Robert Yates, of course, hating Bennett the way he no doubt did, wouldn’t give Bennett an ounce of work to save his life.
Bennett would be washed up.
Even Blake Gray wouldn’t be able to protect him.
Robert Yates, no doubt, would demand that Bennett be completely removed from the firm as a condition of giving the firm any further work.
“So Bennett killed him. He was smart enough to look into the future and figure out that he was boxed in. So he took Yates out as early as he could, before anyone could figure out that he had a motive.”
Christina worked out the details, looking for an inconsistency or a flaw in the theory. “How the hell do you think this stuff up?”
Aspen laughed.
“I don’t know. It just comes to me.”
“You’re in the wrong business, lady. There’s only one thing that doesn’t make sense. Bennett was in Denver when Robert Yates got killed, so he couldn’t have done it.” She smiled. “Other than that little fact, very good theory.”
Aspen stood up, put her hands on the desk and leaned across. “Let me rephrase it,” she said. “Bennett killed Yates. By hiring someone to do it.”
83
DAY TWELVE-SEPTEMBER 16
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Draven found a perfect grove of trees in the open space about a half mile behind Davica Holland’s house. He looked around one last time, still saw no one even remotely close, and then lay down flat next to a log. A stick pushed against his stomach. He pulled it out and threw it to the side.
There.
Perfect.
This would work.
He got up long enough to pull a pair of Bushnell binoculars out of the backpack, then flopped back on his belly and pulled in the view.
Damn!
Davica Holland was in the backyard by the pool, reclined in a lounger, facing his direction, pointing her chin at the sun.
Totally naked.
Nicely tanned.
Her feet were comfortably apart. He studied the area between her legs and decided that he was actually seeing her pussy.
The corner of his mouth turned up.
“Sweet.”
The woman was hot-not just mildly hot, sizzling hot. He already knew that after he snatched her, before he turned her over to the client, he’d spend more than a little quality time with her.
Maybe even a full day.
In fact, definitely a full day.
Maybe two.
He could already feel his cock between her legs.
And sandwiched between her tits.
“Oh, man.”
She shifted in the lounger, pulling her arms over her head to tan her armpits.
So nice.
So incredibly sexy.
He pulled the lens away from her long enough to train on the house, looking for a way in. From what he could tell, there were at least three doors on this side of the house. Also, there was a window well on the south edge of the structure, near the back. He could hop down into it and be out of sight, then pry open the window with a crowbar.
Lots of options.
The big issue is whether she had an alarm system. He hadn’t seen any signs in her front yard warning of one. Even if she had one, he’d probably be able to get to her pretty fast if he came for her while she was sleeping. Then he could get her out the back, through the open space to his car, and be gone by the time anyone pulled up to the front of the house.
He trained the binoculars back on her.
She was masturbating now.
Keeping the binoculars in his right hand, he shoved his left hand down his pants and rubbed his cock, picturing his cum on her face.
In one minute he was rock hard.
He maintained control, timing it so that he came exactly when she did.
Later that afternoon, Draven was back at the farmhouse, throwing rocks at squirrels and anything else that moved, when Swofford called. “The client’s supposed to be getting into Denver soon to finish off the tattoo woman.”
“He better be,” Draven said. “I’m sick of having her around. She’s a serous liability at this point.”
“Agreed. I told him twenty-four hours, max. We can’t wait any longer than that.”
“Good,” Draven said. A robin perched on a limb, about fifty feet away, chirping. Draven threw a rock at it, missing by more than five feet but scaring it enough to send it scrambling into the sky. “Also, we got a slight complication at the cabin. Apparently some water guys are going to be coming around to check out the well for some stupid reason. They’re only going to be there a couple of minutes and won’t need to go into the house or anything, but I’m not sure when they’re coming, so I moved the woman over to the place I’m staying at in the meantime.”
“Smart move. God, nothing’s easy.”
“You got that right,” Draven said. “Anyway, I positioned some wood by the well, which they’ll have to move, so I’ll know when they’ve been there.”
“Well, tomorrow’s Saturday,” Swofford said. “We won’t have to worry about them over the weekend.”
Draven agreed.
“Changing subjects, how are you coming along with Davica Holland?”
“Circling and closing,” Draven said.
“Good.”
“She’s a looker,” he added.
“So I hear. Just remember to not mark her up. That’s for the client to do. He’s very insistent on that.”
84
DAY TWELVE-SEPTEMBER 16
FRIDAY EVENING
Jacqueline Moore lived in an expensive penthouse loft on Larimer Street, not far from Coors Field in the heart of LoDo-a place befitting the stature of a senior partner in one of Denver’s most established law firms. After work, about six o’clock, Teffinger pointed the Tundra toward that loft to have a chat with her.
Mean charcoal clouds blew in and filled the sky.
Rain dropped on the city.
He set the windshield wipers to intermittent, but they made a godawful noise every time they raked back, so he turned them off and made a mental note to replace the blades.
He wanted to know exactly why Moore had quit the firm. And why she’d warned Aspen that her life was in danger. More importantly, he wanted to confirm that the source of that danger was Derek Bennett. And find out if she had any information as to how or when he might strike.
Jacqueline Moore was definitely in the mix of things.
Dirty.
That was obvious from the conversation in the hallway that she had with Derek Bennett, referencing a murder, overheard by Aspen and Christina Tam-that and her strange behavior today. If it turned out that she was only nominally involved, however, maybe he could scare her into turning state’s evidence.
Either way, he needed to squeeze her.
He circled around the area, caught up in a claustrophobic press of traffic, finally finding an empty spot on Walnut. He used to carry an umbrella in the Tundra, but it mysteriously disappeared more than a year ago.
He stepped into the rain, making a mental note for the fifth or sixth time to get another umbrella, and then hoofed it over to the building.
By the time he got there, he was soaked.
A security guard sat behind a desk in the lobby, strategically positioned to protect the elevators. She was a woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in a dark blue uniform with her hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail.
Put her in makeup and nice clothes and she’d be a looker, though.
Teffinger flashed his badge. “I need to see Jacqueline Moore,” he said.
She studied his eyes and then said, “She’s not in.”
“You sure?”
She was.
She would have seen her. Also, there was no elevator activity going to the penthouse since early this morning.
“How late are you on duty today?” he asked.
“Two.”
“In the morning?”
“Right.”
He handed her his card. “Do me a favor,” he said. “As soon as she shows up, call me on my cell phone, no matter what time it is. Also, I’d appreciate it if she didn’t know I’m looking for her. Do you think you could help me out with that?”