Remote Control Page 5

  The trio had just slalomed to the crime scene above town, west of Chautauqua. The whole street was taped off and at least a half-dozen patrol cars remained. Everything and everyone was shrouded in snow. Occasionally, the wind stilled for a second or two and the storm blinked and for that brief moment everything was clearer.

  Just as suddenly the whiteout would return.

  Erin attached a telephoto lens to a Nikon camera body and took some shots with exposures that, to Alan, sounded way too long.

  “How does this work? I’ve never been in a situation remotely like this before. When am I going to be able to see Lauren?”

  Cozy responded without turning to face him. “Would you like me to be reassuring and say something that will help you feel hopeful? Or do you want me to tell you the truth?”

  “How about the truth?”

  He pointed at his car phone. “When Casey called again a few minutes ago, she was finally at the police department. Hopefully, she was on her way in to see Lauren. What the police have told Casey thus far is, that before she got smart, Lauren apparently admitted to firing her gun—”

  “A gun. Lauren doesn’t own a gun.”

  “Whatever. She fired a weapon. Contemporaneously, the authorities are alleging, a slug entered the victim. They will not be inclined to find this fact coincidental. The bullet entered the victim’s back, I might add. He’s unconscious now, in surgery. So—given Lauren’s acknowledged discharge of a weapon and the subsequent injury by gunshot of a bystander close by, the authorities have plenty of reason to hold Lauren. Wait, she doesn’t own any property up here, does she?”

  “No, Cozy, she doesn’t.”

  “Figures. Would have been too easy a defense. Bottom line: On a first-degree assault or an attempted murder, or even worse, if this goes capital, a homicide, they will definitely hold her over for two o’clocks unless we can prove unequivocally that she’s not involved. Failing that she will get her first appearance…what’s today, Friday?…She’ll get her first appearance tomorrow. We can bitch and moan and threaten but there really is no way you will be permitted to see her until after the two o’clocks tomorrow. That’s her first appearance. I’m very sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  “So what are we talking, tomorrow at two?”

  “No. Actually, on Saturdays the two o’clock hearings are at four o’clock. You might see her after that.”

  “What about bail?”

  Cozy grew silent for a moment while he considered the question. “Assuming the case doesn’t go capital, I think she’ll bond out. If the man dies, the odds drop to fifty-fifty. There’s going to be a special prosecutor appointed on this. To buy time, and to cover his or her ass, the special will probably ask for an investigation by the bond commissioner and for an independent psychiatric eval…mostly he’ll just want to allow heads to cool and let the facts become clearer…so I’d say, barring complications—my best guess is that Lauren’ll bond out by next Friday. Before that, not a prayer. Then again, given her reputation, maybe.”

  Lauren would spend a week in jail? “That’s unacceptable. What are the chances of getting her out sooner?”

  Cozy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m trying to be straight with you. Sooner, someone would have to go out on a limb. I don’t see that happening. Maybe she’ll draw a judge who’s in a benevolent mood. I wouldn’t count on it. If this guy goes out, a week is a reasonable guess.”

  Shit. “Do you know who the victim is, Cozy?”

  “That’s an excellent question. Casey says the cops won’t identify him—it is a ‘him,’ by the way—and she suspects they are in the unenviable position of not knowing who the hell the guy is.”

  “Look,” Erin said, pointing out the window, “they’re checking cars.”

  A uniformed cop with a kitchen broom had begun cleaning the snow off a car parked against the curb thirty yards or so behind the canopy. Erin snapped long-exposure shots as fast as the long shutter speeds would allow.

  “Can you get the license plate, Erin?”

  “Wow, that’s a good idea, Cozy. And here I was wasting my time trying to zero in on the registration in the glove compartment. Do your job, talk to your client. Leave me alone to do mine.”

  Cozy smiled in response. Alan’s impression was that Cozy enjoyed her act.

  The cop with the broom finished cleaning off the first car, a late-model Saab, and moved down the road, in the direction of Cozy’s BMW. He started sweeping the snow off another car, a sport utility vehicle of some kind.

  “Ah, intrigue, Cozy. Out-of-state tags on this next one,” said Erin.

  Cozy asked, “Is Lauren’s car here, Alan? Do you see it anywhere?”

  Cozy noted that Alan didn’t even look around before he said, “I don’t see it.”

  Alan was thinking, but if you go up that driveway at the top of the hill and check the spot behind those three piñons, I think you may find it. That’s Emma Spire’s house.

  “Do you know anyone who lives around here? Know any reason why your wife would have been here?”

  Alan recalled Lauren’s caution about Emma Spire on the phone, considered the wild card of Emma’s vulnerability, and decided he didn’t want to answer Cozy’s question. He was looking for a way to change the subject when it hit him that he still had drugs to take to the jail for Lauren.

  “Cozy, I have some medicine with me that Lauren needs to take each night. I need to get it to Casey so she can give it to Lauren tonight, right away.”

  “What kind of medicine?”

  “It’s for a chronic thing she has. She’s been taking it for a long time.”

  “I’ve heard rumors that she has something serious.”

  Jesus. “What have you heard?”

  “It’s not much of a secret in the Boulder bar that she has something. People respect her wishes not to talk about it. That’s all.”

  As Alan digested the fact that Lauren’s secret wasn’t much of a secret, someone walked up from behind the car and blocked Maitlin’s view of the crime scene. Alan recognized the person from his swagger and his overcoat.

  “Hello, Mr. Maitlin.”

  Cozy shielded his eyes and lowered the window farther. He looked up. “Oh good evening, Detective Purdy. I see you pulled prime duty tonight. You must have infuriated someone downtown.”

  Purdy ignored the dig. “I take it that you’re here on official business, Mr. Maitlin.”

  “It appears so, Detective, yes. I do hope that we’re not in the way. You know I prefer to get started when things are fresh. Just like the police.”

  “You’re not in the way yet, no.”

  “Hi Sam,” Alan called.

  Purdy leaned down and looked across the backseat, acting surprised to see his friend. “Hey, Alan, didn’t expect to see you up here. I’m real sorry about the mess with Lauren. I’m still hoping we can straighten this out tonight and get her home safely tucked in bed. Do you know that people have been looking all over for you? I’ve heard we have some good video of you being kidnapped from the vestibule of the police department a little while ago.”

  “That would have been me offering him shelter from the storm, Detective.”

  “It is a little inclement out here. Mind if I come into the car, so we can talk a little more?”

  Cozy thought about it, considered the pros and cons. They might learn something valuable. And then again, Alan was an unknown to Cozy, and might be a loose cannon. “Just a moment, Detective. Your window, Erin, if you don’t mind.”

  The windows in the BMW powered up.

  Alan said, “He’s a good friend. He’ll help us.”

  Cozy brushed hair off his brow. “Don’t be naive. He’s a good cop. He’ll help them.”

  “He’s sacrificed a lot to help Lauren out of trouble before. I think he’ll do it again.”

  “You talking about the Utah thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nobody was watching him then. He got to be a cowboy. Cops like to be cowboys
. So Utah doesn’t count. All his colleagues are going to be watching him this time—closely. I promise. I think, though, that I’m going to invite him into the car anyway. This is what is about to happen: He wants information from you. I want information from him. This will be a dance of finesse. Be extremely careful what you say to him. Your wife’s welfare depends on it.”

  Cozy lowered his window and invited Detective Purdy into the front seat. Sam brushed as much snow off himself as he could before he climbed into the car.

  Cozy assumed the role of host. “I think you know everyone. In case you don’t remember her, that’s Erin Rand, one of my investigators. Sorry I can’t offer you any refreshment.”

  “Just as well, I’m all coffee’d up, thanks.”

  “My mother taught me to be more gracious than this, Detective.”

  “Did Lauren call you for help, Mr. Maitlin? I’m surprised you’re not down at the jail.”

  “No, I’ve not spoken with Lauren, exactly.”

  Sam looked at Alan who was looking at Cozy. “But you’ve been retained?”

  “By the family, yes.”

  Sam knew that Cozy Maitlin had just told him that Alan had a lawyer. Sam looked back at his friend and wanted to know why the hell Alan needed one.

  Alan, too, wanted to know why the hell Cozy thought Alan needed one.

  “Is this your case, Detective?”

  “No, I was on call and got pulled in to help work the scene. It’s Scott Malloy’s case. He’s downtown, somebody else is at the hospital. You know how it goes when a big one breaks. Slow night till this happened. Accident alert is on. And your everyday creeps don’t like to work in blizzards. So it’s been slow. I didn’t expect to spend my night out here, I can tell you that.”

  “Finding anything useful?”

  “Lot of snow. A lot when it happened and more all the time. Hate these fall snowstorms. They’re hell on the poor trees. Stand out there and you can hear the limbs crack.”

  “Neighbors see anything?”

  “You know about witnesses, Mr. Maitlin. They hear things, they see things. Sometimes they think they hear things, sometimes they think they see things. A few folks heard a gunshot, nobody can agree on a time. Grain of salt, most of the time, especially in a whiteout like this.”

  “Who’s the victim, Detective?”

  Sam ignored the question; he figured he was just about done playing the part of the interviewee. He asked, “What was Lauren doing up here, anyway?”

  Cozy said, “I can honestly say I don’t know.”

  Sam watched Alan divert his eyes.

  “Well, I can honestly say the same thing in regards to your question about the victim. I don’t know who the hell he is. Alan, do you know?”

  “Who the victim is? No. How would I know that?”

  “Not who the victim is, what Lauren was doing up here?”

  “No, Sam, I don’t know that either.”

  “But, if pressed real hard, you might be able to make an educated guess?”

  Cozy broke in. “I think that the product of all educated guesses will, for the moment, remain between my clients and me.”

  “I take it that someone, one of your associates, is down at the department with Lauren, Mr. Maitlin? You’re not handling this by yourself, are you?”

  “No. Actually, I’m the one who’s assisting this time. I was brought on by Casey Sparrow. Do you know her? From JeffCo.” From the lips of someone in the Boulder bar, it was like saying, “from the suburbs.”

  Sam Purdy smiled. “Yeah, I know her. I should’ve guessed. Casey’s all right. She still have all that hair?”

  “I certainly hope so. Wouldn’t be the same Casey without it, would it? By the way, I want to commend you on the canopy over the crime scene. An inspired touch.”

  “Not my idea, but thanks. Those things are getting lighter and smaller all the time. I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.”

  “Erin would like to begin canvassing the neighborhood, interviewing witnesses. I assume that won’t cause you any problems.”

  Sam looked hard at Alan, saw the pain and confusion in his face.

  “Nah, it’s fine by me, just stay outside the tape.” Sam Purdy paused a moment, thought about what he would say next. He turned toward Erin. “If I were you, Ms. Rand, I would probably start my interviewing at that big house on the corner.” Sam pointed in a vaguely southeastern direction. “Woman who lives there is quite a character. She’s full of stories, loves to talk.”

  Erin Rand was flustered by the fact that she actually seemed to be getting a tip from a police detective. “Well, thank you very much for the advice.”

  “It’s nothing. Well, although this has been pleasant, I do have to get back to work. Some vehicles to check. Most of them are easy, just residents’ cars with Boulder County tags. Though nobody in the neighborhood seems to be able to identify that Nissan over there. Nobody has any unaccounted-for houseguests, no visitors’ cars we haven’t found. Curious.” He was looking toward a big utility vehicle near the canopy. “Still need to find the damn slug that hit the guy, too. Wouldn’t you know it, it went right through him. See you all later.” He winked at Alan. “Hang in there, buddy. We’ll make this come out all right.”

  Sam started to get out of the car.

  Cozy stopped him. “Detective, some free advice. I’m not at all certain your officers have the right to sweep snow off private vehicles that aren’t linked to a crime. The case law, I predict, won’t support this as a plain view exception. You don’t want to taint your evidence collection, do you?”

  Purdy stared hard at Maitlin before asking, “Is this lawyer shit, counselor, or is this for real?”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive. It’s probably both.”

  “I’ll call the department lawyer then, and get myself some more free advice. A second opinion.” He opened the door and eased himself out of the car.

  Erin had started to pull on her gloves and hat. She stopped what she was doing and turned to Cozy and said, “I can’t believe he told us all that. That’s going to save me a ton of work.”

  “If he wasn’t being intentionally misleading.”

  “Sam wouldn’t do that to Lauren. He might not help us. He absolutely wouldn’t set us up.”

  Cozy turned to Alan and said, “Well, if you’re right about that, it seems you may have been correct about Sam Purdy’s loyalties as well. Apparently, he’s decided to provide us with some assistance. And now it’s your turn to do the same.”

  “Of course, whatever I can do.”

  “I’m delighted to hear that. First what I’d like to know—what I need to know—is how does Lauren know Emma Spire? And, second, what might she have been doing up here with a gun?”

  Erin Rand was about to venture out into the storm. Now she decided she would rather stick around and hear Alan’s answer to Cozy’s question.

  The day had already been much too difficult for Alan. He doubted that he had sufficient energy remaining to do anything more than provide comfort for his wife. He was feeling imprisoned by this fancy lawyer’s car, by this hellish snowstorm, and now by a question he didn’t know how to answer.

  The windshield was fogged and the interior of the car had chilled to the point that frost was building on the inside of the glass. He chanced a glance at his companions. Erin had turned to look at Alan. He could tell she wasn’t going anywhere until he responded to Cozy.

  Cozy’s posture was erect, his face serious. Although his manner was formal and sufficiently respectful, the tone of his provocative question had carried the weight of authority, or at least, imperiousness. Alan recognized not only an ancient impulse to be accommodating to authority, but also a more recently cultivated desire to be obstinate.

  He wasn’t exactly certain whether answering Cozy’s question about Emma Spire would fall into the category of being helpful to Lauren or not. He decided the only prudent course of action was to be intentionally oblique.

  “Come on
, Cozy, Emma Spire’s life’s an open book, we all know her the exact same way.”

  Cozy knew, of course, that Alan was referring to the very public events around Emma’s father’s death, specifically about the videotape of the assassination.

  As a calling card, it was like asking how you knew about Rodney King or Reginald Denny or white Ford Broncos.

  Two days after the assassination of Dr. Maxwell Spire a much more professional video than the one the assassin’s wife had shot in the airport revealed new things about Emma.

  A network-pool cameraman recorded her graceful movements as she mounted the three stone steps up the ornate altar of St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Her eulogy of her father preceded one by the president of the United States.

  The nation watched, live.

  In the cathedral, at the pulpit, after thirty-five seconds spent composing herself, she said, “My name is Emma Spire.”

  Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. She gazed at her father’s casket, beseeching him to rise from the box and assist her, rescue her.

  “This morning I will bury a decent man, my father, in a grave beside a decent woman, my mother. And then, this afternoon, I will begin to resurrect my dreams. Because that is what they taught me to do. That is what they would have wanted me to do.

  “But first, first, I…I want you to understand some things about my parents that might get lost if I don’t tell you. My father was a wonderful physician and a dedicated public servant. Others, I’m sure, will tell you about that today. Believe them. Because those things are true. But what is more important that you know about my parents is that their lives…blessed my life.

  “They taught me about compassion, and they taught me about love. They taught me about values, and they taught me about dignity. That…man’s…gun took my father’s life. But his hatred cannot take what my daddy gave to me during every day of my life.

  “I’ve already lived too long without my mother’s touch or the wisdom she would whisper in my ear. And I will live, now, for too long without my father’s embrace, his comfort, or his guidance. My life will be so much darker and colder without those things. I pray that I will rejoin my parents some day in heaven. Until that day, I hope and I pray with all my will, that I live a life that honors them and makes them proud.”