Page rested his head against the back of the seat. As the darkness retreated, the river began taking on dimension. Page watched the flat black ribbon turn liquid and turbulent in the red dawn. He believed Nancy Gordon was in the pit, buried under layers of mud. He wondered if there was something he could have done to save her.
He imagined Gordon's frustration and rage when she died at the hands of the man she had sworn to stop.
The rain had ended shortly after the first police car arrived. Ross Barrow took charge of the crime scene, after consulting with the lab techs about the best way to handle the evidence. Floodlights shone down on the workers from the rim of the pit. Designated search areas were fenced off with yellow tape. Sawhorses had been erected as barriers against the curious. As soon as Page was certain Barrow could get along without him, he and Highsmith had grabbed a quick dinner at a local restaurant. By the time they returned, Barrow had positively identified Wendy Reiser's body and an officer had located a second grave.
Through the windshield, Page watched Randy Highsmith trudge toward the car. He had been in the pit observing while Page took a break.
"That's the last one," Highsmith said.
"What have we got?"
"Four bodies and positive ids on Laura Farrar, Wendy Reiser and Victoria Miller."
"Were they killed like Patricia Cross?"
"I didn't look that closely, Al. To tell the truth, I almost lost it.
Dr. Gregg is down there. She can give you the straight scoop when she comes up."
Page nodded. He was used to dealing with the dead, but that didn't mean he liked looking at a corpse any more than Highsmith.
"What about the fourth woman?" Page asked hesitantly. "Does she match my description of Nancy Gordon?"
"It's not a woman, Al."
"what!"
"It's an adult male, also naked, and his face and fingertips were burned away with acid. We'll be lucky to identify him."
Page saw Ross Barrow slogging through the mud and got out of the car.
"You're not stopping, Ross'?" '-There's nothing more down there. You can look if you want."
"I was sure that Gordon… It doesn't make sense.
She wrote the address."
"Maybe she met someone here and left with them," Barrow suggested,
"We didn't find any footprints," Highsmith reminded him. "She may not have found a way in."
"Did you find anything down there that'll help us figure out who did this?"
"Not a thing, Al. I'm guessing all four were killed elsewhere and transported here."
"Why's that?"
"Some of the bodies are missing organs. We haven't found them or any pieces of bone or excess flesh. No one could clean the area that thoroughly."
"Do you think we have enough to arrest Darius?
Page asked Highsmith.
"Not without Gordon or some solid evidence from Hunter's Point."
"What if we don't find her?" Page asked anxiously.
"In a pinch, you could swear to what she told you.
We might get a warrant out of a judge with that. She's a cop. She'd be reliable. But, I don't know. With something like this, we shouldn't rush."
"And we don't really have a solid connection between Darius and the victims," Barrow added. "Finding them at a site owned by Darius Construction doesn't Mean a thing. Especially when it's deserted and anyone could have gotten in."
"Do we know if Darius is Lake?" Page asked Barrow.
"Yeah. The prints match."
"Well, that's something," Highsmith said. "If we can get a match between those tire tracks and one of Darius's cars…"
"And if we can find Nancy Gordon," Page said, staring into the pit. He desperately wanted Gordon to be alive, but he had been in the business of violent death and lost hopes too long to grasp at straws.
Chapter Eight
"Detective Lenzer, this is Alan Page from Portland, Oregon. We talked the other day."
"Right. I was going to call you. That file you asked for is missing. We switched to computers seven years ago, but I did a search anyway. When I couldn't find it listed, I had a secretary go through the old files in storage.
There's no file card and no file."
"Did someone check it out?"
"If they did, they didn't follow procedure. You're supposed to fill in a log sheet in case someone else needs the file, and there's no log entry,"
"Could Detective Gordon have checked it out? She had a fingerprint card with her. It probably came from the file."
"The file isn't with her stuff in the office and it's against departmental policy to take files home unless you log them out. There's no record showing anyone logged it out. Besides, if there were six dead women it would be the highest victim count we've ever had here. We're probably talking about a file that would take up an entire shelf Maybe more. Why would she be lugging around something that big? Hell, you'd need a couple of suitcases to get it home."
Page thought that over. "You're certain it's not in storage and just misplaced?"
"The file's not in storage, believe me. The person who looked for it did a real thorough job and I even went down there for a while."
Page was silent for a moment. He decided to tell Lenzer everything.
"Detective Lenzer, I'm pretty sure Nancy Gordon's in danger. She may even be dead."
"What?"
"I met her for the first time two nights ago and she told me about the Hunter's Point murders. She was convinced the man who committed them is living in Portland under a different name, committing similar crimes here.
"Gordon left my apartment a little after midnight and took a cab to a motel. Shortly after checking in, she left in a hurry. We found an address on a pad in her motel room. It's a construction site. We searched it and discovered the bodies of three missing Portland women and an unidentified man. They were tortured to death. We have no idea where Gordon is, and I'm thinking she was right about your killer being in Portland."
"Jesus. I like Nancy. She's a little intense, but she's a very good cop."
"The key to this case could be in the Hunter's Point files. She may have brought them home. I would suggest searching her house."
"I'll do anything I can to help."
Page told Lenzer to call him anytime, gave him his home number, then hung up. Lenzer had characterized Gordon as intense and Page had to agree. She was also dedicated. Ten years on the trail and still concerned with that fire. Page had been like that once, but the years were getting to him. Tina's affair and the divorce had sucked him dry emotionally, but he had been losing ground even before her infidelity took over his life. Fighting for the office of district attorney had been great. Every day was exciting. Then he woke up one morning with the responsibilities of the job and the fear that he might not be able to fulfill them. He had mastered those fears through hard work, and he had mastered the job, but the thrill was gone. The days were all getting to be the same, and he was starting to think about what he would be doing ten years down the road.
The intercom buzzed and Page hit the com button.
"There's a man on line three with information about one of the women who was killed at the construction site," his secretary said. "I think you should talk to him."
"Okay. What's his name?"
"Ramon Gutierrez. He's the clerk at the Hacienda Motel in Vancouver, Washington."
Page hit the button for line three and talked to Ramon Gutierrez for five minutes. When he was done, he called Ross Barrow, then headed down the hall to Randy Highsmith's office. Fifteen minutes later, Barrow picked up Highsmith and Page on the corner and they headed for Vancouver.
"Can I watch TV?" Kathy asked.
"Did you have enough pizza?"
"I'm stuffed."
Betsy felt guilty about dinner, but she had put in an exhausting day in court and didn't have the energy to cook.
"Is Daddy going to come home tonight?" Kathy asked, looking up at Betsy expectantly.
"N
o," Betsy answered, hoping Kathy would not ask her anymore about Rick.
She had explained the separation to Kathy a number of times, but Kathy would not accept the fact that Rick was most probably never going to live with them again.
Kathy looked worried. "Why won't Daddy stay with us?"
Betsy picked up Kathy and carried her to the living room couch.
"Who's your best friend?"
"Melanie."
"Remember the fight you two had, last week?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Daddy and I had an argument too. It's a serious one. just like the one you had with your best friend."
Kathy looked confused. Betsy held Kathy on her lap and kissed the top of her head.
"Melanie and me made up. Are you and Daddy going to make up?"
"Maybe. I don't know right now. Meanwhile, Daddy is living someplace else."
"Is Daddy mad at you because he had to pick me up at day care?"
"What made you ask that?"
"He was awful mad the other day and I heard you arguing about me."
"No, honey," Betsy said, hugging Kathy tight to her.
"This doesn't have anything to do with you. It's just us.
We're mad at each other."
"Why?" Kathy asked. Her jaw was quivering.
"Don't cry, honey."
"I want Daddy," she said, sobbing into Betsy's shoulder. "I don't want him to go away."
"He won't go away. He'll always be your daddy, Kathy. He loves you."
Suddenly Kathy pushed away from Betsy and wriggled off her lap.
"It's your fault for working," she yelled.
Betsy was shocked. "Who told you that?"
"Daddy. You should stay home with me like Melanie's mom."
"Daddy works," Betsy said, trying to stay calm. "He works more than I do."
"Men are supposed to work. You're supposed to take care of me."
Betsy wished Rick was here so she could smash him with her fists.
"Who stayed home with you when you had the flu?" Betsy asked.
Kathy thought for a moment. "You, Mommy," she answered, looking up at Betsy.
"And when you hurt your knee at school, who came to take you home?"
Kathy looked down at the floor.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"An actress or a doctor."
"That's work, honey. Doctors and actresses work just like lawyers. If you stayed home all day, you couldn't do that work."
Kathy stopped crying. Betsy picked her up again.
"I work because it's fun. I also take care of you.
That's more fun. I love you much more than I like my Work. It's no contest. But I don't want to stay home all day doing nothing while you're at school. It would be boring, don't you think?"
Kathy thought about that.
"Will you make up with Daddy, like I did with Melanie?"
"I'm not sure, honey. But either way, you'll see plenty of Daddy. He still loves you very much and he'll always be your dad.
"Now, why don't you watch a little TV and I'll clean up, then I'll read you another chapter of The Wizard of oz."
"I don't feel like TV, tonight."
"Do you want to help me in the kitchen?"
Kathy shrugged.
"How about a hot chocolate? I could make one while we're cleaning the dishes."
"Okay," Kathy said without much enthusiasm. Betsy followed her daughter into the kitchen. She was too small to have to carry the heavy burden of her parents' problems, but she was going to anyway. That was the way it worked and there was nothing Betsy could do about it.
After they were finished in the kitchen, Betsy read Kathy two chapters of The Wizard of Oz, then put her to bed. It was almost nine o'clock.
Betsy looked at the TV listings and was about to turn on the set when the phone rang. She walked into the kitchen and picked up on the third ring.
"Betsy Tannenbaum?" a man asked.
"Speaking."
"This is Martin Darius. The police are at my home with a search warrant.
I want you over here immediately."
A high brick wall surrounded the Darius estate. A policeman in a squad car was parked next to a black wroughtiron gate. As Betsy turned the Subaru into the driveway, the policeman got out of his car and walked over to her window.
"I'm afraid you can't go in, ma'am."
"I'm Mr. Darius's attorney," Betsy said, holding her Bar card out the window. The officer examined the card for a second, then returned it to her.
"My orders are to keep everyone out."
"I can assure you that doesn't include Mr. Darius's attorney."
"Ma'am, there's a search being conducted. You'd be in the way."
"I'm here because of the search. A warrant to search doesn't give the police the right to bar people from the place being searched. You have a walkie-talkie in your car. Why don't you call the detective in charge and ask him if I can come in."
The officer's patronizing smile was replaced by a Clint Eastwood stare, but he walked back to his car and used the walkie-talkie. He returned less than a minute later, and he did not look happy.
"Detective Barrow says you can go in."
"Thank you," Betsy answered politely. As she drove off, she could see the cop glaring at her in the rearview mirror.
After seeing the old-fashioned brick wall and the ornate scrollwork on the wrought-iron gate, Betsy assumed Darius would live in a sedate, colonial mansion, but she found herself staring at a collection of glass and steel fashioned into sharp angles and delicate curves that had nothing to do with the nineteenth century. She parked next to a squad car near the end of a curved driveway. A bridge covered by a blue awning connected the driveway with the front door. Betsy looked down through a glass roof as she walked along the bridge and saw several officers standing around the edge of an indoor pool.
A policeman was waiting for her at the front door.
He guided her down a short set of stairs into a cavernous living room.
Darius was standing under a giant abstract painting in vivid reds and garish greens. Beside him was a slender woman in a black dress. Her shiny black hair cascaded over her shoulders and her tan spoke of a recent vacation in the tropics. She was stunningly beautiful.
The man standing next to Darius was not. He had a beer gut and a face that would be more at home in a sports bar than a condo in the Bahamas.
He was dressed in an unpressed brown suit and white shirt. His tie was askew and his raincoat was draped unceremoniously over the back of a snow-white sofa.
Before Betsy could say anything, Darius thrust a rolled-up paper at her.
"Is this a valid warrant? I'm not going to permit an invasion of my privacy until you've looked at the damn thing."
"I'm Ross Barrow, Ms. Tannenbaum," said the man in the brown suit. "This warrant's been signed by judge Reese. The sooner you tell your client we can go through with this, the sooner we'll be out of here. I could have started — already, but I waited for you to make certain Mr. Darius had representation during the search."
If Darius was a black dope dealer instead of a prominent white socialite and businessman, Betsy knew the house would have been a shambles by the time she arrived. Somebody had ordered Barrow to go very slowly with this case.
"The warrant seems okay, but I'd like to see the affidavit," Betsy said, asking for the document the police prepare to convince a judge that there is probable cause for the issuance of a warrant to search someone's house.
The affidavit would contain the factual basis for the suspicion that somewhere in the Darius mansion was evidence of a crime.
"Sorry, the affidavit's been sealed."
"Can you at least tell me why you're searching? I mean, what are the charges?"
"There aren't any charges yet."
"Let's not play games, Detective. You don't roust someone like Martin Darius without a reason."
"You're going to have to ask District Attorney Page about th
e case, Ms.
Tannenbaum. I've been told to refer all inquiries to him."
"Where can I reach him?"
"I'm afraid I don't know that. He's probably home, but I'm not authorized to give out that number."
"What kind of bullshit is this?" Darius asked angrily.
"Calm down, Mr. Darius," Betsy said. "The warrant is legal and he can search. There's nothing we can do now. If it turns out that the affidavit is faulty, we'll be able to suppress any evidence they find."
"Evidence of what?" Darius demanded. "They refuse to tell me what they're looking for."
"Martin," the woman in black said, laying a hand on his forearm, "let them search. Please. I want them out of here, and they're not going to leave until they're through."
Darius pulled his arm away. "Search the damn house," he told Barrow angrily, "but you'd better get yourself a good lawyer, because I'm going to sue your ass all over this state."
Detective Barrow walked away, the insults bouncing ineffectively off his broad back. just as he reached the steps leading out of the living room, a gray-haired man in a windbreaker entered the house.
"The tread on the BMW matches and there's a black Ferrari in the garage," Betsy heard him say. Barrow motioned to two uniforms who were standing in the entryway. They followed him back to Darius.
"Mr. Darius, I'm placing you under arrest for the murders of Wendy Reiser, Laura Farrar and Victoria Miller."
The color drained from Darius's face and the woman's hand flew to her mouth, as if she was going to be sick.
"You have the right to remain silent Barrow said, reading from a laminated card he had taken from his wallet.
"What the fuck is this?" Darius exploded.
"What is he talking about?" the woman asked Betsy.
"I have to inform you of these rights, Mr. Darius."
"I think we're entitled to an explanation, Detective Barrow," Betsy said.
"No, ma'am, you're not," Barrow responded. Then he finished reading Darius his Miranda rights.
"Now, Mr. Darius," Barrow went on, "I'm going to have to handcuff you.
This is procedure. We do it with everyone we arrest."
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