Dee Henderson - The Witness

Amy hadn’t told him everything. He’d been a cop too long not to accept that and factor it into his thinking. She’d touched on the important points; he was reasonably sure the core of her story was in front of him, but the rest of the story she hadn’t said would be the worst part. It was human nature to tell the hard and painful stuff in order to try and create a barrier to keep from touching the deeper agonies. He accepted that reality because he had to and wondered who, if anyone, she’d ever talked to about the fullness of what had happened.

Fixing the problem wasn’t a reasonable expectation given what he’d heard; so what did he do with what she had told him? Luke walked for blocks, lost in his thoughts, and then retraced his steps.

Amy opened the hotel-room door for him when he knocked, and then she walked back across the room to where she was repacking her suitcase.

Luke closed the door and leaned against it, watching her. “Why haven’t you taken the money and disappeared with it yourself?”

She stopped to look over at him. “I see why you made deputy chief. You don’t miss much.”

“How much is there?”

“Just over twenty million.”

She folded a top and added it to the case. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve also thought about giving the money back to Richard to buy my freedom, but he’d just kill me for having taken the books in the first place. I’ve thought about tapping the cash so I could better disappear, changing my name again and again, disappearing into Europe somewhere with the best security money could buy.” She shrugged. “It’s blood money. Call it an oversensitive conscience or the fact I believe in heaven and hell. I take the cash, and I’m on a moral path I could probably never come back from-the money is too seductive.”

She opened a drawer in the dresser. “There’s the practical reality too. I’m a dollar sign for whoever finds me first, and with all the money or just part of it, I’d always be hunted as a means to the cash. I trusted a guy that turned out to be the bookkeeper for a criminal-my sense of self-protection hasn’t been very good in the past. I just want to be free again to start over. I’ve paid for my mistake for half a decade; it’s long enough. Another year and the cops will safely have everything I do. Freedom is worth more than any amount of money when it’s the one thing you don’t have.”

“Why did you tell me? You could have stopped anywhere along the way with less information or wrong information-enough to put me on a wrong track while you left town.”

“I made a choice.” She gave him a weary smile as she echoed his words of yesterday back to him. “I could have been dead in that shooting yesterday. If I die, those books, the account numbers, are gone for good. There are no fail-safes, no people who know bits and pieces, no lawyer holding an envelope with instructions on it for if I die. Over the years, that hasn’t bothered me because we were so far from the endgame. A lot of the people bribed in those records have been on the fast track to the top-I never thought they could be brought in. But the end is in sight now, and I’m not so comfortable having no backup plan.”

“So I’m your backup plan?”

“If I write that ‘if I die’ letter, I have to leave it in safe hands and address it to someone. Think about it hard for a couple months, if you want a lawyer holding a letter like that addressed to you. Just the existence of the letter could be life threatening. If they find me I’m under no illusions I will keep my mouth shut. They’ll get the location of the books from me. The day my body is found you get a letter, and now the both of you are racing to the same place. I personally wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of such a letter. But I’ll ask if you want to be and let you think about it long and hard.”

“The premise of it is your being dead-that doesn’t sit well.”

“I appreciate the vote of support.”

She’d been dealing with this on her own for years, and that convinced him more than ever that he was still missing some significant facts. She had to be balancing something else in her decision making to conclude that dealing with this alone was the only answer up to this point. How had the man she dated died? It wasn’t such an easy topic to probe. “Why me? Why not make arrangements to send the letter to the cop you’ve been passing information to?”

“He’s had a few years to think about twenty million.” She closed her suitcase. “Think about the offer.”

“You’re already regretting having made it,” he replied, knowing it was true.

She looked up in surprise, holding his gaze. “Yes, some. You have a good quiet life here, and I know better than you what it would mean if you got such a letter.” She slipped on her jacket. “I’m going to go rent a car, then buy a used one, and come back here for my things. You’ll do me the favor of not watching that happen or noting down the details on the car.”

He felt like he was losing something-a chance, maybe, to put things right for her. This wasn’t the way it should be ending tonight. “We’ll say good-bye here,” he agreed, not wanting it, but understanding it. His forty-eight hours were closing, and she was moving on.

She stopped in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Where are you going next?”

“Does it matter? West probably.”

It mattered terribly, but he couldn’t find the words to explain that. “You’ve got a new ID, a way to safely settle again?”

“It’s available with a call. I’ll make that contact from a state or two away from here.”

“If I need you for any reason, I’m running an ad for Ann Walsh in the New York Times Sunday classifieds. You’ll get in touch.”

“I can do that.” She rested her hand flat on his chest. “It’s important, Luke, the job you do. But this town needs you more than I do. Don’t be a hero just because you can be.”

“I’m an old cop for a reason, Amy. I know my limits and how to evaluate a risk.” She would be worth all those risks, if she’d trust him enough to let him help. But he knew he wouldn’t be convincing her to stay, and he didn’t try to fight a battle he knew he had already lost.

She stepped back with a nod. “Then I won’t worry about you.”

“Write that letter. And if you ever need my help or you just want to talk-” he scrawled two private numbers on his business card-“call me.”

She didn’t say yes; she didn’t say no, but she did put his card into her pocket. “Thanks, Luke.” She picked up the newspaper. “Give me five minutes before you leave, please.”

He nodded and she was gone.

“CHIEF.”

Luke Granger looked up from his call sheet to see Connor Black, one of his lead detectives in homicide, standing in the doorway to his office. Three years as the chief of police hadn’t made the days different: they still started with the officers who worked the cases no one wanted in their days. “Come on in, Connor. How’s the vacation going?”

“Too short, but I felt the need to stop in and see the state of my in-box. I got your message.”

Luke smiled. “One of the problems with being too curious about what is waiting for you on your return. Marsh isn’t due back for another couple days yet?”

“Monday, he said. He was taking his girlfriend skiing.”

“Then I’ll let you have first pass at this.” Luke searched his desk and handed over a thick file. “Résumés, to find us a replacement for St. James. I want your top five prospects and one recommendation after you do the interviews. If you don’t see a fit in that group, ask personnel to throw a larger net for the résumés.”