James Grippando - Found money

“I’m sorry. I don’t. It’s horrible if it’s true. But why is it suddenly important?”

She scoffed, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because I’ve been wondering all my life why Mom would kill herself. This doesn’t explain everything, but it’s the only promising lead I’ve ever come across.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I talked to Ryan Duffy again. I think that’s why they sent me the money. I think his father raped my mother.”

Gram turned philosophical. “The price of easing a dying man’s conscience.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“I wish I could help,” said Gram.

“So do I. The people who definitely would know are all gone. Mom’s dead twenty years now. Grandma and Grandpa have been dead even longer. I don’t know if Dad would have known or not. I guess I was hoping you’d heard something from someone.”

Gram shook her head. “You and I are close, dear. We tell each other everything. But don’t let that give you a false impression of the relationship I had with your mother. It wasn’t a bad relationship. But basically, I was her mother-in-law.”

“I understand.”

“There must be another way to tackle this. When was the rape supposed to have happened?”

“Before Mom and Dad ever met. Sometime when she was a teenager, Ryan said.”

“Then that’s where you need to look. Go back in time. Check with people your mother might have confided in. Her classmates, her girlfriends.”

The word hung in the air, as if the mere mention of “girlfriends” had struck the same chord in both of them.

Gram asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Her eyes brightened. “Only if you’re thinking of Marilyn Gaslow.”

Ryan sat in silence amidst a seventy-inch television screen and surround-sound speakers that stood four feet tall. With all the electronic toys turned off, the media room was the ideal place in Norm’s huge house for a confidential conversation. It was soundproof with no windows, putting even the most paranoid at ease. In here, Norm had heard some of the most acoustically perfect confessions in the history of American criminal defense law — including one from Ryan eight years ago.

Tonight, however, Ryan had only Amy on his mind.

“Want a beer?” asked Norm.

Ryan was sitting on the couch, still shell-shocked from the full-blown explosion at the Halfway Cafe. “Huh?”

Norm took that as a yes and grabbed two from the minibar. He handed Ryan an open Coors and sat in the leather recliner facing the blank television screen. “Let’s hear it. Tell me what the mysterious Amy had to say.”

Ryan peeled the label on his bottle. “Not a whole lot. She was just… angry is the only way to describe it. Which is understandable. She thinks my father raped her mother.”

“So, let me get this straight. She knew her mother had been raped, but she didn’t know your father had done it?”

“No. I don’t think she knew anything about a rape at all. I implied that my father might have raped someone she knew. She inferred it was her mother. It was the age similarity, I guess. Her mom is dead, but she would have been about the same age as my father. When I asked if her mother ever lived in Boulder, she wouldn’t say. But I got the impression the answer was yes.”

“Too bad we don’t know Amy’s last name. We could check those old yearbooks from Boulder High School, see if your father and her mother were classmates.”

“Amy’s name isn’t the key. We need to know her mother’s maiden name.” Ryan sipped his beer, thinking. “You know, it might be worth a look at those yearbooks anyway. It’s a long shot, but maybe Amy looks like her mother. I might be able to pick her out.”

“You’re right. That is a long shot.”

“You got a better idea?”

Norm shrugged. “We can check them out tomorrow. The copies I made are photo-quality, so I don’t see any burning need to drive all the way to Boulder to check the originals.”

“I’d like to do it tonight. You want to go downtown?”

“They’re not in the office. My investigator has them. He’s still working on that background search of your father’s classmates, looking for the kid who grew up rich enough to pay five million dollars in extortion.”

“Call him. Maybe he can bring them by here. If I’m going to look for a woman who looks like Amy, I’d really like to do this tonight, while Amy’s face is fresh in my mind.”

Norm checked his watch. Not quite nine-thirty. “I guess it’s not too late to ask. He lives just a few minutes away from here.”

Ryan only half listened as Norm placed the call. He leaned back on the couch and waited. He noticed his reflection on the dark television screen. It was barely perceptible. Norm’s was even fainter, standing in the background and talking on the phone. It was a blurry image, yet in some ways it seemed clear. It was like watching himself from another time — deja vu on the big screen, taking him back to the last time he had sought advice from his friend Norm. It didn’t feel like eight years ago. Ryan was a resident at Denver General. A prominent professional athlete had checked into the hospital for surgery. Turned out he was HIV-positive. Back then, infected athletes worried about being banned from the playing field. His illness was a well-guarded secret. He’d told Ryan, as his doctor, to make sure it stayed a secret. He forbade Ryan to tell anyone — even the unsuspecting wife.

“All set,” said Norm. “My investigator will be here with the yearbooks in ten minutes.”

Ryan was still staring at the dark screen, not really focusing.

Norm snapped his fingers. “Hello, Earth to Ryan.”

He looked up, smiled with embarrassment. “Sorry. Spaced out for a second there.”

“Where’d you go?”

He sighed, not sure he wanted to tell. “Little time warp. I was just thinking about that time I came here ten years ago. Back during my residency.”

“Ah, yes. The night you began your descent into Purgatory Springs.”

“You mean Piedmont Springs.”

“No, I mean purgatory. That’s what it is for you, isn’t it? You work for hardly any pay, do good deeds for the needy little people of the world, earn your place back in heaven. Sounds like purgatory to me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. You and Liz were on the verge of having it made. Then poof, you walk away from it and go back to Piedmont Springs. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s not your fault that guy’s wife ended up with AIDS. The law prohibited you from telling anyone that your patient was HIV-positive.”

“Yeah,” he said with sarcasm. “I sure played that one right by the book.”

“I don’t know how else you could have played it. You had a duty to your patient.”

Ryan shook his head, exasperated. “Just like I have a duty to my dad, right? A duty of loyalty. I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut and tell no one his dirty little secrets, even the people who have the right to know.”

“I don’t think the two situations are quite the same. But even if they were, you went the other way this time. You told Amy about the rape.”

“Exactly. Last time I followed my technical duty right down the line. Which turned out to be a death sentence for an innocent woman. So this time I crossed the line. I put the victim ahead of my sense of duty. And it blows up in my face. Amy seemed totally shocked to find out her mother had been raped. Her mother obviously had never told her. Presumably, that was the way her mother wanted it. What right did I have to step in and upset her mother’s wishes?”

“These are tough dilemmas, Ryan. Both situations. Very tough.”