Ellen came first. A stocky woman about ten years younger than Beth, Ellen had battled her way to the top in the prosecutor’s office after five futile years in a big Portland law firm. She was smart, disillusioned, and very successful. Like Mack, she was a shoo-in at election time. Her conviction rate was high, because she was careful not to prosecute unless she had solid, untainted evidence to back her up. Between Mack, with Rob’s able help, and Ellen, Latouche County had an enviable conviction rate.
Dany showed Ellen to a seat on one of Hazel Guthrie’s uninteresting sofas and whisked from the room.
For a short while they made polite conversation. Ellen asked about Peggy, commiserated again about Mack, and hoped that Beth’s leg was healing properly. “Can’t be too careful about broken bones at our age.”
That was kind. “As far as I know, my leg is okay. It hurts a little, but that’s to be expected. How’s Reg?”
Reg was Ellen’s husband, an organic farmer who did well with pesticide-free apples and peaches. He also raised llamas for comic relief. Or so Ellen always said.
“Do you know what that madman wants to do?” Ellen demanded, interrupting a polite llama query.
The doorbell rang. Since nobody regarded Reg as other than massively sane, Beth gathered that Ellen meant Rob.
“He just wants me to give a brief press conference. There are bound to be rumors floating around about Inger’s death.”
“Oh, my dear,” Ellen said, pitying her.
Forestalling explanation, Lt. Prentiss entered, followed by Rob. Prentiss was scowling, Rob impassive. He had abandoned the blue sling. He gave the two women a nod of greeting and leaned on the tall-backed chair. Prentiss sat on a straight chair by Beth’s recliner and glowered. His close-cut mustache twitched.
“What’s happening?” Beth asked with resignation.
Ellen and Prentiss spoke together, looked at each other, and fell silent.
Rob said, “I’m sorry to seem mysterious, Beth. A bunch of information came in since I talked to you. I asked Judge Rosen to issue an arrest warrant, and Ellen and Ed think I’ve jumped the gun.”
Arrest warrant? He couldn’t mean for Larry Swets. “For Matt Akers?”
“No.” He squared his shoulders. “I intend to arrest Catherine Bjork for the murder of Inger Swets.”
IT WAS DUSK, almost five, before Rob was ready to move against Catherine Bjork, and only then because Beth and Ellen came around to his way of thinking. Though he had no reason to fear for Lars’s safety, he had been feeling stirrings of alarm since Kayla told him that Cate had fired another care-giver.
He’d verified that, and Linda had secured proof that the three care-givers’ numbers appeared repeatedly on Inger’s phone records, including the ones listed on the morning of the mudslide and, very early, on the morning of her own death. And Inger had called the commissioner from the courthouse using Cate’s landline, right after the interview in Rob’s office. Prentiss kept insisting there could be an innocent explanation. Rob didn’t think so. Neither did Judge Rosen, fortunately, or, with reservations, Ellen and Beth.
To his credit, Prentiss cooperated once the decision was made to act that afternoon instead of waiting for Tuesday morning and fuller results from toxicology. A state patrol car sat at the intersection of County Road 2 and Highway 14, and Prentiss had also alerted cars patrolling the highway east and west of the intersection.
Because he would be coordinating things from a patrol car, Rob called on Jake to drive him again, and deployed two other county cars along Highway 14. He stationed a car just north of the entrance to the Bjorks’ private road.
Jake had pulled over onto the shoulder near the intersection of the two roads, and Rob was about to give the signal to move, when his cell phone rang. The radio crackled, alive with voices. When he saw that his caller was Maddie Thomas, Rob stuck his finger in his left ear and slammed the phone against the right.
“What is it, Maddie?”
“Something weird is going on with Commissioner Bjork,” Maddie said.
No shit. Rob opened his mouth to interrupt, but she went on, “I just had a call from my cousin Bitsy. She’s working out there.”
“Where?”
“At the Bjork place. She’s the temporary housekeeper.”
Rob sat up straight. “Yeah?”
“She says Cate Bjork left in the BMW more than half an hour ago with her husband and a couple of suitcases. Didn’t say why, didn’t say anything. And listen, Cate just drove through Two Falls with her pedal to the metal. I saw her car. Damned near ran into old Mrs. Ritchie’s pickup at the light—”
“Thank you, Maddie. That’s great information. Gotta go.” He broke the connection and patched through to Prentiss, who responded immediately. To Rob’s surprise, Prentiss was talking from a patrol car about halfway to Two Falls. He said he’d head east to the bridge. He was a hands-on kind of guy.
Jake revved the engine.
Rob jabbed his finger east. “Go. Fast. She’s beyond Two Falls. Lights. Siren when you need it.”
As the car rocketed onto the state highway, Rob saw another state car pull out ahead of them. “Forget the siren and lights. Follow the state car.”
“Aw.” Jake let it go at that. He knew better than to indulge in conversation.
The other car was moving fast, and Jake hung on its tailpipe while Rob tried to straighten things out. If they’d moved an hour earlier…He didn’t waste time fuming. There was no point cluttering up the road with four county cars, so he told three of them to stand down and directed the fourth to hang out at Two Falls, in case Cate changed her mind and turned back to take the other route to Interstate 84, crossing the Bridge of the Gods.
It wasn’t likely. She had chosen to go east. That meant she could speed on to Biggs Junction, where US 97 headed north past Gold-endale to Yakima and a sizeable airport, or south to Bend, Oregon. But US 97 was a slow road. More likely, she would cross the Hood River Bridge and turn back toward Portland on the Oregon side. That bridge was closer to her house by a good twenty miles than the Bridge of the Gods and much closer than the bridge at Biggs Junction.
If she didn’t know she was being followed, she would sail across, hop onto Interstate 84, and imagine she was home free. She wouldn’t be. The Oregon police would stop her, but he would save a whole lot of paperwork if he could prevent her from crossing into another state.
Rob decided to keep the chase as inconspicuous as possible. No lights, no sirens. Yet. Then he asked the Oregon police to close the Hood River Bridge. They didn’t like the idea of hot pursuit across a two-lane bridge, with innocent citizens crossing both ways, any better than he did. They promised to close the span at the toll gate. Rob set about closing it at the other end. Prentiss assured him that would be done. Jake and the state cop ahead of him, already doing eighty, picked up speed as the cars passed Two Falls.
Rob closed his eyes and tried to visualize the Hood River Bridge. The exercise led him to his obvious omission. He called Hood River County and asked for a patrol boat on the Columbia. He also asked Prentiss to send a boat out to watch the Washington side. Prentiss suggested asking the Yakama to alert their fisheries boat, too, and promised to warn river traffic. Rob thought of poor, miserable Larry Swets.
They sped on in the deepening gloom. He was glad of the darkness only because Cate was less likely to notice the unusual number of cop cars on the highway. It wasn’t raining, one small blessing. He thought of the steel grate surface of the bridge on which a driver could lose control in wet weather. Not for nothing was the speed limit on the bridge twenty-five miles per hour.
“We missed her. She’s nearing the bridge.” Prentiss, sounding stressed.
“Anybody else?” Rob meant another vehicle.
“Looks like one set of lights coming this way, about a quarter of the way across.”
“Shit.” Rob wished he could see exactly where the cars were. Jake and the state cop ahead sped up.
“I’m going after her,�
� Prentiss said.
“Wait! No!”
Goddamn cowboy. Prentiss had to be in the pursuit car. His driver had hit the siren. Maybe he couldn’t hear.
Rob could, unfortunately.
Prentiss was shouting something at his driver. After a few seconds of loud confusion, he came back on, breathless. “Dammit, she turned right at the light without stopping, and she’s speeding up. She’s on the bridge!”
Jake and the other state car rounded the last curve and screamed onto the straightaway that led to the stoplight at the bridge turnoff. The town of Bingen lay about a mile further on. Rob could see the pursuing patrol car and what had to be the BMW. A car was still coming from the Oregon side. He thought it was slowing.
“Stop!” Rob yelled and braced himself as Jake stood on the brakes. Tires screamed and the rear end fishtailed. At least the air-bags didn’t deploy.
To the right lay the Heritage Park, a county park-and-ride lot, and just before it, the intertribal fishing area with its RV lot lit by a pinkish glow. Half a dozen fishermen stood gawking up at the drama on the bridge.
“Down there,” Rob said, pointing to the RV lot. He thought the Yakama boat, or even the county boat, might pull up by the boat launch.
Jake bounced the patrol car across the train tracks and crawled down to the lot. Rob jumped out, stood by the open window, where he could hear the radio, and kept his eyes on the bridge.
The oncoming car had stopped. From the height of its headlights Rob thought it was probably a big pickup. He hoped so. Unlike the Bridge of the Gods, this span was low, and the guardrails were not much of a barrier between a small car and all that cold water. The wind gusted, and whitecaps glittered in the erratic light.
Prentiss roared at his driver. Rob could see that both Prentiss’s car and the BMW were swerving on the slick steel grate. The patrol car moved into the left lane, then fell back just short of ramming the pickup head-on. The BMW and the patrol car must have grazed the truck. Both sped on in a flurry of sparks. The pickup’s headlights rocked with the impact. Then its lights steadied and it began to move toward the Washington shore. The driver accelerated rapidly. Who could blame him?
“Hey, this is tribal land, guys.” A voice beside him, curious rather than hostile, and a bulky presence.
Rob nodded, eyes on the bridge. “Have they launched the Yaka-ma boat yet?”
“Friend downriver said they did. County boat’s tied up at the pier.”
“Where?”
The fisherman pointed. “Over there.”
Rob dropped the microphone and ran for the longer pier, which stuck out into the river. Jake shouted something after him, but Rob was too late. The boat was well out into the river by the time he reached the mooring. He stared after it, panting a little, then ran back to the car. Prentiss’s voice was still coming over the radio, calmer as they neared the other side and the toll booth where, it was to be hoped, Oregon patrol cars waited.
“We have her boxed,” Prentiss was saying. “Slowing. Right. Keep…oh, Christ, she’s turning!” Another flurry of disconnected noise. Then Prentiss gave a howl. “She got by us. She’s going back. Get ready to take her! I won’t pursue.”
That was a good decision. Savagely, Rob wished Prentiss had made it sooner. He strapped himself in. “Let’s go to—” He broke off, staring in horror. He could see the BMW’s lights, moving rapidly toward the high drawbridge section, which gleamed like a child’s Erector Set toy over the ship channel.
He and Jake watched in silence. The radio crackled. At the last moment, just before the car reached the rhomboid drawbridge, it sailed up and out over the western guardrail, the downriver side. The front end hit with a heavy splash, and the BMW floated briefly. The headlights dimmed. Then the car sank out of sight beneath the water.
Almost at once he could see the wakes of two boats heading for a point downstream from where the car had disappeared. He shook his head, disbelieving. Voices squawked on the radio, and Jake let out something like a sob. The fishermen in the RV lot ran to the river bank.
As the minutes stretched, Maddie grew more and more angry with Rob for cutting her off. Or rather, since she knew he was involved with the case, angry with him for not getting back to her. She had seen the patrol cars as they whizzed through Two Falls, so she knew something was up. Jack was watching the sports news. After a while he clicked the remote, and the screen blanked.
He stood up in stages. His knees hurt these days. “Come on.”
Maddie got her jacket and cell phone.
They drove east without talking, and Maddie’s mind drifted. Had the cops intended to arrest the commissioner? Why? Both a state and a county patrol car had passed through Two Falls, so Prentiss was involved. Perhaps Cate had induced Inger to remove the hazard warning, but why? Wasn’t it more likely that Fred had used Inger?
She shook her head. Such speculation was foolish. It was better to think about things that made sense. Like the casino.
“There goes the Yakama boat,” Jack said.
Maddie couldn’t tell one boat from another at this distance and wondered that Jack could. “Why would they be out?”
Jack didn’t know so he didn’t say anything, one of his many good traits. The boat was really moving. They followed it upriver at pretty much the same rate of speed.
Maddie didn’t have to point Jack to the tribal fishing area. He jounced down across the tracks as the county patrol car turned to leave the lot. It stopped. So did Jack. He and Maddie got out when Rob did.
“What happened?” she asked without the usual ceremony of greeting.
He stared at her.
Behind her, abruptly, a train hooted its approach. The track followed the river all the way down to Vancouver. Freights, and one passenger train a day, passed through the Gorge towns at the rate of one every few hours, so the sound was familiar. Tonight it made her jump nearly out of her skin. It neared and hooted louder, then passed them. The music dopplered down.
“Oh man, Jack, that car just dived into the river!” Jack’s cousin Dave from Wishram. Dave was shouting as the train rattled past.
Jack rumbled a reply.
Maddie kept her eyes on Rob. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
“Chief Thomas,” he said into the sudden silence, “thank you for your cooperation.”
“You lost her.” She didn’t mean to sound accusing.
He nodded.
“State car chased her,” Dave said. “All the way across. Then she turned around and come back. Dived off the bridge. Didn’t slow at all.”
“Guys in wetsuits got one body out,” somebody else said. “Man, they were quick. Didn’t take fifteen minutes.”
“In the dark?” Maddie squinted out at the silent river but couldn’t see much. The lights from a cluster of boats bobbed on the water. The Yakama boat joined them, going slow now.
“Must’ve had a grapple on her. It’s shallower there.”
A jumble of voices wanted to tell Maddie all about it. She kept her eyes on Rob.
Beside her, Jack shifted from foot to foot. She could always read his mood. At last he said, “Somebody says they found one body.”
Rob shut his eyes, opened them. “Yeah, the commissioner’s. They’re looking for her husband.”
Jack considered that, taking his time. “I seen the car when it went through Two Falls. There was just the driver.”
Rob’s eyebrows snapped together. He stared as if he wanted to see into Jack’s head. “Are you saying she didn’t have a passenger?”
“Just her in the car.”
“You’re sure.”
Jack brooded, eyes veiled. “Yeah, unless somebody was lying down in back or something. Nobody in the passenger seat. I looked hard. She was speeding.”
He had sharp vision. Maddie hadn’t seen the driver, just the car.
Rob nodded and touched his arm. “Thanks.” He went back to the county car and got in. They could hear him working the radio, talking to that state cop
Prentiss.
Maddie turned to Dave. “Tell me about it.” And Dave did.
Jack moved the pickup down beside Dave’s. Somebody brought a folding lawn chair for Maddie, and maybe half a dozen fishermen gathered around while Dave told the story. They kept pitching in, so it was a little confusing.
Maddie thought the state cops had screwed up. They shouldn’t have chased the woman. If they hadn’t, the Oregon police could have taken her in without fuss, without tragedy. Maddie disapproved of high-speed chases. There was too much room for collateral damage. She wanted to extend her sympathy to the driver of the oncoming pickup. He was a victim who would never be called a victim, but she would not have had his nightmares for anything.
As Dave drew the tale to a close, Maddie saw Rob get out of the county car. He looked grim but less stunned than when she’d first spoken to him.
He walked slowly over to the cluster of fishermen around Maddie and waited until Dave had finished. “Jack, I need to talk to you.”
She watched her husband walk off to speak with Rob privately. They talked a long time. Maddie’s court dispersed. They were drinking beer now and repeating themselves, telling each other what they had all seen. She didn’t know what to think, for once, and sat brooding in her lawn chair.
At last Rob got into the county car. It drove off. Jack came over to her.
“What’s happening?”
“Rob thinks she shoved the old guy out of the car somewhere along County Road 2. Search party at sunup.” After a moment, he added, “He wants me.”
Maddie didn’t doubt that. She wondered whether Lars had been alive when he was abandoned. “Let’s go home.”
They did. She didn’t think the fishermen would be in any condition to join in the search the next morning.
Meg fixed chili, her infinitely postponeable meal, because she thought Rob would not make it home before midnight. However, he showed up around nine, looking sick, and gave her a terse account of Catherine Bjork’s death while she dished up his chili and sliced his bread. She was shocked and said so.
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