Bishop,_Carly_-_The_Soul_Mate.txt

by The Soul Mate

  never discard avenues of attack or of escape out of hand. But even I

  would have been hard-pressed to come up with such an inelegant solution

  as to murder Keller Trueblood. Wouldn't it have been a thousand times

  easier, and more certain, to... well, you know, just attack him in some

  dark alley?"

  Robyn understood Lucy's aversion to suggesting other ways Keller was

  more likely to be killed. "The thing is, I

  don't think it would have been easier."

  "Why not?"

  "Aspen isn't exactly your usual site of drive-by shootings or dark

  alley stabbings."

  "Amen to that" Lucy put in.

  "But I don't think Keller would have been easy or reliably easy, at

  least, to catch alone. He was always either working on the case with

  someone over dinner, at least in public, or he was at home with me."

  "Come on, Robyn," Lucy answered skeptically. "He went home alone every

  night for eight or nine weeks."

  "That's just it, Lucy," Robyn argued. "He didn't. I could count on

  one hand the times he came home without an entourage--including Stuart

  Willetts and a minimum of two or three law clerks, not to mention--"

  "All right." Lucy held up a hand. "Still, the Hallelujah would seem

  to me to be even more 'unreliable. As a way of making sure Keller was

  put out of the picture, I mean."

  "It's possible," Kid said, "that if someone did cause the mine shaft to

  collapse, it didn't really matter what the outcome was. Keller was not

  going to escape unscathed. Maybe the reasoning went, even if Trueblood

  survived,

  there was no way he was going to wind up his prosecution, either.

  Effectively, he was stopped."

  Lucy grimaced. "It makes me sick to admit it, but it's possible. It's

  all entirely possible. How can I help you? What do you need?"

  "Three things, just off the top of my head," Robyn said, going on with

  the train of thought she and Kiel had followed. "One, we would like

  you to come up with a list of people with the expertise to pull this

  off, and two, a list of experts in the detection and identification of

  explosives residue."

  "The second coming first, most logically," Kiel said. "We have to know

  if the Hallelujah was sabotaged in the first place."

  "And the third thing, Lucy, is your opinion. Kiel and I talked to Ken

  Crandall this morning. He believes that Stuart Willetts had the most

  to lose." Briefly, Robyn related Crandall's theory about Willetts's

  career and blind passion. "I keep second-guessing myself. I can't see

  Trudi doing this stuff. You have such a keen insight into people-"

  "No more than you, Robyn."

  "Maybe, but I'm not exactly a disinterested, objective party. If

  Keller had never come here, or if I hadn't wanted to go see the

  Hallelujah for myself... You sec what flaming hoops I put myself

  through." She sat forward, her hands clasped around her knees.

  "Please. You hear things. You know as much or more about what goes on

  in this town as anyone. I value your judgment. Do you believe Trudi

  Candelaria killed Spyder? And if you do, is it a logical extension to

  think she or Wiiletts would have the stomach for taking Keller out like

  that?"

  "Logic is pretty useless in a situation like this. I tend to think of

  murder as a crime of passion." Lucy's eyes slid to Kiel.

  He nodded. "Motivated by passions, of course. At least one like

  Spyder's murder. But it would have to take a lot more reasoned

  thinking to have murdered Keller by the collapse of a hundred-year-old

  mine shaft."

  "True enough." Tapping her lips with her forefinger, Lucy sighed. "But

  honestly, I don't know if Trudi killed Spyder or not. She had reason,

  she had all the opportunity in the world, and she had that bronze

  statue at her fingertips."

  Robyn nodded. "Even Stuart Willetts admits all the evidence pointed to

  Trudi. He swears she didn't do it, of course, but his vouching for her

  doesn't count for much."

  "No, it doesn't. If you want my opinion, I'll give it to you. Yes. I

  personally believe she did knock old Spyder off, and again, personally,

  I wouldn't blame her. He was a world-class jerk. I never heard

  anything less than completely self-serving coming out of his mouth. So

  if she whacked him over the head with his own bronze, then again...

  yes. She'd have the moxie to hire out the so-called accident that

  ended Keller's life. Since she and

  Willetts are so cozy--I assume you know that?" Robyn nodded.

  "Then you have a case of one hand washing the other. Is Trudi smart

  enough to hoodwink the prosecution second chair? Or just sexy enough

  to short-circuit his real brain?" Lucy smiled coldly. "You bet she

  is. Crazy like a fox. Even I would think twice before tangling with

  her."

  "So if she said to me that she didn't kill Spyder, and I believed her,

  I would be a fool?"

  "Not at all, Robyn," Lucy argued. "No one knows who killed Spyder.

  You're fight. I do hear a great deal,

  though nothing ever to exonerate her. It's highly unlikely we'll ever

  know for sure. But if she didn't kill Spyder, she had an even stronger

  motive to get rid of Keller. Don't you see? If she was going to be

  sent up the river for something she didn't do, she might have been just

  desperate enough to get the trial derailed--whatever it took."

  "We've thought of that too." Kiel got up and began pacing around, idly

  examining mining memorabilia, antiques set in glass eases that were

  discreetly and expertly spotlighted along one wall of Lucy's office.

  "Is it possible for you to come up with a list of people in the area

  with the expertise to have mused the mine to collapse?"

  "Almost impossible, I'm afraid. Aspen isn't a very eclectic place.

  Filthy rich or dirt poor about covers the territory, because in

  between, you just can't afford to live here. But in those two, you

  have two very distinct populations. The rich and very rich, who live

  here in summer, jet in and out, and take only the most cursory interest

  in the heritage and history--and then' polar opposites. The

  descendants of the ones who came here a hundred years ago, hacked their

  way through granite to precious metals or marble, and made it big only

  to lose it, or didn't ever quite make it to begin with. Robyn, Kiel,

  you have to understand. It wouldn't take a scientist or engineer to

  blast the Hallelujah to kingdom come."

  Her bubble pricked, Robyn nodded. "Basically, what you're saying is

  that all it would take is one person with the nerve to light a stick of

  dynamite and run."

  "Yes. High school kids could do it."

  Kiel's brows drew together. "Did anyone ever make any effort to find

  out if that's what happened the day Keller was killed and Robyn's leg

  was crushed, or was it just assumed that the Hallelujah collapsed on

  its own?"

  For a moment Lucy stared blankly at him. "I doubt any attempt was

  made. There was no reason to think anyone would do such a thing. And

  there weren't that many of us who even knew Robyn and Keller would be

  there."
<
br />   "Who knew?" Robyn asked softly.

  "I knew. I'm sure Smart Willetts did as well, which meant Trudi knew."

  Lucy shook her head in disbelief. "If Trudi knew, or Stuart, eithel;

  one, that's pretty telling, isn't it? But I believe the hikers who

  reported that the mine had collapsed never told the rescue parties or

  authorities that they heard a blast that might have caused the collapse

  first."

  "We'll check those records," Kiel said, "but in the end, it all comes

  back to whether or not someone set charges that caused the Hallelujah

  to collapse." He shrugged. "Unless we find proof of that all the rest

  is sheer speculation."

  Lucy warmed her cappuccino from the carafe, then pressed an invisible

  buzzer concealed in the arm of her chair. The twenty-fiveish young

  minion poked his head in the door in about two seconds. "See if you

  can get hold of Adelmeyer or Palmer for me."

  When Lucy's young aide left, Robyn looked at her for an explanation.

  "They're both mining engineers. Gene Adelmeyer is ex-FBI, and an

  explosives residue expert, in addition. Tee Palmer is just an old

  miner with an instinct that won't quit. He's a cousin of mine,

  actually. Lives like a busted-down hermit, but he has several hundred

  thousand dollars salted away--and that's only what he trusts the bank

  to hold." She smiled fondly. "I'd bet there is a million more in ore

  he's stashed beneath his cabin in leather pouches."

  Robyn felt encouraged. "They both sound perfect for the j oh."

  Lucy shook her head. "They are, Robyn, but I hate to hold up such hope

  of proving anything."

  Staring at an 1880s vintage cabinet displaying rock picks, axes,

  blasting caps and a couple of six-shooters behind authentic period

  glass panels, Kiel turned back. "Why is that?"

  Lucy smiled, her expression somewhere between seductive, admiring and

  regretful. "Because it wouldn't necessarily even take a stick of

  dynamite to cause a collapse. I could show you stopes--the spaces left

  after the ore has been taken out--where huge slabs of rock have

  separated from the ceiling and fallen down all by themselves. It

  doesn't take much."

  "Are you saying it's impossible, Lucy?"

  "Not at all, Robyn. Don't get me wrong. I'll go to the ends of the

  earth if necessary to find the top men--but the Hallelujah is an old

  mine. All I'm saying is that in the realm of possibilities, even you

  or Keller could have in. advertently caused the collapse."

  "Lucy," Robyn protested, "when the mine began collapsing Keller and I

  were standing in the middle of the end of a small tunnel--"

  "It doesn't matter, Robyn. Even if we discount the possibility that

  your being there somehow upset the balance, a lot of blasting took

  place down in those shafts. Every hundred feet, a new level, new

  blasting. There'll he trace evidence of powder and dynamite all over

  creation that could be well over a century old."

  "How does that keep us from identifying new blasting activity?" Robyn

  asked. "Granted, it's a year old now, but--"

  "If I were going to try to make an old mine shaft collapse in an

  attempted murder," Kiel interrupted, catching Lucy's implication, "and

  if I wanted to cover my tracks, I'd use plain old-fashioned dynamite."

  He looked to Lucy. "Isn't that right?"

  "Exactly." Lucy blinked slowly. "You sure as hell wouldn't use

  signature materials, or even anything remotely modern."

  Chapter Nine

  Robyn and Kiel met with Gene Adelmeyer at Planet Hollywood that night.

  He promised to take surface and core samples, based on Lucy's computer

  graphics representations of the Hallelujah. The samples would be

  tested in his Denver labs for explosives residues, but as Lucy had

  suggested, if dynamite had been used and not any modern-day explosives,

  dating the blast residues would likely prove impossible.

  Tee Palmer proved more elusive. If he kept a cell phone, Robyn

  thought, he wasn't particularly slavish about keeping a functional

  battery. If he'd gone prospecting, there was no telling when he could

  be reached.

  In the meantime, Lucinda Montbank provided Robyn and Kiel with under

  utilized office space in her building. Cartons of records were checked

  out of the county courthouse vaults, with nothing more than a Montbank

  personal guarantee, and transported the three blocks down Main Street

  to the building her company occupied.

  Robyn put in calls to the Savannah Beach, Georgia, couple and the

  University of Colorado students who had been hiking independently in

  the vicinity of the Hallelujah the day of the accident.

  Lucinda's memory was accurate. Neither group, upon reporting the

  collapse, had mentioned hearing a blast that could have created the

  cave-in, and when Robyn finally got through to them, they all repeated

  that they hadn't heard a blast.

  "Which doesn't mean it didn't happen, Robyn"' Kiel said.

  She sat at a desk in an office Lucinda had provided, layers deep in

  files and court records. Tossing her pen down, she leaped up and began

  to pace.

  "Kiel, this is all feeling like a wild-goose chase to me. Like some

  ridiculous notion I latched onto as if it were a lifesaver, when really

  it's an anchor pulling me down!"

  Kiel exhaled sharply and put aside the notes of interviews Keller had

  conducted with Detective Crandall. "Robyn, look. I know this has to

  be frustrating. I'm frustrated. But there is something screwy in all

  this. Maybe Candelaria didn't murder Spyder--or even Keller. Maybe

  Willetts is getting the short end of the stick here. But I was sent

  because some injustice was done, I think we just have to be patient and

  work through what we have until something turns up."

  Rubbing her hands up and down her arms to dispel the chill, Robyn

  nodded. "I know. But it sure fee, is like we're going in circles.

  Have you come across anything useful in Ken's notes?"

  "One thing. A sort of recurring theme in his cartoon figures. Come

  look."

  He showed her the first several pages of notes Keller had taken in

  interviewing the witnesses he had thought were going to be key to the

  presentation of the prosecution case. There were drawings all over the

  place, quick impressions Keller had recorded in that fashion. Then

  Kiel narrowed what he showed her to the pages devoted to discussions

  with Ken Crandall.

  Keller had perfectly captured the square shape of Detective Crandall's

  body, and a more triangular head--aspects he caricatured that Robyn had

  not noticed but recognized immediately as Crandall.

  "Look. This is the first time." The doodle was just a caricature.

  "The second." Beside Crandall, a heap had been sketched in, like a

  pile of smelly manure.

  Robyn laughed. "Look at how you can tell this pile of doodoo

  stinks."

  Kiel smiled. Keller had used what cartoonists call a waftarom to

  indicate the stench, but Kiel had the presence of mind not to name it,

  not to reveal he knew what Keller knew.

  He flipped between pages as if he had Keller's perfect recall to


  several more. Beginning with the third one, the cartoon figure of

  Detective Ken Crandall was wielding a shovel.

  "What do you think Keller was indicating here?" "One of two things, I

  guess," Robyn said. "Either Crandall was digging through piles of

  manure to get at the truth, or he was shoveling manure at Ken. Stuff

  he couldn't believe. Is that what you were thinking, too?"

  "Yeah. And it would seem to me that by the time Keller signed on as

  special prosecutor, digging for the truth of the matter should have

  been a done deaL" He pulled another notebook full of Keller's

  scribbling, from later dates. "This is how it changes."

  Looking at the next one of Keller's sketches that Kiel showed her,

  Robyn frowned. The pile in the margin, sketched at the edge of

  Keller's notes, had been reduced now, half behind Crandall's blocky

  figure and triangular head, half still before him. A fire lay

  submerged in the remaining half.

  "This must mean Crandall Was looking for the tire that left that tread

  mark in the snow at Spyder's estate."

  "Looks like it. And now this." In the next one Kiel showed her, the

  tire was barely visible in the smelly heap behind Crandall's

  caricature, only the waftaroms had gotten thicker. Kiel turned pages

  once more. "We're almost to the end. See here?"

  It was difficult to pick out in the margin, but she could see the

  outlines Kiel traced with his freckled finger.