“You can still give it back and call for a new vote.”
“You know what’s sad?” He gave her a pathetic smile. “I was going to vote in favor of amending the law anyway. This town needs those jobs more than it needs a few acres of scrub grass.”
“Who approached you and offered the money?”
“Neil Barstow, Prolabs’ chief financial officer. He called me at home and was, at first, very circumspect. He talked about an offer of stock in the company. I wasn’t impressed. Then he got serious with a cash offer.”
“Did he give you the money in person?”
“No. He had it delivered by courier service.”
“What day was that?”
“I don’t know, middle of March.”
“Mr. Krumble, I can’t keep this story quiet. Prolabs has some funny bookkeeping going on, and it’s all going to come out. I wish I could keep you out of it, but I can’t. I’ll give you one day to come forward on your own first. If you decide to do so publicly, please call me.”
He nodded.
She handed him a business card and stood to leave.
“I’m not a bad guy.” Krumble seemed close to tears.
“I know.” Trina smiled sadly. She had always enjoyed Walter’s cut-through-the-bull opinions at council meetings. “Call me if you want to go on camera.” She stood, carefully shut off the recorder, and headed for the door. She felt sorry for the old man and hoped he would do the right thing.
As she drove up Willamette toward her apartment, her cell phone rang. Trina fished it out of her purse. “Hello.”
A young male voice said, “This is Cricket. We met at the council meeting the other night.”
She remembered the odd name, but not much about the guy attached to it. How the hell had he got her cell phone number? “You’re an environmentalist, right?”
“With Love the Earth, founded here in Eugene by my father.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Our group is staging a protest at Prolabs’ building site. We’d like you to give us some news coverage.”
A bolt of excitement shot through her. “When?”
“We plan to set up camp sometime in the next few days. I’m still trying to round up volunteers.”
“Call me when you’re ready to move, and I’ll be there.”
Hot damn, Trina thought. If things came together, Prolabs would be her lead story every night for the next week.
Rudker stared at a competitive intelligence report on his monitor, but could not concentrate. It was late and he was the only one in the building, but he dreaded going home. Not only would the house be empty, but he would be reminded that Tara had screwed another guy there.
Oh hell. Rudker turned off the computer. He was starving and he had to face the house sooner or later. A stop at Newman’s Fish Market for some deep-fried halibut took the edge off his physical discomfort. But as soon as he started up the stairs at home, where he’d seen Tara with her lover, fresh rage surfaced. In the bedroom he discovered his wife had stopped in while he was at work and taken most of her clothes. The finality of it hit home. Until seeing the empty closet, he’d thought she would come back, even ask his forgiveness. He hadn’t decided if he would take her. Now he didn’t have the option. The bitch.
You’ll have to punish her for that, you know, the voice mocked. You can’t let her get away with it.
Rudker changed out of his suit and fled the bedroom. He heard the voice more often now. Sometimes he could ignore it and keep his own train of thought. Other times, it was so dominant, he couldn’t distinguish between its thoughts and his own.
A trip to the kitchen for macadamia nut ice cream and the new issue of Pharmaceutical Executive soothed him for an hour or so. Soon he was agitated again and found himself in the family room throwing Tara’s collection of Asian masks into a big plastic bag. He’d always hated the damn things with their big spying eyes.
After dragging the masks out to the garbage, he drank a glass of wine, hoping it would help him mellow out enough to sleep. It seemed to have the opposite effect. Rudker fired up his laptop and tried to get some work done, but he kept hearing the voice in his head mocking him, saying “vice-president of operations” over and over. His resentment mushroomed, and he fired off an e-mail to a head hunter he knew, asking if he knew of any executive openings in the pharma industry.
At midnight he went to bed. An hour later he got back up and slipped into some khakis. The Commander fired up with its usual roar. Rudker backed out of the garage and headed down the hill. The fog was so thick he had to crawl along even though no one else was on the road. He had no idea where he was going, but night driving with no traffic often helped him settle down.
Twenty minutes later he found himself parked across from Sula’s little house on Friendly Street. He knew she wasn’t there because Jimmy had watched her board a plane for Puerto Rico.
The PI had called back that afternoon to say he couldn’t find out when Sula’s return flight was scheduled. Rudker had ordered him to stay at the airport until she came back. At first, the little prick refused, then he had demanded double his hourly rate. Rudker was unconcerned with the cost. He didn’t think Jimmy would be at the airport that long. For Sula, it was probably a quick and dirty trip, and she would be back in a day or so.
He wasn’t very worried about what she would dig up either. Dr. Hernandez was no longer at the clinic, and-if things went according to plan-neither were the Rios’ files. Rudker had contacted an acquaintance at Mova Pharmaceuticals and called in a favor. Carlos had, in turn, called in a favor and someone would remove the files from the research center. How Carlos accomplished it, Rudker didn’t know or care. He suspected a clinic employee would simply be bribed to hand over the paperwork. The only question was, did it happen before Sula arrived at the clinic?
Rudker would have preferred to deal with the situation personally, but that simply wasn’t possible. Not only did Sula have a head start in getting to Puerto Rico, Rudker couldn’t leave town. Not with the expansion plans and the merger hanging on the city council’s approval.
A car pulled into a driveway two houses away. Rudker slumped down in his seat. A long-haired woman got out of a mini-van and walked up to the home. He couldn’t see her well, but she looked young, probably attractive. He thought about what he would do if someone noticed him. Or if the police stopped and questioned him. Did his breath smell like wine? Rudker popped a piece of cinnamon gum in his mouth. He would leave soon.
He wondered where Tara was tonight. Had she moved in with Doug? The thought heated his blood. He would have to find out who this guy was. Teach him not to fuck with Karl Rudker. Teach him to keep his dick out of married women. Rudker ignored the hostile ranting from the voice in his head. Doug would have to wait his turn.
Rudker knew he should get moving, but still he stayed and watched Sula’s house. He’d never lived alone before. In college, he’d had roommates, then he’d met and married Maribel. When she left him, Robbie had stayed and lived with him until Tara came along.
What was going on with Robbie anyway? His phone call had been so unusual. His son had never been much of a drinker. Like other young people, he preferred to smoke pot, but he’d never called while he was high before. Impulsively, Rudker scrolled through his contact list on his cell phone until he found the boy’s entry. He pushed call and let it ring four times before he remembered that it was one-thirty in the morning. He quickly disconnected. He would try Robbie again in the morning. Maybe they would go to lunch or see a movie this weekend. Rudker suddenly realized he missed his son. He couldn’t remember what they’d fought about the last time they were together.