Violent Crimes (14 page)

The next morning, Amanda dressed in jeans, a windbreaker, and hiking boots, filled a backpack with water and trail mix, and drove toward one of the trailheads in Portland's Forest Park, a five-thousand-acre recreational area with eighty miles of hiking trails and fire lanes that is the largest forested natural area within city limits in the United States.

A warm rain was pounding down when Amanda parked in the lot near the trailhead closest to the remote area of the park where the pokeweed had been found. Before she got out of the car, Amanda checked the snub-nosed .38 that was tucked into a holster secured to her belt. She had survived several close calls while involved in some of her more challenging cases, and she wasn't going to confront Tom Beatty unarmed.

After pulling her hood over her head and hunching her shoulders against the downpour, Amanda started along a narrow dirt track that the heavy rain had churned into a muddy bog. The trail wound through a forest of towering Douglas firs and west
ern hemlocks, and Amanda was soon stepping around or climbing over fallen trees covered with iridescent emerald-hued moss that dripped with moisture. It was humid, and the thick canopy trapped the heat. Amanda's skin became sticky under the windbreaker and she was constantly ducking away from the jutting limbs that would attack the trail.

Amanda had programmed her GPS with the coordinates for the area of the forest where the pokeweed had been found. Five miles in, she was forced to leave the trail and follow a stream through the thick forest. At one point, Amanda stumbled on a slippery rock and slid into the stream, just catching herself before she soaked her jeans. When she paused to catch her breath, she thought she heard a branch crack. She stood and listened but the pounding rain made it hard to detect the presence of other hikers. When she was convinced that her imagination was making her paranoid, Amanda forged on.

After a mile, the rain let up just as Amanda left the stream. The dense underbrush made walking difficult. Amanda scrambled up the slippery side of a muddy embankment and stopped short when she saw several tall plants whose green, spear-tipped leaves held clusters of shiny purple berries.

“Pokeweed!” Amanda whispered excitedly. Her exhaustion faded and she forged forward through the underbrush with renewed energy until she suddenly found herself in a narrow clearing surrounded by dense foliage. A tarp, supported by limbs sawed off nearby trees, covered a sleeping bag and a fire pit. Amanda turned slowly, surveying the area for any sign of the person who lived in the camp.

Amanda had noticed a large backpack and a duffel bag under
the tarp. She called Tom's name. When no one answered, she ducked under the tarp and squatted next to the duffel. She felt guilty and uncomfortable going through the contents, but she needed to know if this was Tom's camp or if it belonged to a homeless person. The duffel was stuffed with books and changes of clothing. Buried at the bottom was a passport in Tom Beatty's name.

“Where's your boyfriend?” a voice said.

Amanda whirled around. Two men were standing in the clearing. They were rugged and muscular and dressed in camouflage fatigues. They had moved so stealthily that Amanda hadn't heard them until they were right behind her. One of the men was carrying a large knife, and the other held a .45-caliber automatic at his side.

Amanda stepped out from under the tarp and straightened up.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying hard to keep a tremor out of her voice and failing miserably.

“That's not your concern, little lady. What should concern you is what will happen if you don't tell us where Tom Beatty is hiding.”

“I have no idea. I thought he would be here, but he's not,” Amanda said, stalling for time so she could work a hand behind her back to her gun.

“We'll soon find out if you're telling the truth,” the man with the knife said. “I don't think you'll hold out for long under torture.”

“Please don't hurt me,” Amanda begged as she shifted her left shoulder toward the men to hide her right hand, which was snaking toward her weapon.

The men grinned at each other, enjoying Amanda's plea for mercy. Then the man with the gun stopped smiling and Amanda
gaped at the tip of a wooden spear that had been rammed through his body.

The other man had just started to turn when a rock smashed into his skull. He staggered but didn't go down. The rock descended again. The skull split, the knife tumbled to the ground, and the man crumpled next to it.

Meanwhile, the speared man looked down uncomprehendingly at the blood spurting from his chest wound. He dropped the gun and grasped the spear with both hands, staggering in circles as he tried to wrench it out of his body.

Tom Beatty picked up the fallen knife and held it at the man's throat.

“Who sent you?” Beatty demanded, but the man was past answering. He sagged against Beatty, his eyes closed, and his last breath escaped.

Beatty dropped the body and stared at it in frustration. The prehistoric horror Amanda had just witnessed paralyzed her and she could only stare at Beatty, his face smeared with mud and his body cloaked with dripping leaves. Then she remembered her gun, and yanked it out of her holster.

Beatty paid no attention to the weapon. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Amanda's mouth was dry and her voice cracked when she finally managed to speak.

“I was looking for you.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Pokeweed. It's an eastern plant and the only place it grows in the Pacific Northwest is in this part of Forest Park. You tracked some of its berries into Dale Masterson's den.”

Amanda tightened her grip on her gun, unsure how Beatty would react when she asked the next question.

“Did . . . did you kill Dale Masterson?”

Beatty didn't answer. He just stared at her, looking terrifying.

“Tom, you're in big trouble. The judge revoked your bail and you're a fugitive. And they found blood in the front room of your house that's been matched to one of two murdered men who were found in the trunk of a car.”

“Who were they?”

“They were private detectives, but they were also ex-military and they worked security for RENCO Oil.”

Beatty scowled but didn't say anything.

“I want to help you, Tom, but you've got to turn yourself in.”

Beatty looked at Amanda. “Leave,” he ordered.

“Tom . . .”

“Leave now.”

“But what about these men?” she asked, realizing how inane her question was. The men were beyond help.

“Leave now,” Beatty repeated.

Amanda wanted to say something, but fleeing from this massacre before she became part of it was the sane thing to do. She circled in the direction she'd come from, her gun pointed at Beatty. He didn't pay any attention to the gun, but he did keep his eyes locked on hers. Amanda backed into the undergrowth. Then she turned and ran.

Amanda staggered into the parking lot, numb from fatigue, soaking wet, her face scratched and bleeding. She wrenched open
the car door, then locked herself in. Her hands shook as she started the engine, and her mind was reeling from the horror she'd witnessed.

Exhaustion and fear kept her from thinking straight, and she had to try extra hard to focus on the road. As soon as she was in a populated area, Amanda pulled into the crowded parking lot of a supermarket and leaned her head against the steering wheel. When she closed her eyes, she saw Tom Beatty drive a spear through the body of a human being, then club another man to death with a rock. Her breathing grew shallow, and she had to fight to keep from throwing up.

Once Amanda was back in control of her emotions, she started to relax, but a sudden thought caused her heart rate to accelerate again. Amanda looked around the parking lot. It dawned on her that the dead men had followed her to Tom's camp. How did they know where she was going? Was she under surveillance? Was there a tracker on her car? Were there other men who knew that she was sitting in this parking lot? Even though crowds of people surrounded her, she did not feel safe.

Amanda's brain was full of cobwebs and every thought was an effort. She knew that she had to get some sleep, but she also knew that she would have to meet with Kate Ross before she could think about sleeping.

Amanda ditched her car in case there was a tracking device in it. She thought about going to her condo but rejected the idea. Mike was home. If she was being followed she didn't want to lead anyone to him. Amanda took a cab to the apartment Kate shared with Daniel Ames. Daniel was at the coast, taking depositions so Kate was alone.

“What happened to you?” Kate asked as soon as she opened her door.

“I'll tell you in a minute, but I want to wash up first. Can I use your shower?”

“Sure. I'll get you a towel and a stiff drink. You look like you can use one.”

Twenty minutes later, Amanda was warm and comfortable in fresh socks and one of Daniel's warm-up suits while her clothes tumbled around in Kate's washing machine. She called Mike to
let him know she might be late. Then she nursed the glass of scotch Kate handed her while she told Kate everything that had happened in Forest Park.

“When I was calm enough to think, I realized that I needed your help,” Amanda said.

“Oh?”

“Those men followed me to Tom's camp. That means they had me under surveillance. I've never felt I was being tailed. I think it's more likely that my condo, office, or phones are bugged.”

“And you want me to perform a sweep?” Kate asked.

Amanda nodded. “Can you come to my condo now?”

“I keep my equipment at the office so we have to stop there. I can sweep your office first if you're not too exhausted.”

“I'll be fine,” Amanda said, even though she would have given all her worldly possessions for the chance to dive into a nice warm bed.

“We can go as soon as your clothes are dry.”

“Bring your gun. You'll have to be very alert. Christine Larson and Dale Masterson were brutally beaten, and I'm betting that Carol White was also murdered. The people behind this are not fooling around.”

“Are you convinced that Tom isn't responsible for those killings?”

“I'm pretty certain he didn't kill Christine or Carol White. That was probably the work of the people who framed Tom for Christine's murder.”

“What about Dale Masterson?” Kate asked. “The pokeweed berries put him at the crime scene.”

Dale Masterson's beating had been a carbon copy of the way
Christine had been murdered, and Amanda remembered Tom's swearing to avenge Christine's death. She also remembered that he had not answered her in Forest Park when she asked him if he'd killed Masterson.

“You know you've got a big conflict-of-interest problem, right?” Kate continued.

“That occurred to me.”

“Brandon is innocent if Tom killed Dale Masterson, but both Tom and Brandon are your clients. You can win Brandon's case by sending Tom Beatty to death row, but you can't do anything to help one client if it will work against another client.”

“I took an ethics course in law school,” Amanda answered defensively.

“Then you know you're between a rock and a hard place.”

“I'm too tired to think about this now.”

“You should talk it over with your dad,” Kate advised.

“I can't. I know what he'll say. He'll tell me to get off both cases and lead the police to the campsite, but I won't do that.” Amanda shuddered. “You weren't there. You didn't hear those men. I don't even want to think about what they would have done to me if Tom hadn't saved me.” She shook her head. “I can't betray a man who just saved my life.”

The law office was bugged, and Kate found a tracking device on Amanda's car. Once she removed it, Amanda drove to her condo, with Kate following. As soon as Amanda told Mike what Kate was doing, he wanted to know
why
she was sweeping the condo for bugs. Amanda wanted to answer his question but
couldn't, so she stonewalled by playing the client confidentiality card.

An hour later, Kate showed Amanda what she'd found in the condo. Amanda herded her investigator into her home office and shut the door on an angry boyfriend.

“This stuff is state-of–the-art,” Kate said. “That means that you're dealing with people who have money and connections.”

“Didn't Billie tell you that the two men who were found in the trunk of the car were ex-military men who had worked security in Nigeria for RENCO Oil?”

“Yes.”

“The men who followed me looked like they had military training, and RENCO would have the means and money to secure state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.”

“That's something we need to consider. Meanwhile, I'm going to call in a friend who used to work for military intelligence and NSA. He'll go over the condo, your car, and the office to make sure I haven't missed anything. I'll ask him if he has an idea about who might have access to this type of equipment.”

“Thanks, Kate.”

“Now, you are going to get to bed before you drop dead.”

“I won't argue with you. I'm out on my feet. I'll see you at the office.”

Mike had been quietly angry at being shut out by Kate and Amanda, but he hadn't asked her any questions when she'd collapsed into bed shortly after Kate left. Amanda staggered out of
her bedroom at nine-thirty the next morning and found a note from Mike saying he had gone to the office.

Amanda was upset when she thought about Mike's reaction, but she couldn't blame him. Then she thought about how the evening would have played out if Mike were still living at his apartment. Mike wouldn't have been there, so he wouldn't have been in danger from assassins and wouldn't have asked her to talk about things she didn't want to talk about. Amanda sighed. Living together in a serious relationship was complicated.

But she didn't have time to think about any of that now. Her first priority was visiting an old . . . well, “friend” didn't exactly cover the relationship.