Henry Waters 'W-A-T-E-R-S?'
'Right. He was shot resisting. I think there were six dead women. One of them was named Patricia Cross.
Then there was Melody Lake, a young girl, and Sandra Lake, her mother. I don't remember the names of the others.'
'If this happened ten years ago, the file is in storage.
I'll get on it and let you know when I find it. What's your address and phone number?'
Page was telling them to Lenzer when Randy Highsmith, the chief criminal deputy, opened the door for William Tobias, the chief of police, and Ross Barrow, the detective in charge of the black rose case. Page motioned them into seats, then hung up.
'We may have a break in the case of the missing women, Page said. He started relating Gordon's version of the Hunter's Point case.
'Before the body was found at Waters's house, the chief suspect was Peter Lake, a husband of one of the victims,' Page concluded. 'There was enough circumstantial evidence to raise the possibility that Lake framed Waters. Shortly after the case was officially closed, Lake disappeared.
'Two days ago, Gordon received an anonymous note with the words' women in Portland, Oregon are 'Gone, But Not Forgotten.' The first letter in each word was capitalized, just the way our boy does it. Enclosed was a photograph of Martin Darius leaving a motel room. Martin Darius may be Peter Lake. Gordon thinks he's our killer.'
'I know Martin Darius,' Tobias said incredulously.
'Everyone knows Darius,' Page said, 'but how much do we know about him?'
Page pushed the photograph of Darius and the newspaper with lake's picture across the desk. Barrow, Tobias and Highsmith huddled over them.
'Boy,' Highsmith said, shaking his head.
'I don't know, Al,' Tobias said. 'The news photo isn't that clear.'
'Gordon left me Lake's prints for comparison. Can you run them, Ross?'
Barrow nodded and took the print card from Page.
'I'm having a hard time buying this,' Tobias said.
'I'd like to talk to your detective.'
'Let me call her in. I'd like you to hear her tell the story,' Page said, not revealing his doubts, because he wanted them to have an open mind when they heard Gordon.
Page dialed the number for the Lakeview Motel. He asked to be connected with Gordon's room, then leaned back while the desk clerk rang it.
'She's not? Well, this is very important. Do you know when she left? I see. Okay, tell her to call Alan Page as soon as she gets back.'
Page left his number and hung up. 'She checked in last night around one, but she's not in now. It's possible she's having breakfast.'
'What do you want to do, Al?' Highsmith asked.
'I'd like a twenty-four-hour surveillance on Darius, in case Gordon is right.'
'I can do that,' Barrow said.
'Make sure you use good people, Ross. I don't want Darius to suspect we're watching him.
'Randy, run a background check on Darius. I want his life story as quickly as you can get it.'
Highsmith nodded.
'As soon as Gordon calls, I'll get back to you.'
Highsmith led Tobias and Barrow out of the office and closed the door.
Page thought of dialing the Lakeview again, but it was too soon after the first call. He swiveled toward the window. It was pouring.
Why hadn't he spotted the flaws in Gordon's story last night? Was it Gordon? She seemed barely in control, on edge, as if electrical charges were coursing through her. He could not take his eyes off her when she talked.
It was not a physical attraction. Something else drew him to her. Her passion, her desperation. Now that she was out of sight, he could think more clearly. When she was near him, she created a disturbance in the field, like the lightning flashing over the river.
Betsy scanned the restaurant for single women as she followed the hostess between a row of tables. She noticed a tall, athletic woman wearing a bright yellow blouse and a navy blue suit seated in a booth against the wall, As Betsy drew near, the woman stood up.
'You must be Nora Sloane,' Betsy said as they shook hands. Sloane's complexion was pale. So were her blue eyes. She wore her chestnut-colored hair short. Betsy noticed a few gray streaks, but she guessed they were about the same age.
'Thank you for meeting me, Mrs. Tannenbaum.'
'It's Betsy and you're a good saleswoman. When you called this morning and mentioned a free lunch, you hooked me.'
Sloane laughed. 'I'm glad you're this easy, because a free lunch is about all you're going to get out of me. I'm writing this article on spec. I got the idea when I covered your suit against the anti-abortion protestors for the Arizona Republic.
'You're from Phoenix?'
'New York, originally. My husband got a job in Phoenix. We separated a year after we moved. I was never crazy about Arizona, especially with my ex living there, and I fell in love with Portland while I was covering your case. So, a month ago I quit my job and moved.
I'm living on savings and looking for a job and I decided now was as good a time as any to write this article. I ran the idea by Gloria Douglas, an editor at Pacific West magazine, and she's definitely interested. But she wants to see a draft of the article before she commits.'
'What exactly will the article cover?'
'Women litigators. And I want to use you and your cases as the centerpiece.'
'I hope you're not going to make too much of me.'
'Hey, don't get bashful on me,' Sloane said with a laugh. 'Until recently, women attorneys were relegated to the probate department or handled divorces. Stuff that was acceptable as 'woman's work.' My whole point is that you're at the vanguard of a new generation of women who are trying murder cases and getting million-dollar verdicts in civil cases. Areas that have traditionally been m-ale-dominated.'
'It sounds interesting.'
'I'm glad you think so, because people want to read about you. You're really the hook for the article.
'What will I have to do?'
'Not much. Mostly, it will be talking to me about Hammermill and your other cases. On occasion, I may want to tag — along when you go to court.'
'That sounds okay. I think talking through my cases might help me put them in perspective. I was so close to what was happening when they were going on.'
The waiter arrived. Sloane ordered a Caesar salad and a glass of white wine. Betsy ordered yellowfin tuna on pasta, but passed on the wine.
'What did you want to do today?' Betsy asked, as soon as the waiter left.
'I thought we'd go over some background material. I read the piece in the Times, but I felt it was superficial. It didn't tell me what made you the way you are today. For instance, were you a leader in high school?'
Betsy laughed. 'God, no. I was so shy. A real gawk.'
Sloane smiled. 'I can understand that. You were tall, right? I had the same problem.'
'I towered over everyone. In elementary school, I walked around with my eyes down and my shoulders hunched, wishing I could disappear. In junior high, it got worse, because I had these Coke-bottle glasses and braces.
I looked like Frankenstein.'
'when did you start to feel self-confident?'
'I don't know if I ever feel that way. I mean, I know I do a good job, but I always worry I'm not doing
