Found Money - James Grippando [133]
“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?