It was early afternoon by the time we arrived back in Cedar Valley. We grabbed lunch from a Greek deli and ate it in the station, at our desks. I barely tasted the pungent feta cheese and olives in my Greek salad; a ticking clock had perched itself on my shoulder and though I couldn’t explain it, I knew with every fiber in my being that we hadn’t seen the last of the bomber.
It was more than the fact that the thief stole more dynamite than was used in Caleb’s death. It was the sense that we were standing at the edge of a dark chasm, just beginning to see tiny pinpricks of light, of understanding, at the bottom.
We had a long way to go.
“He’s going to strike again, Finn,” I said around a mouthful of tomatoes. “He, or they, didn’t do all of this, the theft, the extensive planning it took to kill Caleb, only to disappear.”
Finn finished chewing his sandwich. “But when? And where? And what’s his objective? We should go back to the threats Caleb received. See if there’s anything there.”
“Maybe Jimmy has narrowed down the list of names I gave him.” I paged the intern and he appeared a few minutes later, a thick stack of reports under his arm.
“It’s like a tomb in that closet; I never see the sun. I love it but I’m turning into a vampire, I swear. So … I take it you want to know what I’ve found out so far?” Jimmy pulled up a chair and crossed his long, gangly legs. “There are some messed-up people in the world, are you aware of that? Yeah, yeah…’course you are. I checked all the names of defendants that went before Judge Caleb Montgomery during his tenure. I started with the county death records first and was able to eliminate maybe twenty percent. Then I looked at prison records; there’s another forty percent or so still incarcerated.”
“So … about forty percent of the men and women Caleb saw in his courtroom are both alive and out of prison?” I asked, thinking about the hundreds of names on my initial list.
“Well, it’s probably less, when you really think about it. I only checked Colorado state prisons and county records,” Jimmy replied.
“Of course. Which doesn’t tell us much.” Finn groaned. “If Joe Smith got arrested in Florida or died in Texas, we wouldn’t necessarily know about it.”
“Correct.” Jimmy nodded. “Unless you want me to run the names through the DOJ database. It will take some time … but it could shorten your list significantly. A lot of these guys, they don’t stay out of prison long.”
“Yes, please do, though I suppose the threats could have been mailed from anywhere, then routed through Boulder. Knowing Joe Smith is in a Florida jail doesn’t mean we can eliminate him,” I said.
Jimmy scowled. “It’s worse than that. What about family members? Just because Joe Smith is dead, maybe his son or wife sent those letters.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Good point. What if we’re on the right track and Caleb’s death is just the beginning? Think about how many people intersect with a single case during the investigation, trial, and sentencing: the arresting officer, other police personnel, the victims and their families, the judge, the court employees, the prison guards, even probation officers.”
“Until the killer strikes again, we’ll be searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Let’s put aside Montgomery’s former cases for a moment and do the same with his current legal practice.” Finn rolled his shoulders, exhaled. “We’ve been assuming the threats he received were related to his career, but let’s look at the man personally. What were his hobbies? Was he seeing someone? How did he spend his time?”
“If anyone knows, it’s Bull.” I called my grandfather, explained what we were interested in, and put him on speakerphone. Jimmy and Finn crowded in. “Okay, we’re all here.”
Bull cleared his throat. “What exactly do you want to know?”
I asked him the same questions Finn had posed. Bull was silent a long time, then finally said, “Well, let’s see. Caleb loved his work, he really did. He loved the law, loved the logic and the purity of it. I know that sounds strange, but he felt in this crazy world we live in, the law was steadfast, made up of principles a man could count on.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes and I remembered hearing he’d done a semester of law school at some point. The intern asked impatiently, “What about outside of work?”
“Caleb was a true outdoorsman. Fly-fishing was his great love, though he enjoyed hiking, playing cards, or settling in with a good British spy novel and a bottle of scotch,” Bull said. “Is that the sort of thing you mean? I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”
Bull sounded as though he were reciting the obituary of a beloved uncle. It was all true, but none of it helped our case.
“This is good stuff. But we’re looking for a motive for murder. You told me on the night Caleb died that you believed he was seeing someone.” I held my breath and crossed my fingers. “Do you know who?”
On the other end of the line, Bull sighed. “I don’t know. I may have been wrong, Gem. There was a spring in his step, if you know what I mean, the last month or so. Someone, or something, was making him smile.”
I thought a moment, then asked, “Could it have been a case? We’ve been unable to get into his current files. His paralegal is protecting attorney–client privilege. She’s offered to review them, see if anything jumps out, but to be honest, they sound like run-of-the-mill small-town issues. Contentious divorces, disputed wills, that sort of thing.”
“We rarely discussed work.” Bull’s voice sounded weary, frustrated. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t know anything else. For as close as I thought Caleb and I were, there’s a lot he kept private.”
“I understand. You’ve been helpful, Bull. I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call and sat back, stared at Jimmy and Finn. “Well? What do you think?”
Jimmy tapped a pen against his chin, leaving a small blue dot of ink behind. “There’s a woman. There’s got to be, I’m certain of it.”
I said, “Okay. I’ll play. Why do you think that?”
“Look, people kill for three reasons, right? Greed, passion, and power. That’s it. Let’s look at greed first. Who benefits financially from Montgomery’s death? His wife. But she’s already got the house and she doesn’t seem the type. Plus, from the sounds of it, the family money comes from her side, anyways. Let’s skip passion for a moment and examine power: again, who gains power from Montgomery’s death? The paralegal? One of his clients?” Jimmy paused a moment, looked at us for an answer, then quickly moved on. “I don’t think so; both the paralegal and his clients stand to lose the most, in fact, with his death. It would be a different story if Montgomery hadn’t retired; if that was the case, then I’d say a big red circle needs to go around Judge Gloria Dumont. But he was retired, and Dumont is on the bench, so she as well gains nothing from his death. Which leaves us with passion. He’s been messing around with the wrong woman. Maybe he wouldn’t marry her. Or he was going to end it. She stewed for a while, growing angrier and angrier. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She loved the judge, but if she couldn’t have him, no one could. So she arranged the hit.”
The intern paused again. He stared at me, then at Finn. “Well? How did I do?”
“I think I saw the movie. You should have stuck with law school; you spin a fine story,” Finn said, a patronizing look in his eyes. “Gemma, you want to take the first stab?”
I shrugged. “Why not. Here’s the thing, Jimmy. Passion can be born of love or hate. If Caleb was seeing someone, maybe the woman’s husband took him out. Or perhaps, as we’ve considered, this was an act of revenge, a killing born from absolute all-consuming hatred. Greed … with the right businesses in place, the potential property value on the south end of Main Street could be worth millions. There are developers who have been harassing homeowners and businesses for years, trying to get them to sell. Caleb and Edith Montgomery bought the house he used for his legal offices fifteen years ago as an investment property. And power? It’s the stickiest of your three motives. Power comes in many different shapes and colors, Jimmy, not the least of which is knowledge. What if Caleb was killed for something he knew? Some secret he’s protected all these years?”
Jimmy blushed and hung his head. I leaned over and patted his knee. “Hey … it’s a great start. And I agree, it sounds as though there might be a woman involved in this. But one of the things we have to do as detectives is keep our eyes open. Going into a case with only three motives in mind blinds us to other possibilities. Do you want to take a shot and see if you can track down Caleb’s possible lover? I’d start with the paralegal. Support staff know everything that goes in their bosses’ lives; she could tell you if he had frequent off-site lunches, or late meetings.”
The color faded from Jimmy’s cheeks and he sat up straighter. After a moment, he grinned and said, “Sure. I can do that. I would like to say, though, for the record, that all motives for murder really can be tied back to the three I listed. Just like there are only six core stories that make up all the literature in the world. We like to make things complex but at the end of the day, humans aren’t that complicated.”
Jimmy stood and ambled off to his closet. Finn smirked. “Where did we find this guy?”
I shrugged. “Where do we find any of our interns? They appear out of the blue and sell Chavez a story he can’t refuse. Our chief has the heart of a nun, Finn. He’s like Sister Maria from The Sound of Music with thousand-dollar loafers and fifteen rounds in a Glock 22.”
Finn burst out laughing. “Now there’s an image I’m not likely to forget for some time. But seriously, you really think a woman could be behind this murder? I know I threw Edith Montgomery’s name out there, but a car bomb detonated by a sniper’s rifle seems a bit out of character for the fairer sex.”
“You’re as bad as Jimmy. Talk about a narrow perspective. Women can be just as vicious, just as violent as men. Ever hear of Lizzie Borden?”
“Borden was acquitted.”
I tipped my head. “Still, she remains the prime suspect in the case. My point is yes, forensic psychologists have put together profiles that show significant differences between male and female killers. But there are always outliers, Finn. Always.”
Restless, I decided to go for a run. Between the long car ride to Bishop and back, and the fact that I’d been sitting in front of a computer for too long, I needed to move my body and get some fresh air.
I thought about what Moriarty had said, about Liv Ramirez needing a friend. He had given me her number and I sent her a text, asking if she was interested in joining me at a local trail. A few minutes later, her response came back: I’m in. Where?
I chose the path at the base of Lookout Mountain. It was a four-mile loop with a gradual incline, not too strenuous but enough to get the heart pumping and blood flowing. We agreed to meet there in thirty minutes. I changed in the station gym, swapping my jeans, sweater, and boots for black tights, a dark jersey, and running shoes.
Ramirez was already at the trailhead by the time I arrived and parked. She was warming up with a series of stretches and jumping jacks. Fuego sat patiently near a log, shooting excited glances every few seconds in the direction of the trail.
Ramirez laughed when she saw me: we wore identical outfits, even down to the bright red stripes on our shoes. “Thanks for the invitation. I haven’t spent nearly enough time out here as I’d like to.”
“Sure. I could use the exercise.”
She glanced at my bandaged hands. “What happened?”
“An unexpected half hour on a roof. It’s a long story. This is a loop; do you have a preference for starting east or west?”
The fire investigator glanced up at the sky, noting where the sun was. “East.”
The trail was wide enough to allow us to run side by side. After a few minutes, Ramirez gasped, “The altitude is crap.”
I huffed alongside her, my own breath coming in hitches. I noticed Fuego didn’t seem to have any problems whatsoever; he kept pace with us just fine. I couldn’t imagine my own dog, chubby Seamus with his squat legs, even attempting such a feat. He’d take one look at the trail and turn tail to head back home.
Another shallow breath. It really had been too long since I’d done this; trail running was vastly different than jogging on the station’s treadmill. “You get used to it, but it never gets easier.”
Ramirez glanced sideways at me, taking in my labored breathing. “No kidding. So what’s the story on your partner?”
“Finn? He’s an arrogant man with a heart of gold and a mouth that runs faster than his brain sometimes. A ladies’ man through and through.” I remembered what he’d said about marriage earlier and added, “From what I understand, he’s not looking for anything serious.”
“Who is? So you two, you’re not…?”
I snorted. “No. Definitely not. I’m getting married in a few weeks. Finn and I are strictly work partners. That’s all.”
We came to a bend where the trail narrowed and a momentary spurt of competitiveness shot through me. I sprinted ahead of Ramirez, catching her by surprise. I went through the narrows first, then slowed until she caught back up with me, Fuego a few feet behind her.
“Hundred meter?”
I shook my head. “No, cross-country. I was a speedy little kid, but I didn’t enjoy it. I like taking in the scenery. That’s why I love working on cases. Fast answers are great for closing investigations, but I enjoy the hunt. Putting the clues together, finding and eliminating suspects.”
“High jump was my baby. I like heights. I never did enjoy playing it safe.”
Two miles in, we caught up to an older couple using walking sticks to carefully pick their way amongst the boulders, rocks, and muddy crevices. They heard us coming and moved to the side. As we ran past with a thanks and wave, I heard the woman mutter, “Crazy girls.”
Another twenty minutes and we were almost done when Ramirez suddenly gasped. She darted to the edge of the trail and looked down at a steep, rocky embankment. A narrow sliver of icy water flowed over the rocks and came to a stop a hundred feet down in a small, nearly frozen pond.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s sights like this I missed when I was in the desert. Ice … ponds. Forests.”
Fuego whined and gave Ramirez’s pants leg a quick tug. She laughed. “Am I too close to the edge, buddy? You big worrywart.” Instead of stepping back, she leaned forward, her toes on the very edge of the ravine.
Even I was uncomfortable with how close she was. “Liv…”
“Shhhh. Do you hear that? It’s the sound of adventure, Detective.” Another step closer, her toes now totally off the edge. She closed her eyes and inhaled. I waited, my own breath caught in my throat.
Finally, Ramirez stepped back, opened her eyes, and smiled. “Ready?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure what I’d just witnessed, if there was a daredevil side to the fire investigator or if she literally just liked to live life on the edge. We finished the run and came to an easy, gradual stop at the trailhead. Ramirez walked in tight circles while I leaned forward and rested my hands on my thighs, careful not to put too much pressure on the wounds on my palms. Even Fuego walked in small, tight circles, shaking off the last of his adrenaline.
“Man, that felt good. I needed some speed today.” Ramirez threw a leg up on the fender of her truck and stretched forward. “Thanks again for the invitation.”
“You’re welcome. We should do it again sometime. To be honest, I’ve been a little reluctant to hit the trails by myself lately. There was a mountain lion attack a few months ago. The hiker survived, but Fish and Game was never able to track the cat.” I grabbed a water bottle from my trunk and chugged it down. “Something about knowing he’s out there gives me the spooks.”
“Not me. I’d rather deal with a wild animal than a human any day of the week,” Ramirez said. She peeled off her sweat-soaked jersey, exposing a tanned and toned stomach, and replaced it with a fleece sweatshirt. Shivering, she yanked the hood up over her head and whistled for Fuego to jump in the truck. She climbed in after him and rolled down the window. “Next time let’s get a beer after, okay?”
“It’s a deal.” I followed her out of the parking lot, then we went in different directions, me headed up the canyon, Liv headed south to her rental above Lou Moriarty’s garage.
As I walked in the front door of my house, I smelled jerk chicken. I found Brody and Grace in the backyard, Brody grilling the chicken alongside corn on the cob and slices of squash, and the baby, bundled up in a warm jacket and hat, playing in her sandbox. It was that magical time of day, dusk, when the sky is soft and the blackness of night not yet fallen.
“I thought we’d get in one more barbecue before the weather changes for good,” Brody said. “I picked up a six-pack of that hard pear cider you like. And I dropped the deposit off at the Tate. So don’t get cold feet, or you’ll cost me a thousand bucks.”
“No cold feet here.” I picked up the baby and squeezed her tight. Her cheeks were rosy and cool to the touch. “Did Grace eat?”
“Yes. She’s ready for her bath, I’ll keep dinner warm until she’s in bed.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Come on, sweet pea, ready for a bath?”
“Ya,” Grace replied in that funny little voice of hers.
I let Grace play in the tub longer than usual, enjoying the sight of her smashing bubbles and throwing the assortment of colorful plastic toys around in the water. After, I dressed her in footed fleece pajamas and turned the thermostat up a few degrees. There are not many things sweeter than a clean baby, scrubbed pink, in a pair of footed fleece pajamas. We lingered over bedtime stories and a cup of warm milk, then I reluctantly put her down for the night.
As I crept out and gently closed her door, I was grateful to have this precious time with her. Already she was quick to change her mind about affection, sometimes leaning in for cuddles, other times asserting her independence. I choked back unexpected tears at it struck me again just how fast this was all going. Though Grace had been a surprise, she’d had our hearts since the moment we first saw her on the ultrasound, and motherhood was quickly becoming my most favorite role.
Though night had fallen and the air was again chilly, Brody and I added a few more layers, then ate outside at the picnic table on the back porch, a couple of candles illuminating the darkness. It was romantic, like camping, and I wondered why we didn’t do it more often.
Content, Brody sipped his cider and leaned back. “Want to watch a scary movie? TMC is still showing horror movies, twenty-four hours a day.”
“You hate horror movies.”
He shrugged. “They’re kind of fun. I bought caramel corn … and roasted tamari pumpkin seeds…”
I sighed. “You realize I have a wedding dress I need to fit into in less than a month, don’t you?”
“You’re perfect. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
We watched Friday the 13th and though it was nice to snuggle up, my mind was a million miles away. By the time the movie ended, though, I was surprised to find myself more than a little spooked. As we dragged ourselves up the stairs to bed, my eyes saw masked men in every shadow, their only goal to stab at me, over and over again, until I was no more.