Lawyer Trap

29





DAY FIVE–SEPTEMBER 9

FRIDAY MORNING


Aspen found two new files on her desk when she arrived at her office—more dogs for the doghouse. She didn’t care. The worst day at work was still better than the best day in the unemployment line. She touched base with the lawyers who had dropped them off, calendared the due dates, and then concentrated as much as she could on pounding out assignments.

She hadn’t slept much last night.

That forced her to shore up with too much coffee this morning.

Plus Rachel’s death wouldn’t leave her alone. She kept getting a mental picture of someone sawing Rachel’s head off. On top of that, Jacqueline Moore hadn’t shown up yet to apologize in person.

She jumped when her phone rang.

Blake Gray’s voice came through.

“The cops are on their way over to interview you,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You sound stressed.”

She probably did but said, “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you come up to my office? We’ll get organized.”

When she got to his office, Blake was standing in the doorway talking to Jacqueline Moore. The woman saw her and said, “Sorry about last night. I have some personal stuff going on. I was wrong to unload on you.”

Aspen said, “No problem.”

Jacqueline hugged her around the shoulders and said, “I’m a bitch, but most of the time I’m a nice bitch. Yesterday things got away from me.”

“I understand.”

“We’ll do lunch and I’ll tell you some gossip to make up for it,” Jacqueline said.

Blake jumped in.

“Not about me, I hope.”

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Mostly about you.”

The talk continued, but Aspen paid only enough attention to react when she needed to. Instead, she savored the fact that everything had actually returned to normal. Maybe she really did have a long-term place with the firm after all.

Blake Gray’s office turned out to be slightly more than a desk and a credenza. It had a pool table, a wet bar, couches and chairs galore, plants, a treadmill, a fountain, and two old pinball machines—all pointed at an incredible view of the Rockies.

“This is just like my office,” Aspen said.

Blake laughed.

“Now you see why I can’t go back to Colfax.”

The walls held expensive modern art, except for the wall behind his desk, which was totally barren except for an old check framed under glass.

“That’s the check I told you about,” Blake said, “the one that bounced. My reminder of reality.”

She looked at it.

$182.53.

“Insufficient Funds” stamped in red ink.

“After getting that check,” Blake said, “I spent a lot of time figuring out how to not get another one.” He chuckled. “Of course, it did no good. We still take our share of hits.”

Five minutes later, Blake’s personal assistant escorted two people into the room. Aspen recognized the man—Nick Teffinger—from the news report, but wasn’t prepared for the live version. She took her eyes off him only long enough to glance at the woman, an attractive African American with a powerful body, professionally dressed, about Aspen’s age.

“Nice digs,” Teffinger said.

He focused on the pinball machines.

“I used to play a little when I was a kid,” he said, looking at Blake Gray. “If you want to make a wager, I’ll bet everything I own against everything you own.”

Blake grinned.

“I don’t own anything,” he said. “My bankers do. But I’ll bet everything that I owe against everything that you owe.”

Teffinger walked over to the machine, tested the flippers, and put a ball in play as he talked to Aspen.

“So tell me the story,” he said. “How’d you find her?”

Aspen talked while Teffinger and Blake vied for points. “It was no stroke of genius,” she said. “I knew the date that Rachel Ringer disappeared. It was at the top of my mind. When the news report came on about the other two bodies, who disappeared about the same time as Rachel, I just put two and two together. It was just a matter of one dot, and another dot, and a straight-line connection.”

Then she told him about how she ended up in the water and actually found the head.

“No one knows yet that the head was detached,” Teffinger said. “We’re keeping that close to the vest. Have you told anyone about that?”

She ran through her memory.

“No,” she said. “Just Blake.”

Teffinger nodded.

“Good. I’d appreciate it if you both kept it that way.”

Not a problem.

“That’s all I know,” she added. “It was just a fluke.”

Even though the ball was at the top of the board, Teffinger took his hands off the flippers and looked at her. “That’s not entirely true,” he said. “You heard that we found a fourth body too, right?”

She nodded.

That was true.

“And you know her name, don’t you?”

She swallowed.

“Well, I did happen to sniff around some news articles on the Internet,” she said, “to see if anyone else also disappeared in early April.”

“And?”

“A name did come up,” she said. “Catherine Carmichael.”

Teffinger was impressed.

“Bingo,” he said. “We haven’t confirmed it yet, but that’s who we think it is too. Again, keep that close to the vest.”

After Blake Gray soundly beat Teffinger three games in a row, they ended up on leather couches drinking coffee, where Teffinger learned that Rachel Ringer didn’t have an enemy in the world.

“Not even a little tiny one?” Teffinger asked.

“If you’re looking for tiny stuff that doesn’t really count,” Blake said, “she did have a minor personality conflict with another lawyer in the firm by the name of Jacqueline Moore.”

Aspen wasn’t sure, but Teffinger seemed to react to the name.

“Jacqueline Moore,” he repeated.

“But no more so than everyone else,” Blake added. “Jacqueline rubs some people the wrong way.” He turned to Aspen. “Right?”

Aspen almost agreed, but decided to be politically correct instead.

“She’s not so bad,” she said.

Teffinger looked at her and frowned.

“In hindsight,” he said, “I wish we hadn’t put your face on the news. Someone might think you’re a witness or a threat.” He handed her one of his business cards. “Just keep a lookout. If you hear any strange bumps in the night, give me a call.”

He turned to Blake Gray. “I’d like to look through Rachel’s emails.”

Blake put on a face as if he’d love to cooperate, but couldn’t. “They’ll be lots of attorney-client stuff in there,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll look through them for you and let you know if anything looks suspicious. I’ll do that this afternoon and call you by the end of the day.”

Teffinger shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll start like that.”

Five minutes later, just as they were about to break up, Blake Gray’s secretary buzzed on the intercom, apologized for interrupting, and informed Blake that he had an emergency phone call. Blake excused himself, walked over to his desk, picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

As he listened, his face grew serious.

He said nothing.

He only listened.

Then, at the end, he said, “I understand,” and hung up.