Amanda had programmed her GPS with the coordinates for the area of the forest where the pokeweed had been found. Five miles in, she was forced to leave the trail and follow a stream through the thick forest. At one point, Amanda stumbled on a slippery rock and slid into the stream, just catching herself before she soaked her jeans. When she paused to catch her breath, she thought she heard a branch crack. She stood and listened but the pounding rain made it hard to detect the presence of other hikers. When she was convinced that her imagination was making her paranoid, Amanda forged on.
After a mile, the rain let up just as Amanda left the stream. The dense underbrush made walking difficult. Amanda scrambled up the slippery side of a muddy embankment and stopped short when she saw several tall plants whose green, spear-tipped leaves held clusters of shiny purple berries.
“Pokeweed!” Amanda whispered excitedly. Her exhaustion faded and she forged forward through the underbrush with renewed energy until she suddenly found herself in a narrow clearing surrounded by dense foliage. A tarp, supported by limbs sawed off nearby trees, covered a sleeping bag and a fire pit. Amanda turned slowly, surveying the area for any sign of the person who lived in the camp.
Amanda had noticed a large backpack and a duffel bag under the tarp. She called Tom’s name. When no one answered, she ducked under the tarp and squatted next to the duffel. She felt guilty and uncomfortable going through the contents, but she needed to know if this was Tom’s camp or if it belonged to a homeless person. The duffel was stuffed with books and changes of clothing. Buried at the bottom was a passport in Tom Beatty’s name.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” a voice said.
Amanda whirled around. Two men were standing in the clearing. They were rugged and muscular and dressed in camouflage fatigues. They had moved so stealthily that Amanda hadn’t heard them until they were right behind her. One of the men was carrying a large knife, and the other held a .45-caliber automatic at his side.
Amanda stepped out from under the tarp and straightened up.
“Who are you?” she asked, trying hard to keep a tremor out of her voice and failing miserably.
“That’s not your concern, little lady. What should concern you is what will happen if you don’t tell us where Tom Beatty is hiding.”
“I have no idea. I thought he would be here, but he’s not,” Amanda said, stalling for time so she could work a hand behind her back to her gun.
“We’ll soon find out if you’re telling the truth,” the man with the knife said. “I don’t think you’ll hold out for long under torture.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Amanda begged as she shifted her left shoulder toward the men to hide her right hand, which was snaking toward her weapon.
The men grinned at each other, enjoying Amanda’s plea for mercy. Then the man with the gun stopped smiling and Amanda gaped at the tip of a wooden spear that had been rammed through his body.
The other man had just started to turn when a rock smashed into his skull. He staggered but didn’t go down. The rock descended again. The skull split, the knife tumbled to the ground, and the man crumpled next to it.
Meanwhile, the speared man looked down uncomprehendingly at the blood spurting from his chest wound. He dropped the gun and grasped the spear with both hands, staggering in circles as he tried to wrench it out of his body.
Tom Beatty picked up the fallen knife and held it at the man’s throat.
“Who sent you?” Beatty demanded, but the man was past answering. He sagged against Beatty, his eyes closed, and his last breath escaped.
Beatty dropped the body and stared at it in frustration. The prehistoric horror Amanda had just witnessed paralyzed her and she could only stare at Beatty, his face smeared with mud and his body cloaked with dripping leaves. Then she remembered her gun, and yanked it out of her holster.
Beatty paid no attention to the weapon. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Amanda’s mouth was dry and her voice cracked when she finally managed to speak.
“I was looking for you.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Pokeweed. It’s an eastern plant and the only place it grows in the Pacific Northwest is in this part of Forest Park. You tracked some of its berries into Dale Masterson’s den.”
Amanda tightened her grip on her gun, unsure how Beatty would react when she asked the next question.
“Did . . . did you kill Dale Masterson?”
Beatty didn’t answer. He just stared at her, looking terrifying.
“Tom, you’re in big trouble. The judge revoked your bail and you’re a fugitive. And they found blood in the front room of your house that’s been matched to one of two murdered men who were found in the trunk of a car.”
“Who were they?”
“They were private detectives, but they were also ex-military and they worked security for RENCO Oil.”
Beatty scowled but didn’t say anything.
“I want to help you, Tom, but you’ve got to turn yourself in.”
Beatty looked at Amanda. “Leave,” he ordered.
“Tom . . .”
“Leave now.”
“But what about these men?” she asked, realizing how inane her question was. The men were beyond help.
“Leave now,” Beatty repeated.
Amanda wanted to say something, but fleeing from this massacre before she became part of it was the sane thing to do. She circled in the direction she’d come from, her gun pointed at Beatty. He didn’t pay any attention to the gun, but he did keep his eyes locked on hers. Amanda backed into the undergrowth. Then she turned and ran.
Amanda staggered into the parking lot, numb from fatigue, soaking wet, her face scratched and bleeding. She wrenched open the car door, then locked herself in. Her hands shook as she started the engine, and her mind was reeling from the horror she’d witnessed.
Exhaustion and fear kept her from thinking straight, and she had to try extra hard to focus on the road. As soon as she was in a populated area, Amanda pulled into the crowded parking lot of a supermarket and leaned her head against the steering wheel. When she closed her eyes, she saw Tom Beatty drive a spear through the body of a human being, then club another man to death with a rock. Her breathing grew shallow, and she had to fight to keep from throwing up.
Once Amanda was back in control of her emotions, she started to relax, but a sudden thought caused her heart rate to accelerate again. Amanda looked around the parking lot. It dawned on her that the dead men had followed her to Tom’s camp. How did they know where she was going? Was she under surveillance? Was there a tracker on her car? Were there other men who knew that she was sitting in this parking lot? Even though crowds of people surrounded her, she did not feel safe.
Amanda’s brain was full of cobwebs and every thought was an effort. She knew that she had to get some sleep, but she also knew that she would have to meet with Kate Ross before she could think about sleeping.
CHAPTER 33
Amanda ditched her car in case there was a tracking device in it. She thought about going to her condo but rejected the idea. Mike was home. If she was being followed she didn’t want to lead anyone to him. Amanda took a cab to the apartment Kate shared with Daniel Ames. Daniel was at the coast, taking depositions so Kate was alone.
“What happened to you?” Kate asked as soon as she opened her door.
“I’ll tell you in a minute, but I want to wash up first. Can I use your shower?”
“Sure. I’ll get you a towel and a stiff drink. You look like you can use one.”
Twenty minutes later, Amanda was warm and comfortable in fresh socks and one of Daniel’s warm-up suits while her clothes tumbled around in Kate’s washing machine. She called Mike to let him know she might be late. Then she nursed the glass of scotch Kate handed her while she told Kate everything that had happened in Forest Park.
“When I was calm enough to think, I realized that I needed your help,” Amanda said.
>
“Oh?”
“Those men followed me to Tom’s camp. That means they had me under surveillance. I’ve never felt I was being tailed. I think it’s more likely that my condo, office, or phones are bugged.”
“And you want me to perform a sweep?” Kate asked.
Amanda nodded. “Can you come to my condo now?”
“I keep my equipment at the office so we have to stop there. I can sweep your office first if you’re not too exhausted.”
“I’ll be fine,” Amanda said, even though she would have given all her worldly possessions for the chance to dive into a nice warm bed.
“We can go as soon as your clothes are dry.”
“Bring your gun. You’ll have to be very alert. Christine Larson and Dale Masterson were brutally beaten, and I’m betting that Carol White was also murdered. The people behind this are not fooling around.”
“Are you convinced that Tom isn’t responsible for those killings?”
“I’m pretty certain he didn’t kill Christine or Carol White. That was probably the work of the people who framed Tom for Christine’s murder.”
“What about Dale Masterson?” Kate asked. “The pokeweed berries put him at the crime scene.”
Dale Masterson’s beating had been a carbon copy of the way Christine had been murdered, and Amanda remembered Tom’s swearing to avenge Christine’s death. She also remembered that he had not answered her in Forest Park when she asked him if he’d killed Masterson.
“You know you’ve got a big conflict-of-interest problem, right?” Kate continued.
“That occurred to me.”
“Brandon is innocent if Tom killed Dale Masterson, but both Tom and Brandon are your clients. You can win Brandon’s case by sending Tom Beatty to death row, but you can’t do anything to help one client if it will work against another client.”
“I took an ethics course in law school,” Amanda answered defensively.
“Then you know you’re between a rock and a hard place.”
“I’m too tired to think about this now.”
“You should talk it over with your dad,” Kate advised.
“I can’t. I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me to get off both cases and lead the police to the campsite, but I won’t do that.” Amanda shuddered. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear those men. I don’t even want to think about what they would have done to me if Tom hadn’t saved me.” She shook her head. “I can’t betray a man who just saved my life.”
The law office was bugged, and Kate found a tracking device on Amanda’s car. Once she removed it, Amanda drove to her condo, with Kate following. As soon as Amanda told Mike what Kate was doing, he wanted to know why she was sweeping the condo for bugs. Amanda wanted to answer his question but couldn’t, so she stonewalled by playing the client confidentiality card.
An hour later, Kate showed Amanda what she’d found in the condo. Amanda herded her investigator into her home office and shut the door on an angry boyfriend.
“This stuff is state-of–the-art,” Kate said. “That means that you’re dealing with people who have money and connections.”
“Didn’t Billie tell you that the two men who were found in the trunk of the car were ex-military men who had worked security in Nigeria for RENCO Oil?”
“Yes.”
“The men who followed me looked like they had military training, and RENCO would have the means and money to secure state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.”
“That’s something we need to consider. Meanwhile, I’m going to call in a friend who used to work for military intelligence and NSA. He’ll go over the condo, your car, and the office to make sure I haven’t missed anything. I’ll ask him if he has an idea about who might have access to this type of equipment.”
“Thanks, Kate.”
“Now, you are going to get to bed before you drop dead.”
“I won’t argue with you. I’m out on my feet. I’ll see you at the office.”
Mike had been quietly angry at being shut out by Kate and Amanda, but he hadn’t asked her any questions when she’d collapsed into bed shortly after Kate left. Amanda staggered out of her bedroom at nine-thirty the next morning and found a note from Mike saying he had gone to the office.
Amanda was upset when she thought about Mike’s reaction, but she couldn’t blame him. Then she thought about how the evening would have played out if Mike were still living at his apartment. Mike wouldn’t have been there, so he wouldn’t have been in danger from assassins and wouldn’t have asked her to talk about things she didn’t want to talk about. Amanda sighed. Living together in a serious relationship was complicated.
But she didn’t have time to think about any of that now. Her first priority was visiting an old . . . well, “friend” didn’t exactly cover the relationship.
CHAPTER 34
The Jungle Club was housed in a square pink-and-green concrete box that sat in the middle of a parking lot on a busy intersection on Columbia Avenue. The gaudy neon sign was turned off during the daylight hours. Once the sun went down, a naked woman was clearly outlined in flashing lights that also spelled out GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS, leaving no doubt about what the curious would find inside.
Amanda parked in the lot at noon, when the patrons would be hard-core perverts who would be too busy ogling the strippers to pay much attention to her. Once she was inside, Amanda realized that any fears she had that she would be recognized were groundless. The club was kept dark so the voyeurs wouldn’t notice the age of some of the dancers, and any customer who pulled his eyes away from the gyrating ecdysiasts to peer in her direction would not have enough light to make her out.
The bouncer at the door was an old client. He greeted Amanda warmly before pointing her toward Martin Breach’s office, which was at the back of the club at the end of a short hall. Martin kept the music cranked up loud enough to be disorienting, on the theory that the cacophony would make life very difficult for eavesdropping FBI, DEA, or PPB agents, so Amanda had to pound on the office door to get his attention. After four thumps it opened, and Art Prochaska glared at her.
Prochaska, Breach’s right-hand man and only friend, was a giant with thick lips, a broad nose, and pencil-thin eyebrows. In his days as a collector for the mob he had used his huge bullet-shaped head to stun recalcitrant debtors. As soon as Prochaska recognized Amanda, he broke into a grin. Amanda had beaten a murder charge for Prochaska, who had, in this rare instance, been completely innocent.
The walls of Breach’s office were decorated with pictures of strippers who had performed in the club and an out-of-date calendar from a motor oil company that he never replaced. The rickety furniture was mostly secondhand and the décor was designed to deflect attempts by the Feds to run a net worth on him.
“Look who’s here,” Art called over his shoulder.
Martin Breach had started out in the trenches with Art, breaking legs for Benny Dee, before staging a coup d’état during which Benny mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again. Now Breach ran the most efficient and ruthless crime organization in the Pacific Northwest.
Breach’s sandy hair was thinning, his drab brown eyes were watery, and he had a pale, vampirish complexion because his skin rarely came in contact with sunlight. He had hideous taste in clothes, and his loud, mismatched outfits made him look like a clown. Over the years, several enemies had treated him with disdain right up to the point where they’d found themselves strapped to a table, listening to Breach tell really stupid jokes while going to work on them with a power drill.
Amanda had mixed feelings about Breach, and no illusions. She knew he was a ruthless criminal, but she also knew that he cared for her in a weird way and had helped her out on a few nerve-racking occasions.
Amanda got another big grin from the crime boss. “You look great,” he said. “Take a seat.”
Amanda lowered herself cautiously onto a straight-back wooden chair that looked like it might give way at any moment.
“So what brings you to my den of iniquity?” Breach asked with a smile.
“I have a serious problem, Martin. Two men tried to kill me yesterday.”
Breach stopped smiling. “What happened?”
“I have a client who’s on the run. The police want to find him, but so do the men who attacked me. They bugged my home and office and followed me when I hiked deep into Forest Park. I’ve been told that the bugging equipment is state-of-the-art and I’m guessing that the men were ex-military. I never knew they were tailing me.”
“What did they do to you?” Breach asked.
“They . . . they threatened to torture me if I didn’t tell them where to find my client.”
Breach’s features hardened, and Amanda got a glimpse of the way Martin’s victims saw him when he wasn’t playing the jolly fool.
“How did you get away?” he asked.
“My client took care of them.”
“Oh?” Breach said as he cocked his head to one side.
“They’re dead.”
“If they’re dead why do you need my help?”
“You know Mike Greene?”
“The DA who prosecuted Art.”
“Yeah, well, he’s my boyfriend. We’re living together.”
“I thought he was an okay guy even though he wanted to send me to death row,” Prochaska said.
“Thanks, Art,” Amanda said. She turned back to Breach.
“I’m certain the men who tried to kill me were hired help, so whoever sent them could send someone else. If they want to get to me they might try to threaten me by going after Mike, but I can’t tell him what happened in the park because he’s a prosecutor and he’d have a duty to tell the police. Mike won’t know he’s in danger, so I need someone to watch his back until I can figure out who they worked for and whether we’re still in danger.”
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