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"She was, Reg. The authorities covered up for Darius. I can't fill you in on the details, but Samantha may not have been completely crazy."

"She. may have been right about the cover-up and insane. Dr. Flint thought she was mad as a hatter. Reardon was an abused child. Her father ran away when she was two and her mother was a hopeless drunk. She learned morals from a street gang she ran with. She has a juvenile record for robbery and assault. That was a stab- bing, too. She was smart enough to get through high school without doing any real work. Her I.Q's been tested at 146, which is a hell of a lot higher than mine, but her school performance was lousy.

"There was an early marriage to Max Felix, a manager at a department store where she was working. I called him and he tells the same story Dr. Reardon does.

She must be a great lay. Her first husband says he couldn't see up from down while she was cleaning out his bank account and charging him into debt. The marriage only lasted a year.

"Next stop was a community college, then nursing school, then the good doctor. Dr. Flint says Reardon had a personality disorder-borderline personality-to begin with, and the stress from the torture and captivity made her psychotic. She was obsessed with avenging herself on her captor."

Betsy felt a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"Did you ask Dr. Flint if she would be capable of subjecting other women to the kind of torture she endured just to frame Darius?"

"According to Dr. Flint, it wouldn't bother her one bit to slice up those ladies, if that's what it took to accomplish her plan."

"it's so hard to believe, Reg. A woman doing those things to other women."

"It makes sense, though, Betsy. Think about it.

Oberhurst interviews Reardon and shows her a photo of Darius; Reardon recognizes Darius and follows Oberhurst to Portland; she reads about the hassle Darius is having at the construction site and figures it's the ideal place to bury Oberhurst after she kills him; later, she adds the other bodies."

"I don't know, Reg. It still makes more sense for Darius to have killed them."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Try to get a picture of her. There weren't any in the newspaper accounts."

"I'm way -ahead of you. I'm going to look at her college yearbook. She went to the State University in Hunter's Point, so that should be easy."

Stewart hung up, leaving Betsy very confused. Moments before, she was certain Darius had killed the Portland women. But if Reggie's suspicions were right, Darius was being framed, and everyone was being manipulated by a very intelligent and dangerous woman.

Randy Highsmith and Ross Barrow took 1-84 down the Columbia River Gorge until they came to the turnoff for the scenic highway. Stark cliffs rose up on either side of the wide river. Waterfalls could occasionally be seen through breaks in the trees. The view was breathtaking, but Barrow was too busy trying to see through the slashing rain to enjoy it. The gusting winds that funneled down the gorge pushed the unmarked car sideways. Barrow fought the wheel and kept the car from skidding as he took the exit.

They were in country. National forest, farmland. The trees provided some protection from the rain, but Barrow still had to lean forward and squint to catch the occasional street signs.

"There," Randy Highsmith shouted, pointing to a mailbox with the address stuck on in cheap, iridescent numerals. Barrow turned the car sharply and the back wheels slid sideways on the gravel. The house Samuel Oberhurst was renting was supposed to be a quarter mile up this unpaved road. The rental agent had described it as a bungalow, but it was only a step up from a shack.

Except for the privacy the surrounding countryside provided, Highsmith could not see a thing to recommend it.

The house was square with a peaked roof It may once have been painted red, but the weather had turned it rust-colored. A beat-up Pontiac was parked out front. No one had cut the grass in weeks. Cinder blocks served as front steps. There were two empty beer cans next to the steps and an empty pack of cigarettes wedged into a crack between two of the blocks.

Barrow pulled the car as close to the front door as he could and Highsmith jumped out, ducking his head, as if that would somehow protect him from the rain. He pounded on the door, waited, then pounded again.

"I'm going around the side," he yelled to Barrow.

The detective cut the motor and followed him. The curtains on the front windows were closed. Highsmith and Barrow walked through the wet grass on the east side of the house and discovered that there were no windows on that side and the shades were down in the windows at the back. Barrow peered through a small window on the west side.

"looks like a fucking sty in there," Barrow said.

"No one's home, that's for sure."

"What about the car?"

Highsmith shrugged. "Let's try the front door."

Water dripped off Highsmith's face and he could barely see through his glasses. The front door was not locked. Barrow let them in. Highsmith took off his glasses and dried the lenses with his handkerchief Barrow turned on a light.

"Jesus!"

Highsmith put on his glasses. A television stood on a low stand the front window. Across from it was a second-hand sofa. The upholstery was torn in spots, stuffing was coming out and it sagged. A full suit of men's clothes had been thrown on the sofa. Highsmith saw a jacket, underwear, a pair of pants. Next to the TV, fitted into the corner, was an old gray, stand-up filing cabinet.

All the drawers were out and papers had been thrown around the room.

Highsmith was suddenly distracted from the chaos in the front room. He sniffed the air.

"What's that smell?"

Barrow did not answer. He was concentrating on a heavy chair that lay on its side in the center of the room As he edged around it, he could see bloodstains on the chair and the ground around it. Scraps of heavy tape that could have been used to secure a man's legs stuck out from the sides of the chair legs. On a table a few feet from the chair was a kitchen knife encrusted with blood.

"How's your stomach?" Barrow asked. "We've got a crime scene here and I don't want your breakfast all over it."

"I've been in crime scenes before Ross. I was at the pit, remember?"

"I guess you were. Well, take a gander at this."

There was a plastic soup bowl next to the knife.

Highsmith looked in it and turned green. The soup bowl contained three severed fingers.

"John Doe," Barrow said softly.

Highsmith walked around the chair so he could see the seat. It was covered with blood. He felt queasy. In addition to the three fingers, Doe's genitals had been missing and Randy did not want to be the one who found them.

"I'm not certain who has jurisdiction here," Barrow said as he walked around the chair. "Call the state police."

Highsmith nodded. He looked for a phone. There was none in the front room. There were two rooms in the back of the house. One was a bathroom.

Highsmith opened the other slowly, afraid of what he might find.

There was barely enough room in the bedroom for a single bed, a dresser and an end table. The phone was on the end table.

"Hey, Ross, look at this."

Barrow came into the room. Highsmith pointed to an answering machine that was connected to the phone.

A red light was flashing, indicating there were messages on the machine.

Listening they skimmed through a few messages before stopping at one.

"Mr. Oberhurst, this is Betsy Tannenbaum. This is the third time I've called and I'd appreciate it if you would call me at my office. The number is 555-1763. It's urgent that you contact me. I have a release from Lisa Darius giving you permission to discuss her case. Please call anytime. I have an answering service that can reach me at home, if you call after hours or on a weekend."

The machine beeped. Highsmith and Barrow looked at each other.