Alex emerged from the house in a green terrycloth robe and matching slippers, his remaining threads of gray hair slicked straight back. His glasses fogged so much that he took them off, squinting when Gage rolled down the window.
"It's a nice look on you," Gage said.
"Not everyone looks good in boxers and a white t-shirt, buddy."
"I prefer briefs, actually."
"I prefer that you keep that information to yourself," Alex said.
"What do I owe you for the room and board?" Gage asked.
"Don't be an arse," Alex said. He rubbed the glasses on his robe and slipped them back on his face. "You want her to stay here to tonight?"
Zoe snorted. Gage ignored her.
"If you wouldn't mind," Gage said.
"No problem. Our house can always use a bit of teenage angst. You want me to pick her up from school?"
"I'm not, like seven," Zoe said. "I can get a ride over here."
"You heard the lady," Gage said. "Just for a day or two more. Until I get this thing sorted out."
Alex nodded. His expression turned sympathetic. "I am very sorry about what happened to Angela. No matter how long it's been, that must be hard."
"Can you do me a favor?" Gage asked. "Can you find out everything you can from your FBI computer thingy about these nutcases?"
"Your wish is my command. Swing by the shop when you get back from Eugene and we'll talk. Should have something by then."
"Okay. By the way, I really do like that color on you. The green brings out your eyes."
With a roll of the eyes, Alex retreated into his house. Zoe didn't say anything until they were back on the highway. They got stuck behind a mammoth motor home doing twenty on the highway, the octogenarian drivers apparently oblivious to the two dozen cars lined up behind them, more than a few sharing their frustration by testing out their horns. The ocean looked strangely dappled, like raindrops on a coating of ash.
"Was there a lot of blood?" she asked.
"What? Oh. Yes, unfortunately, there was."
She stared ahead for a moment, saying nothing. Her pauses were always long enough that Gage started to lose the conversational thread, his mind drifting to other things.
"Could I see the body?" she asked.
"Um, no. No, I don't think so."
"I wouldn't take pictures or anything."
"I'm afraid the police would frown on it."
"Okay."
She was quiet again. The motor home finally pulled into an empty gravel lot. More than a few drivers clapped. Gage turned off the highway at the outlet mall, heading up the road to the high school, past all the little houses with their neatly-trimmed lawns. A line of cars with childless parents were coming toward them, their passengers already released into the custody of Oregon's educational system. He could tell the drivers were parents of teenagers by the absolute relief on their faces.
"You're going to Eugene, huh?" she piped up suddenly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I think so."
"Because of this dead woman?"
"Yes."
"You doing your detective thing or something?"
"Most likely."
"Huh."
Gage couldn't tell if that was a sound of approval or disapproval. He knew she was a big fan of Loren Sparrow. He wondered if he should tell her that's who he was going to see. It probably wasn't a good idea. She might want to come, a sort of fan girl thing, and that might make questioning Sparrow more complicated. He might be asking the man some very uncomfortable questions.
"Maybe—maybe I could come," Zoe said.
He glanced at her, wondering if she already knew who he was going to see. She was still staring forward like a Goth statue.
"Oh?" he said.
"I mean, not if you don't want me to," she said.
"I'm just surprised," Gage said. "Why would you want to come?"
She shrugged. "Been thinking about college. Maybe University of Oregon would be cool. They have stuff I'm interested in."
"Yeah? What kind of stuff?"
"Just stuff."
"Ah. Well, I don't know. I mean, you'd be missing school."
She rolled her eyes.
"And I'm not sure how much time I'll have to spend at the university," Gage said.
"I was thinking you could drop me off on the campus. I could hang there and you could come back and get me when you're done with your detective thing."
"Hmm. Leaving you alone on campus. I don't know."
For the first time since she'd gotten in the car, she turned and faced him—giving him a real doozy of an expression, the sort of thing meant to show him that he was, in fact, the dumbest person on the planet. "Come on," she said. "I'm like seventeen years old, Garrison. Some people are on their own by then. I think I can handle a few hours at a big university."
They arrived at the school. He pulled into one of the temporary spots, putting the van in park and letting the engine run. A couple long-haired skateboarders rolling toward the entrance saw his van and gave him a big grinning thumbs up.
He was having a hard time seeing a way out of this without making things worse with her. And what was the harm, really? She'd probably be safer on the University of Oregon campus, where Bruzzi wouldn't be looking for her. It meant spending a couple hours in the car with her, which, while it would probably be excruciating torture, might also defrost their relationship a little.
"Well," he said. "It's an idea."
"Like I said, if you don't want me to . . ."
"No, no, I'm just . . . Okay."
"Okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah. But you have to promise not to leave campus. And to be where I tell you to be when you're supposed to be there."
She rolled her eyes again. "Whatever."
"You got to promise."
"All right, all right, I promise and everything."
He studied her, trying to see if she was lying, but it was impossible to know with Zoe. She seemed sincere. She even seemed a little excited by the whole thing. That was new.
"All right, then," he said, putting the van in reverse. "Got to swing by Carmen's office first real quick, then we'll hit the road."
"Wait," she said.
He hit the brake. "What? Change your mind?"
"You can't just leave."
"I can't?"
She sighed. "You got to go inside first and explain to them you're taking me on a field trip to a college I might attend. They need the parent's approval. I can't just, like, leave and not tell them. You have to give them the say-so it's okay."
"Oh. Right. Wait here. I'll be right back."
Gage was smiling as he headed for the school, not even caring someone might see him limping along with his cane. Considering how many absences she'd been racking up lately, he was a little amused at her concern for needing the school's permission to go with him, but that wasn't the main reason he was smiling.
He was smiling because she'd referred to him as her parent. And she hadn't even rolled her eyes when she'd said it.
Chapter 9
They'd driven for nearly an hour, heading south on Highway 101, then most of the way to I-5 east on US-20, before Zoe said another word. When he'd come out of Carmen's office with a manila folder chock-full of articles about the God's Wrath killings, Gage had worried about what he'd say when Zoe asked what was in it, but she had her iPod ear buds on and hadn't even bothered to open her eyes when he got in the van. He was starting to wonder if actually having a conversation with her that lasted more than a minute had been a far-fetched idea when she suddenly pulled out the ear buds.
"How much father?" she asked.
They'd passed over the coastal range and out of the green tunnel of Douglas firs, the gray skies had opened up and drizzled on them, but as they approached Albany and the I-5 junction, the rain was gone and the skies were clearing. The clouds were still gray. There just weren't as many of them.
"About halfway," he said. "Tired of music?"
"Nah, power j
ust ran out."
"Ah."
They rode in silence, veering onto the freeway entrance ramp. His van's engine whined in protest as they picked up speed. Fifty-five was hard enough for it. Sixty-five was a real struggle. He tried to think of something to say to Zoe. She beat him to the punch, but the road noise was much worse at the higher speed and he asked her to repeated it.
"So this chick," she tried again, sounding exasperated, "you, like, dated her in high school or something?"
"Something like that."
"This was in Kentucky, where you're from?"
"Montana, actually. You could get killed in Montana by comparing them to Kentucky."
"Was she like a secret crush? Were you like in love with her?"
"Wow, that's really getting personal."
She shrugged. "I was just curious, that's all."
Gage didn't really want to talk about the nature of his relationship with Angela Wellman, but he also recognized the opportunity it gave him to connect with Zoe. He decided to take a chance. "All right," he said. "She was my teacher. We had a little bit of an affair."
That got the most genuine reaction out of Zoe he'd seen in weeks. She stared at him, her mouth agape. He wished he had a camera. Then he could take her picture and blackmail her with it. She'd never want the world to know she was actually capable of making that expression.
"Wow!" she exclaimed.
"Surprised, huh?"
"A teacher! Was she like your sex-ed teacher?"
"Biology, actually."
Zoe laughed. "Awesome! How much older was she than you?"
For the next few minutes, Gage answered her questions. He drew the line at where they'd actually "done it," as Zoe so eloquently put it, but otherwise he didn't hold much back. She gobbled it up like a chocoholic who'd discovered a secret stash of Hershey's candy bars.
"Okay, my turn," Gage said.
"What?"
"You got to ask me some questions. Now I get to ask you a few."
It wasn't quite a smile he got from her, more of the cousin of a smirk, but he did get a reaction. "I don't remember signing up for this."
"Too bad. Since we're on the subject of boyfriends and girlfriends, how serious are you about this Mike guy?"
She shrugged. He could already sense the temperature in the car dropping a few degrees.
"Come on," he prodded gently, "I answered yours."
"He's okay," she said.
Her gaze drifted to the window. He was losing her. He had to do something to get her back.
"Marriage material?" he said.
It worked. She snapped her head back around.
"Jesus, no!" she exclaimed.
"Just wondering."
"I'm like seventeen! I'm not thinking like that. Nobody seventeen is—at least nobody with a brain. I want to do something with my life. Not just—you know, pop out babies and stuff."
"You don't like babies?" Gage said.
"I didn't say that. Just not right now. Maybe down the road, you know, when I'm thirty or something. I have a lot of stuff to do. And not with Mikey—no way."
"If he's so bad, why hang out with him? Is it just for his hair cut?"
"I didn't say he was bad either. He's just—you know, somebody to be with right now."
"Wow, somebody to be with," Gage said. "You make it sound so romantic."
She wrinkled her nose. It was a cute gesture, even with the nose stud. "Romantic is overrated. That's for Hallmark cards and poetry books."
"You're probably right. Still, he must have some positive qualities."
She shrugged. "He doesn't say much."
"That's it?"
"It is if you just want somebody to listen."
"Is he listening or just not saying much?"
"What's the difference?"
Now it was Gage's turn to shrug. He tried to make it a good one, but he couldn't quite put as much gusto into it as she did. She was a real master at the shrug. He wondered if they offered a class in it at the high school.
"Why do you want to know anyway?" she asked.
"Just curious. Want to make sure he's treating you all right."
"Oh, he slaps me around a little, a few punches, but I can take it."
He glanced at her.
"I'm only joking!" she said. "Geez! What's it with you? He's just a guy, okay? He's kind of slow but he's not violent or anything. What do you care, anyway?"
"Well," Gage said, "if he was actually beating you up, I'd have to shoot him in the head with my Beretta."
He said it with complete conviction, so it was no surprise that she didn't answer.
* * * * *
Traffic on the Interstate seemed heavy for mid-day on a Thursday, but then Gage didn't get out to the Willamette Valley enough to really know. He tried to parlay the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation into a more general discussion about the future, but that went nowhere. She brought out the shrug in full force. He figured maybe he'd exceeded his teenager conversation quota for the time being and it would be best to try again on the way home. He was certainly nowhere close to talking about what she went through with the abduction the previous winter. At this rate, he might never get there.
It rained when they reached Eugene, a light drizzle that lasted a few minutes. The University of Oregon was a picturesque campus, a mixture of old, Gothic-style buildings covered in ivy, and sleeker, more modern architecture with lots of glass and steel. A big school but not many students around—he guessed they were already on winter break. He stopped next to the student union, a big brick building with sweeping concrete walkways out front. Zoe had her hand on the door knob before he'd even come to a complete stop.
"All right," he said, "you remember what you promised."
She rolled her eyes. She was only slightly less expert at the eye roll than the shoulder shrug.
"Sure," she said. "I've got to be back here by two o'clock. And no leaving campus. No going where there aren't people. Hold hands when crossing the street."
"Oh, almost forgot." He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out Carmen's cell phone, which he handed to Zoe. "Carmen wanted you to borrow this. "
Zoe slipped it into her backpack. "Okay. Not sure how I'm supposed to call, though. It's not like you have one."
"You call Carmen at the office. If she's not there, call Alex. All their numbers are in the phone. If I'm trying to find you, I'll call them too."
"You want to write all this down?"
"Funny. Okay, then. I'll be back in a few hours. Don't make any new boyfriends. Mikey might be jealous."
With one last eye roll, she got out of the van. The cool air here had more bite than on the coast. Watching her trudge up the steps to the student union, he couldn't shake how old she looked. A few other students coming down passed her, and they seemed just like her. One of them even had a nose ring. There was a strange gnawing in his stomach and it wasn't because he was hungry.
When she reached the glass doors, she hesitated. He thought maybe she'd forgotten something. Then she turned and gave him an exaggerated wave and a smirk before disappearing inside.
The gesture was a bit over the top, thick with sarcasm and light on affection, but he didn't care.
She'd thought to wave to him. It made him happy.
* * * * *
By Oregon standards, the city of Eugene was fairly large, second after Portland, with over three hundred thousand people when all the bedroom communities were added to the total, but despite that Gage didn't think he'd have any trouble locating Loren Sparrow. He knew that Sparrow's lecture was scheduled for seven o'clock that evening at the Hult Center, the biggest performing arts facility in town. He also knew that Loren Sparrow was a man of refined tastes, meaning there was a limited number of hotels of his caliber in Eugene.
His first try was the Hilton, which was on 6th Avenue right next to the sprawling Hult center and within spitting distance of Skinner's Butte, the little mountain that overlooked the city. It turned out to be a good
guess.
"I need to speak to Loren Sparrow," he said to the clerk, not even waiting for her to look up from her computer. "It's an emergency regarding one of his employees."
The reception area was done in earth tones, shiny brown tiles, cream recessed ceilings, and soft lighting. It felt vaguely Mediterranean. The clerk was a pert blond in a white shirt and a black vest, and when she looked up he saw that she couldn't have been more than nineteen. The embroidered Hilton logo looked so vibrant that he doubted she'd worked at the hotel more than few months.
She looked at him, blinking rapidly. It was a real panicked expression, so panicked that he almost felt sorry for her. Until now she'd gone through life free as a bird and now she had to deal with him. He expected the usual rigmarole about not being able to confirm hotel guests, or some other kind of resistance, maybe to pass him off to her manager. He was surprised when she nodded.
"Oh," she said, swallowing hard. "I'm—I'm sorry to hear that. I can—Are you a police officer?" She seemed to remember herself a little. Her gaze shifted to his cane. She could see her thinking: A police officer? With a cane?
"Can you just call up to his room and tell him that I'm a friend of Angela Wellman?" Gage asked. "Tell him she came to see me last night in Barnacle Bluffs and it's urgent I talk to him."
She hesitated.
"Please," he said.
"I'm not sure he's even in, sir, but I guess—I guess I can call his room."
"That would be most helpful."
She picked up the phone and dialed. After a moment, she put it back down.
"I'm afraid he's not in," she said.
"Or he's not answering. Could you give me his room number?"
She turned pale. She was already so pale by nature that it was not a pretty sight.
"I don't know, sir. I—I guess I'd need you to talk to the manager for that."
"All right, get the manager then."
She nodded, then went back to the phone. There was a brief exchange.
"She's with a vendor, sir," she said. "But she said she'll be out in a few minutes."
A Desperate Place for Dying Page 9
