She wandered off and talked into a cell phone.
Five minutes later she came back. “The stripper’s name is Samantha Stamp-stage name Chase,” she said. “I called the club to see if she’d shown up for work yet. When I told the guy I was a detective he muttered ‘bitch’ under his breath and hung up.”
Teffinger frowned.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
70
DAY ELEVEN-SEPTEMBER 15
THURSDAY MORNING
When Aspen got to work at 7:15 Thursday morning, she found an envelope on her chair. Inside was an unsigned piece of paper that said: Go to the Starbucks on the 16th Street Mall at 9:00 a.m. Come alone and don’t tell anyone.
She suspected the note came from the same person who accused Christina Tam of being a spy.
Fine.
Let’s find out who it was.
She showed up five minutes early, didn’t see anyone she knew, ordered a latte, and took a table by the wall. A Billie Holiday song dripped down from ceiling speakers, painful and lamenting. A few minutes later, a man walked over and sat down. He looked vaguely familiar and wore an expensive gray pinstriped suit over a red silk power tie. He looked to be in his early thirties, thin set, and balder than he should be.
“I’m Conrad Conrad,” he said.
She recognized the name.
He was an attorney in the firm.
In the environmental section.
“Sorry to be so mysterious,” he said, “but I felt it best that we met somewhere away from the firm. I hope you don’t mind.”
She shook her head.
“No, this is fine. So what’s going on?”
The man looked around, apparently saw no one of interest, and refocused on her. “The word’s going around that you’re asking questions about Rachel,” he said. “Maybe even doing an ad hoc investigation of some sort.”
She didn’t know whether to admit it or not.
But did.
“Of some sort,” she said. “Maybe.”
“I have some information for you,” he said. “But first you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone that I told you.”
She considered it.
“I don’t know what you’re going to tell me. So I’m not sure I can promise that.”
He frowned.
“It’s for your own good,” he said.
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”
He slurped the coffee and paused, deciding whether to talk or not.
Then he looked her in the eyes.
“This happened back in March of this year,” he said. “I was working late one night, after nine o’clock, and one of the cleaning ladies-an older Hispanic woman-stepped into my office to empty my trash can. I could tell she was upset about something and asked her what was wrong. She said she was in the hallway passing by one of the offices upstairs. The door was closed. She heard a commotion inside and stopped to listen. To her, it sounded like a man was forcing himself on a woman. The woman was telling him to stop. He didn’t and she got louder, yelling for him to stop. Then the cleaning lady heard stuff breaking.”
“What are you saying? That someone in the firm was raped?”
The man shifted in his seat.
“Let me finish,” he said. “I had the cleaning lady take me up and show me the office she was talking about. It turned out to be the office of Rachel Ringer. When we got there, though, the door was open and no one was inside. There didn’t appear to be anything broken.”
“Rachel Ringer?”
“Right.”
“Are you saying she was raped?”
The man held up his hands in surrender. “I asked her about it the next day. She said the cleaning lady must have been hallucinating because no such thing happened. She said she wasn’t even in the office last night.”
“So someone else got raped, then, in Rachel’s office?”
“Maybe,” the man said, “maybe not. I had the feeling that Rachel wasn’t telling me the truth. So I snooped around a little and found out that her keycard had in fact been used for an exit that evening, meaning she had been there. I never told her that I found out about that, though.”
“So she lied to you.”
He nodded. “That’s my feeling. I don’t know if she was actually raped, however, or whether someone just came on to her extra strong. In any event, whatever happened, it was clear that she didn’t want to talk about it or do anything about it. Since she didn’t press it, I didn’t either. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”
“What about the police? After she disappeared? You didn’t tell them any of this?”
He shook his head.
“No. And I’m not real proud of that, for the record. I guess I was more concerned about not making a tidal wave inside the firm that would come back to drown me.”
She shifted in her seat.
“I have kids in private schools,” he added.
“I have to take this to the police,” she said. “I’ll leave your name out of it. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. I should have done it myself.”
“Okay. By the way, are you the one who left me a note saying that Christina Tam is a spy?”
No.
He wasn’t.
In fact, he hardly even knew Christina Tam.
Conrad Conrad left and was almost out the door when Aspen caught up to him. “Who was the man in Rachel’s office that night?” she asked.
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Do you remember the date when it happened?”
“Not really.”
“You said you were staying late,” she said. “Would you be able to look on your calendar and figure out what day it was?”
He cocked his head.
“Probably.”
“Good. Let me know.”
71
DAY ELEVEN-SEPTEMBER 15
THURSDAY MORNING
Draven woke around 9:00 a.m. feeling like a dried leather shoe. His muscles screamed from burying the tow-truck woman out in the goddamned rock-infested mountains yesterday. Burying the stripper later in the day had been a lot easier, but had still taken its toll.
He looked at Gretchen, still sleeping.
Nice.
He stretched and hit the shower, getting the water as hot as he could stand it. Unfortunately, today he’d need those same muscles again, to bury the tattoo woman.
He didn’t care.
Putting an end to that phase of his life would be worth it, whatever the cost.
When he got out of the shower, Gretchen was up and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with hot coffee made.
“So what’s the plan today?” she asked.
“I have some surveillance work I need to do,” he said.
“Can I come?”
He laughed.
“No,” he said. “It’s all confidential stuff.”
“Can you drop me off downtown first, then?”
“Why?”
“The Granada won’t start,” she said. “And I don’t feel like sitting around here by myself all day.”
He nodded.
Then he pulled out his wallet and gave her a thousand dollars.
“In case you see something you need to have,” he said.
They ate breakfast.
Then she gave him a long slow blowjob, until he came in her mouth.
He dropped her off downtown, gave her a long sloppy kiss, turned the radio to an oldies station, and then wove his way into the mountains toward the cabin.
On the way, Swofford called with bad news.
“The client’s schedule got all jacked up yesterday and he didn’t make it into town,” Swofford said. “So we’re going to Plan B, which is, you go up to the cabin and feed the woman, let her go to the bathroom, walk her around a little, etcetera. Basically, just keep her alive and in relatively good shape.”
Draven slammed his hand on the dashboard.
“This is nuts,” he said.
Swofford couldn’t agree more but said, “We have no choice.”
“Yeah?” Draven said. “Well you know what I think? I think that when I get up there this morning I’m going to find that the poor woman choked on her own tongue last night.”