Cold Case (14 page)

She made a few notes about the conversation, but there was little information after the salient fact that someone knew now where David was convalescing. All the rest was nuance, implication, a kid's memory of a long-ago party. A kid's verdict on who was a good dancer.

She gave it up as futile. Eventually she would have to find the right lever to use on Amy, to pry out of her what she was hiding, but later. She tidied up her desk, told Maria to beat it, and left for a deli and a cold dinner to take home.

That night Darren told her that Dr. Colfax was planning to release David on Friday. He could continue healing at home. The council of war she had mentioned to Bailey took on a new meaning.

“T
he problem is where to hide him and still have him accessible,” Barbara said to her team.

“How much money does he have?” Bailey asked. “He makes a good salary as a tenured professor, but he's on sabbatical, taking a pay cut. The England deal is off. The books have made pretty good money, but good enough for a round-the-clock bodyguard?”

“I don't think he's loaded,” Barbara said. “I'll ask him money questions as soon as he's up to it. And we know there's no rich uncle in the wings.”

Bailey looked gloomier than ever. He knew how much a murder investigation could cost, and how much a private hideout and bodyguard could cost, and it was obvious he knew David would not be able to cover it.

“We'll see to it that the bills get paid,” Frank said, as if to reassure Bailey that he was still part of the defense, no doubt cheering him up, although his expression didn't reflect much cheer.

“I have to make a phone call,” Shelley said. “I'll be right back.” She hurried from the office.

“Okay,” Barbara said. “Moving on. We'll deal with the financial situation one way or the other. The question is where, and whom to bring in to stay with him. Keep in mind that we don't know for how long. A few weeks, months? Until he's able to take care of himself? That nerve damage to his arm makes a huge difference, one hand is almost useless for now.”

“Chest surgery such as his takes months,” Frank said. Resigned, he asked Bailey, “Do you know if Herbert is free to do a job?”

Bailey, in Frank's opinion, was the best private investigator to be found, and he knew that in Bailey's opinion Herbert was the best bodyguard to be had. Accordingly, neither of them worked cheap.

“I can find out,” Bailey said. He never questioned Frank's requests or brought up the question of money with him. He felt free to do both with Barbara, to her annoyance.

Shelley returned and resumed her place on the sofa. “I just talked to Alex,” she said. “We'd like to invite David to be our houseguest for the next few months, if he's willing.” High color flooded her face, and she looked very happy. “Alex loves the idea,” she said, “and Dr. Minnick thinks it's a fine idea. We talked about his book over the weekend, we even argued over parts of it, and Alex is dying to meet him.”

Alex, grotesquely disfigured by a congenital birth defect, was a highly successful cartoonist, producing both a wildly popular daily comic strip, and periodic cartoons for national magazines, all anonymously. He was the mysterious X whose political cartoons were reproduced extensively. He had made a great deal of money doing his work, and Shelley was even wealthier with a hefty trust fund. Her father built yachts. David certainly would not be a financial burden to them.

“You know we have room,” Shelley said, talking fast, as if to forestall an argument that no one had voiced. “And we're isolated, with a dog that won't let any stranger on the property without setting off alarms or even attacking. When his doctor says it's all right, he could swim. There's a lot of room outside for him to walk, and when he's strong enough, there are the hills behind us.”

Their rambling house was set in the foothills of the Coast Range, with no close neighbors. Alex, not quite as reclusive as he had been a few years earlier, still tended to avoid encounters with strangers. Barbara held up her hand as Shelley seemed prepared to keep arguing her case.

“We don't have to decide this moment,” Barbara said. “You'll need time to think about it, and could change your minds. It would be a stranger in the house for an indeterminate length of time. And we have to consider the complications that would come up. Checkups by his doctor, interrogations by Hoggarth, visits by his parents and Amy. I'll need to see him a lot.”

Shelley beamed, showing every dimple a benign fairy godmother had bestowed on her. “We can handle all of that,” she said. “We've dealt with worse problems.” It was apparent that in her mind it was settled.

After the others left, Barbara looked over the report Bailey had provided concerning the graduation-party participants. He had warned her that most of the guests had dispersed all over the country. Only eight were still in the state, five in Eugene, two in Portland, one in Roseburg. She concentrated on those.

Chloe, Nick Aaronson, a woman now married to a veterinarian, a man with no visible means of support and a man in real estate all lived in Eugene. A Portland man owned a winery nearby and the other one was a doctor. The Roseburg man managed an office building.

And Dr. Elders, she added, and put his name down to make it as complete as possible. His name was not on the list of invited guests. Had he crashed the party? An informal invitation? Amy might know, and her mother more than likely knew for certain.

Of those remaining in the area only Chloe and Nick Aaronson seemed to have had any connection with Robert. The list was a starting place, she decided. What she really wanted to know was which of the attendees had still been at the party as it was winding down and whatever happened between David and Robert occurred. Someone, besides Amy, could well have seen something significant and failed to mention it. She made a copy and put it in her briefcase. The original went into the Etheridge folder, which was still distressingly thin.

From his appearance on Thursday, David was well, restored to health, but Barbara knew that was deceptive. He needed a few more weeks, Dr. Colfax had told her. David was poring over the list of partygoers.

“Gil Hyneman,” he said, “playing the piano. And Chris Wooten at the guitar. I know they were still there. Gigi…” He shook his head in exasperation, ran his finger down the list and found her whole name. “Gigi Symes. And you know Robert, Chloe, Jill and I were still there. Someone, I don't know who, was asleep on the sofa. His back was turned. A couple of others…” He looked over the list again. “Lisa Brodmore. I'm sure there were more, a couple maybe. No names or faces, just a sense that there were a couple of others. Sorry.”

“You've done great,” Barbara said, taking the list. She circled the names he had mentioned, returned the list to her briefcase. They were in Darren's office again. She leaned back in her chair and said, “We have to talk about a few things, David. Are you up to it?”

“As long as I don't have to punch my way out of a paper bag, I'm good for anything.” His expression did not match his lightly spoken words. He looked grim.

“Okay. First, your doctor is sending you on your way tomorrow, as you know. I want to keep you under wraps for a few more weeks, until you're ready for that punching match. We have a good place lined up, secluded, secure and very, very nice.”

He held up his hand. “Hold it. Let's cut to the main topic. Are they going to bring charges?”

“I think so. Scuttlebutt had it that if you had been killed in that attack, they would have closed the McCrutchen case as no longer pertinent to pursue since the prime suspect was no longer with us.”

“So I'll need a defense counsel for months. Right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Barbara, I can't afford to go to a very, very nice place where I'll be secure and secluded. My insurance will pick up about sixty percent of my hospital bill, this clinic, doctors and so on. It won't pick up anything for a hotel. Do you have any idea how much it costs to loll about a couple of weeks in a private room in a hospital, two more here, the kind of surgery I had, various tests and specialists, etcetera, etcetera? Top it with a defense team for months. It's going to break me. Back to undergraduate days of penny-pinching and a loan, that's my immediate future.”

He smiled, but it was a parody of humor. “Can anyone accused of murder even get a loan? I'll let you know. I was being clever, paying off student loans as fast as I could, not saving a lot. My folks didn't believe in paying interest on loans, and I guess I don't, either. Pay them off, be done with them.” He waved his hand, as if to brush it all away. “Now, let's move on to Plan B.”

“No Plan B. David, whoever attacked you was there waiting for you. It was not a random crime. You were ambushed. I intend to keep you out of his hands, or feet, as the case may be. And when we find out who he is, not only will he be charged with attempted murder, we'll bring a suit against the bastard, and you'll collect enough in damages to pay your bills and then some.” Unless, she thought but did not voice, the bastard didn't have any money. She continued aloud, “For the next several weeks my colleague Shelley and her husband are inviting you to be their houseguest. They are both quite wealthy, believe me.”

“Why do you say ambush?” he asked.

“You didn't hear him following you. And someone followed Amy here on Monday. What random crazy person would know to follow her to locate you?”

“She didn't mention that,” he said, tight-lipped and angry.

“Not to you. She told me.”

“Tell her to keep away from me,” he said.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not a messenger girl. I don't intend to tell anyone where you'll be. It's up to you if you tell her. What I will tell her is that the only visits from now on will be if she's escorted by one of us, and only if you agree to such. Now let's talk about the coming weeks. I'll want to bring Dad out for a talk on Sunday, and next week a police lieutenant named Hoggarth will interview you. I can't put him off any longer. We'll arrange for that to happen in the office. We'll get you there and back. Hoggarth doesn't have to know where you'll be staying, as long as we produce you on demand.” She had a few more things to add, then closed her notebook and put it in her briefcase. “Okay with all that?”

He nodded, but then said, “It doesn't make sense, Barbara, killing Robert, attacking me. Lots of people would like to see me six feet under, but not the same people who might have wanted the same for Robert. Neither friends nor foes overlapped where we were concerned. They must be two separate incidents.”

“Makes it interesting, doesn't it?” she murmured, rising. “So Bailey will pick you up tomorrow, and I'll see you on Sunday.”

Two cars were pulling into the parking lot as she left. Visiting hour had started. Amy, no doubt, would be there sooner or later, and either David would tell her where he was going, or not.

Amy called in the afternoon. “You told David, didn't you?” she said.

“Yes. I had to make him accept that he is in danger,” Barbara said.

“Right. He doesn't want to see me anymore. Thanks a lot.”

“Amy, has it occurred to you that he could think you're in danger, too?”

“Why did you say that? In danger how?” Amy asked.

“I don't know how. But someone has linked you to him, and that someone could be the same one who attacked him and could pose a danger for both of you. I think David's aware of that possibility.”

“I'm dangerous for David, aren't I?” Amy said in a whisper.

“No. Not you personally. Just whoever followed you. Perhaps he would do a better job at keeping out of sight and follow you again. We'll arrange for visits later.”

After a moment, Amy said, “I don't even know where he's going.”

“His parents won't know, either,” Barbara said. “He'll keep in touch by phone. Do you have his number?”

“Yes,” Amy said. “He gave it to me. I'll keep in touch with him.”

“Good. If you think you're being followed, or anything else suspicious happens, give me a call, will you? Or call the police. You can always say you suspect a stalker. That gets their attention.”

“I'll call you and the police,” Amy said. “And try to get a license number or something. I was so dumb not to get it before.”

“We're not usually prepared to act when it's something so far out of our sphere,” Barbara said. “I'll talk to you later.”

After disconnecting, Amy regarded her bed, and an intense memory played in her head. As a kid, whenever she had felt mortally wounded, she had flung herself on the bed, buried her face in her pillow sobbing, and pounded her fists furiously, her legs flailing. An incongruous picture, she thought, but she now wanted to fling herself down and bury sobs in her pillow.

“Cut it out!” she told herself sharply. She had not seen David for over twenty years and, in truth, had not thought of him many times over those years. She could live through the next weeks. But she still wanted to fling herself down on the bed and sob.

Amy's Portland apartment was one of two upstairs units in a lovely large house that had been remodeled years before. The owners lived on the first floor and spent as much time on the coast during the summer months as they did in town. Another couple lived in the other upper apartment, worked full-time and were seldom home through the day. Amy rarely saw any of them. No one was in sight on Friday when she let herself into her apartment. And she knew instantly that it had been searched.

Books had been moved, not replaced where she had left them; sofa cushions were untidy, as if they had been lifted and dropped back however they happened to fall. She walked through to her bedroom and opened a drawer. Her underwear was a jumble. He didn't care that she knew he had been there, she thought dully. Maybe he wanted her to know, frighten her, give her a warning. She sat on the side of the bed and hugged her arms about herself. Nick Aaronson, she thought. Looking for the pictures. They knew she had them.