Jericho's Fall (24 page)

Another silence as they drove past a row of abandoned warehouses. A photograph of Pete’s son adorned the visor of the cruiser, just as it did the pickup. Beck wondered where her ex-husband kept the snapshots of Nina.

“By the way” said the deputy. “Thanks for calling me.”

She looked at him. Men. “This is about Jericho.”

“You could have called 911. But you called my cell.”

“Even so—”

The radio beneath the dash crackled to life.

Pete spoke a few words, then listened. The car had been found. There was nobody inside.

It was in the parking lot next to the town clinic.

(ii)

The town of Bethel did not possess a real hospital. A small clinic behind the elementary school had eight beds and provided some emergency services—mainly setting broken bones for skiers. Difficult cases went by ambulance or helicopter to the Vail Valley Medical Center.

Jericho Ainsley was not a difficult case.

As a matter of fact, he was not any kind of case.

The fidgety receptionist in the small waiting room insisted that nobody of that name was a patient. She checked twice. She was nervous. Sheriff Garvey had appeared briefly, and his expression said he blamed Beck for what had happened, maybe with reason. Then he had gone off to continue the search.

Pete Mundy asked sweetly if she would mind checking all the admissions this morning. She looked at her screen. A boy this morning with the sniffles. A woman delivering a baby.

“Other than that, nobody since this guy last night.”

“What guy last night?” said Beck.

“Well, I wasn’t on duty, but Wendy—she does nights?—Wendy says there was this guy who fell off a roof up on the mountain—”

Pete Mundy was already pelting for the stairs. Beck was on his heels.

“I thought you said Pesky made bail,” she said as they climbed. The beds were on the second floor.

“His injuries mean he can’t be moved. All making bail changed is that the trooper’s gone from his door and he’s not cuffed to the bed any more.”

Eight beds, five rooms, two private. One nurse, two nurse’s aides.

Pete grabbed one of the aides. “Did an old man come up here?”

She was chewing gum. Her pink uniform was stained. Medical care on a budget. “A what?”

“A man, about sixty-six, white, broad shoulders? Within the past hour?”

She was still for a few seconds, eyes rolling upward as if consulting memory storage. “The doctor,” she finally announced.

“He’s not a doctor,” Beck began.

“Yes,” said the deputy, waving her silent. “The doctor. Where did he go?”

“Mr. Pesky’s room.”

She pointed the way.

The door was locked.

“Hospital doors don’t lock,” said Beck.

“There’s a thing you can do with a piece of wire—never mind.” Pete hammered on the door. “Mr. Ainsley? Are you in there?”

The head nurse came around the corner and tried to shush him, and Beck drew her away. From inside the room came a crash. Then another.

“Move away,” said the deputy.

He drew his service revolver, held it in two hands, pointing at the floor, and kicked the door. It failed to give. He kicked a second time, and the knob assembly burst from the jamb.

Inside, Marvin Pesky, licensed private investigator, was on the floor, groaning. Jericho Ainsley, the Former Everything, dying of cancer, was sitting on his back, holding a gun to Pesky’s head and twisting the bones in his broken leg.

He looked up.

“We’re done here,” he said. “You can have him back.”

Pete never flinched. “Put the gun down, Mr. Ainsley. Good. Now stand up. Step away.”

Jericho, on his feet, looked over at Beck, and smiled. “Oh, good. My ride is here.”

Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

CHAPTER 22
The Flag Code

(i)

They wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but Jericho insisted that he was fine, and the doctor could not prove otherwise. Pamela was all for forcing him to stay in the clinic, but Audrey wanted him back inside Stone Heights, the sooner the better. Corinda, who had arrived moments ago, said the ride was too long, and he should stay at her apartment. Beck sat this one out. Both sisters blamed her for what had happened, and she could hardly fault them.

Pete Mundy had slapped the cuffs on Jericho as soon as he woke after his fall, but Sheriff Garvey arrived and made him take them off.

The two men argued right next to Jericho’s bed. “If the State’s Attorney wants to charge him, we’ll arrest him. Right now, though, we don’t have anything. Pesky isn’t pressing charges.”

Pete fought back. “This isn’t Hollywood. Pressing charges doesn’t matter. I observed Mr. Ainsley in the commission of multiple crimes.” Ticking them off on his fingers. “Assault. Aggravated assault. Illegal use of a firearm. Illegal possession of a firearm. Use of a firearm in furtherance of a felony—”

“He has a license,” said the sheriff, lamely.

“Not for this gun.”

Audrey stepped forward. “My father has been suffering from delusions,” she said. “The cancer’s moved to his brain.”

“Well, then,” said Garvey, as though that ended the matter.

“Delusions, my ass,” said Jericho from the bed, where one of the nurses was checking his blood pressure. “Ask that fool of an investigator what he told me.”

“Don’t you dare,” said the sheriff, because Pete Mundy looked ready. Angrily ready.

“Please don’t say anything else, Dad,” said Audrey, holding her father’s hand.

“Ask him,” Jericho repeated.

Corinda kissed his hand and told him to hush.

He subsided.

Sheriff Garvey turned to Rebecca. Even in front of his patron, his tone as he addressed her was gruff. “I understand you’re leaving us.”

“Soon,” she said, testily, adrenaline still pumping.

“I think that’s a good idea.” He glanced at Jericho in the hospital bed. “You’ve caused enough trouble in Bethel.” He took her silence for defiance, and he was not a man to defy. “Was there something you wanted to say to me, Miss DeForde? Were you getting ready to say, ‘Yes, Sheriff, thank you, that’s a good idea’? Something like that?”

“I’d like you to stop harassing me,” she said evenly.

His color grew splotchier. His hand came up, and for a moment she thought the sheriff was going to strike her, right here in the middle of the hospital. But he only beckoned to Pete.

“Deputy Mundy. Would you be so kind as to escort Miss DeForde off the hospital grounds?”

The sisters took Jericho home in Pamela’s Prius. Beck said she would be along shortly.

Outside the clinic, she lingered with the deputy. They watched as the sheriff drove off in one direction, Corinda in another.

“I think we’ve seen the end of Mr. Clark,” said Pete, with rough humor. “He strikes me as a pretty smart guy, but he’s not that big where guts are concerned.”

“Guts?”

A shrug. “Tony and I pulled him over and made him see that maybe he shouldn’t be bothering you folks up at Stone Heights. Maybe
we were a little rough. Anyway, he took off, and another deputy saw his car heading for the Interstate. He’s gone.”

Maybe, she thought. Maybe not. And even if Pete was right—even if they had indeed seen the end of Lewiston Clark himself—-the reporter’s theory about what was going on had, so far, survived every test. The more Beck thought about it, the more sense Clark’s story made. Jericho was not at war with his government. He was at war with Jack Notting. The only fly in the ointment was Maggie Ainsley’s call. The Senator had implied that the interest was federal. Unless she was lying about the Justice Department—

“The State’s Attorney will have to charge him,” Pete continued. It took her a moment to realize that he had switched topics and was talking about Jericho. “I’m sorry, Beck. She won’t have any choice. Even a man like Jericho Ainsley, acting that way in front of all these witnesses—”

“I understand.”

“Why did he do it?”

She hesitated, knowing that her pause was itself information to a man as clever as Pete Mundy was turning out to be. “What Audrey said. He’s not all there. He gets this way sometimes. He thinks everybody’s conspiring against him.”

Together they watched the sun dropping over the mountains. Snowcaps glistened brilliantly. Colorado was possibly the most beautiful state in the Union. But it never failed to break her heart.

“Why did he do it?” the deputy said again.

“I told you—”

“He wanted information, Beck. Ainsley didn’t do this for the fun of it. The sheriff might buy that delusion story, but I don’t.” Pete was all cop now. She noticed that Jericho, now a suspect, had lost his
Mr
. “Do the math. Ainsley persuaded you to take him to town. He had this all planned. He waited for you to go to the ladies’ room, he stole your car, he knew exactly where to go. He pretended to be a doctor. He’d lived here long enough to know that nobody at the clinic would ask any questions. For my money, that’s a little too clever for a paranoid fantasy. He brought the gun along. He locked the door. A lot of preparation
went into this afternoon’s events, Beck. And then there was the risk.”

“The risk?”

“He’s a sick man. This kind of activity could make things worse. Evidently, it almost did. And he had to know he was going to get caught. What was worth taking a chance like that?”

Rebecca shook her head. “It all makes perfect sense, but only if you assume that Jericho knew that Pesky had been bailed out and the state trooper was gone.”

“Oh, he knew. He absolutely knew. This is the best part of the story. Want to know who bailed Pesky out? Brian Navarro, Esquire, that’s who. Jericho Ainsley’s own lawyer. Maybe Navarro posted the bail and then told Ainsley about it. Maybe he posted the bail because Ainsley told him to do it. Either way, it shows premeditation.” Her silence was starting to anger him. “Come on, Beck. This isn’t just your problem any more. This isn’t an old man sitting up on his mountaintop while the strangers come to town. This is a guy waving a gun around a hospital room to get information. I think you should tell me what’s going on.”

Rebecca had a nice way with anger herself. “I wasn’t there, Pete. I’m the one he fooled, remember? I don’t have the slightest idea what Jericho wanted. Why don’t you ask Mr. Pesky?”

“He won’t talk to me. I think he’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Never mind.” She saw Dak lingering near the school across the street. She put a hand on the deputy’s arm. “Pete, look. I’m sorry. You’re right. Well, half right. There are things going on up there that I can’t talk about. Don’t give me that look. It has nothing to do with Bethel. I promise.”

“What does it have to do with?” He took her hand. “Beck, look. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“We’re pretty well protected up there. You know how Jericho is.”

“Not you, plural. You. Rebecca DeForde. Because it seems to me that you’re getting in over your head.”

She smiled. Gently. He was a kind man, but she sensed the strain in him, a helpless concern about events beyond his control. Beck felt
warmed by his worry, but also knew that she could never draw him into what was happening.

Especially not with Sheriff Garvey watching his every move.

“I told you,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with Bethel. It’s all about the past. Jericho’s past. The people you’ve seen around town—the strangers you keep asking about—they have secrets. They want them kept. That’s all.”

“And what means are they willing to use to keep their secrets secret?” She shook her head. He spread his arms. “Beck, look. I’m not up there on the mountain, okay? So I don’t know what’s going on in that man’s head, or in that house. Now, you can tell me that it’s nothing. You can tell me to mind my own business. You tell me either one, I’ll leave you alone. I promise. I won’t ask again.” Behind the glasses, the dark eyes waited. “On the other hand, if you need some help? Maybe there’s something I can do.”

An idea struck her.

“You know what? Maybe there is.”

She whispered for a moment. Pete shook his head, then nodded. “I’ll have the answer by tomorrow,” he said. Beck crossed the street.

(ii)

“How is he?” said Dak. “I heard about what happened.”

Beck was not through being furious. “Whatever he was doing, I bet you could have avoided it. I’m sure you already know who Pesky was working for.”

“Is that what this was about?”

“I don’t have the slightest doubt. What else would have been worth the risk? Jericho can’t help himself. He’s still an intelligence officer at heart. He still wants information.”

“I can’t blame him.”

“He tortured that man.”

Dak nodded. “I can imagine. He’s very good at extracting information. He always was. He had a theory. Interrogation should be fast, not
slow. You don’t mess around. You go for the subject’s weakest point and stick with it.”

“You know what? You’re a couple of coldhearted bastards.”

“I should hope so.” He patted the roof of her car. “Let’s go for a ride, Rebecca.”

He refused to talk in the car, except to give directions. They drove down Main Street, past the public library, finally stopping at a little park, complete with bandshell, dedicated to the town’s veterans. They climbed out. The flag was flying but unlighted, whipping darkly in the rising mountain wind.

“You’re wrong,” said Dak when they had walked a bit. “I don’t know who Mr. Pesky is working for. Despite what you seem to think, I’m not as plugged in as I used to be. I came up here for one reason: to persuade Jericho not to go forward. That’s my only motive, Rebecca.”

“You’re here for the good of the country. Out of patriotism.”

“And friendship,” he said, quite unfazed by her sarcasm. “I care about him, Rebecca. I love that crazy old man. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

The words hung in the air between them. Beck finally broke the silence. “I’ve been doing some digging,” she said.

“Good. Did you find whatever Jericho’s hiding? Because your nation is depending on—”

“No. But I have a theory about what’s been going on. I’d like to share it, if I could, and get your reaction.”