Eyes of a Stanger

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  As part of Bret’s invitation, he’d been given all the information available regarding the bridge collapse, including a list of the dead and missing. He’d been relieved to see Tawnia’s name was not listed. He’d called her repeatedly on Friday and Saturday, only to keep getting her voice mail, so he was glad to have the information. He hadn’t left a message and had stopped calling her after that. Since she hadn’t returned his calls, he suspected her phone had probably been turned off and his attempts hadn’t registered. He was happy she wouldn’t know he’d called so many times. Perhaps he’d try later in the week and ask her to dinner. Friends did that when they were in town, so it would be a natural thing to do. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  At the airport he was met by a Multnomah employee and taken immediately to the county offices to meet with Hanks. “Come in, come in,” Hanks said, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you again. Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m glad to be here.” Bret shook the man’s hand. Hanks was exactly as he remembered, a managing, suit-wearing type with an average build and looks, his stomach going flabby from lack of exercise. The only thing unique about him was the thickness of his dark hair that waved slightly on top.

  “Have a seat.” Hanks poured a mug of dirty brown liquid from the hot pitcher on his desk, offering it to Bret, who shook his head. “No thanks.”

  Hanks settled in his own chair with the drink. “Down to business, I guess. You may not know this, but Multnomah controls and maintains six of the ten Willamette River bridges as well as twenty other bridges in the county, so we are taking this collapse very seriously.”

  Bret did know this information. He knew a lot about all their bridges. What he hadn’t known before, he’d researched since Friday. He also knew that Hanks hadn’t been involved in the actual maintenance of the bridges himself but had orchestrated the work of others.

  “From what I understand,” Bret began, never one to prolong niceties, “you presume the boat hitting the bridge on the right side just under the lift was the primary cause of the collapse.”

  “Well, there is some doubt about what actually happened, and of course our surveillance recordings went down with the control cabin. The bridge operator says everything was lifting just fine but that the captain was too far to the right. The man barely escaped with his life, so I tend to believe him. However, the boat captain claims the lift seemed to be stopped or coming back down, and that was what they hit.” He took a gulp of his coffee.

  “You said there was a video from a security camera?”

  “Yeah, but the angle isn’t good. It’s a hard call.”

  Bret leaned back in his chair, noting the discomfort despite the black leather upholstery. “Whether the boat hit the lift or the side, neither should reflect on your bridge maintenance. I’m still not sure why you want me here. There hasn’t been a formal request for an inquiry, has there?”

  Hanks set down his mug. “It’s only a matter of time. But for right now, you’re here mainly because of public opinion. Believe me, we’re doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this, but with forty-one people injured, twenty-three dead, and eight still missing, people are clamoring for answers. Nevada has the best reputation for safe bridges, and the company you work for is the foremost in the entire West. We feel bringing in an outside firm early shows our commitment to finding the truth and making sure such a tragedy never happens again. That you personally have been involved in past inquiries for bridge failures makes your presence even more valuable to us.” He reached for his mug but only fingered it, setting it back down without taking a sip.

  Bret sensed there was something more. What was the man hiding? “Nevada bridges are generally not over water, and the dry air lowers maintenance significantly. That’s part of why my company has such a solid reputation.”

  “Yes, but the average person won’t know that. They’ll see only that we’ve brought in the best.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Hanks met his gaze and sighed. “Even if the boat hit the bridge to the side of the lift, or if the lift didn’t go up all the way, it shouldn’t have caused so many sections to collapse. Five out of six spans are gone. We can’t explain it. This bridge was completely renovated less than eight years ago, and we are rigorous with regular maintenance.”

  “You’ve ruled out terrorism?”

  “We’ve ruled out nothing except an earthquake.” Hanks shook his head. “But the governor of Oregon did cross over the bridge directly before the explosion. He was still near enough to feel the ground shaking under his car. At this point the police think it’s a coincidence, though they’re looking into it, of course, and they’ve advised the governor to be alert for threats. Meanwhile, we certainly aren’t going to tell the public anything related to the governor until we have solid evidence of tampering.”

  “Does the governor commonly get threats?”

  Hanks shrugged. “I really don’t know. A lot of people think he’s too liberal and complain that he’s not fulfilling his campaign promises, but they tend to say that about every politician. Bottom line: we may never understand exactly what happened—and that won’t sit well with the public.”

  “So having me here reassures them that every precaution is being taken to prevent recurrence,” Bret guessed.

  “And that the rebuilt bridge will be of the safest and highest quality. We would, of course, like a complete check of all our Portland bridges while you’re here. That will also go a long way to alleviating the public’s worry.”

  “Of course.” Bret shut the notebook on his lap. He hadn’t taken any notes since Hanks had given him a folder with all the updated reports and his temporary ID badge. “I’d like to see the video first, and then go down to the bridge to examine the structure.”

  “You can examine the part that still remains and the wreckage we’re gathering on both sides. After three days, we’re still bringing up an incredible amount of rubble. And bodies.” Hanks gave a long sigh.

  “What about the Navy Seals? That worked in Minneapolis. They have the right sonar equipment.”

  “Call’s already out. They should be here tomorrow. The sooner we find all the missing people, the better. That way the families can go on.”

  Go on. That’s what you did after someone you loved died. Even when that someone you loved was your only brother. Bret’s stomach clenched as his thoughts drifted to Christian. They had been as different as brothers could be—Christian was popular and charming, careless and irresponsible. Their sister, Liana, had even taken care of his finances. As long as he had a nice car and a job to bring in money to pay for the things he loved and to take out women on lavish dates, Christian was happy. Or had been happy.

  By contrast, Bret had driven a secondhand car, had put money aside for retirement, and worked so hard he barely had a social life. He had occasionally dated sweet-faced girls who had never interested him more than his work—until the model Britanni, who was gorgeous, high-maintenance, and more like Christian than Bret cared to admit. Fortunately, he’d seen the light in time and broken off with her; in fact, it had taken his brother’s death to remind him of what was important.

  Hanks stood and came around his desk, hand extended. Bret rose to meet him.

  “Thanks, Bret,” Hanks said, vigorously pumping his hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll look forward to your suggestions once you go over the reports. If you do find anything out of the ordinary, I want to hear it. They should have the video footage set up, and then I’ll have someone from the regular maintenance crew drive you out to the site. Meanwhile, I’m drafting a press release. The sooner we give people confidence, the better. Your name is spelled with one T, right?”

  “One T on the first and two Ns on the last.” Bret let himself be ushered out. He knew Clyde Hanks didn’t really expect anything of him, but he was good at what he did, and if there was something suspicious to find, he’d find it. Thoroughness was the answer. Complete absorpt
ion by the job. Another thing he was good at.

  “Janey,” Hanks told the young office secretary, “take Mr. Winn down to see the video coverage. It should be set up in the employee lounge.”

  She stood, pushing her long, iron-straight blonde hair behind her ear. “This way, Mr. Winn.”

  He sat before the plasma TV as the smiling young woman handed him the remote. “The collapse has been recorded three times in a row,” she informed him, “but you may want to see it more times. I’ll be at my desk down the hall if you need anything.”

  Bret watched the collapse in fascination. Hanks was right about the angle. Too awkward to tell exactly where the boat hit the bridge. The bridge was low enough that just about any kind of river traffic would require the lift to rise, and in the recording, the lift had risen but not fast enough. It even looked like it might have come back down a little. Could the boat have cleared? Bret didn’t think so, but it was so close that he wouldn’t give testimony of the fact. Maybe the bridge itself could tell him more.

  He watched the DVD three more times to be sure.

  Tawnia’s here somewhere.

  If he was honest, he’d admit that he was here as much for the chance of seeing her as for his fascination with overwater bridges.

  Christian and Tawnia. He couldn’t think of one without thoughts of the other coming soon after. So much to regret.

  Most of all he regretted not being with his brother that last day, but he’d been too worried about Britanni’s admiration of him. Stupid. In the end, he discovered he didn’t even like Britanni. Maybe he’d only been trying to impress his older brother.

  So Tawnia had been alone with Christian when he fell. Why she would have chosen to go out with his brother was a mystery to him. They were nothing alike. Tawnia, well, she was more like Bret.

  What if Christian had lived? What if he’d brought Tawnia home to meet the family? Would Bret have watched from the side while they had fallen in love? Or would Christian have lost interest as he usually did, leaving the way clear for Bret?

  He would never know. Since their first meeting, Tawnia had filled his every waking thought and more than a few in his sleep. The void left by his brother’s death would have been easy to fill with Tawnia. Except for the guilt.

  He was good at guilt.

  Sighing, Bret turned off the DVD player and the TV. Today was Monday, and the bridge had collapsed on Friday. Nearly three whole days had passed. Three days during which evidence could have been lost or accidentally destroyed.

  Or purposely destroyed. The thought made his stomach clench.

  “See anything new?” The voice came from behind.

  Bret turned to see a stocky man with red hair and a freckled, ruddy complexion. Probably part Irish. “It’s a difficult angle.”

  The newcomer nodded sympathetically. “Yeah. That’s the breaks. Sometimes it’s for you, and sometimes against you. Anyway, welcome to Portland, Mr. Winn. I’m Robert Glen, the one who’s driving you to the bridge.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Bret shook his hand. “Please, call me Bret.”

  “Sure thing. Right this way, now.”

  Bret sized up his companion as they walked down the maze of hallways. Robert Glen had a friendly, common sort of face, one that held no guile. He’d be painfully honest, Bret thought, and uncomfortable in groups of people. Unlike the suits in the office, he was in work overalls, obviously his clothes of choice as he wore them well. Robert seemed exactly like the type of person Bret would hire over maintenance for his bridges, if the decision was his to make. Robert would do a conscientious job, but he wouldn’t be obsessive about his work like Bret. Bret’s career was his life, but now he found himself wondering if he’d chosen the wrong love.

  Robert Glen wouldn’t have volunteered to fly to Nevada to see one of our bridges if it collapsed, Bret thought. He’d want to be home with his wife and three, no, four kids.

  “Look, I’ll need to change.” Bret told him in the silence of the maintenance truck.

  “Yeah, I wondered how you were going to inspect anything in that suit.”

  “Could you stop at my hotel? I came directly from the airport, but I had my luggage shuttled there.”

  Thirty minutes later, he was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and work boots. He also had his toolbox, a calculator, and a pen.

  Robert took in his appearance. “Now you look like you mean business.”

  “I do.”

  “We should stop and get lunch, though. It’s a tad early, but it’ll save us time in the end.”

  “Good idea.” Bret really wasn’t hungry, but he wasn’t hungry a lot these days. Mostly he ate while he worked or at his mother’s on Sundays. He tried to go there more often now. With Christian gone and Liana in Wyoming helping her sister-in-law on her farm while her husband recovered from a heart attack, Bret was all his parents had left.

  “You married?” he asked Robert over a hamburger and fries. Not his food of choice, but Robert seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “Naw. Almost. I was engaged once.”

  The answer surprised him. So he’d been wrong about Robert’s supposed wife and children. “Me, too. What happened?”

  “She threw me over for another guy who made more money. You?”

  “She cared only about fast cars and expensive restaurants. She was a model.”

  Robert nodded. “Women! That’s the breaks. Right now I’m living with my sister, Noreen. Not too bad. She cleans and makes meals, and I don’t have to pay her for it.” He stuffed in the last of his hamburger. “You ready?”

  “Sure.” Bret left half his fries but took his strawberry shake, which in his view was the best feature of hamburger restaurants.

  “We’ll drive to the intact side first, so you can see where it broke off.”

  As they came close to the Hawthorne Bridge, Bret’s mind struggled to comprehend the sight. After the first span, the bridge simply quit, not jagged as one might guess, but cleanly sliced where the lift had once been. He’d seen bridges in progress before, but there was something sinful about this devastation. They were lucky that so far only twenty-three people were accounted for as dead, he realized. It could have been much, much worse. The fact that the bridge lift had been up had saved all those waiting on the west side, but at that time of day there would have been heavy traffic coming from the Hawthorne district. Four spans of waiting cars, all dumped into the river.

  Eight people were still missing. He could see the search and rescue boats on the rivers. Divers were coming and going. Not the Navy Seals. Tomorrow, they would be here to help find the remaining victims.

  Mounds of rubble were being stacked, examined, and then carted away, covering sections of the once-beautiful waterfront park on his side of the river. Workers scurried over the massive piles, cordoned off with yellow caution ribbon, while people gathered to watch. There was a hushed reverence, or was it fear?

  “More of the wreckage is actually being processed on the other side,” Robert said quietly. “Not as much room as here, but some of the last span actually fell onto the bank. Everything sort of shifted that way, so it’s easier to get to. Plus, it doesn’t ruin the park.” He gave a mirthless chuckle.

  “We can drive onto the remaining span?”

  “Yeah, nearly to the break. It’s safe, or should be. Can’t say for sure now, can we? Have to show ID to get on. I’m assuming you’ll want to check out this side first. Then I’ll drive us back around to the other side. They’re gathering the pieces there. We’ve examined what we’ve found so far for evidence, but they’re bringing up more every hour.”

  The entire bridge area was cordoned off, and Robert showed his ID to get them through. Robert drove onto the bridge as far as they were allowed to go. Bret followed him from the truck, lugging his toolbox.

  The gap from this vantage point was even more unbelievable, and Bret struggled to take it all in. The entire bridge wasn’t completely gone as much of the TV footage had shown. Some of the trusses still
rose from the water, twisted and dark, like the crooked fingers of an evil creature emerging to take revenge.

  Robert peered through binoculars for a few minutes before handing them to Bret. “Looks like they found someone.” Sure enough, a couple of divers were lifting a corpse onto a boat.

  Only seven missing now. Twenty-four dead.

  Bret’s stomach churned, and he wished he’d forgone the greasy burger. Maybe it was time to rethink his diet. Christian had always asserted that you got exactly what you paid for.

  Robert looked at the hand Bret had pressed against his stomach. “It does it to me, too,” he said. “It’s almost too much to believe.”

  Bret forced himself to give back the binoculars and open his toolbox.

  Robert stayed with Bret as he examined the bridge, going down the sides of the structure in a portable lift to check the lengths of steel. The equipment showed stress, but nothing that would signal a collapse of this magnitude. Nothing that would affect the normal operation of the bridge. Of course he hadn’t yet checked it all, as he intended to over the next few days, but from this first look, he had to agree with Hanks that the collapse should not have occurred. Then again, this was the part of the bridge that hadn’t collapsed, so he would expect such readings here.

  His stomach was hungry again before he was ready to cross the river. “You could save the debris until tomorrow,” Robert suggested. “It’s already quittin’ time.”

  “I’d rather start today,” Bret said. “You could just drop me off and get me in with the right people.”

  Robert grinned. “And miss the overtime? Not on your life. We maintenance engineers don’t get paid as much as you guys in design. I’m happy for you to stay as long as you’d like.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  It took nearly twenty minutes to cross the river on another bridge and make their way to the opposite end of the collapsed one. The sun was still hot overhead, but the air had picked up a welcome breeze while they’d been in the truck.