He asked for the DA, Littlejohn, but was told he was in Denver for the day. ADA Adams was around, but at the courthouse. He should be back in an hour. Hauck told the receptionist he’d wait.
He stepped outside. He took out his phone and dialed up Chuck Watkins. The farmer’s wife called him in from the fields. She told Hauck she’d tried to keep her husband resting, but he just kept insisting he was perfectly okay. Hauck was glad to hear he was back at work. After asking Watkins about his arm, Hauck asked him, “Did you have that conversation we spoke of with your friends?”
Watkins said he had.
“And are they back in?”
“Some. Maybe.”
“What about you?”
The farmer paused. “I guess between my land, my son, and a little dignity, there’s not a whole lot more left these bastards can take from me.”
“So I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” Hauck said.
“I expect you will.”
“You know, maybe it would be best to have your wife go and stay with your daughter in Greeley for a few days. The minute they get word of this, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Funny, she was just asking about going there,” the farmer said with a full understanding of what Hauck meant.
“I’ll be seeing you soon.”
The hour passed and finally a young ADA finally stepped out of the elevator, a thick messenger briefcase slung over his shoulder, accompanied by a female colleague, who had an armful of files.
Hauck got up. The ADA looked just a few years out of law school. Hauck had stopped by before he left the first time up there and was told that none of the crimes were committed in his jurisdiction. “I thought I told you I would discuss what you said with my boss and if there was anything to discuss further, we’d be in touch,” Adams said.
“What you said was to come back when there was something to follow up on that happened in your jurisdiction.”
“And …?” The ADA looked exasperated.
“Something has.”
The prosecutor excused himself and led Hauck into his small, cramped office, stacks of briefs piled high on the desk and credenza. He dropped his satchel on his desk and tossed a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup into the trash. “Okay.” He motioned Hauck into one of the two chairs in front of him. “Let’s hear what you have.”
“The last time I was in I was with my niece, Dani. Actually, my goddaughter.”
“I remember.” Adams nodded.
“She was abducted yesterday afternoon. In Templeton. In the café on Main Street.”
Adams showed surprise. “Abducted …?”
Hauck took him through what had happened. From being chased through town and picked up off the street, forced into the car and bound, then thrown into the water storage tank. How the conduits to the river were opened and she had to make her way through them against the flow, and how she’d come within an inch of drowning.
The young ADA’s eyes widened.
“It was only by a miracle she made it out. I found her on the riverbank. This all happened about the same time someone took a couple of shots at me on Charles Watkins’s farm. I’d say mine was a pretty lucky escape as well—not quite as lucky for Mr. Watkins, who was hit in the shoulder. But I’m only here to focus on Dani’s situation right now.”
“You’re saying all this happened yesterday?”
Hauck nodded.
“Did either of you file a complaint with the police?”
“I’m going to give that question a little more credit than it probably deserves.” Hauck forced a smile. “Given the circumstances, I felt pressing a case against them from here was the last thing that was in her best interests.”
Adams nodded, giving the impression that he understood, slumping back in his chair. “So where is she now?”
“Safe. She said she’d be happy to give you a full deposition of what took place. If it was brought to trial I’m sure she’d be delighted to come back and testify. With some assurances, of course.”
“You mean that we’d prosecute?”
“And adequate protection,” Hauck said.
Adams tapped his fingers against his desk and nodded. “You said you only wanted to focus on Ms. Whalen’s situation. Why?”
“Because she can identify who did this to her. The two people at the water facility were a John Robertson of Alpha Group, who, by the way, was the same person I described last week who was on the river in Aspen at the time Mr. Watkins’s son was killed.
“The other was a Randall McKay, also of Alpha, who I believe is Mr. Robertson’s boss.”
Adams made some notes. “We’ll have to hear her story in full, of course, before we could even contemplate taking this further. And I’ll need to discuss this with my boss.” The pallor on his face seemed to say that he was unsure whether this was the case of a lifetime or the one that was going to cut short his once-promising career. Hauck wondered where the next position could be, a place lower down the rung than Greeley.
“Just to be clear,” Hauck said, remembering what Jen Keeler had told him, “isn’t RMM a contributor to Mr. Littlejohn’s last campaign?”
“This isn’t the Wild West, Mr. Hauck.” The ADA grew annoyed. “No matter what you think.”
Hauck got up. “You claimed that your office wasn’t beholden to anyone, Mr. Adams. Here’s your chance to prove it.” He took out a card from his wallet. “Here’s how to reach me.”
He thanked the ADA for his time. He hadn’t come here expecting anything more. In fact, he had gotten exactly what he came for.
Within the hour, about as long as it took for Adams to reach his boss’s ear, he figured what he’d told them would get to RMM.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
His next stop was at Jen Keeler’s. There was a staff meeting going on inside, but when she heard Hauck was in the office she stepped out.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, her eyes indicating it was true. “I heard you had some trouble up at Watkins’s farm the other day. Everyone had the impression you had gone.”
“I’m not so easy to be rid of,” Hauck joked. “Anyway I hear he’s doing okay.”
“He’s a tough one,” Jen said. “So what brings you back?”