She did better, finding them chairs to sit on and letting them wash up, too. She had lit the stove, and they sat around it.
“More rain,” Doc Ashland said. “It’s a record year.”
Tim told them about the money and said, “He botched his fake suicide, I’d say. He jumped off the bridge. He was going to climb out of the river downstream, peel off the wetsuit, take the money, and leave town.” He felt warm and comfortable. Valerie was behind him, but he could feel her eyes pressing, like soft, curious blue daggers in his back.
“I’ve never seen the river this high,” Bodie said. “He got carried down the stream and went over. I almost feel sorry for him. He had it worked out pretty well.”
“He got bashed up bad going over, so I can’t be positive, but I’m thinking all the injuries are consistent with the wet ride he took,” Doc Ashland said. “I’ll do a complete autopsy tonight. Idiot, thinking he could use the river.”
“Good concept, poor execution,” Tim said.
“The Great Escape,” the doc said. “I thought about it myself back when I was about to get drafted for the Vietnam War. Disappear, start over.”
“We didn’t find much around him or on him,” Bodie said. “No money. If he had a pack strapped to him, it might be downriver. We’ll start looking right away.”
“He’d need transport once he got out,” Tim said. “Bodie, you look hard for a car or motorcycle out there in the trees, too.” He got up. “I’m going to have to go tell Anita. You coming, Bodie?”
The crew came back and searched the banks of the river for three days in pouring rain, but they didn’t turn up a thing. Doc Ashland finished the autopsy, saying all he could add was that Roy didn’t have any alcohol or drugs in his system. And that the cause of death looked like drowning, though Roy was so beat up from the Falls he might have died anyway.
The fourth day, a man in a gray suit came driving up to the sheriff’s substation in a brand-new Jeep Cherokee. Tim came out to meet him. “James Burdick, Gibraltar Insurance,” he said, shaking hands. “I thought you might have some sun this high up.” Burdick was short and solid. He smelled of cigars.
“It’ll be back,” Tim said.
“I read your report. You sure your men have searched that river high and low for the money?”
“It’s not there.”
“Because if it doesn’t turn up soon, I’m going to have to issue the old man another check. He’s hired a lawyer this time and he’s making a fearful racket. I don’t work directly with the agents, so I didn’t know Roy Ballantine. Did you ever think he’d do a thing like this?”
“I’d heard he was gambling, getting into debt. Maybe I should have paid more attention.”
“If we do pay that geezer Bayle off again, we’re going to try to recover from Ballantine’s estate.”
“Anita’s going to need money. I doubt she’ll be getting any of the life insurance he was loaded up with.”
“She can always file bankruptcy,” the Gibraltar man said breezily. “Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”
Anita came in to see him the next day. She had fixed herself up, but the old spark had been replaced by something just old. Events like losing a husband could make a woman cross the line into age in one night. Tim had seen it before.
“Let’s talk frankly, Anita,” he said. Her eyes burned at him for a minute, then extinguished again. “I’ve been listening to the gossip. I heard some things I need to check out with you.”
“Like what?”
“For example, that you were getting ready to leave Roy, take Ginny and Kyle.”
“So what if I was?” she said. “So you’ve been listening to the women in this town, stabbing you in the back when your husband’s just died...” She started crying, lightly and easily, like the rain falling outside the door. “He’d gambled away our savings. He didn’t care about me anymore. Yes, I was thinking about leaving while I still had some self-respect. Of course, he’s taken even that away from me now.” But the lift of her chin into the air said, he can take everything else, but he won’t take my pride.
“Did you know he was going to steal the money?”
“Of course not—”
“Marriage is an odd state. We let another person come so close, they can read our minds,” Tim said. “I think you knew.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this. You’re accusing me of killing him so I could have the money, like I dressed him in a wetsuit and tossed him over the bridge? He weighed over two hundred pounds. I don’t have to listen to this. I’m going home.”
“You might want to wait another few minutes,” Tim said.
“Wh-why?”
“Because Bodie’s out there searching your house and yard. I’m sorry, we have to be sure.” He handed her a copy of the search warrant.
“That woman is so broke, all we found was letters to her sister asking for loans,” Bodie said later. “We dug around the backyard, knocked holes in the walls, tossed the garage. Found a family of skunks. There’s no money there.”
“We had to try,” Tim said. “You want to eat over at the hotel restaurant tonight? My treat.”
“My grampa’s in town,” Bodie said. “My mom’s making a turkey. You’re more than welcome...”
“No, you go on. I’ve got my heart set on a piece of apple pie from the restaurant,” Tim said.
He locked up at five. It was a warm clear night, and the street was lined with the cars of the isolated cabin owners from miles around who didn’t get into town that often. He saw some loggers from Camden he knew, said hello, walked up the wooden steps to the Placer Hotel Restaurant.
After dinner he was trying to make up his mind whether to drive to Camden for a movie or go home when he saw Valerie’s husband out front, careening toward his car. He hustled over and took his arm, saying, “Oh no you don’t.”
“Leggo,” Ed Strickland said. He was a strong boy, but Tim got him over to the sheriff’s-station porch and half threw him into his chair.
“Stay there while I call a taxi. You can’t drive like that,” he said. Strickland’s disheveled blond hair fell across his eyes and he blew out cheap Scotch vapors.
“I’ll just go back to the hotel if you’re gonna make a federal case out of me having a few,” he said.
“You need to go home.”
“The hotel is my home, Mr. Deputy, sir,” Strickland said. “I moved there recently.”
“Valerie and you...”
“It’s all her fault,” Strickland said. “She wanted to buy the damn place. Then the tourists stayed away because of the rain. I got laid off. Then she threw me out because I couldn’t find any other work. It’s not my fault. She’s a hard-hearted b—”
“Watch your mouth,” Tim said. “If you don’t have any money, how are you paying to live at the Placer Hotel?”
Strickland gave him a sly look from under the hair. “You ever played poker with me? I have had one humongous streak lately. Best of all, she hasn’t got any paycheck stub to look at, so she can’t come after me for some of it. Can I go now?” He got up and wove across the street, waving away the traffic. Tim sat down, watching.
The next morning, early, he drove back to the portage point. Gray fog seeped around the dripping trees. Valerie opened the door to the motel office, looking surprised and maybe pleased to see him. She still wore her robe, a long blue silky thing. Her hair was wet from the shower. She hastily took off the specs she was wearing, invited him in.
“The kids just left for school,” she said. “They left some eggs in the pan.”