Jericho's Fall (19 page)

Washing mob money
, Lewiston Clark had suggested, a possibility that would provide a somewhat different explanation for Jack Notting’s disappearance.

Rebecca shivered, and kept walking.

At an elevation of two hundred feet or so above the house, the path opened onto a small plateau, where she used to sit and sulk when she
thought Jericho was being mean. She sat there now, on the same boulder, but hastily stood up, because the rock was icy cold. Down below she could see the house. Because the trees had been cut back fifty yards in every direction, the sight lines were unbroken. With binoculars she could have looked into half the rooms.

“Close your curtains tonight,” she muttered.

She hugged herself, and was about to descend when she saw the footprints again, this time a whole line of them, leading past her boulder. Now Beck was sure. She followed the prints into a copse of trees, where they vanished. But from here, she realized, the sight lines were even better. And there was cover: you could hide in the trees and watch the house without anyone’s noticing.

Something glittered.

Rebecca knelt down and picked it up.

A chewing-gum wrapper. It looked fresh.

TUESDAY NIGHT

CHAPTER 16
The Photographs

(i)

Rebecca finally reached her mother. Evidently, the trip to the beach had turned into a visit to Disney World, a two-hour drive each way. Yes, said Jacqueline. Of course she had heard her cell phone ringing. But she had not wanted to spend a single second more than necessary distracted from her beautiful grandchild.

“You should at least pick up when you know it’s me.”

“How would I know it’s you if I don’t even look at the screen?”

“Come on, Mom. What if it’s important?”

“When you call, you always say it’s important. Maybe if you’d call more often I’d believe you.”

The logic of this riposte was so absurd that Beck was left sputtering. Only then did a thoroughly delighted Jacqueline put Nina on the phone.

“Grandma gave me another surprise today.”

“The trip to Disney World. She told me.”

“Not that. There’s another one.” Giggle. “I’ll show you when you come.”

Beck did her best to giggle back. “Is it another doll?”

“It’s
a surprise.”

“Sweetie-pie? Can you put Grandma back on for Mommy?”

Hiatus. “She says she has to call you back.”

“Please put her on, honey.”

Longer break. “She can’t come to the phone. She’s fixing up the surprise.”

“Nina—”

Dead air.

Beck was sitting in the living room with the portable phone. Nina sounded so happy, yet Rebecca felt depressed. She stood up and pulled a book at random from the shelf, playing Jericho’s old game.
The American Commonwealth
, by somebody named Bryce, an aging leather-bound edition. Flipping the pages, not really reading, she tried to figure out why the conversation with her daughter had worried her so. Maybe she was still thinking about Lewiston Clark’s dark insinuations from this afternoon.

The cell phone rang. Reluctantly, she pressed the green button. Static. She pressed red, and then, because she was methodical, scrolled through the missed calls, just in case the one she had not answered at Corinda’s this afternoon was from somebody she knew. To her surprise, the screen did not say
UNKNOWN.
Instead, there was a number, with a northern Virginia area code. Beck glanced at her watch. A little past seven. Just past nine back east.

She picked up the house phone, punched the number.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice, cultured and smooth, bursting with confidence.

“I’m returning a call. My name is Rebecca DeForde—”

“Rebecca!” The voice was suddenly joyful. “It’s Margaret Ainsley How’ve you been?”

(ii)

Jericho’s cousin. Pamela and Audrey’s Aunt Maggie.

“I’m fine, Senator,” said Beck, mystified. “And yourself? Oh, and I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“No, not at all, it’s fine.” She noticed that the politician did not ask to be called Maggie. “But you’re doing well? And Nina?”

“Yes. She is. Thank you.” Beck’s interest was piqued. This could not be a social call: she and Maggie Ainsley had not exchanged a word in over a decade.

“I’m so glad. I hear wonderful things about her. It’s a shame we don’t see more of each other, you and I. I’m in McLean, and you’re right there in Alexandria, near Old Town, isn’t it?” Showing off her resources. Beck wondered who was left that was not keeping tabs on her. “We’ll do a date for dinner. Can we do that? I’ll have my people set something up. And bring the little girl, or the deal’s off.” A practiced political chuckle.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Great. I’m so glad. Rebecca, look. Let me tell you why I called. I’m hoping you can help my cousin out of a rather serious jam.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it, put it back. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“Good. Good. Listen. Here’s the thing. It’s a funny problem to discuss on an open line, but I don’t think we have any choice, unless you have an encrypted phone on you.” The chuckle was beginning to grate. “Look. My cousin, well, he values your counsel, of course. That’s very smart of him. You’re a smart woman, Rebecca. You might be able to help him.” Her cadence picked up. “I spent an hour yesterday with the Attorney General. We’ve spoken three or four times over the past few weeks. He told me that Jericho is holding on to copies of documents that have classifications of ‘Secret’ and above. That’s a serious offense, Rebecca, as I’m sure you know. They’ve tried and failed to get them back. Nobody wants a fuss. My cousin is sick, after all, and, well, whatever might have happened in the past, we Ainsleys tend to avoid public scandal whenever we can.”

Whatever might have happened in the past
. Cute.

“So I told him I’d see what I can do. I talked to Jericho when I was there, and of course he said it was a pack of lies. Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? And maybe it is. But if you should happen to come across anything—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” said Beck, somehow unsurprised.

“Great. Just great. Listen. You have my cell. You can call me
directly. And don’t forget our dinner. You’ll be hearing from my people.”

Beck was about to answer, but she was talking to dead air. The Senator was too important to bother with goodbye.

Furious, she stepped into the kitchen to put the phone back in the cradle. Audrey was mopping the floor.

“How’s the little one?”

“Oh, she’s great. Just great.”

The nun looked up at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I have to go out, Aud.”

The searching look gave way to a grin. “Remember he’s married,” she said, and went back to her mopping.

(iii)

“Your boss said I should stay away from you.”

“Garvey?” Pete Mundy made a face. “Don’t take him seriously. Besides, he’s only technically my boss.”

“Technically?”

“In Colorado, the sheriff is elected. The deputies are permanent. Joe Garvey knows as much about the job as I know about brain surgery.”

She grinned. “I’m in kind of the same situation. My boss can’t take two steps without me. I have to do his job and my job both.” Serious again. “But, Pete, that doesn’t change anything. He’s still my boss. And Garvey is still your boss. You don’t want to cross him.”

“If I didn’t want to cross the sheriff,” said the deputy, with punch, “I wouldn’t be sitting here—now, would I?”

Beck looked away. The conversation was supposed to be on her terms, not his. But Pete Mundy had landed with both feet where she did not want him to go. “I know,” she said softly.

“I like you, Beck. You’re interesting.”

“I like you, too.” She nodded toward his ring. “But you’re married.”

Pete Mundy tilted his bottle, clinking hers, although it was not clear what he was celebrating. Corinda’s was crowded tonight. In his pullover, the deputy looked boyish and charming. He said, “Separated.”

Beck squirmed. He was not going to make this easy. “How long?”

“Two months.”

“That’s practically still married. That’s you and your wife telling people you’re trying to work things out.”

He looked away, said what men always say, even the boyish ones. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re married or you’re not.”

“There’s all kinds of marriages, Beck.”

Making up her mind for her. “I’ve done it both ways, Pete. I’ve been the other woman with a married man, and I’ve been the married woman whose husband left her for the other woman. You’re very sweet, but it’s not going to happen.”

A slow, sad nod. Behind the glasses he again had a teenager’s earnestness. “Then why are we here?”

“Because I’d like to ask a favor.”

“For which I get nothing in return.”

“For which you get my undying gratitude.”

He laughed, signaling that they were friends. Zeelie came over with new beers for them both. She winked at Rebecca.

“What’s the favor?” Pete asked when she was gone.

“I was just wondering,” she said. “This is hypothetical. But say the federal government was conducting some kind of operation here. Would they notify you?”

He sat back, amused. “The federal government?”

“Yes.”

“An operation? Here?”

“Yes.”

The deputy shook his head. “I don’t know what you think is going on, Beck. We’re a small town. This isn’t New York or Chicago or Denver or”—he seemed unable to come up with another city—“one of those places. You couldn’t hide two FBI agents in this county without
somebody noticing.” He took a long swallow of beer. “What I’m saying is, it wouldn’t matter if they notified us or not. Probably they wouldn’t, they’re such supercilious assholes. But—even if they didn’t? We’d notice.”

Beck looked past him, toward the table beneath the moose head. Last night he had insisted that the couple there was watching her. Now it was occupied by a trio of sixtyish women drinking gin. Maggie Ainsley had suggested that the Justice Department was after Jericho now.

“What about the strangers?” she said. “You said there are all these strangers in town. Couldn’t they be federal?”

He gave her that lovely boyish grin. “I thought you said this was hypothetical.” He waved away her objections. “Never mind. Look. Anything’s possible, okay? But I’ve dealt with the feds, even the undercover kind. These guys—they’re too cocky, Beck. Cocky and clumsy at the same time. Full of themselves. No. The ones we arrested? They’re not federal. They’re private.”

“So the sheriff told me.” She toyed with her napkin. “He said he had to turn them loose.”

“Somebody called him. Somebody powerful.”

“Jericho said he paid for the sheriff’s election.”

“That he did.” He sipped. “And Sheriff Garvey is not a man who forgets a favor. He also has the spine of a caterpillar. He would do whatever Mr. Ainsley said. But why would Mr. Ainsley want them turned loose?”

“You’re saying somebody else made the call.”

“All I know is, when I called the sheriff after the arrests, he practically slapped me on the back over the phone for keeping the peace. Two hours later, he’s tearing me a new one. In the middle of the night, Beck.”

“Any idea who hired them?”

He took a long swallow, wiped his mouth. “Somebody who doesn’t much like the Ambassador, I’m guessing.”

She thought about it. “Is Jericho popular in this town? Do people like him?”

“You could say that.”

“He doesn’t have enemies, say?”

“If he does, I don’t know about them.”

She hesitated before her final question. “The sheriff also told me something else about you.”

“That I’m a wild man, right?” Pete never cracked a smile. “That I have these crazy ideas about what’s going on in this town?”

“Something like that,” she said, with a trace of déjà vu.

He tossed some money on the table. “Come with me.”

“Where?” They were on their feet.

“We’re going for a drive.”

“I told you, I can’t—”

“It’s not that kind of drive,” he said, taking her arm. “Well, not unless you want it to be.”

They were outside. He had the pickup tonight, and held the door gallantly. Light snow was twinkling down. “We’ll come back for your car,” he promised.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.”

She hesitated. “Pete, ah, the thing is—”

He touched her, with surprising gentleness, on her cheek. “This has nothing to do with you and me, okay? It only has to do with you.”

“With me?”

“Get in the truck.”

(iv)

They drove for several minutes—not along Main Street, but through the town’s residential area. She noticed a photograph on the sun visor, a snapshot of a freckled boy about Nina’s age. No mother in sight.

The boy looked forlorn, but Beck supposed she could be projecting.

Pete pulled over on a street of pretty Victorians. He pointed to one, with lace curtains in the window and a warm homey glow from within. The shingles needed paint. “The house is owned by a widow, Mrs.
Rennie. Lived her all her life. She takes in boarders. Mostly transients, migrant workers, and so on.” He paused. “We can go talk to her if you want, or you can take my word for it.”

“What would we be talking to her about?”

“She called the police about one of her boarders. He’d rented a room for the past week, and today he checked out. A certain Mr. Clark. I believe you’ve made his acquaintance.”

Beck sat a little straighter. “What about him?”

“This is why she called the police. Another man came looking for him around dinnertime, and they left together in a big hurry. He left so fast he didn’t take everything from his room.” The deputy slid an envelope from beneath the dash. “Here’s part of what he left.”

She opened the envelope, slid out grainy photographs. For a moment she was confused. “What am I looking at?”

“These are photocopies. The originals are in the sheriff’s vault. But those two are overhead views of Mr. Ainsley’s property, probably taken from higher up the mountain. And that one is a side view, probably taken from the woods behind the house, meaning the photographer had to be
on
the property.”