"What about the break-in at your home?"
"I wouldn't bring it up. After all, we took something from them and we don't know what it means," Maria said.
"Leave it out," Dan said.
"That's it, then," Hutchin agreed. "We won't do a thing, Jeb, except for Dan and Maria telling their story about the theft of the money, the chase, and getting shot off the road."
"I'll make a call to Amada and Metco," Jeb said.
"Once again, I'm sorry about this delivery and the way it turned out," Hutchin said.
"I can't imagine how anybody found out about the briefcase," Dan said.
"Well, I can't, either," Jeb said. "We'll be talking. And, Patty, try not to sue me this month, will you?"
"I haven't sued you in a year, and that was only because you got your back up and wouldn't listen to reason."
"You mean I wouldn't bow to your threats."
"Have a nice day, Jeb."
"You too."
Jeb rose and Hutchin followed, leaving Maria and Dan alone in the library.
"We neglected to mention the photos," she said.
"Uh-huh. I noticed."
"What do you think we should do?"
"Well, I have my own score to settle with these people. They invaded my home. That's personal. Now if you're in this thing, I think we should take the photos to a university and find out what some of the science means. Even if it's just routine chemistry, we might discover what sort of routine chemistry they're into."
"Maybe we should each take a few days off to figure this out. I'm checking into the Palmer Inn," Maria said.
"So formal."
"What's that mean?"
"It means for casual comfort, good home-cooked meals, you should stay at my place."
"You're sweet. But I think we need some separation between good and industry here."
"Listen, men and women have lived in the same house and fought for millennia."
Not surprisingly, she had no response for that.
Dan and Maria waited at the Wintoon County Sheriff's Office for Sheriff Robert McNiel to receive their complaint personally.
A big man with a round pleasant face, a large, droopy mustache, khaki trousers and western riding boots, the sheriff looked the part.
"I understand you want to report a theft."
"I do," Maria said. "Five hundred thousand in cash."
"What were you doing with that kind of money?"
"Accepting it for my clients."
''OK, let's start from the beginning. Aren't you the lawyer for the environmental movement?"
"One of them."
"You don't mind if we tape-record your statement."
"Not at all."
''Give me your full legal name." And so the sheriff began a litany of questions until finally Maria had told the entire story of the theft, commencing with her exit from the tavern. In lawyerly fashion she provided all the details except those she and Dan had agreed not to disclose.
When she finished, the sheriff began asking her follow-up questions.''So you were at the Amada compound because you thought you were chasing the money because of the electronic signal and the helicopter over the trees."
"That's right."
"And somebody is giving the environmental movement five hundred thousand in cash?" The sheriff looked pointedly at Dan.
"I didn't say that. I didn't say who was to receive the money. You asked me if I was a lawyer for the environmental movement, and I said I was,'' Maria replied. ''It was a legal transfer of money, but we are bound by the attorney-client privilege not to disclose the parties to the transfer."
''A crime was committed here. So we need to know the facts-"
"Sheriff, I think you'll find that in most of the precedent-setting attorney-client-privilege cases a crime had been committed," Dan cut in. "Respectfully, you don't need to know any more."
"I see, we're going to get this attorney-client-privilege mumbo jumbo all the way through this."
"There is a little of that," Maria said.
"Are you suggesting that Amada took the money?" the sheriff asked.
"We just don't know," Dan said. "But somebody took the money and tried to kill us when we followed."
"We could look into this a lot better if we knew more facts. Like the facts surrounding the money."
"We can't disclose more."
"You know it's pretty damn strange you two even being together in the same room."
"Well, that's just an anomaly that will take some getting used to."
"For all of us," Maria added.
''Will you keep us updated on your progress?'' Dan asked.
"Yes, we will."
When they rose to leave, the sheriff added, "As much as it pisses me off, I understand about the attorney-client privilege. What I don't understand is why your clients are more interested in their secrets than in bringing armed robbers to justice."
"Maybe there isn't a whole lot more to tell, and knowing it wouldn't help you that much," Dan suggested.
"It's our job to be the judge of that."
When they left the building Dan noticed a dark-haired man, probably in his early thirties, with a slicked-back pony-tail. He was slender but strong-looking except in the face, which although symmetrical and handsome seemed passive-as evidenced by a lack of character lines. Neither smiles nor frowns had molded his visage. Approaching Maria, he pointedly ignored Dan. When the man went to kiss her, Dan noticed a slight awkwardness between them and she offered him a cheek.
"Dan, I'd like you to meet Ross," Maria said.
"It's a pleasure," Dan said, trying to smile.
"I'll take you back to the hotel." Ross cut off all other conversation.
Maria hesitated.
"Don't worry about the clothes," Dan said. "You can bring them on your next visit."
"I'll mail them." Maria took Ross's arm.
As Dan watched them leave, the argument that seemed just beneath the surface was obviously taking place between them.
Corey's home had two workrooms, one off the garage, the other off her bedroom. Certain jobs were undertaken only in the room by the garage. When feasible, she liked to work in the room off her bedroom because it was conducive to middle-of-the-night naps during intense and lengthy projects.
On this occasion she was working in the more rugged of the two work spaces, the one by the garage. A functional set of double sinks was on one wall. To either side of the sinks stood a hardwood bench that continued around to the back wall. In the middle of the room was a simple but strong granite-topped worktable on which sat her telephone and, at the moment, her propped feet. The walls were adorned with wilderness photos that featured rock outcroppings and old-growth redwood. A single window afforded a view of the forest behind her house.
''We could make it worth your while if you could recover the film," the caller said.
"How in the hell could I do that if they've dropped it off at a photo shop?'' Corey twirled the phone cord around her finger and stared at the terrarium on the table in front of her. She listened to the now-familiar but unknown voice that never deviated from the calm, persuasive tones that had become all at once so irritating and attractive.
"You've always been resourceful in the past."
"I'm good at monkey-wrenching. My first theft didn't go so well. Stealing is a different trade."
Inside the terrarium a white laboratory mouse moved in some straw. The terrarium had been fitted with a flat plastic lid that she put briefly in place and then removed. With the lid, the glass enclosure was nearly airtight.
"This would be worth a lot of money to us."
"So what's on this film?"
"We don't know. But we're worried there might be a picture of the car."
"They were in her rental car. He didn't carry any camera that I saw."
Next to her chair was a five-gallon steel container with a top that had a four-way-locking mechanism. Four grab hooks fit under the lip of the can and each was attached to a snap-over metal finger that could be lifted and pushed to the center of the top of the can to hold the lid tight. When all four of the snaps were locked down, the lid was airtight and secure. On the outside of the can was a white paper label that went the full height of the can. It said sodium cyanide with skull and crossbones and the words toxic and poison written around the top and bottom of the can.