Interpreter for the Dead Read online

  Dane laughed.

  "The school? Is that who the land is really going to?"

  "You know nothing."

  "I'm guessing you didn't hand that tape over until they agreed to sell the land back to you on a nice, comfortable payment arrangement. Maybe you can keep up on that payment plan, unlike the one you had with my father."

  Bingo. Dane could see it in his eyes. An almost imperceptible shift. He'd hit the nail on the head.

  "This isn't over yet, not by a long shot. You're pretty good at finding things, McConnell, but I think I'm better."

  Dane addressed Oren's wife again.

  "You people tell me I don't know the man who died over there. I don't think you know the man standing right here."

  Maggie McConnell set her jaw in defiance, and pointed towards his truck.

  "I think you better leave."

  "Gladly."

  Across the yard, AJ had finished up with a client and stood in her office doorway, staring as Dane climbed in the truck and roared out of the drive.

  Her mother and father, clearly shaken, went back inside and closed the door.

  "Margaret, go rest. Do not worry about this. Go."

  Oren grasped her hand between his for moment, then steered her in the direction of the bedroom. He waited for her to get situated on the bed before going down the hall to his office and locking the aged fir door behind him.

  He sighed heavily, leaning his back against the door, the safety of his den comforting.

  An old hardwood filing cabinet was gathering dust in the corner. Taking a small key from his wallet, he unlatched the lock.

  At the back of the bottom drawer, in an unmarked file, he found what he was seeking.

  Removing the crisp linen paper from within, he stared gravely at it.

  The last will and testament of Henry William Dane. The notary mark indicated it had been signed just that year.

  It left everything to Michael Aaron Dane.

  Chapter 24

  The Spy Works store in Lakewood was a treasure trove of surveillance equipment. In less than an hour, Dane had acquired everything he needed to partake in some serious eavesdropping.

  It was time to find out just what Oren was up to. He'd already installed the tap on McConnell's TTY line. Now he had to wait for an opportunity to get into the house and see what he could find.

  Dropping his keys in the ceramic dish on the stand near the front door, Dane walked through the darkened living room, dodging furniture as he went.

  "Hello, Michael."

  He could just make her out in the dim light coming through the curtains. She sat at the table, staring down at something in her hands.

  "AJ?"

  She unfolded herself from the chair, the shadow of a long, thin object extended from her right hand. In the dim lighting he could see it was metallic.

  "AJ, what's going on?"

  He took a step back, his grip tightening on the bag as she continued toward him.

  "I know what you're thinking," she said, her voice dull and low as she reached for the light switch. "You're wrong."

  He blinked; not looking up at her face until he realized all she held in her hand was a silver picture frame. When he did look at her, he was shocked to see that she'd been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks pink and hot.

  A tear cascaded down her face, and he had to restrain himself to keep from wiping it away. She'd always been a tough kid growing up, having all those brothers to keep up with. Now here she was a full-grown woman, crying her eyes out in his living room. Dane moved forward to comfort her, when she brought the picture up to her chest, clutching it like life preserver as she spoke.

  "My dad isn't the one responsible for your father's death. I am."

  "What?"

  Flopping down on the couch, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the palm of one hand.

  "I didn't tell you something, something I should have. I was threatened a couple weeks before your Dad died."

  "By who?" Dane was mystified as to where this conversation was leading.

  "A couple guys from Baxley Distribution. They're a big food distribution company out of Denver. We won the Boulder County School District supply contract from them. They were trying to intimidate me into backing off on their other contracts. I didn't back down Michael. I think they may have killed Henry, as a warning."

  Dane's mind reeled.

  "I don't believe this. A contract couldn't be worth enough to kill for."

  "This could lead to us getting more of the other school districts in the long run. Baxley has a monopoly on them," she paused. "I have it on tape, I-I had a recorder in my pocket when I met them. Just in case."

  "Did they specifically threaten to hurt you or my dad?"

  "Not specifically, no, but they implied that someone might get hurt if I didn't take the message back to Henry to drop any future bids."

  "Why didn't you tell me this sooner? Did you ever stop to think about what might have happened with me chasing after Caywood? I mean, did it ever occur to you that I might hurt the bastard? You didn't know what I was capable of. I might have ended up going down for manslaughter."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Sorry?" His voice shook her to the bone. "My father's dead and I'm going to prison and you're sorry?"

  The look on his face scared the hell out of her and she cowered on the couch as he loomed over her, not sure what to do.

  "I thought you were right about Caywood at first."

  "You wanted me to be right."

  "I needed you to be right. I loved him too, Michael."

  She fixed him with her eyes as she pulled herself back up, gathering her composure.

  "You know, in a way you're lucky. You only have to deal with the memory of the Henry Dane you knew. You don't have to deal with the memory of the man who taught me how to shoe my first horse. Or the man who would carry kids around on his shoulders while they picked apples from his trees. You just get to hate him."

  "Yeah AJ. I'm real lucky. I got the asshole, you got the saint. Now I'm sitting here about to lose everything, thanks in part to you and your father. With friends like you two, who needs enemies?"

  "My dad did what he thought was right."

  Dane rolled his eyes.

  "Funny how everyone's version of doing what's right is what suits them. So, you came here to confess and alleviate your guilt?"

  No response, but the fact she couldn't look him in the eye told him everything he needed to know.

  "You're absolved. Stay out of my way AJ. I'm going to take care of this myself."

  "Let's just give the tape to the police. I should have done that in the first place. I don't want you to get hurt."

  "Guys like that have more money than God. You know what would happen? The case would be thrown out with no more evidence than that, and you could plan on looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life."

  She gnawed on her lip unconsciously. Dane had a deep-seated suspicion she still wasn't giving him the whole story.

  Was she lying to protect her father? To divert his attention from Oren?

  "Tell me everything you know about these guys, AJ. Everything."

  Chapter 25

  A Ziggy Marley tune trickled to the back of the coffee shop where Dane sat hunched over his laptop computer. Conveniently located next to the bathrooms, he could quickly run in and answer any of the cell phones mounted with Velcro to the inside of his briefcase.

  Situated across from the CU campus, the Bean There-Done That CyberCafe was also busy enough to give him the white noise he needed to think while he dug up dirt on Baxley Distributing.

  What he'd found out so far was both disturbing and enlightening. Disturbing, in that AJ's fears seemed to be justified. Enlightening in that he now had a pretty good idea of who killed his father and what he was going to do about it.

  Incorporated in 1979 by George Baxley, Baxley Distributing had history of name changes and multiple bankruptcies, always being ab
le to scrape together enough money to retain high-priced attorneys no matter how tough times got.

  If things had been difficult for Baxley Distributing through the years, they had been even worse for their competitors. Many of which met various misfortunes, ranging from warehouse fires to tainted food. The end result was that Baxley Distributing, the little engine that could, had now become the number one food distributor in Colorado.

  George Baxley died of a heart attack in 1989, at the ripe old age of fifty-seven. Control of the company went to his two sons, Charles and Roger. An autopsy of George Baxley might show that Henry Dane hadn't been the first person to die of tainted heart medication.

  A check into police records showed that Charles Baxley had done a year for extortion in 1987, and was on probation for five years afterwards. His brother Roger was more of a ladies man, having been charged with domestic abuse at least six times by three separate wives. No word yet from his current spouse, number four.

  Having lost a contract to Helping Hands Co-op, there was no doubt George and Roger felt a personal visit was in order. Unfortunately, it was pretty hard to talk shit to someone who couldn't hear you, but Dane guessed that Roger was more than happy to go through AJ - at least at first. They just didn't know that she would be too tough, or too ignorant, to back down.

  It looked like they had finally made their point.

  John Caywood had just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Henry Dane's son being in need of money had only made things even easier.

  One of the cell phones rang and Dane headed to the bathroom with it, only to find the door locked. He ducked inside the women's restroom instead, answering on the fourth ring.

  "Andrew Markham and Associates," Dane answered, altering his voice. "How may I help you?"

  "Yes, my name is Hiram Emerson and I'm calling to verify a legal document signed by a Steven L. Rice. I was given your number to call."

  "Hold on, I'll put you through," said Dane. He tapped the mute button, took a deep breath, and then answered in yet another voice. "This is Steve Rice."

  Emerson repeated the information and Dane confirmed that he had been witness to the will and he was sorry to see that Henry Dane had passed away, was Dr. Emerson a friend?

  Emerson told him no and explained his position on the board before thanking Mr. Rice for his time and hanging up.

  One down, three to go, thought Dane. He opened up the bathroom door, and was greeted with a dirty look from the woman waiting.

  "Emergency," Dane protested weakly. He returned to his table and glanced at his watch. It was time to take the show on the road.

  Forty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of Baxley Distributing, located in scenic Commerce City. Home of acres of smog-belching refineries, waste disposal companies, junkyards and sewage treatment plants.

  Answering an ad on their website for truck loaders, Dane had figured now would be as good a time as any to do some reconnaissance. He didn't really plan on getting the job, but if he did it would only make it simpler for him to get more information, and to get into the brothers' offices.

  He left messages in place on all the cell phones just in case Emerson called, figuring it would look more natural if at least one of the witnesses to Henry's will had to call him back.

  He held his breath against the smell of the nearby oil refineries until he got inside Baxley headquarters, only to be greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke coming from the woman at the front desk, an unfiltered Pall Mall dangling from her lips.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, I'd like to apply for the driving job."

  She handed him a clipboard with an application to fill out. Dane took a seat, and tried to get a sense of the office layout without being too conspicuous. The front area was broken up into tiny cubicles with partial dividers while a hallway led to the private offices. Nameplates on the first two doors indicated the offices belonged to George and Roger Baxley, President and Vice-president respectively.

  The door to Roger Baxley's office opened and the man himself came walking out, followed by a girl with a Betty Paige hairstyle and lip ring.

  Roger rapped on his brother's door while he dictated to the girl. Not for the first time, Dane wished that he could read lips. Not that he thought Roger was dictating the details of his father's murder, but it was amazing what people would talk about when they thought you couldn't hear or understand.

  He was able to get a good look at Roger's face, though. Broken in at least three places, his nose divided his face like a jagged ski slope.

  Roger was soon joined by his brother and they began making their way towards the front, picking up a few more people as they went. When they drew nearer, Dane was able to catch bits and pieces of conversation. His eavesdropping was cut short by the sound of his name and a squeal.

  "Michael Dane!"

  The girl with the lip ring was standing in front of him, arms wide open.

  "Oh my gosh, it's been years! What in the world are you doing here?"

  "Rhonda? Rhonda Holtz? Wow, what a coincidence."

  The rolling board meeting had come to a complete stop and all eyes were on them.

  "Different color every week," laughed Rhonda, touching him with one hand. "I haven't seen you since, what? Tenth Grade? Are you applying for a job?"

  Dane looked down at the clipboard still in his hand.

  "Yes, yes I am, but I just remembered that I have to be somewhere." He turned to the woman behind the desk. "Is it alright if I take this with me?"

  The woman nodded slowly, as Dane backed towards the door.

  "I'll put in a good word for you, Michael. These guys are great to work for."

  Dane hurried to the car and got in, slipping on a pair of sunglasses as he drove away. It was pointless. He could see the Baxleys questioning the girl near the front door.

  One of the phones rang. He didn't answer; too flustered now to deal with any curve balls that Emerson might inadvertently throw his way. He kept glancing in his rearview until he got to I-25, damning his stupidity. Not only did they know who he was now, they knew he was on to them.

  Forcing himself to calm down, he called Emerson back five minutes later, confirming another signature, thankful for the poor reception that ended the call quickly.

  A van full of guys in orange jump suits caught his eye and he realized he had less than twenty minutes to be in Spurlitz' office.

  Just making the turn-off for Highway 36, he got into the fast lane and floored the accelerator. He reached 120th before traffic began to slow and then came to a crawl.

  It wasn't even rush hour yet. Not that it mattered. Denver traffic had become as bad as L.A. traffic in the years he'd been gone.

  Dane began zigzagging across lanes, figuring he'd be better off pulled over by a cop than missing his check-in with Spurlitz. He maneuvered around a station wagon, the driver rubber-necking an accident clear on the other side of the highway. Dane laid on the horn and shot past him, making the outskirts of Boulder ten minutes later.

  He took 28th to Pearl and followed it all the way, knowing he would never find a parking space, and not being disappointed.

  "Fuck it."

  He parked in a loading zone, started to run, and then had to double back. He took the cell phone he was still carrying off and threw it in the car, not wanting to give Spurlitz any reason to think he was selling drugs. He took off at a dead run and was outside Spurlitz' office three minutes later, gasping for breath and sweating like a pig.

  The secretary buzzed him in. Spurlitz was on the phone and mouthed the words "you're late" as Dane sat down. Dane tapped his wristwatch and shook it next to his ear, shrugging.

  Spurlitz frowned, still on the phone, and slid a report across his desk.

  Without much attention to readability, Dane chicken-scratched out his report then waited for Spurlitz to hang up. Spurlitz forced him to sit there for another ten minutes while he talked, finally waving Dane out the door.

  He
rolled his eyes and took off, amazed that Spurlitz had passed up the opportunity to make him piss in a cup.

  He tried not to think about the parole officer as he walked back to his car, reminding himself that he was only two phone calls away from being rid of the son of a bitch for good.

  Down the street, a tow truck was parked in front of his car.

  "Hey!" yelled Dane, running again. "That's mine, I'm here."

  The tow truck driver watched Dane until he got to the car then reached into his pocket and handed him a greasy business card, pointing out the words as he read it.

  "You can pick it up at the city yard between eight and-"

  "Yeah, listen, I can read. Why don't you just-"

  "You can read, huh? Then you must have read this sign that says 'Loading Zone'."

  "All right," said Dane, reaching for his wallet. "How much do you want?"

  "You don't pay me, you pay the city."

  "Come on, twenty bucks?"

  "Are you trying to bribe me?"

  "I'm just trying to compensate you for your time."

  "The city compensates me for my time."

  The car was completely loaded on the flatbed now and Dane wondered how he had the luck to get the only truck driver who took his job seriously. Having nothing else, Dane tried to appeal to his compassion, asking if he could at least get his things out of the car.

  "No can do, buddy. The car's on my rig, and I can't have you on my rig. Liability issue. You can get your stuff-"

  "I know," said Dane. "Tomorrow morning."

  Dane stepped back and waited until the tow truck driver had loaded his ramps, got into his cab and started to pull away before he made his move, hauling himself up onto the flatbed and into the car through the passenger door.

  The driver saw him and hit the brakes, sending Dane flying against the dash as he grabbed his briefcase and found the other phone.

  "Get out of there!"

  Dane scrambled back out and jumped off, leaving the driver screaming bloody murder as he ran across the street and down the alley.

  One of the phones began to ring and he nearly dropped the whole briefcase trying to get to the damned thing.