San Juan rush hour traffic was as bad as any big city, and the trip to the hotel took thirty minutes. Roman grew impatient and muttered things like “idiota” and “mierda” under his breath. Sula called Felisa to share the success of her visits and promised to be in touch with her.
When they reached the El Canario, she gave Roman a twenty as a thank you. She worried he might me offended by the amount, but he happily took the money and wished her “buena suerte.” Once inside her room, Sula called American Airlines to check for departing flight times that evening. After eight minutes on hold, she learned there was a flight out to Newark New Jersey, leaving at 7:05. From there, she could catch a connecting flight to Portland, Oregon, followed by a puddle jumper to Eugene, arriving home at 8:15 in the morning. She checked her watch: 5:37. With only carry-on luggage and a ten-minute ride to airport, she decided she could make it.
She called the front desk for a cab, then quickly packed up her bathroom stuff and dirty clothes from yesterday. A normal person would have taken a walk on the beach, had a nice dinner, and flown home in the morning. At the moment, Sula didn’t feel like a normal person. Her life was so unsettled, she couldn’t make herself relax. She had to get back home, get the DNA samples to the FDA, and find a job.
She also had to call her custody lawyer. Sula couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it yet. She dreaded having to tell Barbara she’d lost her job, but it was only fair that the lawyer know before they got to court. Now that the Nexapra business was taken care of, Sula could focus and start moving her life forward again. She took a Xanax to brace herself for the first of three back-to-back flights and felt more optimistic than she had in weeks. Sula hurried downstairs and stood outside to wait for the taxi, taking in all balmy air and sunshine she could while she still had the chance.
Shortly after entering the airport, Sula was selected for a bag search. After digging around, the young black woman pulled out the plastic bag containing the lock of Miguel Rios’ hair and Lucia’s handwritten label.
“What’s this?”
“Hair, for a DNA analysis.”
The woman raised one tightly coiffed eyebrow.
“Paternity suit. Trying to make a deadbeat dad pay up.”
“Good for you.” She stuffed the hair sample back into Sula’s cheap black bag and sent her on her way.
Sula was less anxious about flying this time. Darkness made a huge difference. Because she couldn’t see that she was a mile in the air, it was easier to forget. The trip would have been uneventful, except for the couple sitting directly in front of her. Young, attractive, and clearly in love, they whispered, kissed, and nuzzled each other constantly.
Sula envied their joy in each other. She’d never had a real relationship before. There was the brief episode with Tate’s father and a few dates in college, including one unsatisfying sexual encounter. That was the sum of her experience with men. Sula became painfully aware of how alone she was-and had been since she lost her family. If she didn’t get custody of Tate…
It was hard for her to think about how she would feel or what she would do. But she had to live, no matter how things turned out. Sula made up her mind to call Aaron DeSpain as soon as she got back to Eugene. It couldn’t hurt to have coffee with him.
Chapter 27
Trina Waterman flipped through the white pages of the phone book and failed to find Walter Krumble. She called Cathy Cusenik, another city councilor she was friendly with. Cathy didn’t know the old guy’s home number, but after Trina told her about the possible bribe, Cathy said she would find out and call right back. Krumble was retired, otherwise Trina would have called him at work.
Cathy failed to get back to her within the hour, so Trina rounded up her cameraman and they went downtown to Willamette and Broadway to shoot a segment about the remodeling of a cornerstone building that had been empty for years.
After interviewing a few downtown employees-a more articulate crowd than those at the trick bicycle competition yesterday-they went back to the station. A message from Cathy with Krumble’s phone number and address awaited her. Krumble didn’t answer when she called and Trina didn’t leave a message.
She delivered the evening’s news, then grabbed a quick salad at Wendys on Willamette. She was on her way to Crest Street to drop in on Krumble. Trina mentally outlined her plan of approach. Nailing the city councilor on the bribe would be a major coup in her investigation of Prolabs. Her lawyer, David Sanders, whom she was also dating, was currently looking into KJR Enterprises for her. If it she could get proof that Karl Rudker had cashed $2.7 million worth of checks made out to a specialty company, then she would have enough to convince the SEC to launch an investigation.
Trina clicked on her defroster as the fog seeped into her Sportage. She went right when Willamette split in two, then made another right on Crest. Krumble lived near the top of the hill.
His house was an older cottage, smaller than most in the neighborhood. A dim light from somewhere inside indicated he might be home. Trina parked on the street and walked up to the door. Her digital recorder was in her jacket pocket and had fresh batteries.
Knocking did no good, so she pressed the doorbell a few times. Krumble eventually jerked open the door and flipped on the porch light. Rum vapors oozed from his pours. Trina thought the alcohol could work in her favor if she could just get inside. “Walter Krumble?”
“Yep.” His gray hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, making his round face seem too big for his frame. Trina knew he was 64, but he looked younger.
“Hi. I’m Trina Waterman with KRSL TV. I’d like to talk to you about your recent votes as a city councilor.”
“I’m no longer a city councilor. I resigned yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve served this community well for many years.”
“Thanks. What do you want?”
“To talk. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He burped and stepped aside to let her in.
Trina looked around for a light switch. The glow from the thirty-six-inch TV was not enough for her. Krumble must have sensed her discomfort because he fumbled around the living room, turning on lamps. Trina sat on the couch and looked around, surprised by how tidy the house was.
“Would you like a drink? Rum and diet coke is the house specialty.”
“Sounds good.” She didn’t have to drink it, but alcoholics were always happier when someone joined them.
He served the cocktail in a short fat tumbler with lots of ice. Trina decided to consume a little. Her day was over and she didn’t have far to drive. “What made you decide to quit the council?” She reached into her pocket and turned on her tape recorder as Krumble flopped into the recliner across from her. He splashed his drink on himself and didn’t seem to notice.
“I couldn’t stand the sight of Betty Thompson anymore.”
Trina laughed out loud. Thompson was even older than Krumble, and a lot more rigid. “She’s quite a character.” After a pause. “I’d like to ask about your last vote. The one on Prolabs and its land-use permits.”
“What about it?”
“It seemed unusual for you. Were you pressured?”
Krumble closed his eyes. He tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a dry hack. “This is Eugene, Oregon. There’s no Mafia here.”
“But there is a lot of money to be made in pharmaceuticals.” Trina pulled out her ace in the hole. “I have a copy of a withdrawal slip from a Prolabs’ bank account for fifteen thousand dollars. Your name is on the notation line.” She leaned forward with the slip.
Krumble made no move to take it.
“Why would the company give you fifteen grand?”
He sat very still, eyes closed.
After a very long moment, he said. “I couldn’t turn it down. My life has been pretty bleak since my wife died. I’d thought I’d take a trip. Maybe buy a Harley, something I’ve always wanted but Karen wouldn’t let me have.” He shook his head. “It was stupid. The money’s just sitting there. I couldn’t spend it. I couldn’t even stay on the council.”