Her laugh rang with a tease. “Nice try, but you can’t scare me away that easily.” The unshadowed portions of her face grew resolute. “I’m committed to this project, Dad. And you need me.”
I smiled across the fire ring, not wishing to start a fight I would surely lose.
Chapter Twelve
The next day broke clear and calm. To the south, the whitewashed lighthouse was the only vertical feature on the low rock surface of the cape, whose tabletop flatness gave it the appearance of a man-made structure. The sky and the ocean were so near the same deep blue that it was hard to distinguish one from the other. The view was wondrously disorienting.
We were up early and took a long walk on the beach, during which Archie once again kept a wary eye on the crashing surf. Claire laughed when he retreated from the incoming surge, not even willing to get his paws wet. “He’s such a wuss when it comes to water, isn’t he, Dad?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. He’s been that way since he was a pup. If we’re out jogging, he’ll go around puddles, and if it begins to rain, he starts lobbying to turn around.”
“Of course, you just keep soldiering on, right?”
“Hey, it’s Oregon. If we waited around for the sun, we’d never get anything done.”
Back at the beach house, I was cooking breakfast when Claire’s phone chirped. It was Howard Coleman’s grieving girlfriend, Sissy Anderson, inviting Claire to lunch in Charleston. “I think she’s trying to decide whether she can trust me,” Claire opined after accepting the invitation.
We just finished breakfast when Walter Sanders lit up my cell phone. “I’m going to be out your way later this morning, Mr. Claxton. You’re in the Phillips’s house, right?” I said I was, not surprised he knew where we were staying. This was Coos Bay, after all. “I could stop in if you’re going to be around.” I told him that would be fine.
When I tapped off my cell, I turned to Claire and grinned. “Not a bad start to the day. People are coming to us.”
Claire spent the morning out on the deck crunching data and making phone calls. I checked my messages at my Dundee office and returned a half-dozen calls. My neighbor to the north in the Dundee Hills, Gertrude Johnson, who was also my accountant, called midmorning. To call Gertie a fiscal conservative would be understating it, so not surprisingly she didn’t like it when I told her I might extend my stay. “You sure you want to do that, Cal? Your billable hours are in the shitter.”
“I’ve got a client here,” I countered, wondering once again how she always managed to put me on the defensive. I went on to explain the situation Claire and I found ourselves in.
“Well,” she said when I finished, seemingly unimpressed with the humanitarian aspects of the case, “at least you’re spending some time with your daughter, although it doesn’t sound like quality time to me. What are you billing out at?”
“Uh, that hasn’t been decided yet.”
She cleared her throat. “Figures. Okay, Cal, but keep in mind you’ve got a quarterly tax payment due next month and the work on your office roof is scheduled for next week.” I told her not to worry, that I was on top of things, but when I hung up, my stomach did a slow half twist. I knew Rori Dennison couldn’t afford my full rate and extending my stay could also mean the loss of other, more lucrative business. I walked out on the deck and watched the waves pounding the rocks at Yoakam Point for a few minutes, which made me think again of Kenny Sanders sitting in prison on this beautiful day.
Find a way, I told myself.
* * *
A couple of quick barks from Archie told me my guest had probably arrived. I opened the front door just in time to see a man flick a lit cigarette into the yard as he got out of a forest green Land Rover. He turned to look at me through mirrored Ray Bans and produced a practiced smile that radiated from his tanned face. “Mr. Claxton, I’m Walter Sanders.” He swept his arm in a grand gesture and turned up the wattage, revealing a narrow gap in his front teeth that gave his smile an unintended leering aspect. “Love this place. Best views on the coast, and you’re above the tsunami zone. If it ever comes on the market, I’m buying it.”
I invited him in, and we made small talk while I brewed us each an espresso, which we carried out to the west-facing deck with Archie following. A soft breeze had materialized, and we could hear the rhythmic thrum of the surf mingled with the squawks and caws of seagulls. He took a sip of his coffee and waited for me to initiate the discussion. I sat there without speaking. He’d called me, so the ball was in his court. He was trim with thinning hair and small, close-set eyes. Finally, he showed his bleached white teeth. “So, I heard you were taking up Kenny’s cause, and I wanted to thank you, first of all, and offer my help.”
I drank some coffee. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I doubt you’re working pro bono here. Perhaps I could help out with your fee. I mean Rori can only sell so many used books.”
“She’d appreciate that, I’m sure.”
“What, ah, arrangements have you made with her?”
“She’s given me a small retainer. We haven’t discussed my fee going forward.” I cringed a little inwardly. Why did I always put off discussions of money with clients? I could see Gertie shaking her head. “If you want to help financially, you should discuss it with her.”
“Fine. I’ll do that.”
I sipped some more coffee and eyed Walter over the rim of my cup. Never a trusting soul, Archie had taken up a spot at the corner of the deck, affording a clear view of our guest. His chin rested on his white paws, but his coppery eyes were wide open.
“I take it you’ve had a change of heart regarding Kenny?”
The gapped, too-white teeth again. “Well, you know, Cal, it was a shock to lose my friend and business partner, and my marriage to Kenny’s mother was on the rocks.” He lowered his gaze. “I, ah, took the easy way out, I guess. Not my finest hour.”
His use of my first name irritated me for some reason. “And now you want to help Kenny. Why?”
He brought his eyes back up, but they avoided my gaze. “I think I should have been more supportive, and I want to make up for it, if possible. Kenny’s a good kid. How’s he making out?”
“Okay, considering. I’m seeing him tomorrow for a second interview.” I paused. “If it wasn’t Kenny, then who do you think killed Sonny?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a burglary gone bad? After all, Twila’s jewelry was cleaned out and never showed up. They’re a lot of meth heads here on the coast, Cal.”
The first name again. “It looks like Condor Enterprises landed on its feet after your partner’s death. Is Twila Jenson an active partner?”
His eyes registered a note of surprise. I knew more than he thought I did. “Fortune has favored us, Mr. Claxton. Mrs. Jenson is not active in the management of the company.”
“A silent partner, then?”
A forced smile with fewer teeth. “We don’t discuss our ownership. You know how that works.”
“Of course. Uh, I’m still getting caught up on the facts of the case. Where were you the night Sonny was killed?”
He held the smile, but his eyes narrowed perceptibly. “Am I a suspect?” I didn’t answer. “I was in Newport on business. You can check the motel records.”
“I will.” At this point, Walter turned the tables and began probing me about the nascent investigation. The only things I shared were that I believed Kenny was innocent, that his confession was a travesty, and that I intended to take a fresh look at all the evidence. As I showed him out, I said, “I’m sure Rori will appreciate your offer to help. As I said, you need to work that out directly with her. You do understand, however, that she’s my client and, as such, I can’t discuss the details of the case with you.”
“Of course,” he responded.
After he left, I called Rori and told her that Walter Sande
rs would probably offer his financial assistance. I told her I would work for two hundred dollars an hour plus expenses, that the time I had in so far was gratis, and that I would let her know when the retainer was consumed. She agreed to the terms, then said, “I don’t think I can take money from Walter, Cal.”
“Why?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer but asked the question anyway.
“It’s tainted, that’s why. He got a lot of his money by selling land to Bexar Energy. How can I lead the effort against the LNG terminal and take his money?”
“Hear him out, Rori. He said he had a change of heart regarding Kenny. If the man wants to help, I’d let him.”
She sighed heavily into the phone. “I’ll listen, but…don’t worry, Cal. I’ll pay you no matter what.”
“I’m not worried, Rori. Look, if you have to carry this alone, we’ll work something out, okay?” I could hear Gertie’s tsk-tsk. Always a pushover, that was me.
“Thank you.”
“And keep in mind that Walter isn’t entitled to any information about what I’m doing.”
“Of course. You don’t suspect him, do you?”
“Should I?”
A pause. “Never liked the man, to tell you the truth, but according to Arnold, Walter was up the coast that night on business.”
“Was there any animosity between Sonny and him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“We’ll see if his alibi checks out. The way Sheriff Stoddard seized on Kenny, my guess is his investigators didn’t spend much time looking anywhere else.”
* * *
I’d just finished a call confirming our next interview with Kenny when Claire returned from her meeting with Sissy Anderson. “You’re back early. How’d it go?”
She plopped down in a chair across from me and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Whew. That was interesting. The poor woman. She’s really a mess. She spent a long time telling me about Coleman’s funeral. Only a handful of people showed up, and she couldn’t get any of his friends to be pallbearers. She was really hurt, Dad.”
“Maybe they were afraid, given the way he was killed.”
“She didn’t say that, but it’s possible. I felt horrible, tried to comfort her as best I could. We ended up skipping lunch and ordering drinks. She told me Coleman had gotten involved with a couple of guys who’re brothers, real lowlifes, to use her term. I asked if they worked for Sloat Trucking, too. She said she thought one did, but she wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t tell me what they were involved in.”
“Kenny already did—the fentanyl trade. Names?”
“I’m coming to that. First, I asked if she’d told the sheriff about them. She said she hadn’t. She said she’d gotten a death threat by phone, something like ‘keep your mouth shut or you’ll die like your boyfriend.’”
I winced inwardly at the threat. The stakes just went up several notches. “Why is she talking to us, then?”
“I told her we’d keep what she told us in confidence. I also think she’s wary of the sheriff because of what Howard was into. Maybe she’s afraid of being implicated. Anyway, I get around to asking their names. She starts to answer, then looks across the room and gets this horror-stricken look on her face. ‘Oh, shit,’ she says, ‘speak of the devil. One of them’s here. Go out the back, through the kitchen, now.’ I did what she told me.” Claire made a face. “Didn’t get any names.”
“Did this guy see you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you see him?”
“Just a glance as I was getting up. He was right out of central casting—big guy with stringy, dark hair and inked-up neck and arms. I called Sissy when I got down the road, but she didn’t return my call.” Claire leaned back and exhaled. “So, what do you think, Dad?”
I got that cold feeling in my stomach again. “I think Sissy Anderson knows a hell of a lot, and now I know why she’s not talking to the sheriff. And I think it was no coincidence that one of Coleman’s business associates was at that restaurant. The word’s obviously out that we’re nosing around.”
“I’ll get the names, Dad, and I’ll find out what else she knows. I think she was going to really open up.”
I latched onto her eyes. “I also think it took at least two men to kill Howard Coleman.” I let that sink in. “We need to be very careful, Claire.”
What I didn’t say was that I decided to find a way to get Claire back to Harvard just as soon as I could figure out how to do it.
Chapter Thirteen
Big drops of spring rain thumped down on the skylight in my bedroom, awakening me early the next morning. I made my way to the kitchen, with Archie following closely behind, and after feeding him I ground some deep roast beans for a double cappuccino. An incoming front had stalled, leaving the Pacific oddly undisturbed except for a fine, crepe-like texture imparted by the rain. By the time Claire got up, I’d finished my second cup, and an hour later we loaded Archie into the back seat and headed for the State Penitentiary to interview Kenny for the second time. The sodden skies, the steady rain, and the feeble, gray-suffused light seemed to cast a pall on our departure that morning. I didn’t pay that feeling any heed, but perhaps I should have.
“So, how’s Gabriel?” I asked as we turned off Highway 101 at Reedsport and began threading our way into the Coast Range. Claire had been on the phone with him a long time the night before, and now she seemed a bit withdrawn.
“He’s okay, I guess.”
“Just okay?”
She sighed. “He said my work on the Gulf was important, that I shouldn’t compromise it by staying here with you.”
This was thin ice. I proceeded cautiously. “Any truth to that?”
I could feel the heat of her glare on the side of my face. “Maybe in some abstract way, but that isn’t the point, Dad.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is, it’s my decision to make, not his. I’m a big girl. I don’t need any mansplaining.”
“Does he do that, talk down to you?”
“There’ve been a couple of instances, but this is the most conspicuous. I cut him some slack earlier.” She smiled. “He’s from Argentina, after all.”
“No slack this time?”
“I hung up on him.”
“Oh. Do you think that was wise?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just resent him trying to tell me what to do.” I glanced over at her. Her brow was scrunched up, and she was chewing on her lower lip. “Do you think I screwed up?”
“Hard to say. I understand why you were upset, but maybe a little ’splaining of your own would have helped him understand where you’re coming from. Maybe he’s never encountered someone as fiercely independent as you, Claire.”
She nodded and went silent, obviously mulling the situation over.
* * *
The rain let up on the west side of the Coast Range, and by the time we reached the prison it was little more than a mist, although the cloud ceiling remained low and ominous. In the weak light, the administration building looked more institutional and decidedly less inviting than on our previous visit. We cleared security and then waited for better than thirty minutes before two guards brought Kenny in. Claire sucked a quick breath, indicating she was as shocked at his appearance as I was. His eyes were hollow, his hair and beard disheveled, and he bore the purplish-yellow remnants of a bruise covering most of his left cheek and the pink outline of a stitched-up gash above his right eye. He also walked with a slight limp.
“Top of the morning,” he said, forcing a thin smile. “How are things in the free world?”
“What happened to you?” I said, dispensing with formalities. “That bruise and gash look nasty.”
“Clumsy me, slipped and fell. But the STM team thinks somebody beat me up. They—”
“What’s an STM team?” Claire cut in.
“Security Threat Management. They, ah, maintain order around here. Anyway, they wanted me to name names. They have a hard-on for the white supremacists.” He chuckled. It rang with bitterness. “But snitching’s not good for your health.”
“So you didn’t tell them anything?” Claire said.
“Nope. I want to keep breathing.” He sighed and fidgeted with his beard. “I just found out yesterday that I lost my job in the commissary. I’m back to cleaning showers and latrines. I’m supposed to”—he made quote marks with his fingers in the air—“think it over. If I continue to stonewall, I could get time in solitary. But they have a nicer word for it—segregation.”
“What?” Claire said, looking at me with pure disbelief. “They can’t do that, can they?”
I nodded, and Kenny just laughed, eyeing Claire. “This ain’t a gentlemen’s club.”
“So, what faction of the white supremacists are trying to recruit you?” I asked.
“The EK, European Kindred. They pretty much run the show in here. They beat me just to soften me up. ‘You’re young,’ they told me. ‘You’ll see the light soon enough.’”
“What did you tell them?” Claire said, her eyes wide.
“I spit in their faces, and that got me the pretty bruise to go with the cut above my eye and a couple of kicks in my knee.” Kenny pointed at his cheek and laughed. “It was deep purple a couple of days ago, but no busted bones.”
I leveled my eyes at him. “So you’re not going to bend, I take it.”
He looked at me, and I saw Rori in his eyes. “No, I’m not going to bend. I reject their ideology, and I told them so.”
A surge of admiration for him was swamped by a wave of anxiety. Kenny had a survivor’s instinct and a backbone of steel, but was it enough?
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