Found Money (20 page)

Ryan didn’t follow her out. Numbness took over, shutting out the sounds of a bustling bar. Amy’s outrage had deepened his sense of shame. Until tonight, he’d focused mainly on the way a father’s crime shaped the feelings of a son. Only now did he come to grips with the real victims.

It seemed repulsive now, the subtle way in which he had been taken with Amy the first time he had laid eyes on her. The son of a rapist attracted to the victim’s daughter. Ironically, back at that first meeting in the Green Parrot, they had even talked about children who were destined to be like their parents. He wondered if something in his subconscious was fueling the demons inside him, flooding his mind with loathsome thoughts of his father raping her mother, thoughts of the son raping the daughter. Was there something genetically wrong with him? Or was this situation simply too weird for any man?

He wondered how and where it had happened. The backseat of a car? Somebody’s house? Had his father used a weapon, some other form of coercion? Dad was a strong man. He was no lush, but he did drink more than most, especially at parties. Even so, Ryan had never seen him in a fistfight, never seen him abuse anyone, physically or verbally. He seemed happy with the man he was.

Seemed
happy. Now that he was gone, it was looking more like an act. Dad had been happiest in group settings, making friends laugh, singing loudest at the piano. People loved him the way an audience loved a performer. Put him in a crowded room, and Frank Duffy would never shut up. Keep the topic light, and he was even great on the telephone. But face-to-face in a serious conversation, he wasn’t much of a talker. On reflection, Ryan had gotten very few glimpses into his father’s true feelings. Over the years, however, those little windows had stuck with him. Like the talk they’d had nearly two decades ago, on his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

His father had been in a funk all day, working on the house, repairing some outdoor wiring under the roof easements. Ryan had always thought of his parents as happily married. On this momentous occasion, however, Dad wasn’t exactly acting as if he would have done it all over again. Ryan caught up with him outside, standing twenty feet up on the ladder directly beneath the exposed wires. Ryan was on the ground, looking up.

“Dad, what are you doing up there?”

“Fixing this floodlight.”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t you think you should spend the day with Mom?”

He fumbled for his wire clippers, saying nothing.

“Dad, you’re hurting Mom’s feelings.”

He paused. It was the most serious pause Ryan had ever seen in his father. Ryan was just eighteen years old and ready for college, trying to decide what to do about Liz, his high school sweetheart. Maybe his dad had sensed it was about time for some advice.

His father pointed at the wires dangling over his head. “See these?” he said from atop the ladder. “One of them’s hot. Could even kill a man.”

“Dad, be careful. Let me shut off the circuit breaker.”

“Ah, don’t worry. Let’s just see what happens if I grab one.”

“Dad, no!”

He grabbed it. “Nothing,” he said, releasing it.

“But what do you think will happen if I grab this other one?”

“Dad, stop playing around.”

“What will happen, Ryan? What did I used to tell you, back when you wanted to be an electrician like your dad, rather than a college boy?”

“Dad, please just come down.”

He smiled devilishly—then grabbed the wire.

“Dad!”

His father laughed. Nothing happened.

“Damn it! You scared the crap out of me. You said it was live.”

“It is. But I’m standing on a fiberglass ladder. I’m not grounded. If you’re not grounded, you can grab all the live wires you want. Understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I get your point.”

“Make sure you do, son. That Liz is a nice girl. But think ahead. Think twenty-five years ahead. Once you’re grounded, that’s it. No more wires.”

Twenty years later, the analogy seemed just as crude—women as hot wires. But it was about as deep as Frank Duffy ever got. And now, with the rape come to light, it told Ryan much about the way his father felt about his own life choices, the decision to marry right out of high school and devote himself to one woman. It shed light on an even earlier
conversation, when he and Ryan were admiring the mountains in the distance, when he’d told Ryan it wasn’t his fault they were stuck in Piedmont Springs. His mother was the one with roots so deep she would never move away. Five generations of family history in Piedmont Springs. Because of that, they were
all
trapped here.

It was a grim excuse for living where they lived, as if his dad had banished himself to life on the plains. A man with one woman in an isolated world, where temptations were few. It was a sentence of sorts. A self-inflicted punishment for one who had eluded formal judgment.

In the abstract, it seemed like a crazy notion. But now that Ryan was older and had made mistakes himself, he could relate. A
real
man had no tougher judge than himself. Like father, like son. But with one important distinction.

Ryan knew his father’s sin. His father would never know Ryan’s.

The waitress brought the bill. He paid quickly, then walked to the back of the bar near the rest rooms and stopped at the pay phones. He dialed Norm at home, getting right to Amy.

“How’d it go?” asked Norm.

“Better than expected. At least she didn’t throw her scalding hot coffee in my face.”

“That bad?”

“That bad.”

“You want to talk about it?”

A young woman smiled at him on her way to the rest room. Ryan looked away. “Not right this second. Maybe in the morning. I think I’m going to spend the night at your place again, if that’s all right.”

“Sure. I’ll wait up.”

“See you in a few,” he said, then hung up the phone.

From the doughnut shop across the street, she watched as Ryan Duffy emerged from the Half-way Café. She wore blue jeans, a baggy Denver Broncos sweatshirt, and a shoulder-length blonde wig instead of the long black one. Her look was more like that of a college student than the businesswoman she’d played at the hotel in Panama City. It was unlikely that she’d be recognized. Still, she took pains not to flaunt her attractive face, peering over the top of the magazine.

Her eyes followed Ryan as he headed down the sidewalk and crossed the street. She rose from a table by the window, prepared to move in. She stopped in the doorway. The dark sedan at the corner was suddenly coming to life. The engine started. The lights went on. It slowly pulled away from the curb. She had first noticed it when Ryan had gone inside. For a good twenty minutes, the driver had just sat there. Now she knew why—the way it sprang into action the minute Ryan had passed.

Only a cop would be so obvious about a tail.
Son of a bitch.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and headed the other way. She wasn’t sure who had tipped off the police, Ryan or Amy. It didn’t matter.

Whoever it was, they would both regret it.

Amy’s old truck took her from Denver back to Boulder in record time. There was no real urgency. No one was chasing her. It was as if something horrible about her mother had been spilled back in Denver. Amy just couldn’t get away fast enough.

She parked haphazardly in the last available space outside her apartment and hurried upstairs. For a split second she was thinking how good it felt to be home, but she quickly realized it was a home she no longer recognized. It had never been luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but she and Gram had worked hard to make it pretty. The Bokhara rug they had saved for. The pink sky and stars she’d hand-painted in Taylor’s bedroom. Antiques from the flea market, decorative things Gram had collected over the years. All their extra little touches had been trashed in the break-in. Now it
looked
like the cheap subsidized apartment it really was, with junky rental furniture that belonged in a ghetto.

Amy stopped outside her door to collect herself. She thought of Taylor inside, sleeping like an angel. She
was
an angel.
So stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Gram was sitting at a card table chair watching a Thursday night sitcom. They had no replacement couch yet. Amy walked to the TV and shut it off.

Gram looked startled. “I thought it was Taylor who had the limit on television time.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes. About thirty minutes now.”

“Good.” She pulled up another chair and faced her grandmother. “I have to ask you something. It’s important.”

Gram looked at her with concern. “Have you been crying, dear?”

“I’m okay. Gram, you have to be completely straight with me. Do you promise?”

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

“This may sound like it’s out of left field. But I
have to know. Was my mother ever raped?”

Gram seemed to sway in her chair, overwhelmed. “What makes you think she was?”

“No, Gram. That’s not being straight with me. I can’t have questions answered with questions. Let’s try it again. Was my mother ever raped?”

“I’m not being evasive. I just—”

“Straight. Yes or no.”

“I don’t know. How
would
I know? You keep asking me like I should know. I don’t. I swear I don’t.”

Amy fell back in her folding chair. It was like hitting a brick wall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so accusatory. If anyone would know, I just thought it would be you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. It’s horrible if it’s true. But why is it suddenly important?”

She scoffed, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because I’ve been wondering all my life why Mom would kill herself. This doesn’t explain everything, but it’s the only promising lead I’ve ever come across.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I talked to Ryan Duffy again. I think that’s why they sent me the money. I think his father raped my mother.”

Gram turned philosophical. “The price of easing a dying man’s conscience.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“I wish I could help,” said Gram.

“So do I. The people who definitely would know are all gone. Mom’s dead twenty years now. Grandma and Grandpa have been dead even longer. I don’t know if Dad would have known or not. I guess I was hoping you’d heard something from someone.”

Gram shook her head. “You and I are close, dear. We tell each other everything. But don’t let that give you a false impression of the relationship I had with your mother. It wasn’t a bad relationship. But basically, I was her mother-in-law.”

“I understand.”

“There must be another way to tackle this. When was the rape supposed to have happened?”

“Before Mom and Dad ever met. Sometime when she was a teenager, Ryan said.”

“Then that’s where you need to look. Go back in time. Check with people your mother might have confided in. Her classmates, her girlfriends.”

The word hung in the air, as if the mere mention of “girlfriends” had struck the same chord in both of them.

Gram asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Her eyes brightened. “Only if you’re thinking of Marilyn Gaslow.”

Ryan sat in silence amidst a seventy-inch television screen and surround-sound speakers that stood four feet tall. With all the electronic toys turned off, the media room was the ideal place in Norm’s huge house for a confidential conversation. It was soundproof with no windows, putting even the most paranoid at ease. In here, Norm had heard some of the most acoustically perfect confessions in the history of American criminal defense law—including one from Ryan eight years ago.

Tonight, however, Ryan had only Amy on his mind.

“Want a beer?” asked Norm.

Ryan was sitting on the couch, still shell-shocked from the full-blown explosion at the Halfway Café. “Huh?”

Norm took that as a yes and grabbed two from the minibar. He handed Ryan an open Coors and sat in the leather recliner facing the blank television screen. “Let’s hear it. Tell me what the mysterious Amy had to say.”

Ryan peeled the label on his bottle. “Not a whole lot. She was just…angry is the only way to describe it. Which is understandable. She thinks my father raped her mother.”

“So, let me get this straight. She knew her mother had been raped, but she didn’t know your father had done it?”

“No. I don’t think she knew anything about a rape at all. I implied that my father might have raped someone she knew. She inferred it was her mother. It was the age similarity, I guess. Her mom is dead, but she would have been about the same age as my father. When I asked if her mother ever lived in Boulder, she wouldn’t say. But I got the impression the answer was yes.”

“Too bad we don’t know Amy’s last name. We could check those old yearbooks from Boulder High School, see if your father and her mother were classmates.”

“Amy’s name isn’t the key. We need to know her mother’s maiden name.” Ryan sipped his beer, thinking. “You know, it might be worth a look at those yearbooks anyway. It’s a long shot, but maybe Amy looks like her mother. I might be able to pick her out.”

“You’re right. That is a long shot.”

“You got a better idea?”

Norm shrugged. “We can check them out tomorrow. The copies I made are photo-quality, so I don’t see any burning need to drive all the way to Boulder to check the originals.”

“I’d like to do it tonight. You want to go downtown?”

“They’re not in the office. My investigator has them. He’s still working on that background search of your father’s classmates, looking for the kid who grew up rich enough to pay five million dollars in extortion.”

“Call him. Maybe he can bring them by here. If I’m going to look for a woman who looks like Amy,
I’d really like to do this tonight, while Amy’s face is fresh in my mind.”

Norm checked his watch. Not quite nine-thirty. “I guess it’s not too late to ask. He lives just a few minutes away from here.”

Ryan only half listened as Norm placed the call. He leaned back on the couch and waited. He noticed his reflection on the dark television screen. It was barely perceptible. Norm’s was even fainter, standing in the background and talking on the phone. It was a blurry image, yet in some ways it seemed clear. It was like watching himself from another time—déjà vu on the big screen, taking him back to the last time he had sought advice from his friend Norm. It didn’t feel like eight years ago. Ryan was a resident at Denver General. A prominent professional athlete had checked into the hospital for surgery. Turned out he was HIV-positive. Back then, infected athletes worried about being banned from the playing field. His illness was a well-guarded secret. He’d told Ryan, as his doctor, to make sure it stayed a secret. He forbade Ryan to tell anyone—even the unsuspecting wife.

“All set,” said Norm. “My investigator will be here with the yearbooks in ten minutes.”

Ryan was still staring at the dark screen, not really focusing.

Norm snapped his fingers. “Hello, Earth to Ryan.”

He looked up, smiled with embarrassment. “Sorry. Spaced out for a second there.”

“Where’d you go?”

He sighed, not sure he wanted to tell. “Little time warp. I was just thinking about that time I came here ten years ago. Back during my residency.”

“Ah, yes. The night you began your descent into Purgatory Springs.”

“You mean Piedmont Springs.”

“No, I mean purgatory. That’s what it is for you, isn’t it? You work for hardly any pay, do good deeds for the needy little people of the world, earn your place back in heaven. Sounds like purgatory to me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. You and Liz were on the verge of having it made. Then poof, you walk away from it and go back to Piedmont Springs. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s not your fault that guy’s wife ended up with AIDS. The law prohibited you from telling anyone that your patient was HIV-positive.”

“Yeah,” he said with sarcasm. “I sure played that one right by the book.”

“I don’t know how else you could have played it. You had a duty to your patient.”

Ryan shook his head, exasperated. “Just like I have a duty to my dad, right? A duty of loyalty. I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut and tell no one his dirty little secrets, even the people who have the right to know.”

“I don’t think the two situations are quite the same. But even if they were, you went the other way this time. You told Amy about the rape.”

“Exactly. Last time I followed my technical duty right down the line. Which turned out to be a death sentence for an innocent woman. So this time I crossed the line. I put the victim ahead of my sense of duty. And it blows up in my face. Amy seemed totally shocked to find out her mother had been raped. Her mother obviously had never told her. Presumably, that was the way her mother wanted
it. What right did I have to step in and upset her mother’s wishes?”

“These are tough dilemmas, Ryan. Both situations. Very tough.”

“And I made the wrong decision both times.”

“So what are you going to do now? Pack up your clinic in Purgatory Springs and move to Siberia?”

Ryan glared. “You think this is a joke?”

“No. You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re dealing in areas where there are no right answers. I take that back,” he said, raising a finger for a case in point. “There was one option that would have been clearly the wrong decision. Ten years ago, you could have blackmailed that jock after you learned he was HIV-positive.”

“That wasn’t an
option
,” he said, scowling.

“Your father might have considered it.”

“Go to hell, Norm.”

“Sorry. Let’s just forget I said that, okay?”

“No, let’s not forget it. If you think my old man was a scumbag, just come out and say it.”

“I’m not passing judgment. I suppose sometimes even blackmailers have their reasons.”

“But you can never justify rape.”

He could see the pain in Ryan’s face. “No, you can’t.”

“That’s why I had to tell Amy—or at least try to tell her. It seemed like the right thing at the time. Now when I see the agony this must be causing her, I’m not so sure. Maybe she was better off not knowing.”

“Do yourself a favor, Ryan. Put it behind you. Telling Amy about the rape wasn’t the hard decision anyway. You’ll get a second chance to think this through and do the right thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have to meet with the FBI. The tough question is, do you tell
them
.”

Ryan looked away, shaking his head. “Another one, huh?”

“Another one what?”

He answered in a hollow voice. “Another situation where there’s no right answer.”