23. APOLOGIES

Richard stood in the emptiness of his office. It was peaceful there; quiet, removed from the chaos and confusion of news networks and city festivities, most unaware of what had transpired in the early hours of the night. The sound of Garrett's voice almost startled him, as much as it disconcerted him to know that he was calling someone he had only just met. But out of all the faces he encountered on a daily basis, he had immediately trusted Garrett. There was something honest about his countenance, about the way that he responded to the people around him. He wasn't like most of the men Richard dealt with on a daily basis, all Cheshire cat smiles concealing dark designs.

"All right, Richard, what's happening?" came the booming voice on the other end, lowering the volume slightly so his wife would not overhear him in the background.

Richard closed his eyes momentarily and then answered, "It's a bit difficult to explain over the phone, but if you could grant me an hour tomorrow morning at the shooting range, I'll reveal as much as I can. Since it will ultimately involve the Park Service, it's something you should know anyway."

A soft beep informed him of his wife's missed call.

"I'll be there," Garrett promised, and Richard hung up the phone, staring out into the drifting snow. It was several hours before he returned to the house, fighting through the media mob that had accumulated at his gate. His footsteps crunched on the fallen snow as he unlocked the side door and entered. He could hear music playing upstairs, one of his wife's obscure European preferences. Carolyn had gone home and they were once again alone, the solitude of the house surrounding them in the awkwardness that followed their argument. Both of them were somewhat tempestuous people and while it did not happen often, now and again there were violent collisions between them. Removing his coat, he ascended the flight of stairs and found her standing in the hall, leaning against the bathroom door, her cat in her arms. They looked at one another at length, and then she extended one graceful hand.

"I'm sorry, Richard."

The animal purred and rubbed the top of her head against her chin as he ascended the final few steps and came to touch the side of her face. "I knew I was marrying a spitfire," he replied, and all was forgiven. Charity rested her head against his shoulder and smiled at him, her way of amending all that had been said. She was up before him the next morning, hair tousled as she vanished into the study. He could hear her fingers flying over the computer keys, no doubt sending an epic letter to her immediate friends and family, answering the barrage of concerns that had flooded their answering service over the past twenty-four hours. He left quietly.

The shooting range was only a few miles away, and the owner went back to his cup of coffee and newspaper after he was let in. Checking the clip of the revolver he had brought with him, Richard placed the protectors over his ears and fired several rounds. Garrett found him there, a slender form drilling multiple holes into the target with perfect precision. The Ranger stood in the shadows, snow dripping from his boots, then came forward as the clip was removed. "You're a better shot than I anticipated," he remarked.

Richard smiled. "When you have a job like mine, you have to be able to defend yourself." Fitting the weapon into its holster beneath his dark jacket, he placed his briefcase onto the counter and snapped opened the locks. He withdrew an official folder and handed it to his companion, who placed it on the narrow ledge and looked through various legal documents that concerned the Ranger Service. "As you know," Richard said, "my associates in the governor's office have been attempting to pass a bill that would allow for selective logging in the high country. It is good for the property, as well as giving local law enforcement access should we be hit by another range of fires like those that assailed the mountains at the turn of the century."

"It has been a topic of much debate at the Station," Garrett noted. He was careful to give no opinion, for he was uncertain where Richard stood on such matters. He was known for being outspokenly conservative in the courtroom and with public opinion, but had remained silent on this issue, buried beneath mountains of paperwork and interminable courtroom trials. He appeared only slightly less haggard than the unflattering glimpses of him on television, a tired resignation in his movements as he closed the file, resting his hand on it.

"I wanted you to understand something of the circumstances that got John Marsdon killed. Recently, he has been investigating some rather substantial bribes on both sides of the table. As I'm sure you're aware, various groups are standing against the bill, claiming logging will destroy much of the natural beauty of the area surrounding Pike's Peak. There are extremely powerful men at work behind both points of view, and none of them appreciated his persistence. We have gotten calls from the White House, the governor's mansion, and various private individuals of influence encouraging us to drop the investigation. John trusted only a few people at the DA's office, and I was one of them. There were threats from the beginning, but he assumed none of them would be carried out."

The room was cold around them, ominous as both of them remembered the bloodstained street where the courageous man had met his death. Richard tightened his fingers on the edge of the divider that separated them from the other shooting booths. "I cannot tell you much more, Garrett, except that it involves a man of such standing in the community and influence in Washington that the ramifications of his arrest would be profound. I believe John's death came as a direct result of refusing to drop the prosecution. Naturally, they do not wish me to run for the position because they know I would take his point of view, if nothing else than to succeed in the one case he valued above his life. I am telling you this because the investigation may stretch into the Park Ranger Service, and I don't want you to find me on your doorstep one morning with any preconceptions about my involvement."