The Watchman

by V. B. Tenery

  Curiosity piqued, I grabbed snow pants, boots, and a thermal jacket from the closet. Dressed for the weather, I started the snowmobile. Wind and flakes slashed like icy needles biting my face as I slithered down the mountainside, wind howling around me like wolves on the prowl. An inch of white powder covered the Jeep’s windshield when I reached the hill’s base. Dusting away the heavy flakes with my hand, I started the engine and drove to the dock.

  

  Pine Lake

  The craft parked in the slip was a boat like Armstrong’s mansion was a house. It leaned more toward the yacht class.

  Thornton waited for me on deck, a waft of steam flowing from the cup in his hand. I hurried alongside and jumped aboard.

  With practiced ease, Thornton backed out and headed for open water. The mayor remained silent until we were in the middle of the lake. He shut down the engine and dropped anchor. With a wave of his hand, he motioned me to follow him below. The air inside enveloped us in a warm cocoon and eased the chill from my bones.

  Thornton handed me a cup of coffee, and I found a seat at the bar.

  I leaned against the leatherback stool. “What’s this about?”

  He took the seat across from me. “I’m aware of your situation with Harry London. I have something that will, shall we say, untangle you and your client from London’s web.” He paused for effect.

  He had my attention.

  “I have obtained videos from London’s home security system. How the tapes came into my possession is immaterial. Let’s just say I have friends in low places. The point is they show the abuse of his family.”

  A belated light switch flipped on in my head. I should have thought of that.

  Thornton smirked. “The idiot placed cameras inside everywhere except the kitchen and bathrooms. It seems the good judge was so paranoid about his wife, he didn’t stop to realize the tapes, in the wrong hands, could hang him.”

  I sipped my coffee. “Aren’t you two friends?”

  Thornton shrugged. “Acquaintances, hardly friends. Did you ever wonder how London became so influential in his short career in Hebron?”

  “Actually, I didn’t know London at all until recently.”

  Thornton leaned back and studied the cup in his hand. “London has more influence in local politics than anyone in Hebron, next to me. After his election to judge, he came into contact with Steve Clark. London punished Clark’s enemies in his courtroom, and Clark paid him well. I tell you this so you know what you’re up against.”

  He walked to the galley and refilled his cup. “The films came to me for a price, of course, but they’re yours absolutely free.”

  He lifted the pot to see if I wanted more.

  I shook my head. “Why would you give the tapes to me rather than turn them over to McKenna? She’s the Assistant D.A.” The question was rhetorical. I already knew the answer. He wanted something from me.

  Thornton shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good for McKenna’s career for her to take possession. Questions would be asked.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He paused, stirring his coffee. “It’s rather complicated. There is only one thing in my life I truly care about––McKenna.”

  As much as I disliked Robert Thornton, I could see he spoke the truth, and it galled him to ask me for a favor.

  “McKenna married Alexander Clark. Did you know?”

  “I heard about it.” My heart tripped faster. It disturbed me more than I wanted to admit that she’d married the mafia boss’s son.

  “Alexander has pressed McKenna for inside information from the first day of their marriage. I believe that’s the primary reason he married her—to find out what the D.A. knew about his dad’s local operations. Things that could get McKenna disbarred and indicted if she caved. McKenna is basically honest, and she has resisted so far, but Alexander is making threats. Their union has been on the rocks for over a year.”

  Thornton set his cup on the bar. “Under normal circumstances this could be handled in the courts, but because of Steve Clark’s connections, McKenna could wind up dead if she tries to divorce Alex. She knows too much.” He got up from his stool and paced, his body weaved with the motion of the boat. “You probably think I made my bed, and you’d be right. And I would happily lie in it if I had only myself to consider.”

  “You’re not asking me to murder Alexander...?”

  “No, I know you better than that. That will be my job, and believe me, it’s a job I look forward to. But I need a witness. Someone with a spotless reputation to tell the authorities he saw the accident.” Thornton made the quote sign with his fingers. “That’s the only way to keep Steve Clark from questioning the death of his son.”

  “My reputation is hardly spotless now. You do know I’m charged with accessory in kidnapping London’s son?”

  He nodded. “But with these tapes, you and his wife will be cleared. Alexander races boats, and I plan a boating mishap. You’re our local war hero, Adams, and you’ll get extra points once you take care of Harry London. No one would question your integrity. McKenna could live without fear from Steve Clark.”

  “That would make me an accessory to murder. Apparently, you don’t know me at all. If I could help McKenna, I would do it, but not this way. I sympathize with your plight wholeheartedly, but I can’t...”

  Thornton’s face flushed with red, a vein popped out on his temple. His cold gaze stared back at me, unblinking as those of a rattler poised to strike. He took a sip of coffee and looked at me over the steam from his cup. “It’s a generous offer. You’d save three innocent people from monsters. Simple, really.”

  Our gazes locked, and I shook my head. “Sorry. You don’t know how tempting the offer is, but the answer is no.”

  That deadly look washed down his face again. He shoved his cup to the table and then reached under the bar.

  Cold fingers snaked down my spine. He had a gun under the counter.

  He withdrew his hand. Empty. “Alexander Clark deserves to die for what he’s put my daughter through. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that what happened here, stays here. If any part of this conversation becomes known, you’ll be a dead man long before Steve Clark gets me. That’s a promise.”

  I believed him. No reason not to.

  I made a last-ditch plea. “I couldn’t talk you into giving me the tapes because it’s the right thing to do?”

  Thornton’s face hardened as cold as stone. Evil resonated from pitch black eyes. Would he go for the gun again? It would be a long, cold swim back to the dock. Even more difficult wearing a bullet hole. The man was every bit as dangerous as Steve Clark, perhaps more so. Thornton hid behind a mask of respectability. I needed to add Thornton and the mafia to my list of enemies like a grizzly needed sleeping pills for a winter nap.

  I shrugged acquiescence. “I didn’t think so.”

  In silence, Thornton whirled and stomped up the stairwell to the deck, turned the boat around, and roared back to the dock.

  It was a long, silent trip back.

  I stepped ashore, and Thornton called out. “Remember what I said. And...the offer is still open if you change your mind.”

  I wanted those videos in the worst possible way. They would solve all of Rachel’s problems and clear my name. But I wouldn’t change my mind. The tapes would come at too high a price. There might be a chance I could find where Thornton hid them. Taking the disks from him wouldn’t prick my conscience at all.

  15

  Bridger Mountain lodge

  “I saw Ben Marshall at Fisherman’s Wharf today.” Goldie’s voice quivered like a guitar string over the phone. “He sat across the room with a tough-looking man I didn’t recognize.”

  She paused, inhaling a shaky breath that sounded in my ear. “A friend invited me to The Wharf for lunch. After the waiter seated us, I glanced over and almost fainted. I hope you don’t mind that I called so late, and on a holiday. I’ve been too nervous to sleep since I saw him.”


  With great effort, I focused my sleep-dazed brain. In the semi-darkness, I glanced at the time on my cellphone. 1:23 am glowed in bright red numbers—officially now Christmas Eve. “That’s why I left my card––in case something important came up. Are you certain the man you saw was Marshall? It’s been a long time, Goldie. He would have changed a lot.”

  “It was Marshall. I’d know his face anywhere. He looked older, yes, but I’d stake my life on it.”

  I picked up on Goldie’s fear. She had more reason to be concerned than she knew. “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so. He seemed engrossed in conversation with his dinner companion.”

  With the cell phone cupped under my chin, I slid my feet into my house slippers, and paced. This could be the break I’d prayed for. “I’ll fly out today and check with you before heading on to San Quentin. The warden will be interested in this development. Can you stay the rest of the night with someone or go to a hotel?”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “I’d rather err on the side of caution. Don’t take time to pack.”

  “There’s a girlfriend in the suburbs I can stay with, Judy Phelps. She’ll take me in. I’ll give you my cell number. You can call me tomorrow after your plane lands.”

  “Leave soon, Goldie. Let me know when you’re safe, and make sure no one follows you.”

  “Noah, you’re frightening me.”

  ”I just want to make sure you’re safe. OK?”

  “I’ll call when I reach Judy’s.” She gave me her cell number and disconnected.

  I continued to pace until she called an hour later to say she’d arrived.

  Too wired to sleep, I warmed up leftover coffee, and sipped it while I packed.

  Dawn broke that morning, gray and overcast, as I drove to the Salt Lake airport. Forced to wait on standby, I grabbed the first available flight out. This time I had a window seat, but it still packed me shoulder-to-shoulder with my fellow traveler. Two hours later the whump, whump of wheels on the tarmac signaled we’d arrived on schedule.

  Sunshine flooded through the terminal exit. I paused to let the warmth seep into my skin. Wyoming winters made me appreciate California weather.

  I searched my pocket for the cell phone stored there before the flight started and punched the number Goldie gave me. “Hey, I just got in. You OK?”

  She laughed. “Sure, never better. How about letting me act as your chauffeur today? My social calendar has been cleared in your honor.”

  It only took a minute for me to accept. I could keep tabs on her that way. I was still uneasy about her encounter with Marshall.

  While waiting for Goldie, I placed a call to San Quentin. I’d taken a chance Tyler would be in today. On my previous visit, he hadn’t worn a wedding band. No family pictures decorated his office. Our handshake told me all about John Tyler. The man was a maverick, a loner, and a workaholic. I was prepared to layover in case I’d guessed wrong.

  The phone line buzzed, and then a mechanical voice gave me a list of options, which finally led to the reception desk. “Is Assistant Warden John Tyler in today? I realize it’s a holiday, but if he’s available, I’d like to speak to him.” A long pause ensued. I waited on hold while lively mariachi music jumped in the background. The operator returned and told me he was in and made the connection. Within minutes, I had an appointment at three that afternoon. His voice sounded pleased to have company.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Goldie eased her sleek, white Mercedes sports job to the curb in front of the Southwest terminal, flashed me a bright smile, and popped the trunk open. I tossed in my briefcase and slid into the seat beside her. In a white suit and golden tan, she looked like an ad for the local Chamber of Commerce.

  We pulled into traffic and headed south. Warmth streamed through the sunroof as the classy automobile wound its way through the city’s clogged arteries. The scenery along the San Rafael Highway passed in a lush, tropical blur.

  

  San Quentin State Prison

  At the prison, the guard waved us through to the main office compound. Tyler’s familiarity with Marshall and Jensen would save time. I explained my fake identity to Goldie en route. She only laughed and shook her head. “Sam Spade, huh?”

  In short order, the trustee, Kevin, whose name Goldie elicited from him within minutes, led us back to Tyler’s office.

  Tyler’s gaze locked on Goldie. He gave her an appreciative glance and then turned his attention to me. “Back so soon? How can I help you today?”

  After introductions, Goldie related what she’d seen at Fisherman’s Wharf.

  Tyler listened intently as she told her story. “How well did you know Marshall, Goldie?”

  “Too well,” she said. “He was married to my friend, and although we didn’t socialize, I saw more of him than I wanted to. We were neighbors for five years.”

  The warden shook his head. “Don’t take this personally, but I don’t see how it’s possible for Marshall to be alive. We run a tight ship here, and the only dead man after that riot had fingerprints and dental records that belonged to Benjamin Marshall.”

  “With all due respect, John, I don’t have an answer for that.” She used his first name with the same familiarity he had used hers. ”I can only tell you the man at Fisherman’s Wharf was Ben Marshall. He’s not the type of man I could easily confuse with someone else.”

  I raised my hand. “Just suppose, for a moment, that Goldie’s right. The man was Marshall. Is there any way he could have pulled off a switch of identity with someone, Jensen perhaps?”

  Tyler’s lips curled into a half-smile. “That thought occurred to me. So I’m going to humor you folks and check this out. Not because I think you’re right, but because I don’t want there to be the slightest possibility that scumbag put one over on us. I’ll go back over the old records. If anything jumps out at me, I’ll let you know.”

  A promise to check it now was the best we could hope for. Tyler wasn’t an ordinary everyday bureaucrat. I shook his hand and thanked him for his time.

  

  San Francisco, California

  Goldie and I reached the “city by the bay” as the sun was setting, leaving layered shades of pink and gold on the horizon as it slipped into the sea. Somehow, it’s hard to feel the Christmas spirit when the temperature is in the 70s. But it was nice to spend the day with Goldie. She was well read, politically astute, and easy on the eye. Good company.

  I glanced over at her. “If you know a good restaurant where we can take advantage of this spectacular view, I’ll buy your dinner.”

  “Deal, mister. I just happen to know a fantastic seafood place near here that overlooks the bay.”

  Twenty-minutes later, she whipped into a crowded parking lot. Tantalizing aromas wafted into the night air. Inside, the atmosphere and candlelight kept the mood mellow. Goldie ordered baked shark, and she frowned at me when I ordered a T-bone steak. I ignored her scowl.

  She gazed out at the shimmering moonlight reflected on the water. “To look at me, would you believe I’m the daughter of a poor Texas sharecropper?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, you look more like a product of an expensive finishing school.”

  Goldie’s cheeks dimpled into a wistful smile. “That I owe to my husband, Abe. A small inheritance from my paternal grandmother provided my ticket off the farm. The first year at university, my roommate introduced me to her father, Abraham Marks.”

  She twisted the diamond wedding band on her finger. “I liked Abe right away, despite the twenty-year age difference. His wife had died just before Makala’s fourth birthday. Abe and I dated long-distance while I attended college.” Her eyes misted. “He was the kindest man I’d ever known. He introduced me to a life of art and culture I’d only imagined.”

  She brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from her forehead. “Over Makala’s objections, we married after I graduated and I moved to California.” She wiped away the frost on her tea
glass with a manicured fingertip. “Your typical trophy wife, but he never treated me that way. After Abe died, I stayed here. It had become my home. I still miss him terribly.”

  The sad thing about May/December relationships was that no matter how loving, they usually left the younger spouse alone much too soon. I touched her hand. “I’m sorry. It must have been lonely for you after his death.”

  She swallowed hard. “Very lonely. I have friends, but it isn’t the same. Now I regret we never had children.” Her gaze lowered, and she fingered the cocktail napkin under her glass. “Tell me about you. You can’t say you’ve never been tempted to get married.”

  The focus now on me, I leaned against the back of my chair. “I came close once, but it didn’t work out. She realized what a bum I was and called it off.”

  Goldie’s soft laugh floated across the table. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  McKenna’s face drifted into my mind unbidden. I pushed it back. “I’m not always as loveable as I seem.”

  I savored the last bite of the steak’s charbroiled flavor, letting it linger on my tongue while I folded my napkin on the table. “Drive me back to your place. I want to check out your security system. If there’s a problem, I can make temporary repairs until you get a locksmith. I’ll grab a cab to the airport. For a while, I’d rather you not drive alone on the streets after dark.”

  Traffic inched like a herd of armadillos up the steep road to Goldie’s townhome. We reached the gated entrance and Goldie’s gasp made me turn to her. She slammed on the brakes, almost sending me through the windshield.

  A burned-out stack of rubble occupied the space previously held by her home.

  Wet concrete gleamed in the lights of a lone fire truck as two firefighters kept vigil near the blackened shell.

  Goldie jumped from the car, gaze wildly searching the area. She crept forward, covering her mouth with both hands, face drained of color. Greasy black water covered her white sandaled feet. She stopped and stared at the wreckage—her home gone in less than twenty-four hours.