Wisdom Spring (9 page)

It took about two hours to get the wording right in Jess’s message. When she started talking about her coworkers, she started to cry. Even though it was genuine, Colson would take the tears as theatrics and applaud it. It was almost two in the morning when we finished it, and we collapsed into bed.

*****

Colson’s talk and book signing was scheduled for three o’clock. We slept late and ordered room service breakfast. It was still only eleven when we finished, so I decided that it was time Jess got out for a bit. It wasn’t comfortable for her in the wheelchair with the way she had to contort her arm and hang her head over the side, but at least she could soak up some of the sounds. I figured I’d also show her a
Wolf Run
, just in case something hit her.

The road trip lasted less than an hour. Between the discomfort of the chair and the fear of being caught full face on camera, she’d had enough. I managed to show her a
Wolf Run
, but to her it wasn’t any different from all the other slot machines.

I got her up to the room, where we wasted time waiting for Mill Colson. I knew Jess was nervous, but I was surprised at how nervous I was too.

“You should probably have all the luggage ready to go, in case something goes wrong. If I can’t convince him, we should take off.”

Finally 2:15 arrived, and I headed down to get a good seat.

I had to admit, he was good. He was in his late fifties, fit, and well-groomed. He had a full head of hair tinged with gray. His energy was boundless. He was animated as he kept us entertained with stories of old cases, and what it’s like traveling the country in his private jet. I looked around. There were probably about a hundred people transfixed on Mill (he insisted people call him that). Occasionally he would touch on serious topics, but he had his patter down so perfectly, he could transition from one story to another, from one emotion to another, without skipping a beat.

He talked for almost an hour, then invited everyone to come meet him at the signing table.

I moved into line with the others, trying to figure out how I could tell him about Jess without the person behind me hearing. That was solved when an assistant walked along the line handing out pieces of paper and pencils.

“It goes a lot faster if you write on the paper what you would like Mill to inscribe in your book,” she said.

It seemed a bit egotistical to me, but it also made sense. Famous authors must deal with groupies all the time who just want to talk. There was probably also less chance of the author hearing the name wrong, or spelling it wrong, and wrecking the book. For me, it was perfect.

I wrote:
Jessica Norton needs a lawyer. Interested? She didn’t kill those four people.

I waited in line fifteen minutes before it was my turn. As I moved up to the table he looked at me with a wide friendly smile, but one that also seemed to say, “
I’m really famous, and you’re not.
”

An assistant handed him a book open to the title page, ready for his signature. At the same time I gave him the paper. He started to read it, pen in hand, then stopped and slowly looked up at me, folding the paper so the assistant couldn’t read it. He seemed momentarily confused, but focused quickly.

“This for real?” he whispered.

I nodded my head.

“She here?”

“Around,” I answered. I pointed to the small video camera in my left hand. “She recorded you a message.”

“Why don’t you go have a seat and we can talk after.”

I moved off to the side, very aware of dozens of people staring at me. If he took her case and anyone made the connection back to me, my invisibility was history.

It took about a half hour to finish with the line. When he was done, he got up, stretched, and walked over to a smaller room off the main hall and motioned me to follow. When I reached the room, he closed the door behind me. We were bathed in silence.

“I thought a little privacy would be called for.” He held out his hand. “Mill Colson. And you are?”

We shook. “For the moment I’m anonymous, if you don’t mind.”

“Fair enough. You know, people try to entice me to take cases all the time. Some are real cases that don’t pique my interest. Most are bogus. People who just want to meet me. Which one are you, Mr. Anonymous?”

“I’m the third kind. I’m the one who can offer you the case that will add to your legacy. Put another star above your name. Jess doesn’t have a penny and can’t pay you, but you won’t care. This case will create so much curiosity for you, you’re going to have to take it. Never mind the fact that it will bring in millions for you when it’s all over.”

“You some kind of salesman?” Mill asked.

“Used to be. Now I’m just a guy trying to keep an innocent woman alive.”

“Keep her alive how? Or why?”

“I don’t know how. I’m just doing my best. Maybe you should let her tell you why.” I handed him the video camera. “It’s less than ten minutes long, but she covers the high points.”

We both sat down at one of the tables and he turned on the video. It was a small screen and the audio was a bit tinny, but it didn’t matter. A minute into it, I knew he was hooked. She told her story as completely as possible, leaving out The Voice, of course. That was strictly between us. At the end, he looked at me, and I could tell the wheels were turning.

“Is she planning to turn herself in?” Mill asked.

“She’d be dead within the hour. No. No way. I just have to keep her hidden.”

“Then I can’t meet with her. I’d be guilty of harboring a fugitive.”

“I understand. You could go through me, or we could set up phone calls between the two of you. It’s hard because I don’t know if lines are bugged.”

“None of mine are,” said Mill. “My offices, vehicles, and phones are swept constantly for listening devices.”

“So do you believe her?” I asked.

“I’m sure you’ve seen enough lawyer shows. It’s not what I believe, but what I can convince a jury of. But to answer your question: I don’t believe she killed her co-workers. But frankly, I haven’t believed that from the beginning. It was too professional. I had some of my people check into her, and they found nothing that would lead me to believe she was anything but an average twenty-eight-year-old office worker.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“You don’t think I have people out there investigating potential big clients? If I get contacted—like I did today—I have to be prepared. For example, I knew that if she asked me to take the case, she had no money to pay me. So if I took it, it would be pro bono. Up til now, there was really nothing about the case to make me drop everything. However, the Hillstrom connection adds an interesting twist. That part of it seems far-fetched, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”

He paused, mulling it all over. I let him think.

“So if I took the case, what would you two be doing?”

“Hiding out. Seeing if we could get proof on Hillstrom on our own.”

“Is there something she knows?”

Here was the moment of truth. Do I mention The Voice and risk him walking away?

“Okay, I’m going to be a little vague here, and I apologize. There are a few clues she has that she is determined to follow. They’re nothing that would help or interfere with your investigation, and if they led to anything, we would tell you immediately. But for reasons I can’t explain.… ” I left it hanging.

“I can accept that for now, but not for long.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay. Let her know I will take her case. I’m going to want to announce it within a few days, minus any mention of Hillstrom. That’ll be going on behind the scenes. So I suggest you get as far from here as possible, in case some reporter puts two and two together.”

“What’s the best way for us to stay in touch?” I asked.

“Give me an hour. There will be a disposable cell phone waiting for you at the front desk. I’ll have it programmed with my number and the number of one of my investigators. Use this phone only to call me or the other number on it. Don’t use it for anything else. Memorize my number. If you lose the cell, pick up another disposable phone and call me from that. I will always have to know how to get in touch with you. Now, at this point can I have your name, so I can leave it for you at the desk?”

“Jon Harper. J..O..N. Room 2013.”

“Okay. Well, nice to meet you Jon. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Just leave as soon as you get that phone. I have a lot of planning to do, so you might not hear from me for a couple of days. I’ll let you know before I go public.”

We shook hands and went back out into the main hall, which was still bustling with people, and he took off, his entourage trailing behind.

For the first time, there was a ray of hope in this madness.

Chapter 9

When I got back to the room, I could tell Jess had been nervously pacing. She looked at me expectantly.

“He’ll take the case,” I said.

She jumped into my arms with a squeal. After she had calmed down a bit, we sat by the window and I covered all the points of my talk with Mill. She had a few questions, but was mostly a little overwhelmed by it all. To go from office worker to client of Mill Colson was mind-boggling. But it didn’t take her long to return to the situation at hand.

“Well, we’re all packed. Are we still headed for Homer?” she asked.

“We are.”

“You should have asked him to fly us there in his jet. We could have avoided dealing with Canada.”

“No, it’s important that he doesn’t know where we are. I get the feeling he was concerned for your safety. I don’t think he totally buys the Hillstrom thing, but I do think he knows your life is in danger. He was adamant about us leaving immediately and getting lost.” I looked at my watch. “We should head out now.”

Once again we went through the charade of Jess in the wheelchair. I paid our bill at the front desk in cash and picked up the package Mill’s people had left for me. The woman at the valet desk called for our car, and fifteen minutes later, we were on the road, heading north on Interstate 15 out of Las Vegas. Since it was already early evening, we knew we’d have to stop somewhere for the night, but it was cool and clear, and the stars filled the expansive sky. We both felt like driving.

“We never did find out where
Wolf Run
fits into all of this,” Jess said once we were away from the gaudy lights of the city.

“Could it be you got the wrong message?” I asked.

“It almost electrocuted me. I don’t think so. But I also didn’t feel any sort of urgency once we were there, so I don’t know if we just missed a clue, or if things changed.”

“Maybe I should have had you check them all out,” I said. “Maybe it was a clue only you would have noticed.”

“I doubt it. I wouldn’t have had the patience. I don’t see how people can just sit there hour after hour. And it was way too noisy for me. Besides, we didn’t want my face showing up on a video somewhere.”

We both went quiet, appreciating the soothing hum of the tires on the highway.

Finally Jess broke the silence. “Why couldn’t we just find some small town out here in the middle of nowhere to live? We could get lost and no one would ever find us.”

While it was an appealing thought, I couldn’t tell if fear was creeping back into her consciousness, or just sheer exhaustion. I was learning that being on the run put all of your senses on overload. Adrenaline was constantly flowing, you were always moving—mentally and physically—to the point where you just wanted to sit down and say “Enough! No more of this.”

She looked at me with a deep sadness in her eyes. “But I know that’s just a pipe dream. They are eventually going to locate us. I don’t know how, but it’s just a matter of time before I get recognized—somewhere. What then?”

“If it’s a cop, we call Mill and just hope he can keep us safe somehow. If it’s one of Hillstrom’s goons … well … I guess I learn how to kill.”

“Could you?”

“Could I kill? A couple of weeks ago I thought my life was over. There was nothing left for me and I was ready to kill myself. Now that I have something to live for, could I kill someone else to survive? Absolutely. I was a parent. To protect Karen’s life, I would have done anything I had to keep her safe. Any good parent would.…”

I trailed off, realizing that, in fact, I actually killed my daughter. But Jess knew exactly what I was thinking.

She rested her hand on my arm. “You didn’t kill her, Jon. You were doing what you just told me—everything possible to save her.”

“Yeah, well, anyway … If someone is threatening our lives, I will kill him.”

The fire had gone out of the conversation. My guilt had taken over. We stopped at a service area where I got gas and went into the Burger King and got us some food.

I began to feel better as we ate, and apologized to Jess for my mood.

“Jon, you lost a child. You never, ever have to apologize for the darkness that’s in your life. Unfortunately, it’s always going to be there, some days more than others. The grief will show up when you least expect it. I know that from experience. I still haven’t gotten over the death of my parents. Sometimes I would be sitting at my desk at work and just start crying for no reason.”

“When did they die?” I asked.

“About a year and a half ago. Remember that ferry accident in India? Over 600 people died.”

Sadly, I only vaguely remembered it. What did it say about me that 600 people could die in an accident in some third world country, and it barely registered with me? What does it say about the news media that they gave it such little coverage, it was inevitable that we would pay little attention? If the same thing had happened here, it would be on the news for weeks.

“And they were on it? What were they doing in India?”

“My parents were writers. My father worked for the
Washington Post
as a travel writer, and my mother was a freelance travel writer. She wrote some guide books for Fodors—mostly the Middle East and Asia, but occasionally some places in Europe. They actually met in India about thirty-five years ago. He was doing a travel piece for the
New York Times
—that’s where he worked then—and she was doing research for a guide. They were staying at the same hotel, so they shared a taxi from the airport. The rest was history. I was born a few years later. My father had just gotten a job at the
Post
, and they had moved to northern Virginia. My mother decided to cut back on her writing and be a full-time mother.”