Attorney's Run (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain Page A
Authors: R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain
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Samantha Rickenbacker.”
Sydney looked at him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Here’s my theory,” he said. “The guy already knew that Tessa Blake worked for Molly Maids. Her apartment complex is too congested for a killing or abduction. So he wanted to lure her somewhere quiet and dark. He scoped out this house during the day, looked in the windows and saw the rooms empty, and knew that no one would be around at night. Then he called Tessa Blake and arranged for her to show up here after hours to make a little extra spending money. He didn’t want to break into the house, because that would be one more layer of complication, which meant that he couldn’t open the front door for her. So he told her to come around to the back. When she did, he was waiting for her and attacked. What he didn’t foresee is that her roommate would be with her.”
Sydney nodded.
“That all fits,” she said. “If you’re right, then the car in front of the house yesterday definitely belongs to our guy.”
“Yes it does.”
“It also means that someone went to an awful lot of trouble.”
“Yes it does again.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to concentrate on,” Teffinger said. “Motive.”
Sydney smiled.
“That and the other thing,” she said.
Teffinger cocked his head.
“What other thing?”
“Her phone records,” Sydney said. “The man was here scouting out the house at two in the afternoon. Samantha Rickenbacker got killed between nine and ten. That means that somewhere between two and nine, someone called Tessa Blake and talked her into coming here.”
Teffinger beamed and then felt his face sag.
“What?” Sydney asked.
“This guy’s smart,” Teffinger said. “He would have called from a public phone, and one where there’s no surveillance cameras. We need to run it down, obviously, but that’s what we’re going to find out.”
“Which brings us back to motive,” Sydney said.
Teffinger nodded.
“Something was definitely going on in Tessa Blake’s plain-vanilla life that wasn’t so plain-vanilla,” he said. “We need to figure out what it was.”
16
Day Three—June 13
Wednesday Afternoon
JEKKER PARKED THE AUDI AT THE TURNOFF near the base of the cliff, the same one he fell off Monday evening, and laced his climbing shoes while his heart raced. A cloudless blue Colorado sky floated above. The June temperature was absolutely perfect, 82 and counting. This time, unlike the prior two times, he pulled out a pair of Bushnell auto-focus binoculars and studied the formation.
He found a path, a dangerous path but a path that might be feasible with a bit of luck.
He stretched, took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s see what you got.” Then he started up, staying to the left, concentrating on nothing other than being a perfect climbing machine.
He made it to the twenty-five foot mark, then the thirty, and kept going.
At thirty-five feet he had passed too many spots that wouldn’t be kind to anyone stupid enough to downclimb. The only way off the face was up.
At fifty feet he was getting close to the top and found a nice place to wedge himself and get his breath. Suddenly his cell phone rang. The sound shocked him because he didn’t know he’d left it in his pocket.
He pulled it out and answered.
“We have a situation,” the voice said. “Something we need you to get on right away.”
“I thought I was too sloppy for your taste,” Jekker said.
A pause on the other end.
“Are you in or not?”
“We never talked about my retirement,” Jekker said.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that when I’m done, for whatever reason, I become a liability instead of an asset. You’d be better off if I didn’t exist at that point,” he said.
A black-and-white magpie flew by.
“Do you speak French?” the voice asked.
He didn’t.
“Why?”
“You have a counterpart in France who retired five years ago,” the voice said. “I’m going to have him contact you
Sydney looked at him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Here’s my theory,” he said. “The guy already knew that Tessa Blake worked for Molly Maids. Her apartment complex is too congested for a killing or abduction. So he wanted to lure her somewhere quiet and dark. He scoped out this house during the day, looked in the windows and saw the rooms empty, and knew that no one would be around at night. Then he called Tessa Blake and arranged for her to show up here after hours to make a little extra spending money. He didn’t want to break into the house, because that would be one more layer of complication, which meant that he couldn’t open the front door for her. So he told her to come around to the back. When she did, he was waiting for her and attacked. What he didn’t foresee is that her roommate would be with her.”
Sydney nodded.
“That all fits,” she said. “If you’re right, then the car in front of the house yesterday definitely belongs to our guy.”
“Yes it does.”
“It also means that someone went to an awful lot of trouble.”
“Yes it does again.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to concentrate on,” Teffinger said. “Motive.”
Sydney smiled.
“That and the other thing,” she said.
Teffinger cocked his head.
“What other thing?”
“Her phone records,” Sydney said. “The man was here scouting out the house at two in the afternoon. Samantha Rickenbacker got killed between nine and ten. That means that somewhere between two and nine, someone called Tessa Blake and talked her into coming here.”
Teffinger beamed and then felt his face sag.
“What?” Sydney asked.
“This guy’s smart,” Teffinger said. “He would have called from a public phone, and one where there’s no surveillance cameras. We need to run it down, obviously, but that’s what we’re going to find out.”
“Which brings us back to motive,” Sydney said.
Teffinger nodded.
“Something was definitely going on in Tessa Blake’s plain-vanilla life that wasn’t so plain-vanilla,” he said. “We need to figure out what it was.”
16
Day Three—June 13
Wednesday Afternoon
JEKKER PARKED THE AUDI AT THE TURNOFF near the base of the cliff, the same one he fell off Monday evening, and laced his climbing shoes while his heart raced. A cloudless blue Colorado sky floated above. The June temperature was absolutely perfect, 82 and counting. This time, unlike the prior two times, he pulled out a pair of Bushnell auto-focus binoculars and studied the formation.
He found a path, a dangerous path but a path that might be feasible with a bit of luck.
He stretched, took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s see what you got.” Then he started up, staying to the left, concentrating on nothing other than being a perfect climbing machine.
He made it to the twenty-five foot mark, then the thirty, and kept going.
At thirty-five feet he had passed too many spots that wouldn’t be kind to anyone stupid enough to downclimb. The only way off the face was up.
At fifty feet he was getting close to the top and found a nice place to wedge himself and get his breath. Suddenly his cell phone rang. The sound shocked him because he didn’t know he’d left it in his pocket.
He pulled it out and answered.
“We have a situation,” the voice said. “Something we need you to get on right away.”
“I thought I was too sloppy for your taste,” Jekker said.
A pause on the other end.
“Are you in or not?”
“We never talked about my retirement,” Jekker said.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that when I’m done, for whatever reason, I become a liability instead of an asset. You’d be better off if I didn’t exist at that point,” he said.
A black-and-white magpie flew by.
“Do you speak French?” the voice asked.
He didn’t.
“Why?”
“You have a counterpart in France who retired five years ago,” the voice said. “I’m going to have him contact you
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