Found money

51

A firm knock on the door landed just after dawn. Sarah lay on her side in the fetal position, trying to relieve the stabbing back pain that came with her pregnancy. Her bleary eyes focused on the orange liquid crystals on the alarm clock beside her bed. 6:22 A.M. She rolled out of bed, slipped on her robe, and started downstairs.

The night had taken its toll. She had slept little, wept often. The tears were not those typical of grief. They were laden with self-pity and apprehension about her future. She thought about the long term, but it was the short term that created the most anxiety. Her mother had run interference for her last night, telling the police that Sarah was an emotional wreck and couldn’t talk to them. Very soon, however, she would have to talk to the homicide detectives. They’d surely ask her if she was aware of any reason why someone might want to kill her husband. One question had kept her awake most of the night: What would she tell them about her father’s money?

The knocking continued.

“Coming,” she said, shuffling to the front door. She instantly regretted having said a word. It took away the option to peek out the window, see who it was, and pretend not to be home. She pulled back the curtain for a discreet peek anyway.

The man standing on the porch was facing the driveway, his back to the house. His profile was unfamiliar to her. He seemed handsome and was dressed casually but smartly. The wristwatch looked to be the expensive kind. Inasmuch as she didn’t feel ready to talk to police, she was certain that no one at the sheriff’s department could afford a Rolex. She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Mrs. Langford,” he said in a soft, sympathetic tone. “I’m Phil Jackson.”

She knew the name but was unsure of her feelings. “You’re Liz’s lawyer.”

“That’s right. I’m very sorry about your husband. I know this is a very difficult time for you, but it’s very important that we talk.”

“What about?”

“May I come in, please?”

“No.”

He took a half-step back. “Mrs. Langford, I can understand how you might have some unresolved feelings about me. But the sooner you recognize I’m on your side, the sooner we can get to the bottom of what happened to Brent.”

“I know what happened to Brent. He got himself in the middle of something he should never have gotten involved in. And he got himself killed.”

“But he did it for you. And your baby.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. After Brent testified in court yesterday morning, he and I had a nice talk. One of the last things he said to me was that he knew he hadn’t been a very good husband to you over the years. He always thought you deserved better.”

Her eyes clouded with emotion. She was suddenly less defensive. “He really said that?”

“Yes, he most certainly did. He knew he hadn’t provided for you. He regretted that, terribly. His testimony in court yesterday was his way of making it up to you.”

“It sounded to me like he was just trying to hurt Ryan.”

“No. The goal wasn’t to hurt Ryan. The goal was to protect you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me be up front with you. I know all about the three million dollars in the Banco del Istmo in Panama City. A law enforcement source verified that for me. Brent knew about it, too, obviously. His biggest fear was that Ryan — Mr. Goody Two-shoes — was going to screw things up and lose the money for the whole family.”

“That’s always been my fear, too.”

“It’s a reasonable fear. Your needs are different than your brother’s. He’s a doctor who can make a ton of money on his own, if he so chooses. But just like you, Liz needs and deserves the money. So when Brent came forward to help Liz, he was really looking out for you. By the same token, whatever I do for Liz also helps you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What can you do for me?”

“I can help you make sure that Brent didn’t die in vain.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I intend to honor the agreement Brent and I reached. So long as his widow will help me reach the same objectives.”

“I need specifics.”

“Very simple,” said Jackson. “There’s three million dollars in the bank. According to Brent, you and Ryan were going to divide it fifty-fifty. Liz was supposed to get nothing.”

Sarah blinked. The way he said it made it sound like they really were cheating Liz.

Jackson continued, “So here’s the deal. You keep your share of the inheritance. And as an added incentive to make sure Liz gets her fair share, you get twenty percent of whatever you help Liz take from Ryan.”

“Mr. Jackson, this is my brother we’re talking about.”

He stepped closer, pointing out the purple bruises beneath his facial makeup. “Your brother hired someone to beat the crap out of me. And he may have gotten your husband killed.”

“We can’t be sure of that.”

“We don’t have to be sure. I’m not trying to put him in jail, and I’m not asking you to go that far, either. All we have to do is make the judge in the divorce case think Ryan could possibly have been connected to either act of violence. If the judge so much as suspects that’s true, we all come out winners.”

“I don’t know,” she said, wincing.

“Okay,” said Jackson. “You get thirty percent of whatever Liz takes from Ryan. After my fee is paid, of course.”

Sarah felt a rush of adrenaline. After years of abuse from Brent, the very act of negotiating gave her a sense of efficacy she’d never felt before. The best part was, Jackson still didn’t even seem to know about the other two million in the attic. Brent must not have told him.

“Tell you what,” she said coyly. “I will definitely think about it.” She stepped back and started to close the door.

Jackson stopped her. “When can I expect to hear from you?”

“When I’m good and ready,” she replied, then swung the door shut.

A deputy from the Prowers County Sheriff’s Department was at the Duffy homestead well before breakfast. On Norm’s advice — insistence, really — Ryan had called to report the break-in. The deputy was a high school classmate of Ryan’s, dressed in the familiar light green summer uniform with short sleeves. Ryan spoke to him alone, keeping his mother out of it as the two men walked around back to the kitchen door. The broken glass pane had the markings of typical Prowers County criminal mischief, according to the deputy. Juvenile crimes consumed three-quarters of his time.

Ryan offered no opinions as to the age of the perpetrator. The trick was simply to report the break-in without digressing into the murder, the money, or the blackmail.

“Was anything taken from the house?” asked the deputy.

“I don’t know for sure,” said Ryan. It was the truth. He had yet to check his father’s dresser drawer to confirm that the gun had actually been taken.

“When did you first notice the broken glass?”

“This morning.” Again, the truth. It had been after midnight by the time he had gone to Josh Colburn’s office, phoned Amy, and returned home to inspect the window.

The report was finished in just a few minutes. Out of sympathy for the family tragedy — meaning Brent — the deputy didn’t detain Ryan any longer than necessary. Ryan thanked him and watched him pull out of the driveway, shielding his eyes as the squad car disappeared into the low morning sun.

Ryan climbed the front stairs, stopping on the porch. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an approaching car up the road. A truck, actually. It was coming quickly, splashing through muddy puddles of last night’s rain. A hundred yards away he could see the driver. It was Amy.

She really came.

He jogged to the end of the driveway to head her off. Having yet to tell his mother anything about Amy, he didn’t want a scene. The truck stopped at the mailbox. Amy rolled down the window. Her expression was guarded, neither friendly nor hostile. Her eyes seemed puffy from the all-night drive.

“Thanks for coming,” said Ryan.

“Please, don’t thank me. Do you have the letter?”

“I locked it in the wall safe over at my clinic. Like I said on the phone, I didn’t want to show it to anyone until you confirmed it was genuine. I haven’t even told my mother about it.”

She pushed the clutch, ready to go. “Let’s head into town, then.”

“You can ride with me, if you want.”

“I’ll follow you.”

He sensed more than a little distrust in her voice. “Okay. Follow me.”