The Associate (12 page)

The rest of the message told him how to get to a country cottage near the Columbia Gorge. Daniel’s first reaction was that the message was a hoax engineered by Joe Molinari, but Daniel had heard Briggs’s voice enough to know that it was his ex-boss on the phone. Only the message did not make sense. Briggs hated him, and even if he didn’t, why would he need his help? He had partners, associates, and investigators galore. Daniel was a disgraced, disgruntled ex-employee—not exactly the person Briggs would be expected to call in an emergency. And why would Briggs want to meet miles out of town instead of in his office?

Daniel decided that there was only one way to discover if the call was genuine. He dialed Briggs’s office.

“Renee, it’s Daniel Ames.”

“Oh, Daniel, I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Is Mr. Briggs in?”

“No. He’s gone for the day. He’ll be here in the morning.”

Daniel thought for a moment.

“Mr. Briggs left a message on my answering machine. He said there was a new development in the Insufort case. He wanted to talk to me about it tonight. I’m supposed to meet him at a cottage off I-84 on the Columbia Gorge. Do you have any idea why he wants to see me or why he wants me to meet him at this cottage instead of his office?”

“No, but Arthur was excited about something today. This is a good sign, isn’t it? Maybe he’s going to rehire you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Daniel answered thoughtfully. “Look, if Mr. Briggs phones in would you ask him to call me?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Daniel hung up and called Kate, but she was not in. He leaned back and stared at the wall. What would he do if Briggs offered him his job back? He’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to work at the firm anymore, but did he really mean it? Working for Reed, Briggs had been his dream job.

Daniel made a decision. He wasn’t certain that he wanted his job back, but he did want to hear what Arthur Briggs had to say. And he was very curious about the new development in the Insufort case that Briggs had mentioned. Maybe he had convinced Briggs that there was something wrong with the drug and Briggs was now on his side. The only way to find out was to meet with the man who had just fired him.

Dr. Sergey Kaidanov huddled like a hunted animal in a copse of cottonwoods and watched the cottage as daylight faded. Kaidanov had not had a decent sleep since fleeing from the lab. A damp, uncombed beard covered the lower half of his face and his clothes looked a size too big on his emaciated frame. The woods were damp and the cruel wind blowing off the Gorge chilled the fugitive, but running for his life had inured Kaidanov to hardship and made him cunning and cautious. He was also desperate.

The newspapers said that someone had died in the lab. If it hadn’t been for the monkey, the police would have found two bodies. Then there was his escape in Las Vegas. His car had been parked in the shadows of the motel lot. He had been about to start it when another car driven by the same person who’d attacked him in the lab pulled into the space in front of his motel room. Kaidanov had watched until his pursuer was inside. He had only been a few blocks from the motel when he figured out that he must have been traced through his credit card. It took another moment to remember that he’d told the whore that he was taking an early flight. Kaidanov had skipped his flight and used his credit cards sparingly since Vegas, living on fast food and sleeping in his car. He smelled and he was unshaven, but he was still alive. After tonight, he might even be safe.

Headlights lit up the cottage. Moments later a Mercedes parked out front. Kaidanov checked his watch. It was 7:29. Arthur Briggs had arranged to meet him at 7:30 so they would have time to talk before Briggs’s associate arrived.

The lights went on in the cottage. Kaidanov scurried across the road. He’d checked out the cottage earlier and he knew that there was a back door. He made a wide circle around the house. There was a farm next to the cottage, but the land directly behind the house was heavily wooded. Kaidanov raced from the cover of a stand of trees and knocked on the back door. A moment later Arthur Briggs let him into a small kitchen.

“Dr. Kaidanov?” he asked.

The scientist nodded. “Do you have something to eat?” he asked. “I haven’t had any food since breakfast.”

“Certainly. There’s not much, but I can make you a sandwich.”

“Anything. A drink would help.”

Briggs motioned toward a kitchen table and started toward the refrigerator. As he passed the kitchen door Briggs saw someone enter the front room. He stopped, puzzled, then walked out of the kitchen. Kaidanov stood, tense as a startled deer. He heard Briggs say, “What are you doing here?” He was out of the back door before Briggs screamed, “Run!” and shots rang out.

Kaidanov plunged into the woods as the kitchen door slammed open. He had planned his escape route earlier and he never slowed. He could hear branches snap and the underbrush crackle behind him. He made a sharp turn and circled back toward his car, pausing briefly before racing on to make sure his pursuer kept going straight ahead. Through a gap in the trees, Kaidanov saw someone of average height dressed in a black windbreaker. A hood concealed the killer’s face, but there was no doubt in the Russian’s mind that this was the same person who tried to kill him at the lab.

Kaidanov had parked his car half a mile up a side road where it could not be seen from the street that ran in front of the cottage and could not be discovered without a thorough search. The engine started right away. Kaidanov left the headlights off until he was on the highway headed east. He had no idea where he was going. All he cared about was that he was still breathing.

I-84 runs along the Columbia Gorge and is one of the most scenic highways in the United States, but Daniel could barely see the magnificent vista created by the Columbia River and the high cliffs on either side of it because the sun had nearly set. Twenty minutes after leaving the city, he took an off-ramp and found himself on a two-lane road in sparsely populated countryside. After he had traveled two miles, he began to look for Starlight Road. The high beams of a speeding car blinded Daniel for a moment and he almost missed the street sign. Three-quarters of a mile later he spotted a modest cottage that was set back from the road.

A Mercedes, similar to one that Daniel had seen Arthur Briggs drive, was parked on the gravel driveway near the front door, but the house was dark. Daniel wondered why. He remembered the speeding car. Had it come from Starlight Road? He couldn’t remember. Daniel parked his car facing the road in case he had to get away in a hurry. He left the motor running and walked toward the cottage.

Daniel paused on the doorstep and listened, but he heard no sounds inside. The night air was cool and a wind whipped through the trees. Daniel hunched his shoulders against the chill and rapped on the front door. It swung open slightly.

“Mr. Briggs,” Daniel called into the dark interior. All he heard was the sigh of the wind. Daniel pushed the door open and was about to call out again when he saw someone stretched out on the floor. He knelt beside the body. It was Arthur Briggs. Blood had pooled around his ex-boss and Daniel was careful to avoid getting any of it on him. There was a bullet hole in Briggs’s forehead and two more entry wounds in his torso.

Daniel started to reach out for Briggs to check for a pulse when he heard a car driving toward the house and headlights lit up the front room. Daniel leaped to his feet and raced out of the house. The headlights swung in his direction, illuminating his face. Daniel flung up his arm to block the driver’s view and dove into his car, then he floored the accelerator and drove away like a madman.

Arthur Briggs was not the first murdered man Daniel had seen, but it had been years since his first encounter with violent death. Daniel was fifteen when he ran away from home for the second time. After two evenings of sleeping in doorways, he had spent his third night with two other runaways under the Broadway Bridge in an encampment created by the homeless. The sounds made by traffic passing overhead and the voices of the river were impossible to shut out, but most disturbing were the unfamiliar noises of the camp. Drunks wept softly and the insane raged at things others could not see. Daniel feared being beaten and robbed or worse, so he tried to stay awake. When he did nod off, the slightest noise near his bedroll would jerk him into full consciousness, knife in hand.

Around two in the morning Daniel had passed out from exhaustion only to be awakened by the sounds of two men fighting over a bottle of screw-top wine. He had looked on wide-eyed as the men struck each other with insane energy. When the fight was over the winner was covered in blood and the loser lay curled in a ball, moaning in pain. The wine bottle had been destroyed early in the struggle and the liquid victory prize had seeped into the dirt of the battlefield.

Daniel lay in his sleeping bag, stunned by the violence and paralyzed with fright. By the time he was able to move, the prostrate man had ceased to moan. Daniel had not slept for the rest of the night. In the morning, after he packed his gear, he had walked over to the dead man. The image of his first corpse was still a vivid memory and Arthur Briggs resembled him in many ways. His eyes were sightless, his skin waxy, and his incredible energy had drained away.

Halfway back to Portland the adrenaline that had fueled his mad escape began to wear off and reality set in. Briggs was dead and a witness had seen him running from the cottage. Did the driver get a good enough look to identify him? It was dark, but the headlights had caught him before he could cover his face. Daniel felt sick. He had been jailed as a teenager and he had hated the experience. If he went to jail now it would be for murder.

As soon as Daniel was back in his apartment he ran into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. He could see no blood, but to be safe, he changed his clothes and put them in the washing machine in the basement. When he returned to his apartment, he tried to think of ways the police could connect him to the murder. He was pretty sure that he hadn’t left fingerprints in the cottage, but the witness may have gotten a good look at him. Then there was Renee Gilchrist. He’d told her that Briggs wanted to meet him that night at the cottage. If she told the cops he was dead.

Suddenly Daniel remembered the recording of Briggs’s call on his answering machine. The message would place him at the Starlight Road cottage at the time of the murder. Daniel had just finished erasing the tape when his phone rang. He waited. It rang again. Daniel picked up the receiver.

“Mr. Ames?”

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Brewster of the Portland Police Bureau.” Daniel’s gut did a back flip. “We met the other night.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m downstairs with another detective and some uniformed police officers. We’d like to talk with you.”

“About what?” Daniel asked as he went to the window. Brewster was talking on a cell phone. Zeke Forbus was standing next to her. A uniformed officer was looking up at his window. Daniel pulled back.

“I’d rather not discuss the matter over the phone,” Billie said. “Would you be willing to come downstairs?”

Daniel went through his options. He could stay in the apartment and the police would kick in the door and drag him out or he could go downstairs voluntarily. Either way he was going to be arrested; it was just a matter of how.

“Okay,” Daniel said, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Daniel looked around the apartment. His clothes were in the washing machine in the basement. The police would search his apartment, but they might not look downstairs. He started to leave when it dawned on him that he might be locked up. He needed to tell someone, but who? Daniel hesitated, then dialed Kate Ross. Her answering machine took the call.

“Kate, this is Daniel. The police are downstairs. I don’t know what’s going on,” he said to protect both of them, “but check on me. If I’m not home I might be in jail.”

Daniel hung up and locked the apartment. When he got to the ground floor he could see Brewster and Forbus waiting outside the door. He guessed that the uniforms would be on either side of it to grab him in case he had a gun. To avoid being roughed up, Daniel opened the door with one hand and held the other hand where it could be seen. As soon as he walked outside the two uniforms converged on him. One had his gun drawn. Daniel expected this, but it scared the hell out of him just the same.

“Please stand with your hands against the wall, Mr. Ames, and spread your legs,” Zeke Forbus said.

“I’m not armed.”

“Then there won’t be a problem.”

The frisk was fast and thorough. During the pat-down, the officer emptied Daniel’s pockets and took his key ring.

“What is this about?” Daniel asked.

“We’re investigating the murder of Arthur Briggs,” Billie answered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Daniel asked. He immediately regretted saying anything when it occurred to him that most people would have expressed shock at the violent death of someone they knew.

“We have a witness who saw you driving away from the scene of the murder,” Forbus said.

“We’re here so you can explain why you were there,” Billie told him. “If you have any information that can help us find Mr. Briggs’s killer, we’d appreciate the help.”

Daniel’s mouth was dry. The only way the police could have found him this quickly was if the witness recognized him.

“I’d like to talk to an attorney before I say anything else.”

“You seem like a nice enough person, Mr. Ames,” Billie said. “If you have any explanation for what happened I’ll try to help you.”

Billie seemed so sincere that Daniel almost fell for her line, but he’d had run-ins with the police when he was on the street and he knew the game she was playing.

“Thank you, Detective, but I’d rather wait until I’ve talked to a lawyer.”