair to say that there are only two people on the planet who can walk up to that car and live to tell about it. Joe Kozelka is one of them. The other one is not you.”
“How can you be sure Rusch won’t shoot you?”
“First of all, he has no reason to think I’m not on his side. Not yet, anyway. Secondly, I’m too important to Joe. My appointment is too important.”
“What if something goes wrong? What if Rusch somehow discovers you’re wearing a wire.”
“Then we kick into plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
She pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. “I was kind of hoping Jeb might help us figure that out.”
Amy tried not to look worried as they stepped down together and started toward Jeb Stockton’s office.
Phil Jackson was still mad. Liz had phoned him at dinnertime, said she was thinking about finding a new lawyer. The ingrate. Without him, she would have gotten nothing. Now she was at the doorstep of the mother lode. Of course, she couldn’t completely stiff him. The judge would order her to pay him the fair value of his services so far. That wouldn’t come close to the fees he would have racked up had he seen this battle through to the final chapter. Assuming he could get to the Duffys’ Panamanian accounts, the contingency fee he and Liz had discussed would have earned him over nine thousand dollars an hour. And he was worth it.
Liz hadn’t found the courage to utter the words, but he figured it was only a matter of days before she officially fired him. She’d probably do it by letter. Backstabbing bitch.
He’d been stiffed by clients before, but this one was especially hard to swallow. He’d worked hard on the case, but he always worked hard. He didn’t mind the sweat. This case, however, had taken his blood. Almost a half-pint of it, spilled on the garage floor in the predawn beating.