Stephen White - Cold Case

"The what?"

"The white van that drove away behind me? They think they found it in a grocery-store parking lot not far from here" She was scribbling, "King what?"

"King Soopers-two o's-it's a supermarket chain."

"Guy must have switched cars in the lot. Smart. I gotta go." She stuffed her pencil back into her bag.

"I'm staying at the Giorgio. You know where that is?"

"No."

She shrugged and laughed.

"Me neither. I hope there's somebody around here who can give me directions."

Near sunset, Lauren sat down beside me on the deck outside our bedroom. There are two decks that face the mountains on our house. One is outside the living room dining room; the other is off our new master bedroom. She had already made me dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. Now she handed me a cognac on ice. I was being pampered. We waited until the sun finished its lazy decline behind the Continental Divide, enjoying the show. She said, "Pretty sunset." For a hundred miles to the north and to the south the clouds were lighting up like coral.

"Gorgeous," I agreed.

"Hon?"

"Yes" "You should have asked for an attorney. Right away." The tone she employed was less scolding than her words.

"If you were questioning me, you wouldn't have wanted me asking for an attorney."

"My point exactly."

"I didn't do anything."

"I wish that mattered more often than it does." She started rubbing my neck with her left hand.

"I'm just glad you're okay. Were you scared?"

"Terrified. More for that reporter from the Post than for myself, though. She was right in the line of fire." I sneezed suddenly, which startled both of us.

She blessed me.

I said, "Right after? You know what was going through my mind? I was thinking about the baby. As soon as that van drove away, my first thought was of the baby. I don't want anything bad to happen to any of us. You know? You have those feelings sometimes?"

She touched my arm.

"I know. Yes, I do. Frequently."

I was startled again as one of the French doors that led to the deck outside the living room opened. We weren't expecting any guests. Reflexively I jumped up and shielded Lauren's abdomen with my body.

"You guys out here? Hey, there you are." Sam Purdy stepped out on the deck.

"Didn't hear Emily barking, was afraid you weren't home. You really should lock your doors." "Hi Sam," I said.

"You scared me."

"I knocked. I said 'yoo-hoo." Hi Lauren. How's the baby? You're feeling just fine, I hope."

"Good, Sam. Thanks. How're Simon and Sherry?"

"Simon's Simon. Kid just breezes through life. Sherry's working too hard.

People die, people want flowers. People get married, people want flowers.

Economy's good, people want flowers. And it's Boulder, so she can't get good help. Hey, where's the dog?"

"Over visiting Jonas across the way. They're becoming pretty tight with each other."

Sam eyed the four-foot expanse that separated the two decks.

"Tell Jonas he has to learn to share. I'm not giving up any claims to Emily."

He pointed at the deck we were on.

"So how do I get from here to there?"

Lauren was afraid Sam was going to climb, or worse, try to jump.

"How about we join you over there. That deck's larger. Get you a brandy, Sam?"

"You got beer? Last time I was here you gave me one with a trout on the label.

I liked that."

"Of course."

Sam Purdy was a detective with the Boulder Police Department. Years ago we met over a case, as adversaries. It had taken a while, but he'd become one of my best friends. We saw eye to eye on almost nothing in life, but it didn't seem to matter. He liked guns, rodeos, fishing, porterhouse steaks, the Milwaukee Brewers, and hockey. I could live with hockey. But I was an advocate of gun control and American Humane, didn't understand piercing fish cheeks with metal spikes for recreation, was trying not to eat much beef, and could never remember what sport the Brewers played.

Still, I'd trust Sam Purdy to help deliver my baby.

Lauren walked to the kitchen to get Sam his Odell's porter. After I had woven through the house to the living room, I found my friend still standing at the rail on the deck. He said, "Heard through the grapevine that you were out dodging bullets today." Hearing it said out loud, I shivered.

"You heard right. As a recreational activity, all I can say for it is that it ranks well ahead of needing to dodge bullets and not quite pulling it off. I've been thinking about what Winston Churchill said-"Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result."

"I like that-there's definitely some truth in that. Case you're wondering, I made a call for you. The two victims are going to be fine. Both just lacerations from the ricochets. Ones already been released from the hospital.

The other one got a fragment in the eye. Nothing serious."

"That's good. Neither of them was Welle, right? Nobody at the scene would tell me."

"No, Welle wasn't even in the vicinity. He was still inside the building. So what were you doing there? At Welle's fund-raiser? You turning over a new political leaf? Something I might actually endorse?"

Politics was another one of those areas where Sam and I didn't exactly see eye to eye.

"Hardly. I needed to talk with Raymond Welle about an old case of his. I had an appointment to meet with him before the reception that he was at when everything went crazy."

"What? You were talking to him about a psychology thing?" I vacillated for a fraction of a second before I said, "Yeah," and knew that my brief hesitation wouldn't escape Sam's scrutiny.

"But not just a psychology thing?" he asked.

I said, "Remember A. J. Simes?" I knew he did. Sam had been intimately involved in helping Lauren and me sort out the mess with A. J. and her partner the previous year.

"Sure."

"She called recently and asked for my help investigating an old case she's working on. My role involves talking to Welle."

He lowered his elbows to the deck railing, leaned over, and cupped his chin in his palms.

"Is it Locard business?"

I exhaled audibly and shook my head a little before turning to face him.

"How the hell do you know about Locard?"

He laughed, and I felt the day's tension begin to tumble from my musculature.

"I checked her out for you last fall, if you recall. A. J.? You wanted some background research."

"Oh yeah."

"When I turn over rocks, I'm thorough. So is it Locard business that you're helping her with?" I nodded. He asked, "What's the case?"

"Two teenage girls were murdered up near Steamboat Springs in 1988. Place called the Elk River Valley Their bodies stayed hidden all winter. Were found during the spring thaw."

It obviously rang a bell.

"I think I remember that. The snowmobile thing? That one?"

"Yes"

"I do remember it. Weren't they mutilated or something? What's the connection to Raymond Welle?"

Again, Sam noticed my hesitation. He said, "A. J. asked you not to talk to me about all this, didn't she?"

"Not in so many words, Sam." I decided right then that I wasn't going to keep him in the dark.

"Welle used to be a psychologist in Steamboat. You knew that?"

He nodded.

"When Welle was still in practice he treated one of the two murder victims in psychotherapy. This was back when he was just a clinician, before his radio fame and political fortune."

I guessed that Sam was still working on trying to figure out two things. One, why A. J. didn't want him to know about me being involved in Locard. Two, why the hell A. J. thought I could be of any help.

Sam asked, "So, did you have your meeting? With Welle?"

"Yes. We talked before all the fireworks."

He examined his fingernails and half-jokingly he said, "You wouldn't want to tell me what he said."