Stephen White - Cold Case

Welle was sitting with his back to the front door and to his study. It was clear that he didn't realize I wasn't alone.

"Sylvie let me in."

"Did she? Under what pretense? I doubt this visit is covered by the search agreement I signed with Locard." He laughed.

"Makes no real difference. Sylvie didn't know I was coming in to the ranch. I didn't arrive from Washington until almost two. From my point of view, the situation is quite simple-you are a burglar. Or maybe even an assassin. You do know there have been recent attempts on my life, don't you?" He smiled at the irony.

I didn't like the direction of the conversation. I said, "Phil Barretts dead.

Ray. That's why I'm here."

"What? What do you mean Phil's dead?" He squirmed on his chair, squared the gun at my chest.

"You know the blow down on the Routt Divide?"

"Yeah. What about it? I had to pressure the Forest Service to allow salvage crews up there to clear some of those trees. Reduce the spruce beetle problems and the fire hazard. Why?"

"Phil died up there earlier tonight. Somewhere in the middle of the blow down A bunch of trees slid, one of them fell on him and crushed him."

"Fell on him? What was he doing up there at night in the first place?"

"Trying to cover his tracks. He killed those two girls, Ray. Mariko and Tami?

Phil killed them." I stared at him, trying to gauge from his reaction whether or not the words I had just spoken constituted news to him. I couldn't tell. I continued, "The girls died in your bunkhouse. Phil was having an affair with Cathy Franklin. Her daughter walked in on them. Things got out of hand."

He didn't react right away. When he finally spoke, he asked, "This happened right here on the ranch? No, I don't believe it." I thought his protest was a few degrees shy of convincing. He paused, thinking about something.

"So was it Phil who torched the bunkhouse? That was his doing?"

"I'm not totally sure. Phil denied it. If I had to guess I'd say it was Cathy who set the fire. She actually admitted to the killings, though. And she's the one who implicated Phil."

"Cathy did that?" He shook his head.

"Helped kill her own daughter? I thought she loved that girl. How does a mother do that?" He appeared to get lost in contemplation and I wondered if he was looking for a new theme to use on the campaign trail. The gun barrel wavered a few degrees. If he'd fired it right then it would have missed me.

"You know that Phil was pretty desperate for me to rescind the agreement I signed allowing the Locard people to search the ranch.

That's why I flew back here tonight, to work all that out with him. Congress is still in session. I really should be in Washington right now. But… I guess he figured you boys were about to find something that would point a finger at him about those killings." Ray continued to seem pensive. I guessed that he was trying to figure out exactly how much I knew about what. My best strategy for staying alive involved not helping him with his quest.

He asked, "So is Cathy dead, too? Another tree fall on her?" He wasn't trying to disguise his suspicion about my story.

"No trees fell on Cathy, Ray. But yes, she's dead, too."

"You kill her?"

I shook my head.

He nodded as though he understood something. I couldn't guess what.

"But the killings. It was just her and Phil? Doesn't go any farther. Dell?"

"Dell didn't know."

The politician in him had started calculating the impact of these developments on his self-interest.

"With these confessions in place-Phil's and Cathy's-I imagine Locard's work on this case is done, finished. The rest of the search of the ranch won't have to take place tomorrow, will it?"

"I imagine not, but it's not my decision."

His shoulders sagged. He rested the handgun on his knee.

"Well, it is up to me.

I'll just put an end to it myself. Nonetheless, this will be a circus for the press. Phil dead. Ancient murders on my ranch. A member of my staff involved. I think I'd better get on back to Washington. I don't want to be held captive here at the Silky Road when the media craziness starts percolating over what Phil once did. I'm going to need some professional help with this from my press people."

"If you shoot me you won't be going to Washington for a while, Ray. There'll be a few questions." He yawned. I fought not to mimic him. The room had brightened further with the advancing dawn. The brightness was disconcerting; I still wanted to sleep.

"Who knows all this?" he said.

"What you just told me? About the girls and Phil and Cathy?" I didn't want to answer truthfully. I said, "A lot of people know. Phil had lured all of the Locard people up to the blow down They all know. Why don't you just let me go? You won't have the satisfaction of killing me, but it will be much less messy for you than the alternative."

"You may well be right about that. But the truth is that this opportunity may be too good to pass up. See… there's that other problem."

I was surprised.

"What other problem is that?"

Some flaky sleep in the corner of one eye was bothering Welle. He scratched at it with the nail of his pinkie.

"I don't especially appreciate all the questions you've been asking people about Gloria. My wife? You had that boy's uncle send me a letter wanting to see the records from Brian Sample's old psychotherapy, right? That wasn't a good idea on your part, didn't sit right with me. That's one sleeping dog you should have just let lie."

I recalled Sam's warning to me after the incident at the tennis house in Denver.

"Tell you what, Ray-since it bothers you, I'll stop asking."

He laughed.

"I wish it were that easy. But I don't think you'll stop. Why? I don't think you like me. I don't think you like my politics. I don't think your wife liked having me in her fancy family. Yeah, I know all about your wife. You know what else? I don't think you even like having me in your sanctimonious profession. I don't think either of you wants to have me in the Senate. So, no, I don't think you'll stop pestering. You'll just keep digging and picking at it.

Won't let Gloria rest until you make something tragic look like something sinister."

"You have my word. I'll stop."

"Sorry." He wasn't. I could tell. The gun came back up off his knee.

I argued.

"You can't stop the questions by killing me. There are others who know everything I do."

He narrowed his eyes and rubbed the stubble on his chin with his free hand. The sound was audible.

"I don't think so. Some of this-the part about Gloria-only another psychologist would figure." He stood up.

"Now you get up, too. It won't look good to shoot you while you're sitting on the sofa."

I stayed where I was and reviewed my options. I could yell for help from Kimber.

Ray would probably consider it a diversion and shoot me anyway. The possibility also existed that Kimber remained so incapacitated by his panic attack that he might prove to be of no help. Either way I didn't see how it was going to increase the odds of my survival.

I could run for it and hope Ray was a lousy shot. An errant gunshot would probably rouse Kimber from his stupor and he'd run out and confront Ray, at which point one of them would shoot the other. Another possible lousy outcome.

"Up," Ray said.

"Might not look good to kill you there, but I'll do it. Don't test me. Now get up."

The circumstances were eerie. I was so tired that I thought I hallucinated a tray with Red Zinger and Girl Scout Cookies on the table between us. Without thinking, I blurted, "Where do you want me to go exactly, Ray? The closet in the guest room? So you don't have to watch what you're about to do?"

He blanched and a breath caught in his throat. His hand shook.