Colfax Avenue, not far from Capitol Hill. They parked on the street and walked over to a comic book store sandwiched between a mom-and-pop grocery and a laundromat.
He opened the door for her, and they walked in.
The musty smell of aged paper permeated the air.
The man behind the counter looked like a throwback to the ’60s, with long thinning gray hair and a goatee. His face exploded into a smile when he saw who walked in.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, “Blake Gray himself. How long has it been? A year at least…”
“Too long,” Blake said. He made introductions and then said, “Mind if I give this pretty lady the tour?”
“Please.”
Blake turned to Aspen and said, “This is where I had my first law office, right out of law school. I had a desk over there, a table there, and a small bookshelf over there. I lived in the back room, illegally. I used to hang out in the front door and pass my card out to people walking by. I didn’t get my first client for six weeks and he stiffed me on the bill. That’s the check I have framed in my office, by the way.”
Blake bought a $50.00 comic, an old Tarzan classic, and they left.
Then they walked down Colfax.
“I love this part of town,” he said. “It has an edge to it, it’s real. I know every step of the way from the office I just showed you to the one I have now. And I know it’s a two-way street. It’s my job to be sure the firm doesn’t end up back here.”
A couple of elderly women walked toward them.
They gave Blake the evil eye.
He chuckled.
“They think you’re a hooker and I’m down here picking you up,” he said. “Anyway, to get back on track, the meeting last night was my idea. It’s still important for us to know how you’re connected to all these murders.”
Aspen felt he deserved to know that much and told him how she connected the fact that Rachel had disappeared right around the same time as the two women who were found buried at the old railroad spur. She concluded that Rachel was a third victim and was probably buried around there as well, so she went down to look.
She told him how she’d found a head in one of the graves.
“I called the police anonymously,” she said, “because I had nothing else to tell them that would be of any help, and I didn’t want to get involved because Jacqueline Moore had already warned me to back off.”
They walked and talked until Blake understood the events to his satisfaction.
“Here’s what we need to do,” he said. “First, you come back to work, okay?”
She hesitated.
Then gave in.
“Okay.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll call that detective and invite him to come down to the firm and talk to you this afternoon. Would that be okay?”
“Sure.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “You know,” he said, “big law firms are just a slice of life, meaning that things don’t always go perfect. We all get our bumps and bruises as time goes on. What I look for in a lawyer is someone who can keep things in perspective and stay in it for the long haul. You’re already showing me that you have that quality.”
She cocked her head.
“You can stop feeding me bullshit now,” she said. “I already said I’m coming back.”
He laughed.
“I would,” he said, “except I’m not.”
Back at his truck she commented, “I always pictured you in a Mercedes.”
He patted the hood as they walked past.
“Never forget your roots,” he said. “This guy here’s my daily reminder. By the way, no one knows what happened last night, except the people who were in the room. It’s probably best if it stayed that way.”
“I agree.”
27
DAY FIVE-SEPTEMBER 9
FRIDAY MORNING
Morning at the cabin broke with a chilly dawn, hinting of colder days ahead. Draven removed every last stitch of his lovely captive’s clothing, rolled her unconscious body around so he could study her tattoos, and then made sure she was securely chained to the bed. She had a killer physique, he had to admit, in fact sweet enough to make his cock stand up. But he didn’t screw her. Instead, he covered her with a blanket, gave her a shot that would keep her out until at least noon, and then checked the equipment.
All was in order.
Then he got in the van and headed down the twisty mountain roads until the flatlands appeared. He worked his way into the Denver skyline and ended up at a Starbucks near Washington Park.
The designated place.
He drank coffee and read the Westword until his phone rang.
It was the person he only knew by voice.
Swofford.
“Is everything set?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Come out the front door and walk west,” Swofford said.
Draven stood up, threw the coffee away and pushed through the front door. The day had warmed up considerably. He walked west, holding the phone to his ear.
“I’m walking west,” he said.
“I know.”
He almost looked around, to find the face behind the mystery voice, but knew better.
“Okay, stop. There’s a black trash bag under the blue car to your right.”
He bent down and looked.
There it was.
He pulled it out and walked back towards Starbucks.
“I’ll let the client know it’s a go,” Swofford said. “He’ll be there about noon, so don’t go back.”
“Noon?”
“He had to move it up.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Swofford said. “Make yourself scarce until I call you. That’ll be sometime tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding,” Draven said. “He’s going to take that long?”
“Apparently so,” Swofford said. “Is that a problem?”
Draven felt the weight of the bag in his hand.
Inside was $75,000 in cash.
His cut.
“No, that’s cool,” he said. “I’ve got about four thousand in expenses, by the way. I gave the woman two grand to get her to come to Denver. That was easier than abducting her. Then I got the cabin rental, a van rental, and a bunch of miscellaneous stuff.”
“Not a problem,” Swofford said. “We have another one in the works, by the way. He has someone specific in mind.”
Draven smiled.
