by Chelsea Cain
“So, what?” Sanchez asked. “So they can lock their doors?”
Archie looked across the coffee table at Henry, who was sitting quite still. He’d been noticeably silent on the subject.
“Henry’s with us on this,” Sanchez said.
Henry’s pale eyes looked tired. He spread his palms plaintively. “People will keep their kids home from trick-or-treating,” he said to Archie. “There will be people in costume. People dressed up like Gretchen, for Christ’s sake. It’s a recipe for panic. You know that there will be drunk jackasses who take a shot at the first girl in a blond wig they see.”
Claire offered Archie an apologetic shrug. “If she doesn’t know we know she’s in the area, it gives us an edge,” she said. “We can catch her.”
Archie looked around. These people were all smart, all dedicated. How could they all be so wrong?
“She knows,” Archie said, exasperated. He lifted his hand toward his laptop. “Look at her. She knows she’s being filmed.”
“She doesn’t know you’ve even seen the tape,” Sanchez said. “She doesn’t know you’ve shared it with us.”
Susan was still on his counter, eating her sandwich. She paused and shook some crumbs off her orange T-shirt, and then brushed them off her purse, which sat gaping open next to her. She was being uncharacteristically calm about all this, Archie noticed. She’d offered a few pronouncements, sure, but there’d been no bitter pleading, no dramatics.
Her purse hadn’t been on the counter earlier.
Archie raised an eyebrow at her.
Susan shrugged.
“It’s moot,” Archie announced to the group.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sanchez asked.
Susan took a bite of her sandwich and chewed.
“It’s already done, isn’t it?” Archie asked Susan. “Who’d you go to?”
Susan swallowed. “The Herald,” she said. “It’ll be up on their Web site as soon as they can confirm some of the details.”
Henry put his head back and closed his eyes. Claire said, “Oops.” Eaton and Sanchez turned the same shade of purple, and Sanchez shot Archie an accusatory look.
“Hey,” Archie said, putting up his hands. “I’m not the one who didn’t take away her phone.”
Archie’s bedroom door opened and they all looked as Gary emerged, carrying a metal case. He stopped short, took in the scene, and then glanced back at the bedroom door, like he might turn around and go back through it.
“You done?” Sanchez asked him.
Gary held up the case and tapped it. “Got everything I need,” he said.
“Okay, go,” Sanchez said. “And Gary,” he added, picking at something in the corner of his eye. “Use a pseudonym instead of Detective Sheridan’s name, okay?”
Gary nodded. He stood there for a moment in uncomfortable silence and then said, “Well…” The word tapered off. He looked around the room and then cleared his throat and made a beeline for his coat. He was still pulling it on as he went through the front door.
They all swiveled to look at Susan now. She was chewing. The room smelled like peanut butter. “What did you tell them exactly?” Henry asked.
Susan made them wait until she swallowed. “That there was security footage of Gretchen in Lake Oswego last night,” she said. “I left Archie out of it.”
“Good,” Henry said. He turned back to the room. “We keep the content to ourselves. As far as anyone else is concerned, the footage shows Gretchen Lowell alone.”
“We have to respond,” Sanchez said. “Roadblocks. Helicopters. We should send out a statement advising the public to remain calm. Get all the patrol units on the roads. What’s the reward at?”
“Half a million,” Archie said.
Sanchez raised an eyebrow at him.
“I saw a billboard,” Archie said.
“Anything you need, you let me know,” Eaton told Sanchez. “The mayor has your back.” He jabbed a finger at Susan. “You, lady, are banned from all my press conferences.”
“Oh,” Susan said, drawing her face into a frown. “I’m heartbroken.” She winked at Archie.
Archie couldn’t quite believe it, but Susan had done it. She had forced the issue. If he’d been standing next to her, he would have actually kissed her. He moved his eyes away from her. On the forehead.
Henry scratched his neck. “What about that thing earlier?” he asked Sanchez.
“About Casanova, here?” Sanchez said with a glance at Archie. “Obviously Gretchen’s got a hard-on for him. She let him live, which was certainly a romantic gesture. So he fucked her,” he said with a shrug. “She’s a world-class piece of ass. I think that Claire made a good point.”
“Men are ruled by their dicks,” Claire said.
“That’s another way of putting it,” Sanchez said. “What I mean is, it doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned.” He looked at Archie. “You remember any pillow talk that might help us locate her?”
“No,” Archie said.
Sanchez sat back and stretched one arm along the back of the couch. “Then it stays in this room,” he announced.
Archie couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Was Sanchez really going to let this go?
“Good,” Henry said. “So, we’re all agreed?” His eyes landed on Eaton.
Eaton’s head was down. He was looking at his hands, twisting the gold band on his ring finger. He glanced over at Archie and nodded.
“I’m in,” Claire said, laying a hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Me, too,” Susan said from the counter with her mouth full.
Only Ngyun was left. He was still on the stool by the kitchen bar, bent over Susan’s laptop. Archie could hear the sounds of his fingers on the keyboard.
“Ngyun?” Henry said loudly.
Ngyun looked up from Susan’s laptop, startled. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t listening.”
Henry smiled and scratched at the corner of his mouth. “Archie’s personal life stays in this room,” he said.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Ngyun said, eyes returning to the keyboard.
Archie didn’t know what to say. He heard the sound of an incoming text and saw Henry go for his pocket. Archie was still composing a speech a moment later when Henry stood up quickly. He held his phone out, showing an incoming text.
“The warrants just got signed,” Henry announced, grinning. “We’ve got teams mobilized around the island.”
“I’m going to pee,” Claire said, darting for the bathroom.
The island? They were going to storm the island?
“She’s not still on the fucking island,” Archie groaned.
But they were all standing, checking their phones, putting on their jackets.
Archie started to get up but Sanchez leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. “You’re staying here,” Sanchez said. “The first thing I did after watching your little sex tape was to station a unit downstairs, one in front of your family’s building, and one at Ms. Ward’s house.”
Archie could tell by his demeanor that there was no arguing. Sanchez was running the show.
“Where’s your weapon?” Sanchez asked.
“Desk drawer,” Archie said.
Sanchez walked to Archie’s desk, opened the drawer, and withdrew the gun. He checked the magazine for bullets and then walked it back and laid it on the coffee table in front of Archie.
Ngyun appeared next to Sanchez, carrying Susan’s open laptop. Stickers and decals plastered the back of the screen. HELLO KITTY. MARY’S CLUB. FOOD FIGHT. PEACE, LOVE, AND CUPCAKES. The ubiquitous outline of the state of Oregon with a green heart at its center.
“I’m going to need to keep this overnight,” Ngyun said to Sanchez. “There’s malware on it, all right, a RAP. That’s a remote administration tool. They can embed these Trojan horses in all sorts of things. It was probably attached to something Susan downloaded, a game, maybe.”
“I told you I haven’t downloaded anything weird
from the Internet,” Susan called from the kitchen.
“You also haven’t updated your operating system in four years,” Ngyun called back. He looked down at Archie. “I should check all your computers,” he added. “I can start with your laptop tonight.”
“Don’t bother,” Archie said. If he was going to be stuck there all night, he at least wanted to be able to sort through some of the island’s security footage. “I’ll bring it into the office tomorrow. I hardly even use it. I never download anything onto it.” Archie’s mind went to his work machine and his stomach turned. That computer had all sorts of sensitive files on it. If she’d managed to hack into that, she’d have access to all his e-mails, investigation files, and gateways to other law enforcement databases. “Start with my desktop,” he told Ngyun.
Henry stepped next to Ngyun and Sanchez and handed Ngyun the flash drive from Leo. “Take this,” Henry said. “You can check it for malware. And we’re going to need all the footage reviewed. Look for anything relating to Gretchen or Lisa Watson or”—he looked at Archie—“anything else.”
Archie glanced back at his laptop on the kitchen bar. It had gone to screen saver, a black universe filled with stars. He’d never actually downloaded any of the security footage. There went his plan for the evening.
Susan crawled across the bar and pulled her hooded sweatshirt off the stool she’d draped it over, nearly knocking Archie’s computer off the counter in the process. “Be careful with that,” she called as Ngyun walked by carrying her laptop in his shoulder bag. “I’ve got, like, eight unfinished novels on that thing.”
There was an anticipatory energy in the room. Ginger scampered around from person to person, sure that one of these people putting on hats and jackets would be taking her for a walk. Claire walked back from the bathroom, pulling on her dark blue watch cap, touching Henry’s arm as she swept past on her way to retrieve her coat from the coat rack. It was taking all of Archie’s control to stay sitting in that chair. He knew they wouldn’t find anything, but he still itched to be going along.
“I’ll call you,” Henry said.
Archie took a breath and nodded.
Susan bounced up next to Henry. She had her hood up and her purse strap across her chest. The R in WORST on her orange T-shirt had a glob of peanut butter on it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Henry asked her.
“With you?” she said brightly.
Archie coughed.
Henry crossed his arms. He’d lost weight since his hospital stay, but he was still broad and he could still look scary.
“Home?” Susan guessed again.
“Straight home,” Archie said.
Henry looked at Susan and then at Archie. “It won’t be so bad,” he said. “Watch TV or something,”
Susan and Archie eyed each other warily. Her hair had dried and looked curlier than usual. It made her face look softer. She reached up and scratched at a tiny pimple on her forehead. Archie put his hand out and wiped the peanut butter off Susan’s T-shirt with his finger. She gave him a half smile.
“Walk her to her car,” Archie said to Henry.
“You heard the man,” Henry said to Susan, giving her a push toward the door.
Archie watched as they all gathered.
Sanchez held back, engaged in an e-mail or text. When he finished, instead of heading for the others, he came over and squatted next to the arm of Archie’s chair. He pulled out his tin of mints and offered it to Archie. Archie shook his head. Sanchez put a mint in his mouth, closed the tin, and stowed it.
“Tell me something,” Sanchez said. “You ever step out on Debbie before?”
“No,” Archie said. “Not before Gretchen.”
“And the one time you do, it’s with a serial killer?” Sanchez said, his face glowing. “You poor fuck.”
“Yeah,” Archie said.
Sanchez was shaking his head, amazed, the white mint clenched between his teeth.
“Thanks,” Archie said. “For earlier.”
Sanchez scooted forward and the bill of his FBI cap grazed Archie’s forehead. “Leo told you I’m dirty, didn’t he?” he said.
“Let’s go,” Henry called from the door.
Archie kept his face neutral, barely daring to breathe.
Sanchez nodded, reading Archie’s reaction as affirmation. “Hm,” he said.
The others were talking by the door, immersed in their own discussion.
Sanchez’s eyebrows knitted. “We’ve known each other, what, fifteen years?” he said quietly. “You really believe for a second I’d do something like that?” Archie didn’t know what to say. Sanchez exhaled slowly. His breath was warm peppermint. “I’d tell you I’m not,” he said. Then he shrugged with a laugh. “But I guess I’d tell you that either way, right?” He laid a hand on Archie’s shoulder as he stood up. Then he turned and headed for the door to catch up with the others. Archie watched them all leave. Then the door closed, and he was alone. The smell of Sanchez’s mint hung in the air.
Archie got up and walked over to his empty kitchen. Susan had left four pieces of sandwich crust sitting out on his counter. He picked up a piece of crust and put in his mouth. The sky was dark. Dead leaves stuck to the factory windowpanes. He couldn’t figure out where those dead leaves came from—there weren’t any trees around. Flashes of red and blue light bounced off the glass as the patrol cars down below pulled away from the curb. Archie ate the rest of Susan’s crust. The bread was stale and stuck in his throat.
It was going to start again. Once the story broke it would be Gretchen Lowell 24–7 as far as the media was concerned. Every cop in the city would be looking for her. Archie knew how this worked. The press would get on board with the idea that Gretchen had murdered Lisa Watson. They would run with it. And in the distraction of a citywide manhunt, Lisa Watson’s real killer would go free.
Archie couldn’t allow that to happen.
He punched a number into his phone.
Robbins picked up right away. “Morgue,” he said.
“It’s me,” Archie said. “Have you started the Lisa Watson autopsy yet?”
“First thing tomorrow morning,” Robbins said. “I’ve had a shooting, a house fire, a bat attack, a jumper off the Fremont Bridge, and two car accidents today.”
“A bat attack?” Archie said. He heard the familiar wet slurp of a latex-clad hand removing an organ from an open abdomen. Most people were in bed and Robbins was in the middle of an autopsy.
“Two kids found an injured bat, took it home, and then died of rabies,” Robbins said. Archie recognized the spring of a metal scale as Robbins laid an organ on it to be weighed.
“Well, call me as soon as you’re done tomorrow, okay?” Archie said. “It’s important.”
“It’s always important,” Robbins said, sounding unimpressed. “But sure, you got it.”
Archie heard the organ slide into a plastic bag. “This time, it really is important,” Archie said. He might not be able to go after Gretchen, but he could make sure that Lisa Watson’s murder didn’t get lost in the shuffle. He could do that.
Robbins sighed. “Okay,” he said.
Archie hung up and went and sat down wearily on the couch. A piece of the red thread stuck to the seat cushion next to him, a casualty of Susan’s attack on his throw pillow. Archie brushed the thread into his hand and transferred it carefully to the coffee table and stared at it. Ginger came out from under the coffee table, hopped up on the couch, set her chin on his lap, and started licking the peanut butter off his fingers.
Archie knew what he had to do. He studied his phone, and mentally rehearsed what he was going to say.
The next call was going to be harder, but he wanted Debbie to hear it from him, before she heard it from the Herald.
CHAPTER
33
Susan sat in her Saab watching as the police cars parked around her pulled away and headed south toward Lake Oswego. With its wide streets and half-empty warehouses, the pr
oduce district always looked particularly empty at night. She cranked up the heat. The radio was reporting that a young woman had been found dead in Lake Oswego and that police were investigating. Susan listened intently. The story was oblique—they didn’t name Lisa Watson, and there was no reference to Gretchen. They described the death as a “suspicious drowning.” The radio announcer went on to another story, some remains had been found up river—they thought it might be a flood victim. Susan stared at the car radio, a flutter of excitement in her chest. Any minute now, the Herald would go live with the story that Gretchen Lowell was back in the area, and then the around-the-clock coverage would begin. There would be no time for any other story then.
A knock on Susan’s car window made her jump.
Henry’s hulking figure loomed outside. He had delivered her to her car by the elbow, deposited her inside, and then closed the driver’s-side door. She’d thought he’d continued to his own car. Now she wondered if he’d been standing there this whole time.
He probably had.
She turned down the radio and rolled down the window. The knob had come off the window crank, so this took a lot of effort.
Henry pointed at the LOADING ONLY sign adjacent to the hood of her car.
“I know,” she said quickly. She had parked in the loading zone because it was the closest spot to the door and she’d been rattled enough when she got there that she didn’t want to walk half a block in the dark by herself. “Sorry. I was in a hurry.”
A gray sedan stopped in the street behind Henry, its headlights slicing through the darkness. “Henry,” Sanchez’s voice called, “you’re riding with Claire, right?”
Henry looked over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “See you there.” Sanchez peeled away and Henry turned back to Susan. “Straight home,” Henry said. He hesitated. “You want me to follow you?”
Susan glanced around at the desolate surroundings. Maybe it wasn’t so insane to let Henry give her an escort, just for his peace of mind.
“Say the word,” Henry said. “They can do this without me.”
Claire’s Ford Fiesta pulled up behind Henry and stopped where Sanchez had just been. Claire idled there, waiting.