opinionated. Always knows everything about everything. I can’t stand the guy and don’t want him in my house. And up until yesterday, he never had been. Like I said, we’ve tried to maintain a relationship with Carol, but Carol without Jack. Just being around him upsets DeAnn too much.”
“Is there a chance that Jack is distressed about our investigating Tony Cosgrove’s disappearance because he was somehow involved in it?”
There was a long pause before Donnie answered. “Maybe,” he said finally.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’ve heard rumors that Jack and Carol were romantically involved long before Tony went fishing at Spirit Lake. It always struck me as a little too convenient that Tony disappears and the next thing you know, Jack and Carol are a couple. But it all happened long before I was part of the picture. When I heard the rumors I kept quiet about them for DeAnn’s sake.”
“You don’t accept as fact the idea that Tony Cosgrove died in the eruption?” I asked.
“Not really,” Donnie said. “It never made sense to me that a man who hardly ever went fishing would just happen to be doing that very thing on Spirit Lake the day the mountain blew up. And I always thought it was strange that nobody ever turned up even the smallest trace of him or his vehicle. When vehicles get burned up or when people do, there are usually some traces-some little bits and pieces-that are left behind.”
I had to agree with him there. The destruction of the World Trade Center came to mind.
“A few years ago,” Donnie continued, “I happened to see a program on TV about a similar case, one that took place somewhere back east-in Chicago, I think.”
“They have volcanoes in Chicago?” I asked.
Donnie paused uncertainly. Then, realizing I was attempting a halfhearted joke, he allowed himself a hint of a chuckle. “No, it’s just that a woman was murdered on the same day an airliner went down in that same general area. I think the jet was flying out of O’Hare. The killer tried to maintain that the dead woman had been a passenger on the plane, but the airline didn’t have any record of her because she’d never been on the plane in the first place. She was already dead.”
“If you don’t buy the official story about Tony Cosgrove’s disappearance,” I said, “have you ever tried to do anything about it?”
“I don’t make a big deal of it, but I do check with people down at the Mount Saint Helens Visitor Center from time to time,” Donnie answered. “Just in case-just to make sure nothing’s turned up in the meantime. I guess the last I spoke to them was months ago-last summer sometime. The mountain had started burping again, and there was a lot more interest in it than there had been previously. I thought that maybe, with a lot more activity and attention, someone might stumble across something of Tony’s-if there was anything to find.”
“But there wasn’t.”
“Not so far.”
“Does your wife know you’ve been making those kinds of inquiries?” I asked.
Donnie Cosgrove sighed. “No,” he said. “I never mentioned it to her.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to get her hopes up,” he said. “Or kill them, either. There’s a part of DeAnn, the little-girl part, who believes Tony Cosgrove is still alive and that someday he’s going to turn up-that one fine morning she’ll open our front door and he’ll be standing on the front porch.”
I knew Donnie was right on that score. I, too, had heard the unrealistic longings-the dreamy wishful thinking of an abandoned little girl in DeAnn Cosgrove’s voice. No doubt that had been the overriding consideration behind her wanting to keep her maiden name.
“I believe DeAnn mentioned something to me about Jack Lawrence working for Boeing at about the same time her parents were there,” I said. “Was that the case?”
Donnie nodded. “Tony started working there sometime in the late sixties or early seventies. That’s where he and Carol met, at some kind of company event-a Christmas party, maybe. Jack turned up later. After retiring from a twenty-year hitch in the military, he hired on with Boeing in sales. Carol ended up being his secretary.”
“Carol told you this or DeAnn?” I asked.
“Neither one,” Donnie answered. “I worked for Boeing for a little while back when I first got my degree and before I moved over to Fluke, which is where I am now. But back then, when people at Boeing heard I was the guy who had married Tony Cosgrove’s daughter, a couple of them took me aside and hinted around that maybe Tony’s disappearance wasn’t an act of nature after all; that maybe someone should have taken a closer look at what was going on at the time he disappeared.”
“Did you ever ask anyone to look into it?” I asked.
“No. I was just out of school and new on the job. I couldn’t afford to risk drawing attention-rocking-the-boat kind of attention. So other than talking to the folks down at Mount Saint Helens periodically, I haven’t dared raise the issue.”
“Why not?”
“Despite what people think, the aerospace industry is actually a surprisingly small, closely knit group, and these days electronics engineers are a dime a dozen, especially in India. That’s why I’m calling you on my cell, Mr. Beaumont. And not from my office, either. But to have Jack come charging into the house the way he did yesterday…was just…too much.”
That’s about when I figured it out. Donnie Cosgrove was upset that his father-in-law had stopped by and raised hell with DeAnn, but Donnie wanted someone else to do something about it-namely me. The fact of the matter is, raising hell with scumbags is a big part of my job description.
“I’m glad you called,” I told him. “This is all very interesting, and I’ll be looking into it. Do you happen to remember the names of any of the people who talked to you back then about Tony Cosgrove’s disappearance?”
“Not offhand,” Donnie said. “It was just sort of break-room BS. I’ll think about it, though. If I remember anyone in particular I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Do that.”
But by then I was already one step ahead of him. I had read the article in
“So what are you going to do now?” Donnie asked. “Will you go talk to him?”
For a moment I thought Donnie was asking if I was going to talk to Dortman. Then I realized he was actually referring to his erstwhile father-in-law-stepfather-in-law-Jack Lawrence.
“I’m sure I will eventually,” I assured him. “But not until after I check out a few things first.”
“And you’ll let us know what you find out?” Donnie asked. “I mean, you’ll let DeAnn know?”
“Believe me,” I told him, “I’ll let you both know.”
Call-waiting buzzed just then. I ended the call with Donnie Cosgrove.
“Mr. Hatcher to see you,” the doorman announced when I switched to the other line.
“Good,” I said. “Send him up.”
I’ll confess right now to having had certain preconceived notions about our visiting economist-none of them very flattering. I had envisioned someone with a fairly wide-load build, horn-rimmed glasses, and a mop of long greasy hair. Todd Hatcher failed to meet those specifications-on every count.
For one thing, he was tall and lanky-scrawny, in fact. And he looked like a cowboy just in off the range in boots and Levi’s and wearing a dripping Stetson and a soggy leather jacket. In one hand he carried a bulging backpack that was just as damp as he was.
“Mr. Beaumont?” he asked as I opened the door.
I nodded. “Welcome. Come on in,” I said. “Make yourself at home.”
Removing his hat, he banged some of the excess water off it out in the hallway before stepping into the apartment. His blond hair was cut in a short but not quite military buzz cut. Without even shedding his jacket, Hatcher, like every other visitor to the penthouse, was immediately drawn to the windows on the far side of the living room.
“Wow,” he exclaimed, looking out on the gray expanse of water that was Elliott Bay and Puget Sound. “What an amazing view!”
