"Your wife has been a wonderful help," Rick smiled politely. "I'll pick up Kathy around six and take her to dinner," he told Betsy. "Don't forget to pack her school things. Nice meeting you, Ms. Sloane."
"Wait," Betsy said. "I don't have the address and phone number at your new place."
Rick gave them to her and Betsy wrote them down.
Then Rick left.
"The reason I dropped in is to see if we can schedule some time to discuss the Hammermill case and your strategy in the Darius case,"
Sloane said.
"I hope this won't upset your plans, Nora, but I'm getting off Martin's case."
"Why?"
"Personal reasons I can't discuss with you."
"I don't understand."
"There's a conflict. Ethical problems are involved. I can't put it any other way without violating the attorney client privilege."
Nora rubbed her forehead. She looked distracted.
"I'm sorry if this affects the article," Betsy said.
"There isn't anything I can do about what happened."
"That's all right," Nora replied, quickly regaining her composure. "The Darius case isn't essential to the article."
Betsy opened her appointment book. "As soon as I'm officially off Martin's case, I'll have plenty of free time.
Why don't we tentatively schedule a meeting for lunch next Wednesday?"
"That sounds fine. See you then."
The door closed and Betsy looked at the work on her desk. They were cases she'd had to put off because of Martin Darius. Betsy pulled the top case off a pile, but she did not open the file. She thought about Rick. He seemed different. Less self-assured. if he wanted to come back, would she let him?
The buzzer rang. Reggie Stewart was calling from Hunter's Point.
"How's tricks?" Stewart asked.
"Not so good, Reg. I'm off the case."
"Did Darius fire you?"
"No, it's the other way around."
"Why?"
"I found out Darius did kill the women in Hunter's Point."
"How?"
"I can't tell YOU."
"Jesus, Betsy, you can trust me."
"I know I can, but I'm not going to explain this, so don't press me."
"Well, I'm a little concerned. There's a possibility Darius is being framed. It turns out Samantha Reardon is a very weird lady. I talked to Simon Reardon, her ex.
He's a neurosurgeon and she was one of his surgical nurses. He became infatuated with her and the next thing he knows, they're married and He's on the verge of bankruptcy. She's shoplifting like crazy, running up his credit cards, and his lawyers are hustling around covering up the lady's indiscretions. Then Darius kidnaps and tortures her and she really goes over the edge. I met with Dr. Flint, her shrink at St. jude's. That's where she was committed after she tried to kill Reardon."
"What'@"
"She knifed him and a friend he brought home. They subdued her and she spent the next few years in a padded cell insisting that the man who kidnapped her was still at large and she was the victim of a conspiracy."
"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."