Dead Float (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Escalante's voice was even, businesslike, and even though I knew the call would come, my gut still tightened at the sound of it.

“Your place or mine?”

“Well, we're conducting some interviews over at Government Camp, the Clackamas County sheriff's substation. Maybe you could meet us there? It's halfway, give or take.”

“What time?”

The small village of Government Camp sits at four thousand feet on the southern slope of Mount Hood. I'd passed it countless times on my way to Timberline Lodge to ski. I wished I were headed for a ski trip this time rather than the third degree from a couple of hard-nosed detectives who'd love nothing better than to nail my butt for first-degree murder. I turned the situation over and over again in my mind as I drove toward the mountain. Escalante had been noncommittal, but I was worried that he and Dorn had found something. My knife? The phone calls to Alexis? Both? In any case, they were still treating me like a witness instead of a suspect. For how long?

The sheriff's substation was a low, wood frame building painted institutional green, trimmed in white. A large American flag mounted on a silver pole in front of the building snapped loudly in the afternoon breeze. I arrived ten minutes early for my four o'clock meeting and parked in the designated lot. I opened the back door of my car and let Archie out to stretch his legs. I had no idea how long the interview would take, but I thought the ride out there would be a treat for him. After a quick walk on the edge of the lot, I put him back in the car, cracked the windows, and went into the substation.

Needless to say, I wasn't brimming with confidence when I presented myself at the front desk. The desk officer had me escorted to an office on the second floor, third door on the right. “The Jefferson County detectives are in there,” my escort told me, and then waited while I rapped twice and entered.

“Well, well,” Dorn said as he looked up, stubbed out his cigarette, and showed a thin, reptilian smile. “If it isn't the hotshot L.A. lawyer.”

I met his eyes for a moment but didn't speak. Escalante gave his partner an annoyed look, then motioned for me to sit. “Hello, Mr. Claxton. Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.” After a modicum of small talk, Escalante turned on a small tape recorder and stated the location, date, and time of our discussion. He didn't waste any time. “Mr. Claxton, do you know anything about a fishing knife with a salmon fly in the handle and the initials CCIII on it?”

“Uh, that sounds like my knife.”

“Is it in your possession now?”

“No.”

“What happened to it?”

“Either you folks impounded it with my fishing gear or it's missing. I used it to peel potatoes the first night of the trip, washed it with other utensils after dinner. I thought I left it to dry there. When I noticed it wasn't there the next morning I assumed I'd put it back in my fishing vest in the boat without thinking about it. I've been known to do that.”

I realized now with sparkling clarity that I should have told them at the first interview that my knife might be missing. But it was too late now. The explanation I offered sounded lame, but at least it was the truth.

“When did you first miss your knife?”

“Like I said, I didn't think it was missing at the time. I noticed it wasn't with the other knives sometime that morning after the body was discovered.”

“Why didn't you tell us about this?” Escalante asked.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I didn't think my knife was missing at the time.”

Leaning forward on the desk with both hands, Dorn said, “But you
did
notice it was missin' from the other knives. So you must've been lookin' for it. You want us to believe you didn't think that was important? Come on, hotshot, you can do better than that.”

I ate a sarcastic comeback. “I wasn't
looking
for it, Detective. I just noticed it wasn't where I thought I'd left it.”

Dorn snorted. “Would this be your knife?” He reached in his briefcase and slid a couple of photos across the table at me.

I studied the photographs carefully. “Yes, these appear to be photographs of my knife.”

“Our diver found it in the river, about thirty feet from shore. Straight out from where Bruckner's body was found. Any idea how it got there?” Escalante again.

“No, sorry, can't help you.” I knew that as we spoke the Jefferson County ME was busy trying to match the wounds in Bruckner's neck to the blade of my knife. I wondered if it could be done with scientific certainty. I didn't think so, but wasn't sure. “If you're trying to show that knife killed Bruckner, I think you're going to be disappointed.”

Dorn leaned back in his chair. Escalante said, “Why is that, Mr. Claxton?”

“Because the person who killed him was a professional, and pros use their
own
knives, not some fishing knife lying around on a table, which, incidentally, everyone in that camp had access to.”

The two detectives exchanged a glance, and Dorn snorted again. Escalante said, “Is there anything else you'd like to tell us about the death of Mr. Bruckner, now that you've had some more time to think?”

“Yes.” I proceeded to remind them what Philip had shown them on the footpath from Kaskela to Whiskey Dick and also to tell them about my visit to the freight yard, the timing of the freight trains through the Kaskela switching station, and the tall male the skateboarders had seen heading toward the yard after he'd parked his Ford pickup. I didn't bother to mention the cigarette butt, since there would be no way of using it as evidence in any case. I also gave them the address of Oliver Dan, the boy who had spoken for the skateboarders.

As I related what I'd found out, I felt the conviction drain out of me. The story sounded weak. Escalante listened politely and even made a few notes, but Dorn's body language made it clear he wasn't buying any of it. And I still had the damn affair with Alexis to get off my chest. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about at the moment, but I knew it was better that I tell now than to have them discover it later.

“Uh, there's one other thing I need to advise you of,” I began. Their eyes swung to me like a couple of searchlights. “I had a brief fling with Mrs. Bruckner last fall. It lasted six weeks, maybe. I broke it off in early December.”

Dorn leaned in and Escalante's eyes narrowed, like he was taking aim. He said, “I see, Mr. Claxton. Why didn't you tell us about this earlier?”

“You didn't ask me. And let's face it, it's not exactly something I was anxious to let the world know. It was just a fling. Nothing more.”

Dorn leaned back, crossed his arms across his chest, and smirked.
“Right.”

“Tell us about it,” Escalante said.

“Not much to tell.” I went on to describe our dinner at the Hotel Lyle, the subsequent meetings with Alexis, and the fact that I'd been the one to break it off.

“Did you have sexual relations with Mrs. Bruckner during these meetings?” Escalante continued.

“Yes.”

“I see. Did Mr. Bruckner find out about these liaisons?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did you and the little missus have any discussions about the upcoming fishing trip on the Deschutes?” Dorn this time.

“No. I haven't spoken to Mrs. Bruckner since last December. I had no idea who the clients were for this trip. As I told you earlier, I was just filling in for one of Philip's guides who hurt his back.” I liked that. It was something I knew they would cross-check with Philip.

“And you waited this long to tell us?” Dorn pressed.

I expelled a long breath. “Like I said, I was trying to save Mrs. Bruckner and myself the embarrassment that such a disclosure would've caused. I'm sorry now that I didn't own up to it sooner.”

“Such a gentleman,” Dorn said with a smirk I was learning to hate.

The interview veered into the timing and other details of Alexis' and my trysts. At this point Dorn seemed to come alive, his face drawn up in a leering smile as he peppered me with insults. I was responding to a question from Escalante when he interrupted and said, “Yes, sir, Mrs. Bruckner's, uh, intelligently built. A real beauty, but kind of pushy, you know? She ever let you on top, hotshot?”

At another point he took a deep drag on his cigarette, and as smoke sputtered out of his mouth said—“Bet it was hard to share that nice body with Bruckner. Yeah, I'll bet that was real hard. A man wants a woman with a body like that all to himself, right?”

I'd finally had enough. I shook my head and smiled, maybe even chuckled.
What's up with this guy?
I remember thinking. I stood up abruptly and looked at Escalante. “You've got to be kidding me. I'm trying to cooperate with this investigation, and this is what I get? Unless you're going to charge me with something, I'm outta here, gentlemen.” I saw Dorn shift in his seat out of the corner of my eye, but didn't give him a glance. Escalante said, “I'm reminding you, Mr. Claxton, don't leave the Portland area without contacting us.”

As I was closing the door to the interview room, I heard Dorn say, “You did him ear-to-ear, didn't you, hotshot?”

As I was walking to my car, a bright yellow Hummer H3 swung into the lot and parked a couple of slots down from my old BMW. Andrew Streeter got out on the driver's side. Mitch Hannon followed from the passenger's side. I stopped in front of them and forced a smile. “Afternoon, gentlemen. More interviews for you, too, huh?”

Streeter folded his arms across his chest, cocked his head, and smirked. His eyes lay hidden behind dark glasses, his polo shirt stretched taut by a protruding belly. Hannon looked trim in an open neck Oxford, chinos, and tasseled loafers. I caught myself wondering what the attraction was between these two. Hannon said, “They wanted us back in Madras and we told them no friggin' way. We got too many issues at work to deal with. Our attorney worked this deal out.”

“I'm in your debt, then.”

“Yeah, well, are they making any headway on the case?”

I shrugged. “Nothing they were willing to tell me about.” I knew Escalante and Dorn would show them the knife to get their comments. That stir things up for sure. I wondered what else they'd choose to tell them about my interview.

Hannon shook his head. “Doesn't surprise me. I mean what a dynamic duo. A wetback and a Madras good old boy. Shit, we'd be better off with the Keystone Kops.”

Streeter snorted a laugh, removed his shades and eyed me like I was a bug under glass. “Way I figure it, someone in that camp killed Hal.” His eyes narrowed. “Doesn't leave a whole lot of suspects for those boys, I'd say.” His eyes lingered on me for several beats, then he looked at Hannon.

Hannon tipped his head toward the building. “Come on, Andy, let's get this over with.” With that, the two of them sauntered off.

I took stock of the situation on the way back to Dundee. I was already Escalante and Dorn's favorite for the murder, and I'm sure my disclosure about the affair just made their day. I wondered what Alexis would tell them in her second interview. The thought of Alexis brought me to another point—I'd been focusing on the intruder from the train, but my guess was that someone at the campsite had helped him. I'd assumed Alexis' silence after our breakup was a sign she bore me no ill will. Had I been naive to assume that?

As I drove north on I-26, I called Chad Harrelson at Well Spring but was told he was tied up. I left him a voice mail. When I turned onto Route 212 heading toward Boring, I called Philip and filled him in about my knife, what I'd learned about the freight trains, and what the skateboarders had seen. He told me Oliver Dan's great-grandfather and namesake was one of the founding elders on the first tribal council at Warm Springs. He assured me he would find out about the Ford F-150 without causing a stir.

The news at his end wasn't good either. His next clients had read about the murder and canceled their trip. I apologized profusely when I heard this. He assured me that he didn't consider it my fault, and I believed him. One thing I admired about my friend—when he said something you knew he meant it. We finished up the conversation by joking about how much free time we were going to have to fish as a result of all this.

When I pulled through my gate later that afternoon, I saw a lime green VW bug parked close to the house. A feeling of annoyance came over me. I didn't appreciate people barging into my sanctuary unannounced. As I approached the front porch, a woman stood up and waved.

“I'll be damned,” I said to Archie. “What's Daina Zakaris doing here?”

Chapter Seventeen

I parked in the garage and let Archie out. He headed straight for the front porch. Standing at the foot of the steps, he squared his shoulders and barked up at Daina. Not his deepest, most threatening bark, but one with more of a scold to it. He didn't appreciate her unannounced presence on our property any more than I did.

Daina wore a pair of baggy cargo pants, scuffed-up Nikes, and a black t-shirt that said
Subvert the Dominant Paradigm
in white letters on the front
.
Her hair was swept back in a massive ponytail. Her pants were authentically faded and cinched by a woven belt, the end of which dangled carelessly on her thigh.

She dropped to one knee and made a couple of sharp clicking sounds with her tongue. “Come here, boy.” Archie climbed the steps without hesitation, and a moment later his tail was wagging furiously while Daina stroked his broad back and cooed in his ear.

She smiled as I approached. “Hello, Cal. Hope you don't mind my barging in like this.”

“Uh, not at all, Daina.” I was wary but managed a weak smile. “What can I do for you?”

Reading my discomfort like a book, her smile faded. She looked back at my dog, his head between her hands. “What's his name?”

“Archie.”

“So it's Archie the Aussie, huh? He's huge.”

I chuckled. “Seventy-eight pounds. He's big for his breed. People often take him for a Bernese Mountain Dog.”

“Well, Aussies are great dogs, and tricolors have the best markings.” Then she looked at him more closely. “Oh, look, his eyes are the same copper color as the trim on his coat. How cool is that?” She flashed another smile, brilliant against flawless olive skin. “I've got a mutt I found at the pound. Not as big as this guy.”

“Is the dog here or in Seattle?”

“Oh, Dylan's here with me. I never travel without him.”

“Dylan as in the poet or the singer?”

She laughed at this, a pure note that reminded me of when she caught that first fish out on the Deschutes. “Both, I guess. The singer took his name from the poet, you know.”

But I was tired and had a limited appetite for small talk. “What's on your mind, Daina?”

Our eyes met. Hers were huge dark pools, but friendly. She started to tear up and looked away. “I…I'm still upset about what happened on the river, Cal. I need someone to talk to. I guess I figured you might be going through the same thing. I called first, but you didn't answer. So I came over anyway. Pretty cheeky, huh?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I don't blame you for being upset. That was a bad scene out there.” I was skeptical about why she was here. On the other hand, it seemed to make sense. After all, I couldn't see her going to someone in the NanoTech group, and she probably didn't know anyone else in the area. Besides, her take on the murder would be interesting. I said, “It's a nice afternoon. Why don't we sit out on the porch?”

I was starving, so after I showed her around the corner to the side porch, I excused myself and went to the kitchen. I loaded up a big tray with a half-full bottle of Sancere from the fridge, two wineglasses, a chunk of Gruyere, a bowl full of hazelnuts, a ripe mango, an apple, and a half a baguette. When I came back with the tray, Daina was standing at the railing taking in the view of the valley.

“Love your view,” she said wistfully over her shoulder. “And this property, it's really beautiful. The Aerie. The name fits.”

“It's a work in progress. The farmhouse is nearly a hundred years old. I love the view, too, but sitting on a ridge with a southern exposure in the Willamette Valley is not without its challenges.”

“Horizontal rain, huh?”

I laughed and started pouring the wine. “Tons. I should own stock in a caulk factory.”

She sat down, accepted a glass of wine and eyed the food with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

“I was hungry,” I said, a little defensively. “Help yourself.”

“I, uh, haven't had much of an appetite.” Her face clouded over. “I just can't seem to get that scene out of my head. I mean, I ran over to see what Alexis was screaming about. I thought Hal had had a heart attack or something. My God, when I saw him!” Her eyes filled, but she managed to stave off the tears.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. It jolted
me
, and I've seen my share of murder victims.”

“Not as a small-town lawyer, surely?”

“I was a prosecutor for the city of Los Angeles in another life.”

She raised her eyebrows, nodded, and to my relief let the subject drop. “Anyway, talking's good therapy, at least for me. I mean, that's how people worked out their problems before shrinks were invented, right?”

“You've got a point.”

Her face grew dark again. “So, how
do
you get a grisly scene out of your head?”

My mind involuntarily flashed back to my wife, her pale arm hanging limply over the side of our bed, her blank eyes staring at me, unseeing. I grimaced. “There's no cure-all. Time. It takes time. Things begin to fade.”

We fell into silence for a few moments. A crow cawed noisily high up in a Doug fir on the fence line. Daina managed a smile. “You know, I've worked with a lot of dysfunctional management teams. That's what I do. But this NanoTech crowd, I mean, I got this unbelievably bad vibe the first time I met with them. Now this. I should be getting combat pay.”

“Are you going to stay on as a consultant?”

“As far as I know. I have a contract. We'll see how it plays out.”

“You think one of them could have killed Bruckner?” I said, cutting to the chase.

She looked a little surprised at my directness. “Oh, I don't see how, but there's something about that group that doesn't feel right.”

“What might that be?”

She paused to sip her wine, then eyed me with curiosity. “You sound like you're investigating this crime.”

I took stock for a moment—how much should I tell her? Sensing her insights might be valuable, I decided to abandon my lawyerly caution and open up a bit. “Well, I am, sort of. See, I'm, uh, concerned that someone's trying to blame the killing on me.”

“You're kidding.”

“Afraid not. If you haven't already, you'll be contacted soon by Escalante and Dorn to talk about the knife they found in the river—”

“Knife?” she interrupted. “So that's what they want. I'm talking to them tomorrow.”

“Yeah,
my
knife. A police diver found it on the gravel bar out in front of where Bruckner was killed.”

Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. “Oh, dear.”

“Bruckner was killed with a knife. So, that makes me suspect number one.”

“That's absurd! You didn't kill Hal Bruckner.”

She said it with such conviction that I asked, “How do you know that?”

She looked at me with those big eyes and smiled. “Fly fishermen are a peaceful lot, right?”

“Right. Strictly catch and release for me.” I went on to tell her about how I'd left my knife out on the table to dry the night of the murder, and about the hostile interview at Government Camp. But I didn't tell her that I suspected the actual killer had come in on a freight train.

When I finished, Daina said, “Do the detectives know that you and Alexis were lovers?”

Her matter-of-fact comment caught me by surprise, even though I was pretty sure Daina had guessed there was something between Alexis and me. “What affair?” No way I was giving her that. She was going to be questioned again the next day.

Daina took another sip of Sancere and smiled. “Didn't mean to pry. Your secret's safe with me.”

I met her eyes and held them. “Why would you keep my secrets? Let's face it, you don't even know me.”

She sighed, looked down at her scuffed sneakers. “I've learned to go with my instincts, even if it means breaking a few rules.” She brought her eyes back up, and there was a look of defiance in them.

Encouraged by the comment, I said, “I know you're bound by confidentiality, but what can you tell me about NanoTech and the management team? I gathered from your little bloodletting session around the campfire they have a few issues.”

She laughed. “Well, you already know too much. I saw you listening in the other night.”

I shrugged. “I was just curious to see how you were going to handle that unruly crew. I was impressed. That truth-speaking session was powerful.”

“Thanks. I call that draining the swamp. The irony is that the company's poised to cash in on a tremendous breakthrough. You'd think this would be a good problem to have, but it seems to have brought out the worst in everyone.”

“How so?”

“Well, you heard them grousing, right? Mitch Hannon and Andrew Streeter want to take the company public, but Hal stood in the way. Hannon and Streeter are down on Pitman, who's complaining about not being recognized. Poor Hal, caught in the middle.”

I nodded. “Yeah, Pitman was not a happy camper.”

“For sure. Hannon and Streeter don't think Pitman's pulling his weight. To them, he's just a technical geek who doesn't know anything about running a business.”

“But didn't Pitman come up with some important new technology, diamond something?”

“Yes, he did. Diamond Wire. His name's on the patent, and it came out of his lab, but others were involved, too, particularly Pitman's lab manager.” Daina paused, met my eyes for a moment, as if gauging how much to reveal. “The issue seems to be whether Pitman deserves to be an officer of the company.”

“Oh, I get it. If Pitman's not an officer, there are fewer people to divide the pie with.”

“Exactly.”

“So they want to get rid of him?”

Daina leaned back, sipped her wine, and changed the subject. “This wine's great. What is it?”

I turned the bottle so she could see the label. “Sancere, from the Loire Valley.”

She smiled a bit teasingly. “French? No loyalty to the local wines?”

I chuckled. “I'm a Dundee Hills pinot noir fan through and through. The local whites are fine, but you just can't beat a good Sancere, in my opinion.” Then I tried to bring her back. “So, Bruckner brought you and your company in to grease the skids for growth?”

“Yes. We're training people and putting management systems in place. He also asked us to take a look at their security systems.” She shook her head. “They're really behind the curve—no locked-door policies, no security cams, no accounting for electronic keys, the list goes on and on.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a gray plastic rectangle and waved it. “Hal gave me this master key. He doesn't even know how many of these he's given out.”

I took a sip of wine and put a knife to the Gruyere and the apple. I placed the cheese on a slice of apple and offered it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a bite and closing her eyes. “This is
delicious.
I haven't eaten anything all day.”

“What about Mitch Hannon?” I persisted. “What's his relationship with Bruckner?”

“Mitch is Hal's nephew, his sister's only child. He went to Georgia Tech, then picked up an MBA at Stanford several years later. I think Hal picked up the tab.”

I rolled my eyes.

Daina smiled. “
What?
You have something against MBAs that cost a quarter of a million?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I'm a state school kind of guy. Berkeley.”

She raised her eyebrows and laughed. “Berkeley. Oh, that explains a lot. Anyway, Hal brought him into the company. He's brash, but damn sharp.”

“So why's he sleeping with his uncle's wife? I doubt if they teach that at Stanford.”

I thought the question might surprise her, but I should have known better. Daina tipped her chin up and laughed. “Oh,
that
. I'd say that was more Mitch being used by Alexis.” Then she met my eyes and added playfully, “I don't need to tell you the woman has a healthy sexual appetite.”

I tried to hold a neutral expression as I busied myself peeling the mango, pitting it, and laying out long slices on the plate. “What about NanoTech? Who gets the company?”

She shrugged. “Alexis, I assume. I'm sure there's a boatload of insurance, too. Hal adored her”

Her eyes shifted to the view, as if she were suddenly tired of talking. The valley was a hazy patchwork, the mountains soft lavender. Some distance out, a bald eagle drifted on a late afternoon thermal. We both sat there for a long time without saying a word. There was no discomfort in the silence.

Finally Daina said, “I've been doing all the talking, Cal. I know you're upset about the murder, but I sense there's something else. Do you want to talk about it?”

The question caught me off guard. I hadn't heard from Claire, nor had I any word from Well Spring that day. I said, finally, “It's my daughter, Claire. I'm worried sick about her.”

I poured out the story of Claire's disappearance and what Well Spring was doing to find her and her team. Daina listened quietly. When I had finished she stood up, walked around behind me, and gently laid her hands on my shoulders.

“You're carrying all this worry right here, Cal. She gently squeezed my shoulder muscles. “Try to relax. Let your shoulders down.”

When she said that, I became aware of just how high I was carrying those muscles. I exhaled deeply and let them find their natural resting place.

“Good,” she said. “Now, trust that Claire's alright tonight. Know it.” She gently massaged my shoulders and then moved to my neck, expertly kneading out the knots and kinks in my muscles with gentle yet surprisingly strong hands. A warm heat radiated out from her touch. At one point I moaned involuntarily, and when she finished I placed a hand on hers in a gesture of profound thanks. She said, “I've got to go now. Thanks for listening to me, Cal.”