So Cold the River (2010) (21 page)

“You got a message.”

Eric picked up the phone and played the message. Anne McKinney. He was listening with half attention at first, but then her
words clarified and he focused. What the old lady was suggesting was a hell of an idea, actually. He wrote her number on the
pad beside the desk, deleted the message, and turned back to Kellen.

“Remember the woman I told you about who came by to see the bottle? She’s got a match. Same bottle style, same year, never
opened.”

“Let me guess,” Kellen said. “It ain’t covered in frost.”

“No. But her idea was that I could take that water and mine somewhere to have them compared. Chemically.”

Kellen tilted his head and pursed his lips in a way Eric was beginning to recognize as one of his habits and nodded slowly.
“That could be worth trying. And I might be able to help. Well, my girl might. She was a chemistry grad student at IU, spent
the last semester studying for the MCATs. If there’s somebody local who can run an analysis on it, she might know who.”

“Fantastic,” Eric said, and though this suggestion of Anne McKinney’s was a small thing, it felt bigger, because it gave him
some kind of action to take. Because it gave him some sense—or some illusion, maybe—of control.

“You might not have the need for it, running on ghost-water the way you are, but I could stand to get a meal,” Kellen said.

“Actually, I need to eat. Haven’t had a damn thing all day. But do you care if I run up to get the bottle from this woman
first? I’d like to have it.”

“Nah, man, I’ll drive.”

Eric called Anne McKinney back, thanked her for the offer, and said they’d be by to pick the bottle up. She told him that
was
fine, but she sounded different than she had that afternoon. Less spark. Tired.

The sun was low and obscured by the hills west of the hotel as they came outside and walked to the parking lot. There was
a blue minivan beside Kellen’s Porsche. Eric didn’t pay it any mind until the driver’s door opened and a man in a sweat-stained
polo shirt stepped out and said, “Slow down, Mr. Shaw. I’d like to have a word.”

The driver was a short but well-muscled guy of about forty, bald except for razor-thin sidewalls of dark hair above his ears.
He stood ramrod straight and with his shoulders back, a military bearing. Cold blue eyes, a BlackBerry in a leather case clipped
onto his belt.

“Should I know who you are?” Eric said, coming to a stop as Kellen walked on to his Porsche and leaned against the hood, watching
them, curious. He had his sunglasses on, and when the stranger glanced in his direction, Eric could see his reflection on
the golden lenses.

“Mr. Cage,” the guy said, nodding.

“Wow,” Kellen said, “he knows everybody.”

“Just need to take a minute of your time if I could.”

“Then you better tell us who you are,” Eric said.

The bald man took out a business card and passed it to Eric.
Gavin Murray, Corporate Crisis Solutions,
it said. Three phone numbers and a Chicago street address.

“I don’t have a corporation,” Eric said, “or a crisis.”

He moved toward Kellen’s car and when he did, Gavin Murray held up a hand, palm out, and said, “You may be headed toward a
crisis, though, and I’d like to help you avert that. We should have a quick talk about what you’re doing for Alyssa Bradford.”

Eric stopped short and looked back at him, got a cool stare in response. Kellen slid his sunglasses off and clipped them to
the neck of his shirt and looked at Eric with raised eyebrows.

“Like I said, he knows everybody.”

“I do, Mr. Cage. I’m awfully quick when it comes to getting to know people. Congratulations on your brother’s success, by
the way. Hell of a ballplayer. And your father-in-law, Mr. Shaw, why, he’s sold a lot of books, hasn’t he? Oh, I know you’re
separated from Claire, but until the divorce is final, he’s still your father-in-law.”

He gave them an empty smile. “Now, how about that talk?”

“All right,” Eric said, reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck, the headache seeming to be lodged there now, driven toward
his spine. “Let’s hear it.”

“Good. But much as I’ve enjoyed meeting Mr. Cage, this is a private discussion. So if he’ll wait for you for a few minutes,
let’s take a walk down there to the gardens.”

Eric hesitated, but Kellen said, “Go on, man. This boy’s got a pretty clear plan. Hate to get in his way.”

“Appreciate that,” Gavin Murray said, and then he turned and walked away from the cars, leaving Eric to follow.

I
WASN’T PLANNING ON
grabbing you in the parking lot like that,” Gavin Murray said as they walked away from Kellen. “Was going to go into the
hotel and ask them to send you down, but before I had a chance, you walked out. Figured now was as good a time as later.”

Eric said, “I’m guessing Alyssa didn’t send you.”

“No.”

“Who, then?”

“I can’t answer that question,” Murray said. “I’m in a confidential business.”

“And what business is that?”

“CCS is an investigations and solutions firm. Think of us as troubleshooters.”

“Traveled all the way down here from Chicago instead of making a phone call. This must be some trouble you’re shooting.”

“We like to conduct business in person. The discussion I need to have with you is important, and it’s actually to your benefit.”

“Is that your opinion or your client’s?”

“Both, in this case.”

Eric was silent. They were walking into the gardens now, toward the fountain.

“I understand that you’re down here working on a video history,” Murray said. “Sounds like an interesting line of work. Must
be fun. But this isn’t the project for you.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I think that could stand some clarification. Like who sent you.”

“I’m really not at liberty to disclose that. I’m sure you understand.”

“Sure,” Eric said. “You’re doing your job. Respecting your client’s wishes, fulfilling their requests.”

“Exactly.”

Eric stopped walking. They were beside the fountain now, and a strong wind pushed fine drops of spray across his skin.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing, too,” he said. “And it’s what I’ll keep doing, Gavin, old buddy. I’ve been paid, and I’ll complete
the job.”

Gavin Murray didn’t look up at him. He took a pack of American Spirits from his pocket and pulled one out, pausing to offer
the pack to Eric, then sliding them back in his pocket when Eric shook his head. He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and
exhaled smoke through his nose, gazing back up at the hotel.

“How much is she paying you?”

“That’s both irrelevant and none of your business.”

“I’ve been authorized to give you fifty thousand dollars to cease the endeavor.”

“Hell,” Eric said, “that’s less than I’m making on it.”

A lie, of course, but he was curious just how much this was worth to whoever was at the other end of Gavin Murray’s puppet
strings. Fifty grand was a hell of a starting point, one that put a prickle in his spine.

Murray smiled around his cigarette. “A negotiator. Well played. I can go as high as seventy-five while we stand here. You
can ask for more than that, but you probably won’t get it, and you know seventy-five is more than you could hope for.”

“I’m not going to ask for more than that, and I don’t
hope
for any of it. Go on home, Gavin. Sorry you wasted the trip.”

“Give the self-righteous thing a rest, Shaw. I’m surprised at this. You were in the movie business for long enough that you
should know how rare a sure-money offer is, and how fast they can go away.”

“They go away fast,” Eric agreed. “But you know what never does? Cocksuckers who try to use money as muscle. There seems to
be an inexhaustible supply. Shit, L.A. alone has more than I ever cared to meet. But I met a lot of them, enough to get awfully
tired of the act. So go on and call your client, tell him to roll his seventy-five or a hundred or two hundred grand up nice
and tight and put it right up his ass.”

He started away but Murray followed, saying, “You’re too smart for this. You know how business works at this level. Money’s
a first attempt, and other leverage is found if it’s needed.”

Eric stopped walking and turned to face him. “What does that mean?”

Murray tapped ash out of his cigarette. “It’s not a complex statement.”

“It sure as hell better be. Because if it’s as simple as it sounded, then you just threatened me, asshole.”

Murray sighed and brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Guys like you are exhausting, you know that? There’s no reason
in the world—
none
—for you to be a stubborn bastard on this, but you still can’t stop yourself.”

“Must be nice to have a bank ledger where your ethics should be, Gavin. You’ll probably go on to big things. Most people like
that do.”

“It would be a great idea to negotiate, Mr. Shaw. I can assure you of that.”

“Negotiate with
who?
You offer me money, I damn well want to know where it’s coming from.” Eric studied him. “So which family member do you work
for?”

“Excuse me?”

“The only person who’d be worried about what I’m doing would be somebody close to Campbell Bradford back in Chicago.”

Gavin Murray smiled. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Eric waited but nothing else was offered. He said, “I’m done with you, Gavin. And tell whoever hired you that they can find
me directly if they want to talk.”

“I’ve got one more question,” Murray said. “What exactly were you discussing with Josiah Bradford?”

Eric cocked his head. “You really do know everybody, don’t you?”

That got a tight smile and a nod.

“What I told him was a private matter,” Eric said. “But if you don’t get the hell out of my sight, I’ll go fill him in on
some more things. Like the fact that somebody’s in town waving seventy-five grand in my face. Wonder what they’d wave in his.”

“Not a cent.”

“I find that hard to believe. Looks to me like somebody’s awfully concerned about the Bradford legacy. And probably the Bradford
stock portfolio.”

“Not true.”

“No? Then what are you doing in beautiful French Lick, friend?”

Silence.

“Right,” Eric said. “Well, enjoy your stay, buddy. And keep away from me.”

This time, Murray let him go.

K
ELLEN WAS WAITING IN
the car with the windows down and music playing. He turned the volume down when Eric got in.

“So, who’s that guy working for?”

“Someone who offered me seventy-five grand to go home.”

Kellen leaned across the steering wheel, mouth agape. “What?”

Eric nodded. “Started with fifty, then bumped it up to seventy-five.”

Kellen said, “What?” again as if the answer had never been offered.

“I know,” Eric said. He was staring back down the hill, looking for Gavin Murray. He finally located him beside one of the
gazebos, standing with a cell phone glued to his ear. Probably calling Chicago to provide the update and await instructions.

“Another family member would be my guess,” Eric said. “Or
somebody from Campbell’s legal team. The old man’s dying, and he’s worth a few hundred million. Could be worried about Josiah.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. If Josiah’s close blood to the old man in the hospital, he could make a compelling legal claim to compensation. Campbell
abandoned the family. A few generations ago, maybe, but there would be plenty of lawyers who’d be happy to argue for reparations
on Josiah’s behalf.”

“But you don’t think the two Campbells are the same guy.”

“No, I don’t. Which makes this all the more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Also makes me wonder what your client will have to say.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eric said. “She’s getting a call. Right now.”

Down by the gazebo, Gavin Murray lowered the phone and put it back in the case at his belt and lit another cigarette. He was
leaning against the rail, staring up at them.

“Think that’s a good idea?” Kellen said. “Telling her about this?”

“She has a better chance of understanding what the hell it’s about than I do. How can it be a bad idea?”

Kellen shrugged, then waited while Eric dialed Alyssa Bradford’s number. Cell first, then home. No answer. He left messages
on both phones but no details, just a request to call him as soon as possible.

“Headache back?” Kellen said when he hung up, and Eric realized he’d been rubbing the back of his skull while he made the
calls.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get moving. I told Anne we were on our way.”

As they drove away from the hotel, Gavin Murray lifted a hand in recognition. He was on the phone again.

Josiah left Danny at his grandfather’s and drove off without a word minutes after the Porsche pulled out of the drive. He
considered following them, driving that polished piece of shit right off the road and hauling them out of it one at a time,
administering the beating he should’ve issued at Edgar’s house. They were out of sight, though, no car visible ahead except
for a blue minivan pulled into the weeds.