Hard Rain

by Waverly Fitzgerald

  “Why?”

  “Because when I got home the back door was unlocked and someone had taken my computer and gone through my files.”

  “I don’t have to ask him,” said Matt. “I was there with him. Everything was in order.”

  I sighed.

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “My guess?”

  “Yeah, your guess is usually pretty good.”

  “I think it was that guy who passed himself off as a King County deputy. Turns out he hasn’t been on the force for years.”

  “Want me to put the fear of God into him?” Matt asked.

  “No, not really,” I said. “But it would be great if you could follow him. I’m curious about what he’s up to.”

  “I’ll try to get to this tomorrow,” Matt said. “After we get back from tracking down Maloney.” He gave me the address and room number of the motel where he said he was staying with Boo.

  “Take care, Matt,” I said. “Don’t do anything foolish. Or dangerous.”

  “Same same,” he said. And then I heard the click of the phone.

  Hmm. Foolish and dangerous. That pretty much described my thoughts about my upcoming dinner with Joel.

  I was a little nervous about filling him in about my latest expedition so I decided I just wouldn’t tell him about my trip to Astoria. Instead I concentrated on figuring out what to serve for dinner. A pasta dish will usually satisfy both a vegetarian (me) and a meat eater (I assumed he was) so I made a trip to the nearby grocery store to get the ingredients for one of my favorites: a combination of artichoke hearts and tomatoes and lentils, served over farfalle pasta.

  I took a long bath, pulled my hair back into a pony tail and slipped into a cotton sundress that buttoned up the front, thinking maybe it would get unbuttoned later. I set the dining room table with my best blue-and-white china and some votive candles. I made the sauce and got the water boiling for the pasta.

  Seven PM came and went and no Joel. That was OK. The dish is actually better warmed up. I lit the candles, then blew them out again at 7:30. I called Joel’s office, thinking maybe he would be there, maybe he got caught up in some research, maybe he got distracted. No answer. I left a message. I called his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. I left a message there as well. Had he forgotten? Not very flattering.

  I tried again at eight PM. Same story. Restless, I headed over to Thom’s to see if I could use his computer. He wasn’t in so I let myself in with my key, spent some time petting his terrier Mackie who frisked around me. Then I decided to do some research on Joel Friedman. I don’t know why I waited so long. Naivete, I guess. Or the fact that he was recommended by my father.

  I found a home address in Laurelhurst, a rather upscale neighborhood near the University of Washington and a phone number attached to that address.

  I headed home—Mackie protested vigorously—to see if Joel had arrived or returned my phone calls. Nothing. So I called his phone number. A woman answered. Her voice was tense.

  “Joel?” she said.

  “Not Joel,” I said. “I’m looking for him.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Rachel Stern,” I said. “Who are you?”

  “Sara Friedman,” she said. “I’m his wife.”

  Chapter 29

  “I thought he was divorced,” I said. I blurted it out before I even had a chance to think.

  “Is that what he told you?” Her voice was bitter.

  I recovered as quickly as possible. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Well, you’re right about that,” she said. “I assumed he didn’t come home last night because he was having an affair. But if he’s not with you…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m not having an affair with him,” I said quickly. “I’m working for him.” I looked over at the dining room, at the table set so hopefully, and down at my sundress with all the buttons down the front. “We were supposed to meet at seven PM. Go over some information I gathered. And he didn’t show up.”

  “Where were you supposed to meet?” she asked.

  “Um,” I scrambled to come up with something, “at a restaurant on Capitol Hill.” Not that far from the truth.

  “Well, he didn’t come home last night,” she said, “so if it’s not you, it must be some other woman. He’s been acting really squirrelly for the last few weeks.”

  “So you still live together?” I asked.

  “I told you, I’m his wife.”

  “And you’re not separated?”

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice annoyed.

  “I’m Rachel Stern. I’m a private investigator,” I said. “He hired me to do research on a case he’s working. It’s a complicated case. Maybe something came up with that. Maybe he had to go out of town.” Maybe he was down in Astoria. Or with Ellie, wherever she was.

  “He wouldn’t go out of town without telling me,” she said, and for the first time she sounded scared. “We’ve been married for twenty-five years and he’s never just disappeared.”

  “I could go over to his office,” I offered. “See if he’s there. It’s not that far from where I live.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “I’ve got a spare set of keys.” And she hung up the phone.

  I took off the cotton sundress with the many buttons and put on a pair of navy sweat pants and a pink t-shirt. No point in making the wife think I was after her husband. Why had Joel told me he was divorced? Why had he flirted with me? Did I read the signals all wrong? Was he just using me? And, most embarrassing of all, did he realize that the best way to manipulate me was through my lonely heart?

  I strolled down to Joel’s office, only a few blocks from my apartment, thinking these dark thoughts and also keeping an eye out for him. Maybe he was on his way. Maybe he was just late. Maybe he would tell me that he was really interested in me and that he was planning to leave his wife. Yeah, right!

  I climbed the steps to the front porch of the wooden home that contained Joel’s office. The front door was locked but there was a light on in the window in Joel’s office. I knocked but got no answer. I went around to the back but that door was locked as well. So I sat on the front steps, breathing in the faintly yeasty scent of the pale pink dog roses that were blooming in terraced rows in the sloping front yard.

  A silver Lexus pulled up and parked in front of the building. Facing the wrong way and on the wrong side of the street. A woman got out, one of those long, lean, graceful women that make me feel all awkward and soft and squishy. She wore a pair of jeans that fit like a glove and a turquoise silk blouse that accentuated her startlingly blue-green eyes. Her hair was dark but straight and smooth. It had been expertly cut on the slant so the tips brushed against her collar bone as she moved. She was gorgeous and stylish, the perfect wife for a successful lawyer.

  “Rachel?” she said, as she reached the top of the steps. She looked me over. OK, so I didn’t look that good. I wasn’t trying to look good. Of course, I didn’t look very professional either. Maybe I should have worn a pants suit. Not that I own such a thing.

  I stood up. “Sara, I presume.” We shook hands. She fumbled in her purse for a set of keys, then fumbled some more to find the right one.

  “I never use these,” she said, as she fitted first one key, then another into the lock. “Joel just thought I should have a spare set. He’s always losing his keys. I tell him he would lose his head if it weren’t attached.”

  “You said you’ve been married for twenty-five years.”

  She gave me a sideways glance. “Yes.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  She smiled, a secret smile. “We met in college. Sophomore year. He sat beside me in Philosophy class. I knew from the moment we met that we would get married. It took him a little longer to figure that out.”

  The lock clicked and the knob turned.

  “Joel?” Sara stepped inside the lobby, which was dim, only a little light filtering in from
outside through the blinds. I fumbled for the light switch which I found on the wall beside the door. There was a funny smell in the air. Like something burnt. Like spent fireworks.

  Sara obviously knew her way around the office. She headed up the stairs while I poked my head into the kitchen. I still thought Joel might be there, that he might need time to frame some excuse for our meeting.

  I heard her footsteps on the floor above and her calling his name. I heard the door open and then I heard her scream.

  And then she screamed again.

  I’ve never heard anything like it. I never want to hear anything like it again.

  At first I thought she had found Joel with another woman and I dashed up the stairs. But then I realized it was the scream of someone in agony, not in outrage. When I reached the top of the stairs, I could see into Joel’s office.

  He was sitting in a chair, wearing a red shirt, facing the wall, not paying any attention to his weeping wife, who had thrown her arms around him. And then, as I took a step closer, I realized he was not sitting in the chair. He was bound to it with white plastic zip ties. And his shirt had been white before it was covered with his blood. His sightless eyes stared at the wall instead of his wife because he could no longer see or respond to anything. Joel Friedman was dead.

  Chapter 30

  Joel Friedman

  Sara warned Joel about Ellie Foley early on.

  “That girl is nothing but trouble,” she had said. Joel blamed it on jealousy. And he tried to reassure Sara that she had nothing to worry about. He and Sara had been inseparable since they first met in a philosophy class during their sophomore year at the University of Washington. He noticed the shy girl with the straight, brown hair and big eyes. She noticed the curly-headed boy who always challenged the professor’s opinions.

  By junior year they were living together and by senior year they were married. Sara got pregnant right away so Joel could get a hardship exemption if his number came up in the lottery. She still managed to finish her degree, giving birth to their son Jason a few days after graduation. Sara was like that—always practical. She planned to get a degree in Education over the next five years so when Jason was ready for kindergarten, she could have the same schedule he did.

  Joel wanted to help the defense lawyers working on the Ellie Foley trial. He was tired of meetings and rallies. He wanted to make a difference in the world. The ambitious plans of Ellie’s young lawyer, Marty Stern, impressed him. He quickly got involved in the development of the trial strategy and Marty told him he would make a good lawyer. He switched his major from English literature to law and found he loved his classes: the research so like a treasure hunt, the puzzles to be solved, the way words could be used to tell a story that would cast doubt on the version constructed by the prosecution. It was like a game, but a game with real consequences.

  Joel was inspired by Ellie Foley as well. She had a certain charisma, a lot of confidence, a mind like a steel trap and an acerbic wit. She was not like any woman he had ever met. Certainly not like Sara, who was gentle, and patient, and loving. Ellie was like a power source. She created energy (and drama) wherever she went. She was easily irritated by fools and could fly off the handle at a moment’s notice.

  At the time, he blamed a lot of that on Ellie’s pregnancy. It seemed she had just gotten pregnant as a strategic move, thinking a jury was less likely to send a pregnant woman to prison. He wondered if she would be a good mother. She seemed too self-centered, too impatient. But when Sky was born, just a few weeks after Jason, he saw that childbirth changed Ellie, just as it had Sara. Just as it had changed him.

  So Joel was outraged when Ellie was convicted and then sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. He felt guilty as well. So did Marty. They worked endlessly on a series of appeals. But the tragedy of the situation got to them. Marty gradually withdrew, spending less and less time on the case. Joel stepped up his efforts, and visited Ellie in prison religiously, often once a week. Sara objected to these visits, especially when she got pregnant for a second time. She said his role in Ellie’s life was over. But he couldn’t let his first client down. That’s how he thought of Ellie. His first client. They filed appeals together.

  Ellie didn’t ever give up. It was something he admired about her. She studied law while in prison and often had good suggestions for him. She started teaching some of the women who were illiterate how to read. She flirted with him but as far as he could tell, she flirted with everyone. He didn’t object. Flirting was harmless. His marriage was solid. By the time he was thirty, he and Sara had been married for eight years and had two kids: Jason and Jennifer. Sara had managed to finish her degree and was working at the pre-school run by Marty’s wife.

  It wasn’t the flirting that bothered Sara anyway. It was the intrigue. At one point, Ellie used him as a go-between with SDS. She was hoping they could spring her out of prison like they did Timothy Leary. That plan fell through. Sara said, “I told you so.”

  So he didn’t tell her about the next deal. This came from an entirely unexpected source: the FBI. They wanted to get Ellie released early so she could infiltrate Weevil, the cadre of radicals who had kidnapped the Stanton heiress. Ellie refused at first. She wasn’t going to be a snitch. But the FBI kept offering her incentives. The one that finally persuaded her: they would reunite her with her daughter, Sky, who had been in foster care since birth.

  Of course, if Sara had known about this, she would have been indignant. She would have argued that it was irresponsible to combine membership in a violent radical organization with caring for a five year old child. Joel had his own concerns. But he understood Ellie’s longing. This was her one chance to see her daughter and she was willing to risk it all.

  The negotiations went back and forth for months. The FBI proposed visitation only but Ellie rejected that; she thought it would make it too easy for her involvement with the FBI to be exposed. There was talk of faking an escape from jail but that would make her a fugitive, and while that might endear her to the Weevil folks, she would be at risk of arrest from law enforcement. Joel wished he could have talked over the details with his mentor, Marty, but Marty had given up on criminal defense and was working in the much more lucrative field of divorce.

  In the end, it all happened rather quietly. Ellie was released after a rigged parole board hearing. The reunion with her daughter was heart-wrenching. The child was brought into the office of the Department of Health and Social Services, where she was introduced to the stranger who was her mother. Sky was a little red-head, like her mother, but with curly hair and big brown eyes and freckles, dressed in green corduroy overalls and a pink blouse. She was bewildered: by her new situation, and her new name (her foster parents had called her Shannon). Joel felt sorry for her as she was carried out of the office by Ellie who was beaming with delight. What would become of the child? How would Ellie negotiate her entry into the Weevil organization?

  None of that was his concern, he told himself. She was in the hands of the FBI. They had arranged a series of code names and passwords and contact points so that Ellie could report to them. And they threatened to swoop down and take Sky away and lock Ellie back up unless she met their conditions.

  Curiously life was not as interesting after Ellie was off the radar. He missed his weekly visits to the women’s prison in Gig Harbor. He missed their conversations where they would bat different legal options and cases back and forth. He credited her for helping him win some of his thorniest cases.

  Because of his contacts at the FBI, he began handling other cases where defendants needed help negotiating with the FBI. Pretty soon, that was his specialty. There were plenty of cases. The information about Cointelpro was surfacing: how the FBI had manufactured feuds between various radical groups with false rumors and fake letters. They had sown seeds of distrust between husband and wife by sending letters warning of fictitious affairs. There was plenty for Joel to do, representing these litigants, including the family of a black man, Aaro
n Jackson, who was killed in Seattle by the police after an FBI informant gave him a bomb to plant at the office of a realtor who was known for his discriminatory rental practices. He won a substantial payoff in that case, but the man was still dead and the family falling apart.

  All the time, he wondered what was happening with Ellie and Sky. Were they happy? Where were they living? Was she maintaining her end of the bargain? Had she infiltrated Weevil? He had been told to stay away from her by the FBI. They were afraid he would blow her cover. But Sara saw her sometimes. Sky attended the day care where she was working. Sara did not approve of Ellie as a mother. Sky would show up with uncombed hair. Sky wore dirty, ragged clothes. Sky would not show up for days at a time and no one could find Ellie. Then one day they’d be back and Ellie would explain blithely to the staff that they had gone out of town for a little vacation. Sky told stories about being on a farm and finding kittens in a barn. That’s as much as Joel knew about her activities.

  He never told Sara about the deal with the FBI. He suspected Ellie was working her way into Weevil. Perhaps that’s where she was on the days when she and Sky vanished. The police and the FBI were still apparently unable to locate the group. They got communiqués which claimed responsibility for several robberies (Weevil called it “liberating bread”) but apparently they still had no leads on the group’s headquarters or much information about its members.

  Then the Mutual Bank robbery and Ellie was in the news again. Joel was ordered to appear at the Federal Building downtown, an ominous brown tower, which contained the headquarters for the IRS and the FBI. He was grilled for days about his knowledge of Ellie’s whereabouts. He simply answered that he had no idea.

  He didn’t have any idea.

  He was shocked by the news. That she had left Sky behind. That she had escaped. He couldn’t believe she had abandoned her daughter. Ellie must be dead. Perhaps she had been shot in the robbery and gotten away, only to die later. He imagined her crawling under a bush in some park, unable to seek medical attention, bleeding to death. For months every phone call, every knock on the door, he thought it might be her.