Pool Of Lies Part 7

"Danny, didn't you say they told you she drowned?" asked Rae.

Danny shrugged. "I got the call. They said she was found dead in her hot tub." He shrugged. "I guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Rae frowned as she watched Danny pause to light up a Marlboro on the steps of the Lakewood Munic.i.p.al Complex.

"I'm working on quitting."

"Did I say a word?"

"I know what you're thinking. I don't smoke in front of Josh...or Beth."

"Uh-huh. Like they can't smell you."

"At least it's not pot." He took one more drag, then ground out the cigarette under his heel without looking in Rae's direction.

"May as well skip Wheat Ridge for now," Rae said. "If Veronica can't get anything out of them, we sure can't."

As they got into the truck, Danny asked, "What was it about Metro Unit that froze Veronica up?"

"I can't talk about it. I'd be closing a door on a friendship, as well as an information source."

"I'm your client. Don't I come first?"

He was turned in the seat, facing her. All she could think of was the effort it took not to give him a matching welt on the other side of his spoiled brat face.

"Stupid question," said Danny, no doubt picking up on her anger. "I'm sorry, that was cra.s.s."

Rae shrugged. "There's stuff you can't know. But I can share this with you. Veronica will do everything she can to help us. She was my husband's partner."

"I thought he was Denver P.D."

"He was. Veronica was there-I mean there on the spot-when Anthony was killed. Right after that, she left law enforcement for about a year. Then she signed on with Lakewood, and her career's gone really well. She's in a position to know things. She'll share what she can, but she can't risk her job."

"Right. Besides, she wouldn't be much help if she got fired."

Rae turned her face toward the pa.s.senger window, took a deep breath and counted silently to ten. "Keep going south," she said coldly. "Pick up Six. We're going to the Jeffco Coroner's office."

Danny drove slowly, sticking to the right lane. Rae wondered if he had the stomach to view the grim details of Dee's autopsy report. As she glanced sideways at him, he appeared short of breath, was breathing choppily. He really should kick the nicotine habit.

"Why would JJ kill Deidre when she was his cash source?" she asked after his breathing appeared to return to normal.

"Good point. Dee's little estate is peanuts. Morgan and the kids get her share of Grandpa's now that she's gone."

"Then it seems like JJ Camacho would be the loser with your wife dead, any way you cut it."

"How would he have known? He's ripping off a rich lady. I doubt he's the type to have a background in estate law."

"Point well taken," said Rae. "But now he's got n.o.body to rip off."

"Do I turn here?"

"Yep."

Danny pulled into the Jefferson County Civic Center, a complex of eggsh.e.l.l-colored cement buildings neatly nestled just off Sixth Avenue in Golden. He parked near a directory where Rae quickly located the building that housed the coroner's office and paced off in that direction with Danny close behind.

The one-story building that housed the coroner's office sat a bit apart from the cl.u.s.ter of larger structures. She felt Danny lagging farther behind her as they approached the entrance. "Let's just get this over with," she said, making her voice kinder that it had been. She was turning into a shrew, and pretty soon, if this didn't stop, she wouldn't be able to stand herself.

He followed her like a robot into the building. She observed his chest heaving in those short, shallow breaths he'd bee taking in the truck. When the reception desk loomed in front of them, he let her do the talking. Then they both followed a young woman to an office where they were to meet with a deputy coroner.

Soon a thin, middle-aged woman in a white lab coat joined them and introduced herself as Dr. Roland. Rae completed the introduction for herself and Danny, who barely nodded and kept his hands in his pockets. Rae wondered if it was to keep them from shaking. Her judgment of him softened further as recalled her own state of mind following the loss of Anthony. And Danny bore the burden of guilt just dumped on him for having abandoned his wife to a rapist. No wonder his chest was heaving.

Dr. Roland was ready for them with a slender sheaf of papers. "The autopsy findings are that death resulted from anoxic encephalopathy related to a seizure consistent with cocaine toxicity." She read the words from the top paper.

Rae watched Danny's apathy transform into antagonism. "That's it? That's it, and you decide it was an accident?" His words were inappropriately hostile. The doctor blinked behind heavy gla.s.ses and stepped back a full two paces.

"That is correct," she said through thin lips that barely moved.

"That conclusion a.s.sumes Mrs. La.s.siter injected herself with cocaine?" Rae strove for a neutral tone. No use of two hot-heads going off at the woman, who was only doing her job.

"There has been no evidence presented to indicate otherwise."

Rae could see Danny's comment coming, complete with expletives that would get them tossed out on their b.u.t.ts. As she bent toward the doctor, as if trying to read the report, she stepped down hard on Danny's foot. Turning back into his howl of protest, she mouthed the words, Shut up!

Rae turned back to the doctor and asked, "Could you give us a little more detail on how you arrived at that conclusion?"

The deputy coroner pursed her soda cracker lips and glared at Rae, reminding her of a malevolent owl. "The report speaks for itself."

"Excuse me," said Rae, "but two separate law enforcement jurisdictions have complaints on file from the deceased regarding threats to her life."

"I wouldn't know about that." The woman's sharp little nose twitched slightly, transforming her from owl to rabbit. "All our office has to go by is the physical evidence. This was a long-term cocaine user--"

"She," interrupted Rae, "his wife." Rae indicated Danny. Neutrality of tone had flown the coop. "This is how you describe a thing, not a person. Show a little respect."

She saw Danny wince. No, Danny, I'm not going to hit her.

Owl blinked once. "I've made you a copy of our entire report." She stepped away from Rae and handed Danny a manila folder. He took it but didn't open it-just held it as if it might explode. As he turned toward the door through which they'd entered, Owl said "Sorry for your loss, Mr. La.s.siter."

Rae took Danny's arm and steered him out of the building. She could hear him fuming under his breath. "Sorry for you loss," he mimicked, his voice a notch higher than normal. "Why do they keep saying that? I mean, they don't f.u.c.king know me. Didn't know Dee. Sorry?" Rae watched him take in deep gulps of cool, fresh air.

"Danny..." Rae hooked an arm in his, moving toward the truck. "It's what people say when they don't know what to say."

They were at the truck. Rae watched Danny fumble for the keys, then drop the autopsy report. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the folder and relieved Danny of the keys. His hands were trembling, and he still couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs.

"I'll drive," said Rae. He didn't argue.

They got into the truck. Rae fiddled with the unfamiliar gearshift, taking an extra minute or so to get them on their way. She chose another return route-north on Highway 93, toward Boulder, past the site of the decontaminated Rocky Flats Nuclear Plant that had been converted into a wildlife refuge.

As she drove, Rae thought that the desolation of those windswept foothills on the west side of the highway must match Danny's mood. She wondered if he could ever clean up his toxic memories.

When she no longer detected the sounds of his labored breath, Rae ventured a look at him. "You okay now?"

"Thanks for...back there."

"What?"

"For acknowledging that my wife was a person. A lot of people seem to have forgotten that fact."

Danny never ceased to amaze her. From p.i.s.sant to reasonably profound in the s.p.a.ce of thirty minutes or less. "Well, shame on them."

A mile or so down the road, her glance caught him looking at her. She'd put on sungla.s.ses back at the Jeffco complex, so she knew he couldn't see her eyes.

"When does the pain go away?" he asked. "How long does it take to let it go? How long did it take you?"

Rae shook her head. "That's what my daughter wants to know. Truth be told, I'm still a work in progress."

Rae parked in front of Bayfield Commons, a low L-shaped building on Forty-fourth Avenue. Her first thought was that this was an unlikely setting for a millionaire's office.

Unprosperous. The surrounding buildings were equally shabby. A street person of indeterminate s.e.x browsed a trash canister across the street. She checked the address again against her written notes. This was the place. Talk about keeping a low profile!

She was glad that Sandy had been able to set up the appointment so quickly. Usually fearless, Rae had balked at the prospect of meeting hostility from Danny's in-laws. She'd been relieved when Sandy had taken on the task and reported it a piece of cake.

At 9:00 a.m., the day promised increasing warmth. The faint odor of garbage wafted toward her from a Westside Disposal vehicle that emerged from an alley behind the building.

A sign above the main entrance read Bayfield Enterprises. Rae peered through the gla.s.s in the door. Seeing no one, she tried it, found it unlocked and entered a small, dingy reception area with an asphalt tile floor. The desk, centered in a small work station to the right of the entry, was unoccupied.

Rae shut the door hard, and called into the semi-darkness, "Mr.Garvin?"

No answer. As her eyes began to adjust to the dimness, she glanced around the room, looking for something which might reflect a personality, drawing a blank. The room smelled of musty old papers.

"Mr. Garvin?" Louder this time. Then the sound of a door closing somewhere in the back part of the building.

Rae cracked a Venetian blind-the old-fashioned, metal kind-by the entry door. That was when she first noticed the faded picture that hung on the wall. A hawk-faced older man, flanked by a youngish woman and a light-haired teen-age girl, his arms encircling each like snares. The Bayfield clan, no doubt. But who was the dark-haired young man standing slightly apart from the threesome? Not bad looking, thought Rae. Even in the poor light, she could make out dimples and a widow's peak. The women, too, were attractive, but looked as if they were in the clutches of some carnivorous old bird.

A sound of movement from the next room pulled her attention from the picture, then fluorescent ceiling lights illuminated the area.

"Mrs. Esposito?" His voice crackled like dry twigs. Rae turned to see a thin, bent man emerge from a door at the south end of the reception area. "I'm Sam Garvin." He offered a bony hand which she shook tentatively, afraid it might break.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." As she handed him her business card, Rae processed his use of "Mrs." rather than the more usual "Ms." in this setting, concluding that perhaps Sam Garvin knew a lot more about her than she might have wished.

"Our secretary is out ill today. Please excuse the dark office. I just got here."

"No problem." She looked him over, trying to make her glance un.o.btrusive. He was taller than his slumped posture made him appear at first. Square-jawed, hollow-cheeked. Colorless eyes followed her from behind wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. Spa.r.s.e dark hairs topped his head, in contrast to the gray fringe above his ears. Rae judged Sam Garvin to be in his seventies.

"I have the conference room set up for you," he said.

Sam preceded her down a narrow hall that had several doors along the way. Midway down the hall, he opened one of them and led her into a reasonably lighted conference room which contained oak furniture that had probably been around for a while-not shabby but having seen a good deal of use.

Rae took the seat he offered, then removed pen and writing pad from her attache case.

"I have some questions I'd like to go over with you, if that's okay."

Sam took a seat opposite her. "Fire away." A faint, lopsided grin creased his countenance. "Our records are at your disposal."

"Thank you." Rae measured her tone, editing out the surprise she felt at detecting no hostility in the man's demeanor.

"I guess the first order of business is locating Mrs. La.s.siter's tax returns. Can you help me out?"

"I prepared them up until she married Danny. Then she said she would be using her husband's tax person."

"That would be me, but I never met the lady or saw any of her financial records."

Rae bent down and retrieved a couple of doc.u.ments from her case.

"This is a current certified copy of Mr. La.s.siter's appointment as personal representative, and here's a notarized statement authorizes me to receive her financial information."

Sam accepted the papers, but appeared to give them only a cursory read. "Much of the information I have, princ.i.p.ally concerning her grandfather's estate, is of public record or could be obtained from the IRS."

"We both know how long it takes to get anything from the IRS. I'd like to put a figure on the tax liability as soon as possible, as it looks like she hasn't filed for at least three years."

"I've already made copies of Dee's old returns and the estate's K-1s for the past two years." Sam pushed a manila folder on the table toward Rae.

She was unable to contain a gasp as she took in the numbers on the K-1s. "Mrs. La.s.siter's estate is illiquid. Where did all this money go? I mean, granted Mrs. La.s.siter took drugs, but no way could she have spent all that on her habit."

Sam's expression remained unchanged, unrevealing. "Ask JJ Camacho."

"Why aren't the police asking him?"

Sam shrugged. "I presume that no one has filed a complaint. Shouldn't Danny La.s.siter, as Dee's personal representative, be filing such a complaint? He put up quite a fight for that appointment. It's time he did something to earn it."

So much for nice old man.

"Inasmuch as Mr. La.s.siter only learned about this person last week, I have to ask what the other family members and their attack-dog lawyers were doing sitting on this knowledge." Not smart-the simmering anger in her voice. She needed Sam on her side. At least for now.

To her surprise he replied, "My thought exactly, Mrs. Esposito."

Then her cell phone rang and she instinctively grabbed it. As she was about to let it go to voicemail, she glanced down and saw Danny's name. "Excuse me, I need to take this."

"Rae," Danny's stressed voice, like a rubber band about to snap, "my contractor called. He went into the Golden house this morning to start the job--" Background noise m.u.f.fled his next words.

"What? I can't hear you."

"I'm at the Sheriff's station in Golden. They're talking to him now. I'm next."

When the phone on the conference table rang, she was relieved at the distraction this afforded. Sam would be too occupied to sift meaning from her end of the conversation with Danny.

"They say I'm not a suspect," Danny continued.

"Call Sandy." Whatever it was, it sounded like Danny needed a lawyer more than an accountant.