“You’ll learn what you’re up against,” Cody said in a way that gave me no confidence.
There were a few uncomfortable beats of silence. Brian broke it, saying, “Garrett is the one, Melissa. Garrett’s got to have some kind of history if he comes off the way you two describe him. I mean, you say he exudes evil, and he shows up to night with a gangbanger. Maybe if we found out more about Garrett, we could convince a court he’s absolutely not father material, despite what Judge Daddy says.”
Cody nodded. “Might be tough, though. If he’s got a juvie record, it could be sealed.”
“To a detective?” Brian asked, smiling wickedly. “To the star maverick detective who got fed up with working with the feds and finally arrested the Monster? I bet that detective has ways to take a look at the file.”
I cautiously checked Cody out. I didn’t want to pressure him.
“I’ll make some discreet calls,” he said. “But I’ve absolutely got to stay away from any kind of investigation of the judge himself. I’ve got to stay completely clean. Can you imagine what would happen to me and the department if word got out I was investigating a sitting judge on my own? Shit, I’d get sent back to Montana or worse.”
Brian shuddered. The last place he ever wanted to go was home.
“Okay then,” Brian said, a gleam in his eye, slapping his knees. “We have a plan and less than a month to implement it. I’ll find out what I can about the judge, Cody will check on the kid. Jack and Melissa, you keep doing what you’re doing. Hire a good lawyer and fight the bastards as long as you can. In the meanwhile, I think you should swear out a complaint against Garrett and Luis for that stunt they pulled here to night.”
Cody held up his hand. “If you do that, you can’t implicate me in any way. And I think it’s a stupid idea.”
“Why?” Brian said, hurt.
Melissa jumped in. “We don’t want to antagonize Garrett. Not yet. We want to try and win him over first.”
Brian looked at me with a what-can-you-do? look.
WHEN BRIAN AND MELISSA went upstairs to look in on Angelina, Cody came out of the kitchen with another beer.
“You sure you want that?” I asked. “You’ve got to testify tomorrow, right?”
Cody shrugged and popped the top. “We’re going to nail that Coates son of a bitch. We’ve got the Monster of Desolation Canyon dead to rights. I’m not worried, even though the feds are mad at me for breaking it. But I do hope the judge didn’t recognize me in front of your house. If he knows we’re friends…”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Cody took a long pull off the beer, and we sat in silence for a few moments. Then he leaned forward and spoke softly to me. “I know Brian means well, but… well, I can see him running his mouth to all his society friends. They’ll eat this up. And if Judge Moreland hears about a concerted effort to dig up dirt on him or his son, he might really lower the boom on you two-and maybe me.”
“Meaning what?” I asked, a little angry.
“Maybe he takes back his offer to get you another baby. That’s a pretty generous offer, Jack.”
“Melissa would never consider it, Cody,” I said. “Neither would I.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to get the best deal you can, is all I’m saying. You know I’ve got a son of my own, right?”
“What?”
Cody wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Yeah-the result of a little drunken tryst up in Fort Collins when I was working undercover. A barmaid name of Rae Ann. She’s married now to her second husband, but I send her money for little Justin every month. On my salary it’s a hit, but what ever.”
“You never told us,” I said.
He shrugged. “It happens. But that’s not my point. My point is Justin and I are getting close now that he’s turned six. Those first five years he was just a baby. He could have been any baby, to be honest. Now he’s a real person, you know? He likes baseball and rocks. But for those first five years, he was just kind of a little fat… thing. Babies aren’t people until they grow up, is what I’ve learned.”
I shook my head. “I don’t follow.”
He killed the beer. “I guess I’m saying for a man, babies are babies. You could get another one, and she’d grow up to be a person. Hell, maybe you’d love her more than you love Angelina now. You just don’t know. If you have the chance to get another baby, you and Melissa will raise a winner, is what I’m saying.”
I saw a flash of red in front of my eyes. “Cody, I think it’s late, and you’re drunk. So shut up. Now.”
He raised his hand, “I’m just saying…”
“I know what you’re saying. Stop it. It’s not an option.”
“You might want to give it some thought, Jack.”
“It’s not an option.”
He started to argue more when Melissa and Brian appeared on the stairs.
“Enough,” I cautioned Cody.
“Okay,” he said. “So, will I see you tomorrow?”
At that moment I didn’t care if I ever saw Cody again.
“Call me,” Brian said to Melissa as he hugged her goodbye.
“I will,” she said. She was as exhausted as me, and showing it. Tears welled again in her eyes.
“Too bad we can’t just call Uncle Jeter to take care of things.” Cody laughed. “He’d love to drive down here and kick some ass.”
I smiled at the thought. Jeter Hoyt was a legend when we were growing up in Helena. One of the reasons no one ever touched Cody, Brian, or me was because Jeter Hoyt was Cody’s uncle, and stories about him were the kind told only in furtive whispers after the storyteller had glanced over his shoulder to see who was in the room.
When they were gone, Melissa said, “You have some good friends.”
I said, “We have some good friends.” I didn’t tell her what Cody had said.
WE’D BEEN IN BED AN HOUR. Melissa had tucked the covers around Angelina and whispered something to her that didn’t come over the monitor. Our daughter’s sleeping breath provided the sound track in our room. I was sleeping fitfully.
AT 4:00 A.M. I heard the burbling sound of a motor cruising by on the street. I recognized it as Garrett’s car.
I imagined him out there with Luis, looking at our house as they crawled by, the photo between them on the seat.
Monday, November 5
FIVE
ANGELINA WOKE US UP very early Monday morning, but in the most pleasant way possible.
“Listen to her,” I said. “She’s singing.”
“It’s not really a song,” Melissa said. “She’s just happy.”
We listened to Angelina coo and say nonsense words over the monitor. Melissa’s face, as she listened, was a picture of momentary serenity.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked Melissa.
“Not much,” she said.
“Me either.”
THE COURTROOM OF JUDGE John Moreland in the Alfred A. Arraj United States Court house on 19th Street was spacious and blond- wood paneled and lit with recessed lighting that created an atmosphere of serious decorum. I got to the crowded courtroom and found a seat in the second-to-last row, just in time to see Detective Cody Hoyt take the stand. Large faded murals done in the Depression era depicting Colorado history-silver and gold miners, railroaders, Pikes Peak-lined the walls. The scenes reminded me that Colorado had a go-go, get-rich-quick beginning that was being replicated by the most recent wave of newcomers-like me-who came here not because of family ties or culture but because there was opportunity.
The acoustics inside the courtroom were amazing. Despite the size of the room and the number of spectators, I could hear the muffled clicking of the court reporter’s fingers on her keyboard from her desk near the bench, the shuffle of paper as the Assistant U.S. Attorney reviewed her notes on a yellow legal pad, and the labored breathing of the defendant, Aubrey Coates, forty-three, accused of the kidnapping, sexual assault, and murder of Courtney Wingate, age five, who went missing from a playground area at the Desolation Canyon Campground where Coates was employed as a campground host. Because the campground was located within a national forest, the trial was taking place in federal court.