“Sherry asked to flip with me. Simon got picked up for shoplifting two days ago. Second time. She’s trying to exert some control. He’s resisting her. Epic struggle time. It’s been brewing for a while. Kid is tough to handle. Something might be going on.”
“I am sorry. He got picked up both times while he was with his mom?”
“She’s making noises that she can’t handle him at the same time she’s trying to prove to him, and me, and herself, that she can. I’m getting worried she might be right.”
“About which?”
“Not being able to handle him. He’s … sullen. Withdrawn. Pissy. Like you, now that I think about it.”
“You haven’t had any trouble?”
“He’s mouthy. But that’s it, or at least I think that’s it. I may just not have caught him doing whatever else he might be up to. Simon has a temper. You know that.”
“He may feel safer with you. More secure with the boundaries you provide.”
“That’s shrink talk? Right?” He smiled at me. “Or he just holds his breath while he’s with me. Lets her have it when he’s with her. I have made my share of mistakes, Alan. But when it’s my turn with Simon I think that I am a pretty damn okay father. It’s possible that Simon may be better off with me. Might cramp my style with O, but so be it. I got a kid who needs me.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t know. I’ve been so consumed with my own problems. Maybe I can help. I know a little something about teenagers acting out.”
He shook his head. “Ophelia says you don’t knock on her door very often.”
“We just drove Sofie to the airport.”
Sam took two slow steps before he said, “She’s a great kid.” Sam took two more steps before he said, “But you didn’t knock on O’s door to tell me about driving your daughter to the airport.”
I really liked thinking about Sofie as my daughter. She was a gift I’d had nothing to do with creating and one that I did not deserve. I could have told Sam about my feelings about her but I didn’t think he would appreciate either the sentiment or the timing of my digression. “On the way back here Izza Kane called me.”
“Well, shit,” he said.
“She saw the YouTube thing. Saw me standing next to Grace at Lauren’s funeral. She put all the family connections together. My cover is kind of blown.”
“I bet she saw you dance, too. That could be an even bigger tragedy.” I saw his grin. “You ever want some lessons, I’m your guy.” I managed a smile that was only mildly patronizing. “That damn video? The whole viral thing on the Internet? Amazing. I have the clip in my favorites. I admit that I’ve shown it to some people.”
“Sam? Izza?”
“Can you be more specific? What does she think she knows?”
I shook my head. “She connected me to Lauren, and then to the morning that she met with Lauren, and to the shooting in my office. I don’t think she knows that Lauren told me anything or that she gave me the drawing that I gave you. She may suspect it, though. Still, that’s a lot of dot connecting. I’m concerned that Izza’s making reasonable assumptions about why I pretended to be interested in renting the cottage on her father’s ranch.”
“Reasonable assumptions, or accurate assumptions?”
“Could be both. She wasn’t explicit, but she left the impression that she thinks my intrusion into her life has something to do with the suicide by the tenant who lived in the cottage. Her word, by the way. ‘Suicide.’ She didn’t say ‘homicide’ or ‘murder.’”
Sam stopped walking. “You never should have done that—gone to Frederick, saw the cottage, met Izza. It got you nowhere. Earned you nothing. I told you at the time—”
“Don’t. I’m using all my energy not to succumb to regret. If I start I’m going to drown. We’ve both made some mistakes.”
Sam put his big hands on my biceps. “It’s been years since the shooting. I haven’t been arrested. You haven’t been arrested. We may be thinking they know more than they know. We have to stay cool about this. Not act guilty.”
“Even though we are?”
“Even though we are.”
“The surveillance?”
“They may be fishing. They may be blowing smoke. It may be an illusion.”
I could tell he didn’t believe that. I made eye contact with him, holding it for a few seconds before I asked, “Are there any developments in Frederick I should know about that might have motivated Izza to reach out? With Big Elias? Or with the Weld County DA? Are they interested in us? Are you hearing anything?”
Sam had contacts in Weld County, mostly through the Greeley police department. He considered them good contacts, but not great contacts.
“Nothing. But I’m being cautious about not seeming too interested.”
“Big Elias? Has he been making any noise?”
“You sure you’re not cold? I’m wearing a jacket and I’m cold.”
I was getting cold but I shook my head.
Sam said, “The old asshole is mine. You made it clear that I could handle things in Frederick my way, Alan. I think that was a wise plan. Let’s stick with it. I will continue to take care of Frederick. And Big Elias.”
Sam let go of my arms and we continued walking out the lane.
“Now tell me what you told Ms. Izza.”
“I did okay, I think. I was suspicious from the get-go. I’m getting to be so paranoid that I acted as though she was in bed with the Weld County prosecutor. That the call could be a setup of some kind. I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t admit anything. She ended up getting frustrated. She hung up.”
“Good.”
“Is it? If she is working with Weld County law enforcement, frustrating her may be in my self-interest. But if she’s not? What then? Is pissing her off going to help? I’ll be pushing her straight into Elliot Bellhaven’s arms, won’t I? We have to remember that she took that drawing to the Boulder County DA, not to the Weld County DA. At any point, she could pick up the phone and ask Elliot what’s up with the drawing.”
Sam said, “I still can’t figure out why she chose Lauren. Why she didn’t take it to Weld County. I don’t like things that don’t figure. I hate things that don’t figure.”
“My take? She is distrustful of Weld County law enforcement. She might think they’re on Big Elias’s side. She met Lauren once at the ranch, liked her. It’s simple.”
“Izza told you that?”
“No. A deduction.”
Sam made an exasperated noise. “Leave the deductions to the professionals.”
I asked, “If I meet with Izza, is there a way I could tell that she’s wearing a wire?”
“Surveillance wires have gotten pretty tiny. Good ones anyway.”
“How could I tell if she had one on her body?”
Sam smirked. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
Sam let his smirk become a laugh at my expense.
“You know you look like shit, Alan. You need to get out, see some grownups. We’re going to a party on New Year’s Eve. Want to join us?”
“I don’t have much interest in being social, Sam.”
He tried again. “Then what do you say you and the kids eat with me and O for a while? At least dinner when I’m up here. She likes to cook. She likes to take care of people. You know me, I’m a social animal.”
I laughed at that thought just before I heard a scream from behind us, back toward the house.
It was Gracie.
14
INSTANTLY MY BLOOD HAD ICE crystals in it.
“Dad, Emily’s coming!” She’d screamed it with the same intensity she would use if she were being attacked by a raptor. And a saber-toothed tiger. At the same time.
I knew that Gracie’s screams lacked nuance. She would have used an identical scream if she had grown intolerant of being teased by her brother. But those days knowing that to be true never did me any good.
The big bla
ck Bouvier was upon us in seconds.
“I almost had a heart attack just then when she screamed. I’m a little on edge,” I said to Sam.
“Understandable,” he said. “The kid screams like she has a future in horror flicks. Maybe you should meet with Izza in person. See if it can soothe your soul a little. Are you up for that?”
“But what if she’s, you know, wired? Would they use a wire?”
Sam scratched the side of his head. “Probably not. Depends how suspicious they are. How badly they want us.”
“How badly do they want us?”
“For Elliot? Pinning Frederick on us would be a major coup. Could be his ticket to front pages outside Boulder County. It could certainly help him begin to posture for statewide office. Maybe get some blog and cable attention out of it. The national pundits love Hickenlooper, so why not Elliot, too?”
“Elliot’s no Hickenlooper, Sam. Elliot has disadvantages. He steps up to the plate with two strikes. Elliot’s gay. And he’s from Boulder. Most of the state still thinks Boulder is a foreign country. Like San Marino.”
“Where’s San Marino?” he asked. I shook my head, regretting the allusion. Sam went on. “You just don’t like Elliot. Gay is in. People love to hate Boulder, but even the haters know Boulder is always in. Look at Jared Polis. He’s gay. He got elected to Congress here and then he got reelected. Elliot’s much smoother than Polis. Polis is taller, though, there’s that. Hickenlooper and Polis are both tall. But look at Perlmutter. He’s a shrimp, and he keeps getting elected, too.”
Sam had pulled out his smartphone. He was Googling San Marino.
“Perlmutter’s not gay,” I said. “And he’s not from Boulder.” Sam’s criteria for judging local politicians baffled me, yet I was arguing with him as though they were sensible. Or relevant. The problem, I knew, was mine.
“Elliot has aspirations,” Sam said. “He may think this is his time.”
“Jared Polis only had to convince his congressional district—mostly Boulder—that being gay didn’t matter. Elliot has to convince the whole state. That means the plains. The mountains. The Western Slope. Even El Paso County, for God’s sake. That’s some conservative country out there, Sam.”
“Those are my peeps. Trust me, gay is in,” Sam repeated, as though it was his new mantra. “There’s no time like the present to be a gay politician in Boulder. If not now for Elliot, when? The tide will turn back. Always does, look at history. Gay people never stay in favor for long. The Greeks? The Romans? Gays were in, and then—bammo—here come the Dark Ages. See what I’m saying?”
I did not have the psychic resources to discuss homosexuality and the Dark Ages with Sam Purdy. Fortunately it didn’t matter. He was ready to move on—maybe to the Enlightenment. I crossed my fingers.
“I got no bars out here. Damn. Anyway, my point? If Elliot were to bust one of us it might help his national profile.”
One of us? Why not both of us? I said, “Jesus. You’ve thought about this.”
“You had other things to pay attention to, but Lauren’s death was big news. Not just here, everywhere. Big-stage everywhere. National everywhere. If her grieving widower is suddenly arrested—by her boss, no less—for another local homicide? With the YouTube dancinggravegirl thing on top of it? Wow. I could see Nancy Grace moving her tour bus outside our courthouse. Maybe she buys a condo here. Adopts babies here.”
I wondered if Nancy Grace had a tour bus. “Why arrest me, Sam? Not you?” Understood, I hoped, was since you’re the one who fucking shot somebody.
“I’ve never really understood the animosity Elliot had for Lauren, and for you. Is there something there I don’t know?”
Sam knocked me off balance with that question. By getting me lost in the Dark Ages and Hickenlooper’s height and Nancy Grace’s future in Boulder, he’d lulled me into forgetting what a skilled interviewer he was. I stuttered before I said, “It started as a professional rivalry for Elliot and Lauren. Then? I’m not sure. Things just deteriorated. I got dragged in. There may have been something I don’t know about.” I was suddenly freezing cold.
“We need to assume that Elliot wants us. Badly. Two reasons. It’s the only safe assumption. And I think it might be true.”
“Why ‘us’? Why not you?”
“Lately? I’m thinking it’s more you than me. Maybe even more you than us.”
Oh God. “Why?”
“Exactly. Why? All I know for certain is what I was told by the friend who gave me the initial heads-up about the surveillance. It means we—you—are on their radar, and not in a good way.”
“Me? I thought the surveillance was on us.”
“I told you about the surveillance, Alan.”
“You said it was on us, Sam.”
He was examining the dirt on the lane. “Turns out it’s more you.”
“How long have you known that?”
“Does that matter? It’s the latest information I have.”
I fought a rush of vertigo. Why is Elliot targeting me, and not Sam? Why would Sam not make that clear to me the moment he knew it?
I felt the ground shift. “Why me? What’s the upside of that for the DA?” What was implied, but what I didn’t say to Sam, was since you’re the one who committed murder in Frederick, not me.
He said, “Can’t say. Lauren gave you that kid’s drawing. Maybe Elliot knows about it. Maybe he’s seen it. Or maybe it’s not the only drawing. He could have others.”
“Lauren didn’t mention any other drawings, Sam. Just the one.”
“It’s possible there are more. Absence of a mention isn’t mention of an absence.”
“Is that a real aphorism? Or did you make it up?”
Sam ignored my question. “Or maybe Lauren told her assistant about the one she gave you before she went to your office. Or she scanned it and emailed it to everybody in the damn county before she walked over to see you.”
“But that drawing implicates you, Sam, not me.”
“Does it?” Sam said. “It’s a picture of a specific car, Alan. Not my car.”
He was reminding me that the car in the drawing was mine, not his. Sam had borrowed the car, without permission, to commit the crime. But Elliot didn’t know that. To Elliot, the vehicle in the drawing would appear to be my car. Not Sam’s.
By giving that drawing to Sam, had I left the DA with no real suspects but me? I had a sudden uncomfortable insight into why Sam wasn’t as upset about the change in investigatory focus as I was.
He was relieved that they weren’t looking at him. Sam feared more drawings because he feared they might refocus the DA’s attention on him.
The implications of Sam’s concerns, for me, could be life changing.
15
I DARED THE STORM TO stay north while I remained outside to do physical chores—mostly having to do with removing dried brush and weeds. Wildfire abatement meant clearing growth away from structures. I was doing my part, though I did refrain from gathering the tumbleweeds that were closest to Ophelia’s doublewide.
Even from a distance I could tell that she and Sam were fornicating vociferously. I wasn’t in the mood to eavesdrop on that. Nor did I know what odd mood I might need to be in to wish to eavesdrop on that.
I spotted a car dropping around the far curve on the dirt and gravel lane. At first I thought it was a limo. But as the vehicle drew closer I could see that the front end was that of a brooding Chrysler 300, the paint as shiny as a gorilla’s coat. If there was a fingerprint, or a water drop, or a streak on the finish of the sedan, I was missing it.
The fine Colorado dust the slow-moving car was stirring up would soon settle on the black paint with the certainty of a plague.
I hadn’t been expecting a visitor. I hoped the car was heading to Ophelia’s. She and Sam could take another sex mulligan.
I INTRODUCED HIM to the kids as Carl Luppo. He corrected me. He said, “Franco Carelli.” He winked at me and tapped at an imaginary breast pocket. “Remember the p
aper? When I asked for the paper I got my name back, too. I’m Frank.”
In my head I added his real name to the street handle he’d earned when he was an active enforcer for one of the prominent crime families in the Northeast during the flaming sunset of the old-time mob. He had once admitted to me in therapy that in the social club where his crew gathered he was known as “Jaws.” In his heyday, when he was the stuff of other people’s nightmares, he would have been Frank “Jaws” Carelli.
“Like the shark in the movie?” I’d asked him.
“No, I was before the movie. I was the guy who don’t let go. That kind of jaws.”
Carl Luppo was his WITSEC name. The paper that he was referring to was his official release from the Witness Security Program of the U.S. Marshals Service, WITSEC, what most of us know as the Witness Protection Program. I met him when he was a protected witness, and I was doing a brief gig as a WITSEC mental health consultant. At that time, Carl Luppo was considered “hot.” The hot designation meant that if his enemies found him he would be a dead man. During my WITSEC briefing I was told that he had numerous enemies, primarily his ex-compatriots, but also a few of his remaining ex-antagonists. Given what he’d done—not only the crimes he’d committed to earn his passport into the realm of WITSEC, but also the testimony he’d offered in court to keep the government happy after he went underground—it was hard for me to imagine that all had been forgiven between Carl, his onetime crime family, and that family’s natural enemies. In Carl’s world, revenge had a long, long fuse.
Yet here he was, driving himself to my door as though nobody was dying to put a bullet in his head.
THE KIDS TREATED CARL like he was a garrulous grandfather. He had wrapped Italian candies in his pockets ready for them.
I hoped I saw Carl for what he was, an affable wiseguy, a self-described “gorilla.” But I told the kids that Mr. Luppo was an old friend from work and explained that Anvil, the miniature poodle they loved and knew so well, had originally belonged to him.
Anvil died of liver cancer, Carl explained to me after the kids grew bored. Neither of them liked the candies; they’d both moved on. “Last year. Had to put him down.”
Compound Fractures Page 8
