by G. M. Ford
28
"Those are the oatfields."
"What are they doing here?"
"They just got through with your insurance agent."
"Why? Do I know them?"
"You ran over their television set."
"I did?"
"Yes, you did."
"Don't tell me." ,
"It was in their living room," Rebecca volunteered. I winced. "My car?"
"Toast," she said, tossing me a white plastic bag. "That's what's left from the car. The tow truck driver gave it to me."
"And all the suits?"
"You know very well what the suits are." "They can't all be cops." "Wanna bet?" "Wadda they want?"
"In a word, Leo—you. They want you. Jed's kept them at bay for thirty-six hours, but the jig is up."
"Tell them I'm still delirious."
"They assigned that Dr. Loftus to you before I got here. Officially, you're his patient. He's declared you fit as a fiddle. There's nothing I can do. Are you ready?"
"No."
"Good. I'll send them in."
They filed in, ten strong. Two Staties in uniform. Two plainclothes from King County. Two more uniforms from Issaquah. Two Portland detectives, a lonesome-looking Idaho State Police sergeant, and a guy in a blue suit who didn't bother to introduce himself.
Jed immediately took the offensive.
"Gentlemen," he began, after hand-shaking and card-swapping was over. "It must be understood at the outset that my client Mr. Waterman, like any public-spirited citizen, is anxious to cooperate in any way possible with any and all duly empowered law enforcement officials." Before they could comment, he held up a single finger and continued, "It must also be noted, however, that his cooperation must in no way compromise his constitutional guarantees regarding self-incrimination.
"In other words, if we don't guarantee not to charge him with anything, he's not going to tell us a thing.
"That is, I suppose, a somewhat crude but nonetheless accurate translation of the spirit of the statement."
"That's a yes," I offered.
The younger of the two Issaquah cops, neatly shaved head glinting in the harsh overhead lights, took immediate issue. "Wait a minute, here. We've got your client dead to rights for reckless endangerment, reckless driving, DWI, destruction of private property, vehicular assault, and failure to provide proof of insurance. This maniac destroyed a house, for gosh sake. You think we're gonna roll over on all of that?"
"Life is a system of tradeoffs," Jed assured him.
The Statie with all the stripes jumped in. "I have been authorized to waive all charges in return for complete cooperation."
"Not by the city of Issaquah, you haven't,"
Jed sauntered over to the door and pulled it open.
"Tell you what, fellas, you guys work out your
jurisdictional problems and then get back to us.
Okay?"
The Oatfieids still sat stone-silent in the hall as the cops filed out.
"Why all the different cops?"
"Good question," Jed said. "That's why we're standing mute until we get a guarantee. I have no idea what they all want. What's for sure is that if the state is willing to deal, they must figure they've got bigger fish to fry. Besides that, the guy in the blue suit smells of Club Fed to me."
"What's the Issaquah cop so worked up about?"
"He's still pissed off about what a good time you were having when they arrived. He claims you kept hugging him and insisting he do a commercial for The Club."
"I was delirious."
"What else is new?"
When they came back in, Blue Suit did all the talking.
"Agreed," he said as he came through the door. This time, however, instead of slouching in the corner, he came over to the left side of the bed. He handed me several pieces of paper, folded once down the center. "Have you seen this before?" he asked.
He was about fifty, with thick brown hair without a tinge of gray, combed in the Ronald Reagan Bob's Big Boy style, so thin and fit it looked like he was sucking in his cheeks. His hands showed the work of a professional manicurist.
I flipped the pages open. "It's a copy of a report I gave to my client."
"Mrs. Henry Sundstrom."
"Yes." -
"To the best of your knowledge, is the information accurate?"
"What's this, the Ollie North hour?"
He shot Jed an exasperated look. Jed passed it over to me.
"Okay. To the best of my knowledge, yes it is."
Jed came over to the right side of my bed, "Quid pro quo, gentlemen. Before we go any further, why don't you give us some idea about why so many jurisdictions are interested in this matter?"
"We believe that we may have a pattern of crime here that crosses state boundaries. We sent a copy of this report out over the regional wire yesterday morning. We got some very unexpected results. Several local jurisdictions"—-he nodded at the other cops— "have open files, some as old as ten years, in which the crimes are similar and the suspect meets this Terra Hasu's general description."
"Which explains your presence," Jed said pointedly.
Blue Suit ignored him. "King County had already been called to the scene. As a matter of fact, they arrived before Issaquah."
"Called by whom?" Jed asked.
Blue Suit cast a glance at the two King County detectives. The shorter of the two pulled a notepad from his pocket and flipped through the pages. "We got a call at seven forty-two from a Saasha Kennedy."
"Why would Kennedy call the King County Police?" I asked.
"Ms. Kennedy, whom I believe you had spoken with earlier in the day-—" He waited for confirmation. I let him wait. "Ms. Kennedy, in the course of collecting information about Mountainview Recovery, happened to ask the computer system for a list of other patients."
"And." I prompted.
"There were no other patients."
"None?"
"Nary a one."
Blue Suit took the lead again. "Quite rightly, this raised some serious red flags for a mental health professional like Ms. Kennedy. She acted appropriately and called it in."
"I don't understand," I said.
The other King County dick stepped forward and held a picture in front of my face. A bit heavier, a bit younger, but that lopsided look was not something I was soon going to forget.
"Have you ever seen this woman?" Blue Suit asked.
"Dr. Lila Dawson," I said without hesitation.
The cops exchanged "I told you so" looks.
"Actually," Blue Suit said, "Claire Ellen Hasu."
"Who?"
"The woman in the picture."
"You're shitting me. She's—" I stammered.
"Gone," said Blue Suit. "All that's left up there now are four illegal Panamanians, one with a fractured skull, one needing some serious dental work. None of them has word one to say." He hesitated for effect. "We also found a woman under heavy sedation in the security section. We ran her prints. You want to guess?"
"Dr. Lila Dawson."
"Touchdown," he said, slightly raising his hands. "We'll know more if and when the doctors can bring her around. Right now, they're not promising anything. They think she's been kept under for the better part of a month. Could be permanent brain damage."
"Jesus," Jed muttered.
Before I could digest this information, Blue Suit took over.
"It looks like somebody bought the damn hospital, hired a director, the staff, jumped through all the state hoops, just so they could transfer the Hasu woman into it."
"How could that happen?" I asked.
He got defensive. "It was a real treatment center, that's how. Mountainview has been there for twenty years. It's not like this was some fly-by-night operation. Whoever did this had their shit together. They bought the place. The administrator was credentialed. The hospital was accredited. Claire Hasu was their first patient since they reopened. Think about it. Every hospital has to have a first patient.
She was it. In this case, however, she was also their last patient."
"They were on their way up the road too," said the first King County cop. "We think the only holdup was coming up with some identity paperwork for the older Hasu woman. Our forensics guys found a partially burned envelope in the fireplace from the Pacific County Bureau of Vital Statistics. We think she got her hands on a birth certificate. Whose, we don't know. With a birth certificate and a few weeks, you can become just about anybody you want to be. We're checking with Social Security and DMV now."
"Then you came knocking on the door," said Statie with stripes, "and seriously gummed up the works."
I sat up in the bed, stuffing pillows behind me for support.
"This is classic government work," I said. "The inmates end up running the asylum, and nobody's at fault."
"The people in Longview sent her up in their own ambulance. There was no breach of security on their end. We've interviewed the crew. According to them, Ms. Hasu was responding well to her medication. Talking to the crew. Excited about a change in scenery. Quite pleasant, according to
them. They were met by Dr. Dawson, two Hispanic orderlies, and the family. Dr. Dawson herself signed her in." "The family?"
"A daughter. In her thirties. We've got an artist down at Longview with the EMT who did the driving. We'll come up with—"
"Don't bother," I said. I pulled the manila folder out of the plastic bag on the bed and handed him a composite of Allison Stark. "Show that to them. See what they say."
"And you figure the switch happened right then?" asked Jed.
"That's what we're postulating. We figure no sooner was the Hampton ambulance out of sight then the real Dr. Dawson found herself under lock and key in the security wing."
"What do you figure they had in mind for the doctor?" I asked.
"Maybe they just leave her there with the Panamanians," said the Statie with all the stripes.
"Or—if you take the whole thing one step further—" said Blue Suit, "what could happen next is that poor Claire Hasu dies suddenly; the state gets notified; the remains get properly buried, and the two of them are home free. Nobody is even looking for them."
"Jesus," Jed repeated. "So, either way, as soon as she had her paperwork together, mother and daughter were going to just disappear."
"That's how it looks," said Blue Suit.
"Any leads?" I asked.
"We've got public transportation covered. Nothing there yet. We'll get them. It just may take a while. But fortunately, Mr. Waterman, that's not going to be your problem any more."
Blue Suit sat on the edge of the bed. "We want you
to know that we appreciate the job you've done. Without you this might never have come to light. You did a heck of a job."
He patted my arm twice, nodded at Jed, and then led the procession from the room.
Rebecca caught the door just before it swung shut and stepped inside.
"Loverboy here just skated on enough charges to keep him inside for thirty years," Jed announced.
"Thanks to you," she said.
"Gotta go," said Jed. "See if you can stay out of trouble, will ya?" I told him I'd try.
"Dr. Loftus has released you as of five o'clock," Duvall said when he'd gone.
"Where's my stuff?" I asked.
"Your clothes are in the closet."
I threw my feet over the side of the bed. Even before touching down, I could tell that I was sore all over. I hobbled over to the closet and retrieved my clothes.
Rebecca caught me up, while I struggled to dress. "You made the papers again. Section two. Page one." "Cheap advertising." "Carl called."
"What, pray tell, did Carl have to say?"
"He said he never wants to hear any shit about his driving again."
Pushing my second arm through the sleeve pulled a deep groan from me. I rested before starting on the buttons.
"Your cousin Paul called."
"Let me guess; he still expects me for lunch on Wednesday."
"On the money, honey. Also, the usual assortment of other Watermans called the hospital, checking on your condition."
"And you gave them the usual round of thanks."
"Yes, I did. And"—she crossed the room and pulled a piece of paper from her raincoat pocket— "Saasha Kennedy called me at home this morning. She was concerned that you were going to be upset with her for calling the police."
"Tell her not to worry. If anything, she may have saved my ass. God knows what might have happened if the County Mounties hadn't showed up right after I hit the house."
"Good. I'll call her this afternoon. She'll be relieved." Duvall unfolded the paper. "She wanted me to pass something on to you. It was complicated, so I took some notes." She began to read. "At the time of Claire Hasu's commitment, there were three minor children. Terra, who was seventeen. We know about her. There also was a son named Anthony, who was fifteen at the time. Anthony, as nearly as Saasha could find out, is alive and well, working as a roofer somewhere in Southern California."
I was working on tying my shoes when I suddenly grew numb.
"The youngest was six. Moderately handicapped. A little girl named Norma." "Whoa," I said. "Norma?" "That's what she said." "There's a Norma Hasu?"
"No. Different last name. All the kids had different last names. Anthony was a Runyon. Norma's last name was"—she spelled it—"W-u-r-t-h-o-v-e-r. Wurthover."
"Whatever," I mumbled.
"Isn't that the name of the girl your friend Heck thought was on board with his son?" "Sure is."
"Surely she wouldn't—" Duvall went back to reading. "Norma Wurthover graduated from a job-training program in Bothell three months ago. Right after that,
she moved out of her group home in Kenmore. DSHS hasn't heard from her since." Rebecca checked the back of the paper. "That's it." "Damn," I said.
"Not a sister," Rebecca said. "It must be a coincidence. Nobody would do that to a sister."
"Messes hell out of your family-values theory, doesn't it?"
"Why would she do that? Give me one good reason."
"I'll tell you what I think happened," I said. "After she graduated from that job program, I think Norma became a serious fly in the old ointment. I think she asked the Social Services people where her mother was, and I think they told her. Unless I'm mistaken, she made her way out to Mountainview and paid old Mom a visit."
"You're making this up."
"Norma told a woman at the marina that she'd seen her momma and that her momma was all better now and had a real important job."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
"Why kill the poor thing?"
"I'm betting that somebody who plans out every little detail like Allison Stark is not going to want a loose cannon like Norma wandering around running off at the mouth. Besides that, having parts of two bodies recovered only made things easier."
Duvall looked sick.
I fought off a wave of dizziness as I tied my other shoe.
"You don't look so good. Maybe you should lie down," she said. "Let's get out of here."
"You are going to butt out of this, aren't you?" "I don't have any choice. If I knew where they were, I'd sure as hell go after them. But I don't, so that's
that. Things are at the APB manhunt stage of things. They could be anywhere. That's what the cops do best. Let's get out of here."
29
"Take the Lakeview Boulevard exit," I said.
Rebecca jerked the Miata hard to the right, swerving out of the mouth of the Mercer exit, forcing her way across all five lanes just in time to dive off at Lakeview.
"You should go home."
"I want to check on the Boys."
"You're on foot, remember."
"I left that van I borrowed in the Boys' driveway. I'll drive it."
"The house or the Zoo?"
"I paid them yesterday."
Four full-dress Harleys were backed in on the downhill side of Lynn when Rebecca let
me out next to the Zoo.
"Thanks for the ride," I said. "I'll call you later." She handed me the white plastic bag. "Don't forget your car." "How thoughtful of you." "Don't mention it."
I pulled open the battered door and stepped into the darkness. The aged bar that ran down the right side was full. Four ancient bikers occupied the stools closest to the door. The Boys were playing snooker on the huge six-by-twelve-foot table in the back. I made it all the way to the table before they noticed me.
"It's Evel Knievel," bellowed Harold.
The noise startled George, who got so far under the cue ball he lofted it completely over the rail and onto the floor, where it began bumping over the uneven planks toward the back room. Harold gave chase.
"Jesus Christ. What in hell?" Then he saw me. "Leo," he said. "It's Lazarus come back from the dead."
"Did ya really waste a whole house?" asked Ralph.
"As I understand it, it was just the family room."
He seemed disappointed. Norman, the Speaker, Earlene, Maryland a short Asian guy who seemed to think he knew me appeared out of the darkness to hear the story and offer congratulations on a job well done.
"I get another shot," said George. "No way," howled Ralph, waving the ball. "You scratched."
"Bullshit," George shot back. "How in hell am I supposta—"
Tuning them out, I lugged myself up onto one of the tall stools surrounding the table and flopped the bag up onto the counter. I dumped it out and began to paw through the dusty contents. The folder full of Carl's composites. The last four registrations. One eight-track tape—Moby Grape. Two old Les Schwab tire guarantees. Three partially melted cough drops. Heck's green bag of receipts. Three petrified french fries. A pair of sunglasses with one lens. A dollar forty-seven in change and a road map of Montana.
The little Asian guy appeared at my elbow holding a pool cue. He was wearing a soiled blue-and-white baseball cap with a peeling silhouette of the Space Needle on the front. One of those cheap foam jobs, the crown several inches too tall. It made him look like a TV bass fisherman, Billy-Bob Fung. Grinning maniacally, he clapped me on the back. His eyes were clouded and unfocused. He kept on grinning until I looked up, at which point he scrambled back across the room to Earlene and Mary.
