Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  "I hadn't thought of that."

  "When is the last time you talked to Oberhurst?"

  "A few weeks ago. I left a few messages on his machine, but he didn't return my calls."

  "I'll have my investigator contact Oberhurst. Can I hold on to the scrapbook?"

  Lisa nodded. Betsy walked around the desk and laid a hand on Lisa's shoulder.

  "Thank you for confiding in me. I know how hard it must have been."

  "I had to tell someone," Lisa whispered. "I've kept it in so long."

  "I have a friend who might help you. Alice Knowland. She's very nice and very compassionate. I've sent other women with similar problems to her and she's helped some of them."

  "What is she, a doctor?"

  "A psychiatrist. But don't let that scare you off. Psychiatrist is just a fancy title for a good listener with experience in helping troubled people. She might be good for you. You could go to her a few times, then stop if she isn't helping. Think it over and give me a call."

  "I will," Lisa said, standing. "And thank you for listening."

  "You're not alone, Lisa. Remember that."

  Betsy put her arms around Lisa and hugged her.

  "Martin will be home late tonight. Will you stay with him?" Betsy asked.

  "I can't. I'm living with my father until I decide what to do."

  "Okay."

  "Don't tell Martin I came, please."

  I won't if I can help it. He is my client, but I don't want to hurt you."

  Lisa wiped her eyes and left. Betsy was drained. She pictured Lisa, hungry and terrified, cowering in the closet in the dark with the smell of her own urine and feces.

  Betsy's stomach rolled. She walked out of the office and down the hall to the rest room and ran some cold water in the sink. She splashed her face with the running water, then cupped her hands and drank.

  She remembered the questions Nora and the reporters had asked. How could she sleep if she saved Martin Darius, knowing what she knew about him?

  What would a man who treated his wife like a dog do to a woman he did not know, if she fell his power' Would he do what the rose killer had done to his victims? Was Martin the killer?

  Betsy remembered the scrapbook and dried her face, then returned to her office. She was halfway through the scrapbook when Reggie Stewart walked in.

  "Congratulations on the bail hearing."

  "Pull a chair next to me. I've got something that might break Martin's case."

  "Excellent."

  "Lisa Darius was just here. She suspected Martin might be cheating on her, so she hired an investigator to tail him. Have you heard of a p.i. named Sam Oberhurst?"

  Stewart thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm sure we've never met."

  "Here's his phone number and a release from Lisa.

  Oberhurst has an answering machine. If you can't get through to him, try a divorce attorney named Gary Tel ford. Lisa got the name from one of his clients. Tell Gary you're working for me. We know each other. Find out if Oberhurst was tailing Darius on a date when any of the women disappeared. He could be Martin's alibi."

  "I'll get right on it."

  Betsy pointed to the scrapbook. "Lisa found this in Martin's things when she was looking for evidence of the affair. It's filled with clippings from the Hunter's Point case."

  Stewart looked over Betsy's shoulder as Betsy turned the pages. Most of the stories concerned the disappearances. There were several stories about Lake. A section was devoted to Sandra and Melody to the discovery of the disemboweled body of Patricia Cross in Henry Waters's basement and Waters's death. Betsy turned to the final section of the scrapbook and stopped cold.

  "My God, there were survivors."

  "what? I thought all the women were murdered."

  "No. Look here. It says Gloria Escalante, Samantha Reardon and Anne Hazelton were found alive in an old farmhouse."

  "Where?"

  "It doesn't give any other information. Wait a minute. No, there's nothing else. According to the article, the women declined to be interviewed."

  "I don't get it. Didn't Darius tell you about this?"

  "Not a word."

  "Page?"

  "He always referred to them as if they were dead."

  "Maybe Page doesn't know," Stewart said.

  "How is that possible?"

  "What if Gordon didn't tell him?"

  "Why wouldn't she? And why wouldn't Martin tell me? Something's not right, Reg. None of this makes sense. Gordon and Martin don't mention the survivors.

  The Hunter's Point files have disappeared. I don't like it."

  "I know you love a mystery, Betsy, but I see this as our big break. The survivors will know who kidnapped and tortured them. If it wasn't Darius, we're home free."

  "Maybe Martin didn't mention the survivors because he knew they'd identify him."

  "There's only one way to find out," Stewart said.

  "Have Ann book me on an early flight to Hunter's Point." I want you to go to Albany, New York, first. Frank Grimsbo, one of the other detectives on the task force, is head of security at Marlin Steel. His office is in Albany."

  "You got it."

  Betsy buzzed Ann and told her what to do. When she got off the intercom, Stewart asked;

  "What about the p.i.?"

  "I'll run down Oberhurst. I want you on that flight, first thing.

  There's something weird about this case, Reg, and I'm betting that the answers we need are in Hunter's Point."

  Alan Page left the courtroom in a daze. He barely heard the reporters' questions and answered them mechanically. Randy Highsmith told him not to take the loss personally, and assured him that it wasn't his fault that they couldn't find Nancy Gordon, but Highsmith and Barrow had warned him that he was making a mistake by rushing to arrest Darius.

  Even after they learned about the incident at the Hacienda Motel, the detective and the deputy district attorney wanted to move slowly. Page had overruled them. Now he was paying the price.

  Page left work as soon as he could. There was an elevator in the rear of the district attorney's office that went to the basement. He took it and dodged across the street to the parking garage, hoping no one would see him and ask him about his public humiliation.

  Page poured his first scotch as soon as he took off his raincoat. He drank it quickly, refilled his glass and carried it into the bedroom.

  Why was he screwing up like this? He hadn't been thinking straight since Tina left him.

  This was the first time his ragged thought processes had gotten him in trouble, but it had been only a matter of time. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating right, he couldn't concentrate. Now, he was haunted by the ghost of a woman he had known for all of two hours.

  Page settled down in front of his television in an alcoholic haze. The old movie he was watching was one he had seen many times before. He let the black and white images float across the screen without seeing them.

  Did he order the arrest of Martin Darius to protect Nancy Gordon? Did he think he could keep them apart and rescue her? What sense did that make?

  What sense did anything in his life make?

  Martin Darius parked his Ferrari in front of his house. It was cold. The mist pressed against him when he stepped out of the car. After a week in jail, the chill, damp air felt good. Darius crossed over the bridge. The lights were out. He could barely see the placid pool water through the glass roof The rest of the house was also dark. He opened the front door and punched in the code that turned off the alarm.

  Lisa was probably hiding from him at her father's house. He didn't care.

  After a week crowded in with unwashed, frightened men in the stale air of the county correctional facility, a night alone would be a pleasure.

  He would relish the quiet and bask in the luxury of soaping off the sour jail smell that had seeped into his pores.

  There was a bar in the living room, and Darius fixed himself a dr
ink. He flipped on the outside lights and watched the rain fall on the lawn through the picture window. He hated jail. He hated taking orders from fools and living with idiots. When he was practicing criminal law in Hunter's Point, he'd had only contempt for his clients. They were losers who were not equipped to succeed in the world, so they dealt with their problems through stealing or violence. A superior man controlled his environment and bent the will of others to him.

  To Darius's way of thinking, there was only one reason to tolerate inferior minds. Someone had to do menial labor. Martin wondered what the world would be like if it was ruled by the strong, with the menial work done by a slave class selected from docile, mentally inferior men and women. The men could do the heavy work. The inferior women could be bred for beauty.

  It was cold in the house. Darius shivered. He thought about the women.

  Docile women, bred for beauty and subservience. They would make excellent pets. He imagined his female slaves instantly submitting to his commands. Of course, there would be disobedient slaves who would not do as they were told. Such women would have to be chastised.

  Darius grew hard thinking about the women. It would have been easy to give in to the fantasy, to open his fly and relieve the delicious feeling of tension. But giving in would be a sign of weakness, so he opened his eyes and breathed deeply. The inferior man lived only in his fantasies, because he lacked willpower and imagination. The superior man made his fantasies a reality.

  Darius took another sip, then placed the cool glass to his forehead. He had given his dilemma a lot of thought while he was locked up in jail.

  He was certain he knew what was coming next. He was free. The newspapers had printed judge Norwood's opinion that the evidence was not strong enough to convict him. That meant someone else would have to die.

  Darius looked at his watch. It was almost ten. Lisa would be up. Getting through to her was the problem. At the jail only collect calls were permitted. justice Ryder had refused every one he made. Darius dialed the judge's number.

  "Ryder residence," a deep voice answered after three rings.

  "Please put my wife on the phone, judge."

  "She doesn't want to talk to you, Martin."

  "I want to hear that from her lips."

  "I'm afraid that's not possible."

  "I'm out now and I don't have to put up with your interference. Lisa is my wife. If she says she doesn't want to talk to me, I'll accept that, but I want to hear it from her."

  "Let me talk to him, Dad," Lisa said in the background. The judge must have covered the receiver, because Darius could hear only a muffled argument. Then Lisa was on the phone.

  "I don't want you to call me, Martin."

  She sounded shaky. Darius imagined her trembling.

  "Judge Norwood let me out because he didn't believe I was guilty, Lisa."

  "He… he doesn't know everything I know."

  "Lisa "I don't want to see you."

  "Are you afraid?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Stay afraid. There's something going on here you know nothing about." Darius heard an intake of breath and the judge asked Lisa if he was threatening her. "I don't want you to come home. It's too dangerous for you. But I don't want you staying at your father's house, either.

  There isn't anywhere in Portland you'll be safe."

  "What are you talking about"

  "I want you to go away somewhere until I tell you to come back. If you're afraid of me, don't tell me where you go. I'll get in touch with you through your father."

  "I don't understand. Why should I be afraid?"

  Darius closed his eyes. "I can't tell you and you don't want to know.

  Believe me when I say you are in great danger."

  "What kind of danger?"

  Lisa sounded panicky. justice Ryder snatched the phone from her hand.

  "That's it, Darius. Get off this phone or I'll call judge Norwood personally and have you thrown back in jail."

  "I'm trying to save Lisa's life and you're endangering it. It's imperative that…"

  Ryder slammed the phone down. Darius listened to the dial tone. Ryder had — always been a pompous ass. Now his bullheadedness could cost Lisa her life. If Darius explained why, the judge would never believe him.

  Hell, he'd use what Darius said to put him on Death Row.

  Darius wished he could talk over his problem with Betsy Tannenbaum. She was very bright and she might come up with a solution, but he couldn't go to her either. She'd honor the attorney-client privilege, but she would drop him as a client and he needed her.

  Darius had not seen the moon all the time he was in jail. He looked for it now, but it was obscured by clouds.

  He wondered what phase the moon was in. He hoped it was not full. That brought out the crazies. He should know. Martin shivered, but not from the cold. Right now, he was the only one who was not in danger, but that could change at any moment. Darius did not want to admit it, but he was sane.

  Part Four

  THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gary Telford had the smile and bright eyes of a young man, but his flabby body and receding hairline made him look middle-aged. He shared a suite of offices with six other lawyers in one of the thirty-story glass boxes that had sprung up in downtown Portland during the past twenty years. Telford's office had a view of the Willamette River. On clear days he could see several mountains in the Cascade range, including majestic Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens, an active volcano that had erupted in the early eighties. Today, low-lying clouds owned the sky and it was hard to see the east side of the river in the fog.

  "Thanks for seeing me," Betsy said as they shook hands.

  "It's been too long," Gary said warmly. "Besides, I'm dying to know how I'm connected with this Darius business.

  "When you represented Peggy Fulton in her divorce, did you use a p.i. named Sam Oberhurst?"

  Telford stopped smiling. "Why do you want to know?"

  "Lisa Darius suspected her husband was having an affair. She asked your client for advice and Peggy gave her Oberhurst's name. He was tailing Darius. I was hoping Oberhurst was conducting surveillance when one of the women disappeared and can give Darius an alibi."

  "If Lisa Darius employed Oberhurst, why do you need to talk to me?"

  "She doesn't have his address. just a phone number.

  I've called it several times, but all I get is an answering machine. He hasn't returned my calls. I was hoping you'd have his office address."

  Telford considered this information for a moment.

  He looked uncomfortable. "I don't think Oberhurst has an office."

  "What's he do, work out of his home?"

  "I guess. We always met here."

  "What about bills? Where did you send his checks?"

  "Cash. He wanted cash. Up front."

  "Sounds a little unusual."

  "yeah. Well, he's a little unusual." Telford paused.

  "Look, I'll try to help you find Oberhurst, but there's something you need to know. Some of the stuff he does isn't on the up-and-up. You follow me?"

  "I'm not sure I do."

  Telford leaned forward conspiratorially. "Say you want to find out what someone says when they think the conversation is private, you hire Oberhurst. See what I mean?"

  "Electronics?"

  Telford nodded. "Phones, rooms. He hinted he's not above a little b. and e. And the guy's got a record for it. I think he did penitentiary time down south somewhere for burglary."

  Sounds pretty unsavory."

  "Yeah. I didn't like him. I only used him that one time and I'm sorry I did."

  "Why?" Telford tapped his fingers on his desk. Betsy let him decide what he wanted to say.

  "Can we keep this confidential?"

  Betsy nodded.

  "what Peg wanted… Well, she was a little hysterical. Didn't take the divorce well. Anyway, I was sort of like a middleman with this. She said she wanted someone to do something, a p
rivate investigator who wouldn't ask too many questions. I hooked them up and paid him his money. I never really used him to work on the case.

  "Anyway, someone beat up Mark Fulton about a week or so after I introduced Oberhurst to Peg. It was pretty bad from what I hear. The police thought it was a robbery."

  "Why do you think different?"

  "Oberhurst tried to shake me down. He came to my office a week after the beating. Showed me a newspaper article about it. He said he could keep me out of it for two thousand bucks.

  "I told him to take a hike. I didn't know a goddamn thing about it. For all I knew, he could have been making the whole thing up. I mean, he reads the article, figures he can touch me for two grand and I won't squawk because the amount's not worth the risk."

  "Weren't you afraid?"

  "Damn straight. He's a big guy. He even looks like a gangster. He has a broken nose, talks tough. The whole bit. Only, I figured he was testing me. If I'd given in, he would have kept coming back. Besides, I didn't do anything wrong. Like I said, I only hooked them up."

  "How do I get to Oberhurst?" Betsy asked.

  "I got his name from Steve Wong at a party. Try him Say I told you to call."

  Telford thumbed through a lawyer's directory and wrote Wong's number on the back of a business card.

  "Thanks."

  "Glad I could help. And be careful with Oberhurst, he's bad news."

  Betsy ate lunch at Zen, then shopped at Saks Fifth Avenue for a suit. It was one-fifteen when she returned to her office. There were several phone messages in her slot and two dozen red roses on her desk. Her first thought was that they were from Rick, and the idea made her heart pound. Rick sent her flowers when they were dating and on Valentine's Day. It was something he would do if he wanted to come home.

  "Who are these from?" she asked Ann.

  "I don't know. They were just delivered. There's a card."

  Betsy put down her phone messages. A small envelope was taped to the vase. Her fingers trembled as she pried open the flap of the envelope and pulled out a small white card that said: