I had checked out of the hotel already, so when I started the car, I headed straight for I-680 that would lead me back to “The Five” and my route home. I set the cruise control at the posted limit and settled in to the drive, my eyes making the circuit from side view to rear view to the vehicles ahead of me, while my mind went into a continuous loop reviewing the past 48 hours.
I was in no danger of missing the transfer to I-580 any more than the intersection with “the five.” I have no conscious memory of the trip between Stockton and Sacramento or from Sacramento to Corning.
In fact, I was so lost in my pondering I drove right through my connection to U.S. 97 at Weed, California, and had to find another exit at the north end of the town and work my way back to the road that would take me overland to I-84 east of The Dalles and then on home.
I gassed up in Weed, and stopped for sushi at a restaurant in Bend where I refilled the car and bought a cheap Styrofoam cooler and some ice to keep the fish fresh for the five hours it would take me to reach Pendleton.
I left the rental at the airport in Pendleton about 10 that night. Jan met me there, and savored her sushi as I drove us home.
We didn’t have much to say to each other. There was no news of Chloe or Charley. Judy, the wire-haired pointer I work for, was home and happy. The Nelsons were like normal, and our mail they had saved for us had filled a laundry basket.
I was too whipped to give it more than a little thought.
When we were in the house, I showered, shaved, and crawled into bed thinking I’d wait there for Jan and a welcome home kiss.
The sun streaming into the room woke me just after eight the next morning. Jan had slipped out of bed without waking me. The hollow she’d left in her pillow wasn’t warm to the touch.
I had a sense of disorientation. I knew where I was, but I was a bit shaky on the time it was. Then I heard my phone chirping on the dresser.
“Stanton here.”
“Home safe and sound?” Jensen asked.
“I am, but I’m really just waking up.”
“I figured I’d wait until you’d had your walk. What time did you arrive yesterday?”
“Last night after 10; drove 12 hours straight yesterday. It kicked my ass.”
He chuckled. “Father Time remains...”
“I know, I know. What’s up today?”
“Now that you are, I’m calling to see if I can drop in on you this evening. I think I’ll have Archie, Melanie and Roger Bullard with me.”
“War party?”
“You’ve started something, that’s for sure.”
“Like what?”
“Wilson Craig, an acquaintance of yours, went missing in San Jose last night. An SJPD Lieutenant named Audrey Jamison has an APB out for you. I saw it, called Audrey, and calmed her down a bit.
“Aldo Frank.”
“Oh, that’s what she says, but, and this is tough, Mr. Frank has an air tight alibi.”
‘What’s that?”
“Shortly after 11 a.m. yesterday he boarded a plane for Las Vegas. He arrived at McCarran at 1:15; drove to his mother’s home, and spent the rest of the day with her. He’s still there this morning.”
“That gave him about two hours between the time I left him and he boarded the plane.”
“I figured that, but Will Craig was last seen at 11:30, walking back to his office from the Tech Museum where he interviewed one of his regular sources. He never showed up at his office, and nobody’s heard from him. Jamison’s people have been through his apartment, nothing’s out of place or missing.
I was stunned.
“So, can we stop by this evening?”
“Will you be here for dinner?”
“Is that Jan asking or you?”
“We’re partners in this kinda deal. You want us to feed you or not?”
“I don’t want to put Jan out any.”
“Just a second.” Jan was standing in front of me with a question all over her face. Without covering up the phone, I brought her up to speed. “Jensen and a war party including Archie Richards, Melanie and her partner, Bullard, are looking to come here this evening. I’ve offered them dinner, but Ray’s concerned about putting you out.”
She took the phone with a wicked smile, “Ray? Tonight’s menu is a bit limited by your standards. The fish is Chinook or Steelhead, caught last spring, grilled with Panzanella salad; the meat is elk with a morel mushroom sauce and roasted vegetables; and for tonight’s vegetarian entree we have a pasta-artichoke-spinach dish known as Morel Oscar. Should we plan for dinner about sevenish?”
She listened with a gentle smile on her face, and then I heard her say, “Perfect, see you folks about 5, and your wine choice is one of my very favorites. Love you too.”
She handed my phone back to me with a chuckle, “That was worth the price of admission.”
“So what did they choose?”
“Oh, all of them. You need to pull that elk out of the freezer. I think we should do a mixed grill thing with the fish, don’t you?” She said all this while heading downstairs to the kitchen.
“What wine did he offer to bring?”
“I’m not sure; he said they’d each bring a bottle that they like to go with the food.”
I broke into a huge smile, “And, of course, that constitutes ‘Jan’s favorite wine!’”
I heard her laughter coming up the stairs, and wondered how Jensen had ever gotten wise to this ongoing joke about Jan’s palate. Then I thought about my police friend in Michigan, Miles Lawton. It figured.
The Feds arrived right at 5 and I wondered if they’d idled down at the exit off I-84 so they could pull into my drive exactly on time.
Agent Bullard was driving with Richard and Jensen in the back seat as their status as SAICs dictated. Street was riding shotgun up front.
I greeted them as they opened doors and exited, stretching and generally acting as if they’d been on the road for the five hours it takes to drive from Seattle.
“Long ride, Ray?” I asked jovially.
“Didn’t work the kinks out from the chopper down in Pendleton,” he said with his sardonic wit in full review.
They all laughed, and we exchanged warm hand shakes.
“I’ve set us up in my office. I’ll show you where the various facilities are located, and we can start to work.”
“Who is doing all the cooking?” Melanie asked as we trooped up the walk to the front door. “Oh, the inside stuff is all Jan’s. The grill work is being handled by our neighbor down the road. He’s a wonder.”
“You still haven’t developed any grill skills?” Jensen asked.
“I’m pretty good at starting the charcoal, but Jack is a master. He can’t hear a lick anymore, and never did gossip. I use him for all my secret dinner meetings.”
They all laughed at that, and I showed them around. Ray went straight to Jan, arms outstretched with a cooler from the Suburban they’d arrived in. “Madame’s favorite, I’m told,” he said in a phony French accent.
“Très bien, monsieur.” She answered in an accent just as lame.
They exchanged a hug, and then Ray beamed as each of the others joined them in the kitchen. Jan was very formal with Roger, but she hugged Melanie warmly before turning a megawatt smile on Archie as he entered the room. “Oh!” She sighed as she pulled him into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad to see you. Any word from Andrea?”
“She’s fine; her baby’s fine, and her days with the FBI are numbered. She’s going to stay home for a while, and then work part-time with the St. Louis prosecutor’s office – put her law degree to work.”
“A baby?”
“Boy, named Benedict Arnold Wells. Her husband is also a lawyer; actually runs the public defender office in St. Louis.”
For the benefit of Roger and Melanie, Archie said in an aside, “Andy Hurst, my partner back when we met the Stantons.”
Then he and Jan shared a quick sideways glance, as in “what-can-I-tell-you?”
Jan restrained herself for a few more seconds, and then lost it. “Oh, dear,” escaped her lips and she went on in a soft, scolding tone, “Why would that sweet woman do that to that little boy? Can you imagine what he’s going to go through about the time they study the American Revolution in Junior High? They had to name him Benedict Arnold?”
Archie let that question hang for a good three count, and then, in a complete deadpan, “Sue, apparently, was taken.”
We retreated under a hail of groans. I led the pack upstairs to my “office.”
“That was worth the trip,” Archie acknowledged to everyone as he took one of the seats I’d arranged around my desk.
“You want to sit here?” I asked Ray, indicating my usual chair.
“No, we’ll keep you in the middle if that’s all right.”
I noticed Melanie setting up a recorder. I indicated a table to the left of my desk containing a cooler, glasses and an ice bucket. “All non-alcoholic until you indicate the bar’s open downstairs.”
“That’ll work. You need to go start charcoal or something, just say the word. We can take a break.”
“Jack’s on the job; I’m all yours until the dinner bell rings.”
They all nodded at Melanie. She started the recorder, identified all present, the time and the date, and stipulated this was a voluntary statement being made by James Michael Stanton on this date; noting, “Mr. Stanton is aware of his rights, and waived his right to counsel before this statement was taken.”
Ray started the questioning: “Jim, please give us a detailed statement explaining your activities between the time you flew out of Seattle for Phoenix last week, and your arrival here last night.”
I gave the entire itinerary, from where I went, the people I saw and what was said. I had my note cards in chronological order in front of me. They were redacted by me, blacking out the names of the people I had spoken to.
“Jim, this isn’t going to work,” Ray interrupted, motioning Melanie to stop the tape. “We need names, Jim. There’s no privilege here.”
“I’m invoking my right as a journalist to protect the identity of sources who traded my pledge for their story. I can’t renege on that deal. It could end up with people killed, for Christ’s sake.
“If you want the information they gave me, you can have it. If you want them, you’ll have to find them on your own, Ray. I made that deal on your behalf, but it’s my deal.”
He reached over and picked up my cards. He thumbed through them, “Who’s this Leech woman? You didn’t promise anonymity to her?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t think anyone would believe she betrayed a confidence in describing the events at her neighbor’s home, as she was aware of them.”
Ray gave that a “humph,” and kept looking at the notes. “Are you by chance shielding Chloe in any of this?”
“I shared information Chloe had shared with me, but I didn’t disclose her as a source to anyone with whom she didn’t have a prior relationship.”
“You don’t think telling some of these people that Chloe had named them to you doesn’t present a possible danger to her? Are you sure that’s not why she’s now missing?”
“I’m not ‘sure’ of anything, but I don’t believe Chloe was ‘taken’ out of her home any more than you do.”
He was nodding and studying the cards. “You didn’t redact Aldo Frank’s name, or, for that matter, Will Craig’s name? Why?”
“Again, I don’t think anything they told me violated any real or implied confidence that could lead to retribution. On the other hand, I think Aldo Frank is in dire need of a federal enema.
“I think there’s something totally hinky about this guy. I don’t think a cursory look at him is going to cut it, however. I think he may have nothing to do with taking Charley, Chloe or even Craig, but there’s something not right about him.
“It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be important, you wait.”
Archie spoke up, “I can see us before a federal magistrate right now, ‘Yes, your honor, we need a warrant to turn this guy’s life inside out, and, for probable cause, we have Jim Stanton’s sense of hinky.’ I can see that magistrate dislocating his elbow trying to retrieve his ink pen fast enough to sign that warrant.” He was staring right at me by then, “Jim, we’ve had this discussion before. We can’t trample on the rights of these mopes just because we’re the good guys; remember?”
I couldn’t forget that tongue lashing, but I persisted. “I would think that there should be enough public information about this guy. He told me he has often considered taking legal action against Craig – you know, a suit or injunction to shut him up. But he hasn’t, he said, because it would just be a blow against his efforts to remain anonymous.
“Who cherishes anonymity more than their reputation?”
Melanie spoke up, “Someone with something to hide.”
Archie was unmoved. “Now we can add feminine intuition to our probable cause brief?”
Ray had sat like a Buddha, hands clasped over his belly as he watched the debate with half-closed eyes. When he finally joined the fray, it was a different Ray Jensen than the one I’d met years ago when my life was in jeopardy.
“This is a nice theoretical conversation, perfect for dorm rooms or coffee houses, but we don’t have time for this kind of chat. We have three missing people, an exemplary retired cop haunted by two more missing citizens. I think we need to shelve the philosophy for some actual strategy to either clear Mr. Frank or prosecute him.
“I think I’ll go first and see if I can provide some semblance of leadership here.” He paused again, gauging our response, but he found nothing. “Fine. Jim, you’ve done all you can, and I and the Bureau appreciate your efforts. You have one task left, and that is to call Detective Audrey Jamison in San Jose, and share with her your take-away from your meeting with Mr. Frank.
“I believe you should be totally forthcoming with Detective Jamison. In other words, all the facts and, I emphasize the ‘and,’ your impressions, hunches, and intuitions. I believe you should follow up on that conversation by emailing her a written summation, being very careful to categorize facts and suppositions, questions, and other non-factual items under specific headings.
“Jim, I suggest that for your own civil protection. Sending that note will constitute ‘publication,’ and I know you understand libel law better than most non-lawyers. I want you to poke the nest here, just make sure you don’t end up stung. Are we clear?”
I nodded, and completed a note. “Timing?”
“Before you go to bed tomorrow, blind copy to me on the email, if you will.”
He looked around at his colleagues. “Questions so far?”
Archie cleared his throat, and Ray nodded at him to proceed. “What about the SAIC down there?”
“That’s my turf, Archie. I’ll contact the San Francisco bureau, they have a residence agency that deals with San Jose. I think it’s out of Campbell, but I’ll look it up. I know the ’Frisco SAIC – Zach Wilson. Good agent, good guy. He’ll hook us up with the local agent, I’m sure.
“What we’re going to do is go back to Portland tonight, and we’ll have a conference with the director in the morning. With Zach and his people on the line, we’ll decide what we can and cannot do in terms of finding our missing citizens, and whether that effort will or will not involve Mr. Frank.
“Are there any other questions?” When no one answered, he broke into a warm smile, “Good, I smell fish on the barbecue. Now, Mr. Stanton, I believe the bar is open.”
The dinner was, as usual with Jack’s help, spectacular. Shirlee joined us for the meal, and the agents made grand dinner party guests. They were all friendly with each other, and Archie Richards took great delight in detailing our joint adventures when we first met in Missouri.
When they finally left, Jack and Shirlee hung around for a while as I headed the clean-up detail. Jack had a nightcap sitting at our island while I finished the last of the dishes.
“You never told us about the fire fight in Missouri. I had no idea it had gotten that intense.”
“It was intense, but, you know, I just don’t think...” I stopped wiping my hands and looked him right in the eye, “Jack, I lived through it once, and I have absolutely no interest in reliving that or any of my other experiences with violence. I’m not looking for that in my life. Didn’t want it then, couldn’t stomach it as a soldier. It doesn’t warrant any retelling to my friends, even my dearest friends.”
“You are a piece of work, Mr. Stanton. I’m proud to call you friend, and sorry for anyone who chooses you as an enemy.” He took a long pull on his Scotch and smacked his lips afterwards. “For a bourbon drinker, you have excellent taste in the finer whiskeys.”
“One of the agents brought that along with all the rest of the alcohol. They do party well, don’t they?”
“Nice folks doing important work. I’ve always believed that the ability to unwind is a vital part of the ability to perform under pressure when called upon.”
I thought about that for a minute and then agreed, “In my experience, the best of the workers had that ability in spades.”
I chose to walk the Nelsons home while Judy bounced around us. It’s only a couple hundred yards or so, but I needed a little walk, Judy needed a romp, and I always enjoyed their company.
“Jim,” Shirlee said, taking my hand in hers as we strolled, “I heard you and Jack talking. I know how much you abhor the violent part of your life, but you need to remember that there are those of us who wouldn’t be here now if that part of you hadn’t been so effective.
“And you need to remember that woman back in your house is relying on your remaining good at it as long as you need to be. Hear me?”
I squeezed her hand until we reached their back door. “Sleep well, Jim,” Jack said from the stoop.
“Remember what I said,” Shirlee added from over her shoulder.
“I won’t forget, Shirl, but I’ll be working my tail off avoiding it even while I’m working my forms every day to be ready. It’s the curse of living a life prepared.”
“Ahh, living the life,” Jack said in his best W.C. Fields voice; “ain’t it grand. Yaass.”
I laughed and waved at them as Judy and I headed for our house.