Dead Float (9 page)

As I walked her to her car I said, “You have a faint accent. Where are you from?”

She laughed dismissively. “Lithuania. I came here when I was a teenager.”

“What brought you here?”

She got in her car and started it up. “You know, the American dream.” She pulled away, waved, and said, “
Sudie
,” which I took to be Lithuanian for good-bye.

As Archie and I watched her go I had the distinct feeling her background was a topic she avoided—a feeling I could relate to.

Later that evening I thawed a slab of Chinook salmon and grilled it on a cedar plank, and that, together with a roasted sweet potato and some steamed broccoli, made a decent meal. I left the dishes stacked in the sink and started up the stairs to my bedroom, which felt like a climb up Mount Hood.

My head was buzzing with the new information I'd gotten from Daina. But when I finally fell into bed that night, I could think only of Claire, and as I drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, Daina's words echoed in my head—
Trust that Claire's safe. Know it.

Chapter Eighteen

I awoke the next morning to the sound of water dripping onto my windowsill, a steady plok, plok, plok. Rain had blown in during the night at the precise angle required to set the window leaking. I got up, mopped the sill with a towel, and set out a small pot I kept behind my armoire for just such emergencies. I worried about black mold growing in the wall cavity and resolved to re-caulk the window for the umpteenth time.

I made toast and a double cappuccino and headed for the study where I logged on to my laptop and checked my e-mail. After perusing the online
New York Times
I leaned back in my swivel chair, put the heels of my hands on my forehead and pushed hard, as if the physical pressure would relieve the anxiety I felt about Claire. No luck. It was too early to call Harrelson at Well Spring, and my head felt like it was going to explode.

Archie was in the corner watching me like a hawk for signs of a morning run or at least a trip down to get the paper. I stood up and stretched, whereupon he shot to his feet. Aussies need a job, and it was Arch's job to run me. He took his work seriously.

“Okay, big boy, you win.” I patted his broad back. “Let's go for a run.”

We headed down Eagle Nest and turned right at the highway toward the old cemetery, where many of the pioneers who had settled this area were buried. I had my cell phone with me in case Claire or someone from Well Spring called.

I was breathing hard as we crested the hill at the cemetery. I'd kept my thoughts at bay to clear my head. Archie looked back at me to see if we were going to stop. I said, “Home, big boy,” and without breaking stride, turned around. He immediately shot in front of me and let out two sharp yelps of pure delight.

I began thinking about my discussion with Daina Zakaris. I'd let my guard down a bit with her last night, but the risk seemed worth it. After all, I'd gained more insight into the cast of characters that surrounded Hal Bruckner—all viable suspects. And, in truth, my skeptical side hadn't completely ruled Daina out either. So, the question that dogged me all the way back was—what the hell do I do next?

By the time we got back to the Aerie, I had the answer. I would focus on the one person I
knew
was involved, the train-hopping intruder.

I was hungry and dying for another cup of coffee, but the first thing I did was call Harrelson at Well Spring. I got a recording that gave me another recording and, cursing under my breath, decided that the worst invention of the twentieth century was the answering machine.

My thoughts turned to Oliver Dan and the young skateboarders I'd talked to at the warehouse. Their remarks and body language led me to believe they had probably taken the pickup truck for a joyride. But what if the truck had actually been stolen by the killer in the first place? It was worth a look. I logged on and pulled up the online version of
The Madras Pioneer.
In a couple of minutes I had last Tuesday's edition in front of me. I checked the police reports. Some petty crime, a couple of DUIs, but no F-150s reported stolen. Ditto for Wednesday, our first day on the river.

No stolen vehicles reported on Thursday either, but the lead article in that edition jumped out at me. A Madras man had been murdered in an apparent carjacking that took place early Friday morning. The man, Henry Barnes, had been stabbed once in the chest and left to die in a ditch on I-26, near the Horse Creek Road intersection. Time of death was believed to be around five a.m. His Grand Cherokee was missing.

My pulse rate ticked up as I brought a map of Madras onto my screen. Horse Creek Road intersected I-26 about half a mile past the turnoff leading to the Barlow Northern freight yard. What if the intruder, finding his F-150 missing, had waited until daybreak, walked out to the highway, flagged Barnes down, stabbed him, and took his Jeep? It could have gone down that way.

I called Philip immediately, and when he answered I blurted out, “Did you hear about the carjacking in Madras out on 26?

“Yeah. Everyone in town's talking about it. Why?”

“I think our train ghost killed him because he needed a getaway car.”

There was a pause while Philip processed this. “That son of a bitch,” he said finally, half to himself. “What'd Barnes ever do to him?”

“So I was right. Oliver Dan and his boys stole that F-150, didn't they?”

Another pause. “Look, Cal. The only way I could get Oliver to open up was to give my word there'd be no blowback on him or his buddies. I can't go back on that.”

“Understood,” I said impatiently. “No problem. What'd he tell you?”

“The kids stole the truck alright. But they were going to put it back. Trouble is they happened to run into an older cousin. The cousin took the truck from them. It's probably stripped clean by now.”

Another maddening pause. “Did they look at the registration? Can they tell us who owns the damn thing?”

“I'm coming to that, man,” Philip answered with a measure of irritation in his voice. “I talked Oliver into going back to ask the cousin.”

“Good move.”

Another pause.

“And? What did you find out?”

“No registration—”

“Shit.”

“But he did give me the VIN.”

I exhaled. “Great.
I know someone who'll run the number for me. Nice work, Philip.” Before we signed off, I asked Philip one last question. “Did you tell Bruckner or anyone else at NanoTech that I was going to guide on your trip?”

“Uh, yeah, I did mention it to Bruckner when we were negotiating. You two seemed to hit it off that night at the Lyle Hotel, so I figured it might help sell the trip.”

I called Nando Mendoza next. He agreed to chase down the VIN for me. As an afterthought I asked him for a second favor. Any chance he could find out if a stolen Jeep Grand Cherokee registered to Henry Barnes of Madras had turned up anywhere, like the Portland area? What the hell, I just might get lucky.

I was starving by then, so I fixed myself a huge bowl of granola, added frozen blueberries from a bag I kept in the freezer, and took it out onto the side porch. I was halfway through the cereal when my cell rang.

“Mr. Claxton? This is Chad Harrelson from Well Spring.”

My heart froze. “Yes, Chad. Have you heard something?”

“We have, Mr. Claxton. We've located your daughter and the rest of her team. They're in a remote village above Miski, near the Chad border.”

“Thank God. Is she okay?”

“As far as we know, but we haven't spoken to her or anyone else from Well Spring directly.”

“What's the problem?” I asked, struggling to stay calm.

“Uh, the village they're in has been taken by the Arab militia, the Janjaweed. They're denying all access in, and unfortunately, all access out as well.

“Where's your security team?”

“They're outside the village now. We think this is just a temporary setback. The Janjaweed have no reason to hold our people. We're in contact with the State Department, and we're negotiating with the militia as we speak.”

“Negotiating! My God! Surely they won't hold noncom-batants!”

“Well, that's what we think, too.” Harrelson droned on, but I had gotten the message. Claire had been found safe, but it wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

When I hung up, a crippling sense of impotence came over me. I sat down and stared out over the valley as the frustration ate at me like an acid. Archie came up and put his head on my knee. A squall blew in, but we didn't go into the house until the rain had soaked through my shirt, and I'd begun to shiver in the stiffening breeze.

That night I lay in my bed playing tag with sleep. My nerves had just begun to ease their grip at about midnight when my phone rang. I answered it with a sense of foreboding. A woman sobbed, and my body went rigid.

“Who is this?”

“Cal? It's Daina. Someone's broken into my house.”

“What? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so. I came home and surprised the bastard. He pushed me, and I hit my head.”

“Where are you now?”

“I'm locked in the house. The police are on the way. The prowler took off, I think. Can you come over, Cal? I'm a little freaked out.”

Chapter Nineteen

The winding road along the Willamette River into Wilsonville was wet, and I nearly spun out on the second hairpin turn. It wasn't easy, but I found the place Daina was renting—a low, wood and stone structure on a big lot that sat behind a massive forsythia hedge in full bloom. She was on the front porch talking to two Wilsonville cops, who were taking notes. A small dog sat next to her—Dylan, no doubt. They all turned when I pulled in, and she waved to me and said something to the officers.

These were lean times for law enforcement, so Daina's call had only managed to muster a single patrol car. Deciding to have a look around, I went back to my car, got a flashlight out of the trunk and wandered down the driveway toward the back of the house. A side window was ajar and crisscrossed with yellow crime tape. I assumed it was the suspected point of entry and would be dusted for prints at some point, probably in the morning, if they ever got around to it at all. I could see that the plants below the window had been trampled. I drew closer, but I was no Philip Lone Deer. I couldn't see anything resembling footprints in the tangle of stems and leaves.

I made a complete circuit around the house without noticing anything out of the ordinary. I stopped again at the window the prowler used to enter and tried to imagine his approach. He probably drove past the house, parked well down the street, and doubled back through the vacant lot next door to Daina's yard.

As I strained to see in that direction, a shape loomed out of the shadows. The flashlight beam revealed a children's wooden play set, which would provide good cover for someone watching Daina's place, I decided. I walked over and looked around, hoping to find something of interest, like a smelly cigarette butt. But I found nothing except a half-empty bottle of Crystal Geyser water standing on one of the cross braces of the structure. The bottle might have been slightly cooler than the air, but I wasn't sure.

By this time, the officers had finished with Daina and were writing up a report in their squad car. I wandered back to the porch, and she came over and hugged me. “Thanks for coming, Cal. I feel so embarrassed about bothering you. I was terrified when I called. I didn't know how long it would take the police to get here.”

“Hey, it's okay.” I pulled back and looked at her in the porch light. She had a small, ripening bruise on the side of her face, and her ear was nicked and bloody. “My God, are you sure you're all right?”

She dabbed at her ear with a tissue. “Yeah. I'm just a little sore.” Then she massaged her left shoulder and grimaced. “The officers wanted to call an ambulance, but I wouldn't let them. I'm more pissed off than hurt.”

“Maybe you should go to the emergency room to have that shoulder looked at?”

“No. I'm okay,” she answered with a finality that hinted at a certain stubbornness at her core—a trait I understood instinctively. Then, changing the subject, she looked down at the dog at her feet and smiled. “This is Dylan. He risked his life for me tonight.”

I looked down at the dog, whose muzzle was graying with age. “He did? Tell me about it. What the hell happened?”

She sighed, dropped her head, and combed her fingers through her hair. “Well, I spent the evening at NanoTech catching up on paperwork. Took Dylan with me. I have a small office there. Anyway, I came home about 11:45. Dylan had wandered into the yard to pee. I unlocked the back door and was fumbling for the wall switch when all of a sudden someone burst out of the laundry room and slammed me against the wall. He was big with strong hands. I must have surprised him.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“No. It was pitch black. All I know is that he was tall, about your height, maybe, or taller. Anyway, he pushes past me toward the door, and suddenly Dylan appears, yapping like crazy and biting at this guy's ankles.” She bent down and picked up the small dog. “He kicked Dylan and made him yelp, but he's okay.” She hugged the dog. “Aren't you, fellah? Then he was gone. I locked the door behind him.”

I scratched the top of Dylan's head. “Good work, boy. You're a hero,” then to Daina, “What's the house look like? Anything disturbed?”

“He took some petty cash and jewelry, a Timex I wear when I work out. Stuff you could put in your pocket. Pretty much trashed my bedroom and the other bedroom I use as a study.”

“Expensive jewelry?”

“You're kidding, right? Beads and minerals, a little turquoise, that's all I wear. He must have been desperate to take the stuff.”

“What about the study?

“Oh, he went through everything.”

“Anything missing?”

“Well, at first I didn't think so. But then I remembered two NanoTech files I was working on here. Looks like they're gone. Everything else was just tossed around.”

“Anything sensitive in the files?”

“No, not in the grand scheme of things. The files contained some personnel interviews, reports by my teams in the field, that sort of thing. Heaps of paper, but nothing very sensitive.”

I nodded toward her computer. “What about that?”

“No access, unless he hacked his way in. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. I learned a long time ago to keep confidential information off my computer.”

“What did the cops say?”

“They think it was drug-related. There's been a rash of break-ins in Wilsonville over the past several months. Meth epidemic.”

“What do you think?”

“I'm not sure what I think at this point,” she answered and then added, “I saw you out in the yard. Did you find anything?”

I shrugged. “No. Not really. Just a half-empty water bottle that might have belonged to the intruder. Not much to go on, I'm afraid.”

“Oh. So the creep was out there watching me?”

I nodded. “Looks like it. Why are you renting a house? I would've thought you'd be staying at a motel around here.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Not a chance. I
hate
motels. Never stay in them unless I absolutely have to. I like to have my dog with me, cook my own meals, that sort of thing.”

At this point, one of the officers joined us on the porch. He told Daina an evidence team would come in the morning to dust for prints. I followed him out to his car and told him about the water bottle. He gave me a weary look and told me about his caseload. I didn't argue, because I knew a burglary didn't justify trying to isolate the DNA on the mouth of the water bottle, and I wasn't about to tell him that I believed the crime was connected to two recent murders, one of which I was involved in.

It was clear Daina was too spooked to stay in the house, so I offered my spare bedroom. She shot me an anxious glance. “Can Dylan come?”

“Sure. Archie likes small meals.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, the tension draining from her face.

I was glad to help out, and besides, it would give me a chance to better assess whether she had an ulterior motive for befriending me.