Pretty at Law (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order)

by R. J. Jagger

  It worked.

  The woman followed him.

  From where she had been inside, she probably wouldn’t have been able to see the silhouette on the floor, not to mention that her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet. Now he needed to make sure she left the area.

  “I’m starved,” he said. “You want to get a bite?”

  She did.

  She did indeed.

  They ended up at a red vinyl booth at Wong’s on Court Street, sipping tea and munching egg rolls. “This is a weird situation,” he said. “You’re the enemy but I’ll be honest with you, every time I look into your eyes all I want to do is throw you up on this table and rip your clothes off.”

  She smiled, slightly crooked, seriously sexy.

  “They probably have rules against that.”

  He nodded.

  “They probably do.”

  “You’re a rule-breaker though, Teffinger,” she said. “We both know that.”

  “Me? Not really—”

  She cut a slice of egg roll, speared it with her fork and brought it to Teffinger’s mouth. He took it, chewed and said, “So how is this going to end?”

  She shrugged.

  “That depends on how good your memory is.”

  “Which means what?”

  “Which means the person I work for has some stuff on you,” she said, “or, to be more precise, will have some stuff in 48 hours.”

  “Less than that, actually.”

  She smiled.

  “That’s true. The only value to that stuff is if you testify at trial. Now, if it turns out that your memory fades before the trial and you’re not really sure if Zero is the person you saw that night, then the D.A. would drop the charges, the trial wouldn’t happen and the all the stuff on you would end up in some forgotten little manila folder in some forgotten little box somewhere.”

  Teffinger cocked his head.

  “Just for the record, you’re getting awfully close to witness tampering,” he said. “Another way to phrase it is obstruction of justice. That’s a felony offense.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, flicked the screen for a moment and then handed it to him.

  It was a photograph of him removing the rope from the pole.

  A second photo showed him picking a button off the ground.

  A third showed him rolling under the gap.

  “You’re very photogenic,” she said.

  He handed the phone back to her.

  “I do what I can.”

  “These weren’t taken with my phone,” she said. “I have a digital camera with a good zoom. I download the pictures to my computer and then email copies to myself as well. That way they’re in a bunch of places and can’t get lost.”

  He took a sip of tea, put a serious expression on his face and said, “I need you to stop following me for a day.”

  “Why?”

  “There are things I need to get done.”

  She chewed on it.

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  “You name it.”

  She defaulted to a blank stare, then refocused and looked into his eyes.

  “Tomorrow night, you take me out,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “Wherever I want.”

  He clinked his cup against hers.

  “Deal, but no tricks. I don’t want to see you in my rearview mirror.”

  “You won’t.”

  8

  Day Two

  June 5

  Monday Afternoon

  Teffinger had $6,728 in his savings account. Late Monday afternoon he pulled out $5,000 in cash so he’d at least have something in case Preston decided the dance needed to start tonight. He’d also have his bank statements over the last year to show that he didn’t have much beyond that.

  At the end of the workday he went home.

  The first thing he did was inspect the bed of the Tundra to see if there was any blood in there.

  There was.

  The raven-haired beauty had been in there.

  She’d left her mark.

  The number Rain scribbled on the matchbook was registered to one Rain DeVries. No Colorado driver’s license pulled up for her, nor did a criminal record. The phone registration placed her at an address in an older part of Lakewood east of Alameda where the trees were big, the streets were crooked, and small ranches squatted on large lots.

  Twilight settled over Denver.

  The sky softened.

  The heat dissipated.

  Teffinger pulled the ’67 into the woman’s cracked asphalt driveway and killed the engine. A drainage ditch ran next to the property and gurgled against a quiet backdrop.

  Crickets sang.

  A startled garden snake disappeared under a bush.

  No signs of life came from inside the house. The windows were closed, the door was shut and no lights or sounds were present.

  Two newspapers were lying near the front door.

  One was Sunday’s.

  The other was today’s.

  Teffinger knocked and got no answer. He tried the knob and found it wouldn’t turn. Around back, the door was equally locked but one of the windows slid up when he tried it. After looking for nosy neighbors and seeing none, he slipped inside and closed the glass behind him.

  “Anyone home?”

  No one answered.

  He was in a bedroom. The bed was made. He checked the closet and found it sardine tight with clothes, some sexy and some the opposite. In the first drawer of the nightstand was a vibrator and a 9mm Smith & Wesson. The second drawer was filled with bondage gear.

  The top drawer of the dresser held panties and bras. They were the same style as the ones she was wearing Saturday night.

  He headed deeper into the guts of the house.

  The kitchen was old and cramped but clean. There was no indication that anything had been cooked or eaten or opened in the last two days.

  A framed photo sat on the mantle in the living room. It showed Rain and an equally attractive female standing on a beach in bikinis with a large pier in the background. Teffinger wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be the Santa Monica pier. He took it out of the frame and stuffed it in his back pocket.

  A corner of the living room was converted to an office.

  On a desk were bills and papers.

  One of the stacks of bills was for her cell phone, six months deep, and matched the number she’d written on the matchbook. The statements didn’t itemize ingoing and outgoing calls. All were paid except for the most recent one. Teffinger stuffed an older one in his pocket.

  Another stack of bills was for Visa, again six months deep.

  He grabbed the entire stack.

  Inside the desk drawer was a checkbook, dating back six months, plus a pile of bank statement. He grabbed it all. A number of paycheck stubs were also in the drawer, going back six months. They were from the Majestic Casino & Hotel in Black Hawk. The amounts were minimal, suggesting she was more likely a cocktail waitress or money changer rather than a blackjack dealer.

  There were no computers but an iPad was sitting on the desk.

  He grabbed that too and then left.

  He was weaving out of the neighborhood, almost to Alameda, when his cell phone rang and the voice of Preston came through.

  “You got that pile all piled up yet?”

  “You’re blackmailing the wrong guy,” Teffinger said. “I’ve got five grand and that’s it.”

  “Five grand?”

  “I have it in cash and you can have it tonight, right now if you want. That’s all I have though.”

  “You want to buy your way out of a murder for five grand?”

  “I’ll show you my bank statements,” Teffinger said.

  Silence.

  “Screw five grand and screw you. Get a hundred by this time tomorrow or pucker your lips and kiss your ass goodbye.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. Borrow it, steal it from an evidence
box, I don’t really give a shit. Just be damn sure you get it. This is your one and only chance.”

  The line went dead.

  Teffinger headed home and bided his time until a solid darkness fell. Then he put a tarp and a shovel in the bed of the Tundra and headed for the warehouse district. If the silhouette on the floor turned out to be Rain’s body, he’d bury it somewhere.

  He’d testify at Zero’s trial.

  Preston’s videotape showed Teffinger roughing up Rain and charging Preston with a broken beer bottle. It didn’t show him actually killing Rain, however. That evidence could only be admitted through the testimony of the two witnesses, Preston and his girlfriend. Preston in turn was a blackmailer, so his credibility would be suspect. The girlfriend no doubt condoned the blackmail and would likely share the money, so she’d be equally suspect.

  There was still a chance to take Zero down at trial.

  The process would take Teffinger down as well but there was no getting around it. Either they’d both walk or both go down. Right now, Teffinger was leaning more towards the latter.

  He parked a hundred yards short of the gap building and closed the distance on foot.

  Noises came from inside the building, deep in the darkness. The closer Teffinger got, the more they sounded like animals feeding on something.

  He got on the ground at the gap and pointed the flashlight inside.

  Three good-sized dogs or coyotes were ripping a body apart.

  They growled.

  Their mouths pulled back.

  Their fangs showed.

  They were bloody.

  The closest one let out a loud vicious bark and turned his body directly towards the light. The paws were firmly planted. The posture was low and tense. The eyes were yellow slits.

  Teffinger slowly backed out.

  Then he got the hell out of there.

  9

  Day Three

  June 6

  Tuesday Morning

  Silke Jopp, Esq. practiced law out of a three-story brick structure that started life at the turn of the century as a shoe factory. It sat at the edge of lower downtown Denver, LoDo, where the texture of the city was woven in shades of not-so-good art galleries, mom-and-pop restaurants and professional offices, mostly occupied by lawyers and architects and engineers who were more interested in parking and atmosphere than they were in a fancy financial district address.

  The sign on the front door was small—Silke Jopp, P.C., Attorney-At-Law.

  It belied the status of her reputation.

  At a mere thirty-five years of age she was already the undisputed Queen of Defense, the attorney of choice for the affluent and powerful and the high-profile when the stakes were everything and the going was nasty.

  She wasn’t cheap.

  Right now she was sitting on the building’s back steps with a Camel dangling from her lips, dressed in her usual attire; jeans, Nike’s and a plain blouse. Her hair was in a ponytail. A hop and jump down the alley, two magpies were scavenging through a dumpster.

  Next week was the Decker Zero trial.

  She was lucky to have the case.

  Zero had first met with Bale Colton, Esq., out of New York, one of the only defense attorneys even more pronounced than her. After two short meetings a personality conflict developed.

  Zero sought other counsel.

  He landed in Silke’s office.

  The man had money enough to engage her services. Right now, she had an unlimited defense budget, with over a million dollars sitting in the retainer account.

  Silke didn’t know where Zero got his money.

  She didn’t care.

  She knew it was green and that his checks cleared.

  It was 10:10, meaning that in twenty minutes Neverly Cage would be coming by with her latest report. Inside, Silke’s personal phone rang. She hesitated, deciding, then flicked the butt into the dirt and took the call.

  A man’s voice came through, one she didn’t recognize.

  “You don’t know me,” he said. “My name’s Preston. I have some serious dirt on your star witness next week, Nick Teffinger.”

  Silke’s heart pounded.

  “What’s your last name, Preston?”

  “That’s not important,” he said. “What’s important is that I have documentation of Teffinger doing something that you’ll find very interesting.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Such as killing a woman,” Preston said. “Now let me cut to the chase. I’m looking for $500,000. That’s the price and it’s not negotiable.”

  Silke lit a cigarette.

  “Let’s meet,” she said.

  10

  Day Three

  June 6

  Tuesday Morning

  Neverly Cage pushed through the front door of Silke’s law office, still not sure whether she would be true to her employer and tell her about the dirt she got Saturday night on Teffinger or whether she’d be true to her promise to give him 48 hours.

  Silke was out back in the alley, pacing with a Camel in her hand.

  “Huge break,” she said.

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I got a call from a mystery guy named Preston,” Silke said. “He claims to have a cell phone video of Nick Teffinger killing a woman Saturday night.”

  The words hit Neverly with the force of a fist.

  “How can that be?”

  “He was making out with a girlfriend down in the old warehouse district,” she said. “Teffinger and some woman showed up. Teffinger tied her to a pole and then started to beat the shit out of her. The guy tried to get Teffinger to back off but Teffinger attacked him with a broken beer bottle.”

  “No way.”

  Silke smiled.

  “The whole thing’s on tape,” she said. “A fight ensued and the guy got chased off. Teffinger thought he left but he didn’t. The guy was still there and saw what happened next.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Teffinger went back to the tied-up woman and slit her throat open with the beer bottle.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Silke nodded.

  “He wants five-hundred k for the tape. I already talked to Zero about it. He says to pay it and pay it fast.”

  Neverly tilted her head.

  “Can you get it into evidence?”

  Silke frowned.

  “That’s where it gets a little muddy,” she said. “The guy tried to blackmail Teffinger but he didn’t have any money. Then he read the paper this morning about the trial coming up next week and the fact that Teffinger was a key witness. He decided to forget about getting money out of Teffinger and getting it out of me instead.” She took a long drag, held it in and then blew out. “He says he’ll come to court and authenticate the tape. Either him or his girlfriend or both of them.”

  “But he tried to blackmail Teffinger.”

  “Right, I know,” Silke said. “He’s not going to bring it up though, not on direct examination. The only way it will come up is if Teffinger brings it up. By that time, the tape will already be in evidence. Even if it’s not in evidence yet, it will still come in. The blackmail part of the equation doesn’t go to the authenticity of the tape. It only goes to the credibility of the man as to what he saw afterwards that didn’t get on the tape.” She smiled. “Actually, when you think about it, the blackmail part actually helps us as much as it hurts. It shows that the guy really did see the murder. Otherwise, he’d have nothing to blackmail Teffinger about.”

  Neverly nodded.

  It made sense.

  “Have you seen it yet?”

  “No, but I will tonight,” Silke said. “The guy says Teffinger’s face is clearly visible and so is his truck, including the license plae. I can get an expert to testify that it hasn’t been tampered with, assuming it hasn’t.” She sat down on the step and flicked the butt. Then she looked at Neverly and said, “So what have you turned up on your end? Anything?”

  Neverly’s blood pounded.


  Teffinger murdered a woman.

  Screw him.

  “He was with a woman Saturday night at a club downtown called the D-Drop,” she said. “I got pictures of them.”

  “Show me.”

  She did.

  She showed her pictures of Teffinger getting sloppy drunk with a raven-haired beauty, letting his hands roam under the woman’s short little sundress, then driving away drunk with her, and even sideswiping a car en route.

  Silke smiled.

  “These are golden,” she said. “If the woman Teffinger tied up and killed is the same woman you have him documented with earlier in the evening, he’s toast. We’ll have his ass so nailed to the wall he won’t be able to squirm an inch.”

  “There’s more,” Neverly said. “I followed him this morning. He went to a warehouse district and took a rope off a pole. Here’s a picture of him doing it.”

  She pulled it up on her phone.

  “Nice,” Silke said.

  “I didn’t realize it at the time, but in hindsight he was obviously covering his tracks.”

  “What a little shit,” Silke said. “It’s going to be a lot of fun taking him down.”

  Neverly nodded.

  “One more thing,” she said. “He went into a building a couple of blocks from the pole. When I showed up, he scrambled me out of there as fast as he could.”

  “Why was he in the building?”

  “I don’t know but I could guess.”

  Silke lit a cigarette.

  “Nice day,” she said. “Let’s take a ride and see if there’s a body in that building.”

  “You think?”

  She nodded.

  “Preston says Teffinger left with the woman in the bed of his pickup truck,” she said. “He had to dump her somewhere. It would make sense that he wouldn’t go far.”

  11

  Day Three

  June 6

  Tuesday Morning

  Silke and Neverly got to the warehouse district thirty minutes later and parked a hundred yards away so as to not leave any tire prints or other of scraps of evidence too close to the scene. Silke took one last drag on a Camel, mashed the butt in the ashtray and grabbed a flashlight from the back seat. Outside the beemer’s air-conditioned oasis, a hot wasteland greeted them.