Not Dead Enough

by Warren C Easley

  Winona waited for me next to the elevator, a look of shock and bewilderment on her face. “What’s going on, Cal?”

  “David’s been shown the door. I guess he decided not to leave quietly.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Why don’t you ask your fiancé?”

  Her eyes grew large and filled with tears. “Why do you say that?”

  I didn’t know what else to say, so I gathered David up and left her standing at the elevator.

  Chapter Forty-two

  For a small man, Sam DeSilva packed a wallop. Under the dome light of my car, I could see that David Hanson’s left eye would soon be swollen shut and his cheek rendered a fine, if mottled, shade of purple. However, the gash Sam’s fist had opened up didn’t look that serious.

  “The bleeding’s stopped, and I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” I told him.

  “Oh, damn. I was hoping for a scar. Adds character to a face, don’t you think? Like Pacino in Scarface.”

  I laughed despite myself. “Your face’s going to have plenty of character, at least for a week or two.”

  The fight seemed to have sobered David up somewhat, and he agreed to leave his car at The Big Pink and come with me without much of a fuss. He lived in Sellwood, so I took the Ross Island Bridge to the east side. When I turned onto Milwaukie, he said, “Coffee. I need coffee. There’s a little bar up on the left. I’ll buy you a cup.”

  I was fine with stopping, because I had some questions I wanted to ask him. The place was bustling with a jovial group of neighborhood types who hardly looked up as we made our way to a table in the back after ordering black coffee and a small pizza at the bar. When we sat down, David started to relive the fight with Sam. I let him go, figuring he needed to get it out of his system. He’d eaten most of the pizza and was on his second cup of coffee when I said, “What the hell happened to get you so upset?”

  He looked at me and chuckled. “Well, let’s just say leaving wasn’t my idea.”

  “What did Sam mean when he said, ‘The deals off’?”

  David shook his head. “I wasn’t going to take their stupid deal anyway. They think they can just buy people. Take this money, keep your mouth shut, and we’ll say nice things about you. I don’t need their money or their fucking recommendations.”

  “How long have you and Jason been lovers?”

  David stopped his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

  I met his eyes and let the question stand by saying nothing.

  “How—”

  “I notice things, David. So, you’re out and Winona’s in to bolster Jason’s hetero image, right?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. That’s the way things are done. You can win an election in Portland if you’re gay, but a statewide election for a national office? That’s another question entirely.”

  “Who called the shot?”

  “Royce. Who else? Sam’s just an errand boy. Royce loaned him to the campaign to keep an eye on things. He put me there for legal perspective. But I’m sure Sam’s glad to see me go, as well.”

  “What about Jason? Doesn’t he have any say in this?”

  David’s eyes filled, and he blinked away a tear. “Jason made his decision. He talks a good game about being his own man. But at the end of the day, he wants to please his daddy. And his daddy wants him to be a happily married senator on a short leash. They can all go to hell.”

  We sat in silence for a while. David dabbed at his eyes with his napkin. I waited for him to calm down before shifting the subject. “I understand Royce was a big game hunter in his day. Ever hear anything about that?”

  Hanson made a face. “I don’t know anything, except that Jason told me they used to have a lot of disgusting animal heads in their house. You’d have to ask Sam.”

  “Sam arranged Royce’s hunting trips?”

  “Sam arranged everything for Royce. Still does. He’s been with him for years.”

  “Tell me about Sam.”

  “What’s to tell? His first love’s politics, or should I say power—Machiavelli’s his role model. He wants to go to Washington worse than Jason does. He’s the quintessential sycophant, too. Takes care of all of Royce’s dirt. And there’s plenty of that. Or at least there was. The old man’s lost a step or two.”

  “What kind of dirt?”

  David laughed. “You name it—payoffs, bribes, you know, the basic cost of doing large scale construction work.” I nodded, and he went on. “The old bastard cut a wide swath in his day.” Then something seemed to register in David’s eyes. He wrinkled his brow, and I knew the spell was broken. He said, “This is starting to feel like an interrogation. What’s your deal, Claxton?”

  I took a sip of coffee while I did a quick gut check. I decided not to risk tipping my hand any further. I opened my hands, palms up, and smiled. “I’m just a curious guy, that’s all.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  I awoke the next morning in a state of agitation. I slipped on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, and because it was overcast added a sweatshirt. Archie followed me downstairs, and when I sat at the bench in the entry to put on my jogging shoes he started to squeal and yelp and spin in circles. Running with me was the pinnacle of his existence, and my ears were ringing as proof. But by the time I stepped off the porch and he was halfway down the drive I came to my senses. The sniper was still out there. This was no time to go running in my sparsely populated neighborhood. I called out to Arch, who jerked around and gave me a look, the doggie equivalent of “are you kidding me?”

  Archie was still pouting out by the gate when my cell phone went off in the pocket of my shorts. “Talked to my father about Gage.” I felt a wave of annoyance and realized it was because Philip seldom bothered to start a phone conversation with any sort of conventional greeting. Fletcher Dunn did the same damn thing, I realized.

  “Good. What did he have to say?”

  “He said you might get a do-over. He told Gage again that he needed a favor, that you were a good man involved in a violent situation and needed Gage’s help to sort things out. My father thinks Gage’s a real asshole but no killer. Some kind of grudging respect I don’t really understand.”

  “A do-over? What, I’m supposed to go back out to The Dalles?”

  “No. Gage said he would contact you. He didn’t know that Barrett had blocked you. Thought the problem was at your end.”

  “You think he’ll follow through?”

  “Probably. He’s got a four-hour erection for that casino deal—”

  “Stephanie Barrett wants it, too,” I interjected. “That’s why she wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Well, I think you’ll get an audience with the old man, but that doesn’t mean he’ll open up. You’ll have to use your silver tongue to make that happen.” Philip chuckled. “Of course, he could be the guy behind this killing spree.”

  “There is that, isn’t there.”

  “Sure is. Don’t turn your back on him.”

  On that cheery note I changed the subject. “Did you hear about your cousin’s engagement?”

  “Who? Winona?”

  “Yeah. She’s wearing a big diamond from Jason Townsend.”

  “The pretty-boy politician? No. Say it isn’t so.”

  “Afraid it is. They announced it last night at a campaign gig.”

  “Shit. What the hell’s she thinking?”

  “She loves the guy, I guess. I’m happy for her. She deserves the best.”

  “Well, yeah, of course, but…” his voice trailed off. “She’s forgotten where she came from, that’s what I think.”

  “I’m not so sure, Philip.” He didn’t argue, and we left it at that.

  I went inside, fed the dog, and had some breakfast. I was sitting out on the side porch with a cup of c
offee when the wind began stirring in the Doug firs towering a hundred and fifty feet above me. The now familiar sound—like a receding wave sifting through pebbly sand—soothed me at some primal level for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, except to say that in the listening I began to feel a connection to this piece of land. The rain came next, a gentle patter followed by a hard downpour. Archie came out of the rain, shook himself, and lay down next to me.

  A man and his dog enjoying a good Oregon rain.

  I spent the rest of that morning getting caught up on paperwork and preparing for what promised to be a busy week of conventional legal work. You know, the kind where people involved don’t try to kill you. Toward noon, the motion sensor I’d put back out at the gate buzzed, which sent Archie into a frenzy of barking. I watched out the dining room window as a car pulled in the drive and was surprised to see Winona Cloud. I went out on the porch, and as she got out of her car I couldn’t miss the glittering rock on her left hand. Archie yelped and left my side to greet her.

  She stopped at the foot of the porch steps and looked up at me with a tired, strained smile. “I was, uh, in the neighborhood. Thought maybe I could bum a cup of coffee.”

  “I was just going to fix some lunch. Come on in.”

  She followed Archie and me into the kitchen and went straight to the window above the sink. “Oh, even in the rain the view’s magnificent. And this house, Cal. I love it.”

  “The house needs a lot of work, but the bones are good. It was one of the original farmhouses in the area.” As we talked, I ground coffee beans, made cappuccinos, and put bagels in the toaster. Then I sliced a red onion and a tomato and laid the slices on a plate, which I put on a tray along with a carton of cream cheese, a jar of capers, and a slab of smoked steelhead. My go-to lunch.

  We kept the banter light while I was preparing the food. I was a little tense about the impending conversation and wasn’t about to ask any leading questions. She was here for a reason. She’d get around to it soon enough.

  When we were finally facing each other across the kitchen table, she said, “God, what a mess that was last night. Did you get David home all right?”

  “Yeah. How’s Sam’s eye?”

  “It’s okay, but he looks like he lost a catfight.” The comment broke the emotional ice, and we both laughed a little more than we should have. “Jason feels terrible about the way the dam removal issue was handled. He wanted you to know how sorry he is.”

  I shrugged. “That’s show biz. How do you feel about it?”

  She sipped her coffee and licked a dollop of cream cheese with a caper stuck to it off her finger. “Oh, Jason and I had a long talk about that. He just wanted to postpone the debate until his team has coalesced. You know, with David’s departure and all, things are in flux.” She searched my face for a reaction. When I didn’t give her one, she said without much conviction, “I guess I’m okay with that.”

  I took a bite of the concoction I’d built between bagel slices and with a full mouth managed to say, “Sam told me dam removal doesn’t poll well.”

  “That’s not the reason,” she snapped, breaking eye contact. “Jason intends to come back to the issue.” Then she added, more to herself than me, “He’d better.”

  I kept chewing and didn’t say anything.

  The silence in the room was broken with the chatter of small birds at the feeders on the porch. The sun had broken through, and when Winona finally brought her eyes back to mine, they shown with tiny flecks of gold I hadn’t noticed before. This softened her stern look. “Cal, did you know about David?”

  There it was, the reason for her visit. She’d couched her question in terms of David, but was she really asking me about her fiancé, Jason? I swallowed and dropped my eyes to the tabletop, which was scarred and stained from heavy use. “Uh, I wasn’t sure until the other night. I’m not much of a gossip, you know.”

  She shook her head and chuckled softly. “Well, I was too naïve to see it. Jason finally told me what happened. The fact that David’s gay wasn’t a problem until he started coming on to Jason. He was becoming an embarrassment for the campaign. Jason didn’t want to do it, but he finally decided David had to go.”

  I looked up at her face. She was watching me carefully. I had this crazy feeling, like she was balanced there on a high wire, and if I said the wrong thing she would come crashing down. The version she’d just told me was the one she wanted to believe. I sensed she was looking for me to allay any doubts she might have about Jason’s explanation. I couldn’t do that. At the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. Like I’d decided out there on the Sandy River, it was clearly none of my business.

  I nodded and kept my face rigidly neutral.

  She waited, and when she realized I wasn’t going to speak said, “Cal, he loves me.”

  “I’m sure he does, Winona. Do you love him?”

  She smiled like someone trapped. “I’m not sure. I married once for love, and it failed. Maybe marriage should be more of a partnership.” She leaned forward and met my eyes. “Cal, I could help him do great things for the environment, for my people. Imagine the good that could be done.”

  I shrugged. “I’m a hopeless romantic. I think people should marry for love, not political agendas.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t have that luxury.”

  That was pretty much the end of that conversation. I wanted to tell her about Braxton Gage’s and Stephanie Barrett’s lust for the Gorge casino deal, why I was intrigued with the hunting hobby of Royce Townsend, and Sam DeSilva’s apparent involvement. But I thought better of it. Despite her vow of confidentiality, I didn’t want anything leaking back to the wrong people, whoever the hell they were.

  As we walked to her car, I said, “Look, Winona, the killer’s still out there, and I don’t understand what or who’s driving him, so stay on your toes. If you see anything suspicious, be sure to let me know right away, okay?”

  I stood watching as she drove down the long drive and out the gate. Archie sat down next to me and whimpered softly, as if to speak for both of us.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Some nights it’s a waste of time to go to bed. After watching the Blazers get thumped by San Antonio, I turned in and tried to read, but the words kept swimming off the page. Yet when I put the book down, I just lay there staring at the ceiling. It was after two when I finally drifted off, only to fall into a troubling dream. There I was, stepping off the cliff edge at the quarry again, this time out of curiosity instead of fear. The green broth was even colder this time. I let the momentum of the fifty-foot drop carry me down without resisting. The promise of something I couldn’t name drew me deeper and deeper. Pressure built against my eardrums as my lungs scoured the oxygen from my last breath. I started clawing my way back toward the pale light marking the surface, but it was too late. My breathing reflex kicked in, and I inhaled a lungful of putrid water.

  I must have actually been holding my breath, because I awoke coughing and gasping for air. Archie came over to check on me, a concerned look on his face. I put my robe on and went down to the study with Archie at my heels. The house was cold and still except for the soughing of the fir trees in the wind. I sat motionless for a long time, trying to focus my thoughts. Finally, I slipped a piece of paper out of my printer and jotted down the following list:

  1. Sniper: No pro. Outdoorsman. Expert with a scoped rifle. Hunter or ex-military?

  2. Braxton Gage: Cecil Ferguson ‘s boss. Involved in Skimming money during dam construction? Wants Gorge casino deal.

  3. Stephanie Barrett: Gage’s biz mgr. Calling shots for Gage? Wants casino as badly as he does.

  4. Royce Townsend: Ran dam construction project. Hunted with Sherman Watlamet (See #1). Had affair with Sheri North.

  5. Sam DeSilva: R.T.’s right-hand man. Arranged hunting trips (among other things)

>   6. Jason Townsend: Proposed to Winona but risked affair with David Hanson. A tool of DeSilva and his father?

  7. David Hanson: See #6

  Then I surprised myself by adding:

  8. Winona Cloud: Is she telling the truth about Cecil Ferguson’s death?

  At the bottom of the list I wrote: What does Sheri North know?

  I laid the pen down and leaned back in my chair. If I expected some searing insight as a result of my effort, it didn’t happen. The tangled mass of motives and possible interconnections swirled around in my head like leaves in a windstorm. The only thing I felt certain of was that the killer was working for someone on the list. And the only conclusion I could draw at this point was that I needed more information to untangle the mess. Duh.

  The exercise did have one benefit—I was suddenly so tired I couldn’t make it back upstairs, so I crashed on the lumpy couch in the study.

  ***

  Between client meetings that morning, I called Fletcher Dunn. “Your timing’s good, Claxton,” he told me. “I’ve got some information for you.” We agreed to meet that afternoon. I dropped a decidedly disappointed Archie off at the farm before heading off to his place in Lake Oswego. No one answered the bell at his house. I rang again and thought I heard someone in his backyard. I started around the side of the garage and called his name.

  “Is that you, Claxton?” he answered. “I’m back here.”

  I turned the corner and found him sitting in his wheelchair. He wore dark glasses, jeans, and a denim shirt and was holding a pair of pruning shears in a gloved hand. With his free hand, he gunned the motor on his chair. The big wheels spun in place, spraying mud out behind him. He was stuck fast in the soft ground and thick grass that results from the Oregon rainy season.

  “Goddamn it, give me a hand, would you?”