My home at 815 Gilpin is something of an oddity. The building itself is typical for the neighborhood, brick covered in stucco, with a tile roof that provides a distinctive Spanish look. The back yard, west of the house, is Cheesman Park, which was the City Cemetery until the 1890s, when it was no longer used as a burial ground. In 1907, the name was changed to honor a well-placed businessman named Walter S. Cheesman. After his death, his wife donated money to build a marble pavilion in his name. The structure, located close to the center of the park, resembles the Acropolis. The remains of thousands of unknown bodies are supposedly still buried under the green lawns of the park. Each one of them, no doubt, has a story of its own.
I acquired the house as part of a complicated settlement of one of the more extraordinary cases I ever handled. It was equipped with a fancy burglar alarm system. The former owner, who now spends his days at the state penitentiary in Cañon City, had apparently expected that someday he'd have to make a quick retreat. As a result, there is supposedly a secret passageway that originates in the back of one the storage closets in the basement. If it ever existed, it was covered with drywall. It would have had to head west, in the general direction of the pavilion.
Jana had insisted that we drive to her house, in a procession of two, where she gathered the things she expected to need while she was staying with me. She had a couple of electric timers on hand and, while she packed, I hooked them up--one to a lamp in the living room and the other in the bedroom.
It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when we arrived at Fort Larsen. We had zigzagged through town, communicating via our cell phones, to make sure nobody was following us. I drove past my house, instead of stopping, just to make sure that there were no strange vehicles in the vicinity. Seeing none, I pressed the button for the three-car garage door. The middle spot was occupied by the modified Lumina van that I generally used only for special occasions, the most notable of which had been finding a dead body near Georgetown. The third spot, on the far right, was vacant. Jana pulled her green Toyota into it and I glided the Audi into its usual space. As the electric garage door descended, we both shut off our engines.
When I unlocked the door to the kitchen, I entered the code into the burglar alarm keypad, letting Jana see the numbers so she would be able to disarm the system on her own. She let me carry one of her two suitcases, but she insisted on carrying the other.
The kitchen had been done in a pale yellow wallpaper by the former owner. Knowing what I did about him, I was certain he hadn't made the color selections. The decor was obviously the work of a professional decorator. It suited me fine so I had left it alone.
Jana followed me into the living room, which faced toward the park. "Nice," she commented, gesturing toward the big bay window.
Since it was night time, the curtains were closed. A small electric motor, operated by a light-sensor, made sure that the drapes were always shut after dusk. That was one of those touches installed by the former owner.
"Thanks," I said. I led the way up the stairs. As we passed the master bedroom, I said, "This is my room. You can use either one of the other bedrooms. It depends mostly on where you like the sun in the morning."
She wandered down the hall, stopping to look with a woman's eye into the east bedroom. "Not bad. Not bad at all. I'll take this one."
We deposited her suitcases in a corner of the room. An odd expression came over her. She seemed lost, as though the recent events had finally caught up with her. I knew her emotions had run a wild gamut over the past few days. There had been the shock of her father's sudden death, then all of the feelings that must accompany a suicide; now she was dealing with the knowledge that he had been murdered, and the fact that the killer or killers were out there, armed and dangerous, and that they might well be looking for her.
It was suddenly one of those awkward moments. Doing my best imitation of Wiggins, I said, "Will that be all, Madam?"
"Madam?" she demanded. "Who are you calling a madam?"
She grabbed one of the throw pillows off the bed and whacked me across the arm with it. Her voice sounded angry, but her eyes and lips showed playfulness. I knew she was just blowing off steam.
"Wrong thing to say?" I raised my arms to defend myself.
She whacked me again, this time a little harder. "Wrong thing to say!"
I grabbed for the pillow, which was raised for another attack. We grappled for it, both laughing now. She was strong, and we both kept increasing our pull on the pillow. Finally, we found ourselves at an impasse, standing face to face.
She stared at me for a moment. "Thank you for getting me through this, Adam Larsen."
Then she stepped forward and kissed me.
It was a long, lingering kiss. She pressed the entire length of her body firmly against mine without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. Suddenly, I understood the odd expression I had seen on her face. She didn't want to be alone. But it was more than just that. There was a hungry expression in her eyes--a deep, unabashed yearning which, her touch made clear, she was determined to satisfy. My mind flashed with doubts, with thoughts of Josie and the implications of becoming involved with Jana Deacon.
But this was no time for hesitation, no moment for debate. Jana took control, satisfying her desire fiercely and with no inhibitions. The first time was feverish and explosive; the encore was slow and deliberate.
When it was over, we were both breathless and completely exhausted.
* * * *
I awoke Wednesday morning to the sunlight streaming in through the drapes. It took me a moment to realize I was in my own spare bedroom. I had never slept there before. In the distance, I could hear the music playing on the clock radio in my room down the hall. The little electric clock on the nightstand said it was seven-thirty.
Jana was sleeping naked next to me, her amazing body pressed against mine. She looked peaceful and almost childlike, something very different than she had been the night before.
Mine had been a fitful sleep. Even though I'd been physically exhausted, my mind had refused to completely let go of consciousness. Something about the Emersons was nagging at me--like a brass ring that was just out of reach--and my brain kept trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
As I lay there, just enjoying the feel of a woman lying next to me, the telephone rang. "Hello?" I said into the receiver.
"Hi, Adam. Diana. We've got a situation."
"What sort of situation?"
"I've just arrived at the office. Somebody broke in last night. They forced the lock on the front door."
"Did they take anything?"
"I don't know. I haven't been inside. But I can see through the glass that the reception area is a mess."
"Stay put," I told her. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"What's going on?" Jana said sleepily, as I hung up.
"Someone broke into the office. I need to get down there."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Somehow, I sensed she wanted me to say no.
"Go back to sleep. I'll let you know what I find. Meanwhile, there's plenty of food in the kitchen, and exercise equipment in the basement. Needless to say, we're not expecting company."
"Okay," she mumbled.
I patted her in an inappropriate place and slipped out of bed.
* * * *
When the elevator deposited me on the top floor of the McGaa Building, Diana, Maurice and Ann were all standing in the hallway.
"What do you think, Maurice?" I said.
He took a close look at the door. The metal frame was bent, and the area around the lock had been forced forward. "Probably nothing fancy. Maybe just a very large screwdriver, then a crowbar. Maybe even the claw of a hammer."
I turned to Diana. "I guess we need to add an alarm system."
"Right," she said. "I'll make some calls. Do we call the police?"
"Not yet," I said. "Let's take a look around."
I led the way inside. The reception area looked like a tornado had hit. All the magazines were on the floor, the furniture overturned. Ann's office was the next in line as we moved down the hallway. Her desk top was completely empty. She always insisted on putting everything away before she went home at night. But someone had obviously gone through the file cabinet, and had dumped files all over the floor.
"I wonder what they were looking for," Ann said.
"Where are the Emerson files?"
"Not in that cabinet. They're locked in the bottom of my credenza."
"Well done," I told her.
We moved toward Maurice's office. It was a complete disaster. There were papers strewn haphazardly across the desk, and piles of files all over the floor.
In short, it looked the way it always did.
He said, "It doesn't look like they did anything in here."
"Who could tell?" Diana said.
Across the hall, I looked into the library. Books were all over the floor, but none of them seemed damaged. It was almost as though someone had just come through and made as big a mess as possible.
I led the way down to my office, expecting the worst. It was obvious that someone had gone through my desk. The top drawer was partially open, and someone had pawed through the small stack of files I'd left on the credenza. None of them had anything to do with the Emersons or Max Deacon.
"Nothing seems to be missing," I said.
"What do you make of this?" Diana said.
"I don't know. I had a rather eventful evening last night. God knows what sort of hornet's nest I've stirred up."
In my haste to leave home, I'd just brushed my teeth, thrown on clothes and rushed downtown. I suddenly realized that I needed to use the men's room. I normally wouldn't include this type of detail, but this time it matters. I had my own private half-bathroom, accessible only through my office, consisting of a toilet, a pedestal sink and a several storage cabinets. I excused myself, stepped inside, and switched on the light.
After I did what needed doing, I reached for the flush handle.
But something held me back. I just stood there, my mind flashed on something Andrew Emerson had said after our meeting with the union representatives--and I thought of his mother being blown into the hereafter.
And somehow, I just knew.
I bent down and inspected the water supply valve.
As I'd suspected, it was turned all the way to the right.
The water had been shut off.
I backed out of the room and turned toward my staff members. "Now we call the police."