The English Department’s student receptionist held the receiver against her chest, “Evelyn—call for you.” Then, with a look that mingled embarrassment and accusation, she whispered, “It’s the Minneapolis Police Department.”
Evelyn looked at Rita Hoehne, who shrugged as if to say “Who cares.” Evelyn didn’t feel indifference. She was angry. Reestablishing herself as a graduate student was difficult enough when half the faculty and most of the graduate students knew her history. Having the police department identifying itself when calling her at the U didn’t make life easier.
“Yes?” she said sharply into the phone.
“Evelyn Rau?” the man asked.
Again Evelyn said, “Yes.” Sharper than the first time.
“Miss Rau, I’m Officer Olson calling on behalf of Detective Bahr. Detective Bahr would appreciate it if you could meet him at two o’clock on the Stone Arch Bridge. He wanted to walk through some questions regarding the crime scene.”
“Why would he want to do that on the Stone Arch Bridge?” Evelyn asked, rolling her eyes at Rita. “I saw the guy on Main Street, in front of the Pillsbury A Mill.”
“Detective Bahr didn’t explain, ma’am. He just asked that we get in touch.”
“Okay, okay.” Evelyn looked up at the wall clock. As she did so, she looked out the window. It had started to rain again, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. Holding the phone aside, she said to Rita, “Is that old green-and-white-striped golf umbrella that somebody left still available as a loaner?”
“Still in the closet, only it’s got a big hole and somebody spilled cranberry juice on it. So now it’s green, white, and pink. Take it.”
Into the phone, Evelyn said, “That’s only a half hour from now, and I don’t have a car. Tell Bahr I might be a little late.”
When she hung up, Rita put a ring of keys in Evelyn’s hand. “Take my car. You walk from here down to the Stone Arch Bridge, even with an umbrella, and you’re gonna get soaked.”
Evelyn put up a weak protest. “Rita, you’ve done too much for me already. You’re going to rue the day you picked me up from jail.”
Rita waved a hand at her. “Don’t mention it. My life was boring. Nothing like a little criminal association to get your metabolism going. Just have the car back by four-thirty. I don’t want to get soaked walking home.”
Evelyn arrived at the east end of the Stone Arch Bridge before two o’clock. Parking on Sixth Avenue Southeast, she got out of the car, opening the umbrella as she walked toward the bridge. As she walked she felt a gathering sense of foreboding. It was, no doubt, a conditioned response to her being in an area where, in her previous life, she had often done deals.
Ahead, the bridge was deserted. Most of the weekday bridge traffic came early morning and late afternoon when people who lived on the east side of the river walked over the bridge to and from their downtown offices. And the rain had clearly discouraged casual walkers from being outdoors.
Evelyn was uncertain if she should wait at the east end of the bridge or walk across to the downtown side, which was probably where Bahr would be coming from. She looked at her watch and started walking slowly across the bridge toward downtown.
About halfway across the bridge, a man appeared, coming toward her. She was quite sure it wasn’t Bahr. She didn’t much like being isolated, out in the middle of a bridge with a strange man approaching. Her sense of personal caution had been highly developed in her days as a minor league drug trader and it had stayed with her. She tilted the umbrella forward, sheltering herself from the strong wind on the bridge and allowing her to keep an eye on the approaching figure through the tear across the top of the umbrella.
The approaching man seemed to be aware of her as well. While there wasn’t anything in his appearance that was threatening, she nonetheless felt threatened. She considered turning and going back to her car. But she didn’t like the idea of turning her back. Better to keep going, facing him.
It wasn’t until he was within perhaps a hundred feet, when he called out, “Miss Rau?” She pulled the umbrella back, looking at him straight on. A gust of wind struck her as she recognized him.
“May I speak to Evelyn Rau, please?”
The young woman’s voice said, “Who’s calling, please?”
Mars hesitated. It could be awkward for Rau if he identified himself as being with the Minneapolis Police Department. Instead, he said, “My name is Marshall Bahr. I’m calling in connection with some information Miss Rau provided regarding the Father Hennepin Bluffs.”
There was muffled conversation on the other end of the phone, then an older, more authoritative voice came on the line. “I’m Rita Hoehne. How may I help you?”
Mars said his piece about the Father Hennepin Bluffs again. Rita Hoehne said, “You with the police?”
Mars gave up being sensitive. “Yes, I’m Detective Marshall Bahr. There’s no problem, but something’s come up, and I wanted to talk to Ms. Rau—”
“You just missed her. She got your message about meeting on the Stone Arch Bridge and left about fifteen minutes ago. Probably down there already. She borrowed my car.”
Mars felt like he’d been socked. Keeping his voice flat, he said, “Who did you say made those arrangements?”
“Don’t know who, just know someone called from the Minneapolis police saying you wanted to meet her down on the bridge. Evelyn couldn’t figure out why you wanted to meet on the bridge instead of over on Southeast Main.”
“Thanks very much. I’ll try to catch up with her on the bridge.”
Mars turned to Nettie. “He’s meeting her on the Stone Arch Bridge. They could be there now.”
On recognizing the man coming toward her, Evelyn’s mind clogged with irrelevant questions. How did he know her name? How did he know she’d be here? He could only know the answer to both those questions if he’d talked to the police. If he’d talked to the police, what was he doing here now? Why would he want to meet her? The first pertinent thought she had was the answer to that question, and she turned to run.
But her move had come too late. He was on her, one arm wrapped around her neck, his other hand grasping hair tight to her scalp. She struggled to turn the umbrella against him, but as she did so, a gust of wind blew it from her hand. An observer might think of them as a couple engaged in affectionate play. But he was pulling her toward the bridge rail, and Evelyn had no doubt as to his purpose. In the distance,
Evelyn could hear the wail of sirens. It was a poignant sound, knowing as she did how close she was to help—if only someone knew she needed help.
If I wait for help, I’m going to die. That thought was followed by the realization that her arms were free. They’d been free all along, but fear and shock had suppressed common sense. Evelyn reached up with both hands, digging her nails into his wrist below her chin. Forcing her chin down, she sank her teeth into the top of Owen Cook’s hand. Startled by pain, his grip loosened, and Evelyn spun away from him—but she tripped, sprawling onto the bridge.
It was from that position that she saw a police squad car turn onto the bridge bed from the east bank. She looked up at Owen Cook and saw him see it at the same moment. They both turned toward the west bank end of the bridge. Two squad cars were approaching from that end. The passenger-side front door of the first car flew open, and Mars Bahr was running straight at them.
Owen Cook stood still. First he looked back at Mars, and then he turned toward the other squad. What Mars and Evelyn saw next appeared in slow motion.
In two long strides, Owen moved to the downriver side of the bridge, pulled himself up on the ledge, and with a mighty leap, threw himself into the air in a motion of deadly grace, his jacket flying open behind him. Mars opened his mouth to scream an involuntary “No!” The wind blew his cry into oblivion.
Mars was at the bridge rail within seconds. But there was nothing to be seen below other than the furious churning of a flooded river. He signaled with both arms for the squads to go down to both sides of the riverbank below. Then he sprinted to Evelyn Rau. She was on her knees where she’d fallen, dazed.
Mars put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re okay?”
She nodded, looking up at him. “How did he …”
Mars said, “Later. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to get down to the river. I’ll have an officer take you over to Hennepin County General. I want a doctor to take a look to you. I’ll get back to you there later today.”
Mars went back to the bridge rail, watching the activity below as he called Nettie on his cell phone.
“We’ve got Rau, but Cook went off the bridge. Call the Water Patrol and have them get boats out and set up squad patrols along both sides of the river between the Stone Arch Bridge and Lake Street. And have guards posted at Cook’s hotel. Have Glenn get me a search warrant on his room. I’ll be going to the hotel as soon as I finish here.”
If it hadn’t been for the clothes hanging in the closet, Mars would have guessed that Owen Cook had checked out of his hotel room. All surfaces in the room were bare: no antacid tables, paperback books, or nail clippers on the bedside night-stand. No shopping bags or magazines lying about. In the bathroom, only Owen’s leather monogrammed toilet case was on the vanity. Unzipping the case, Mars found dry, immaculate personal toiletries.
There were two suits hanging in the closet: a dark gray woolen pinstripe and a more casual tweedy brown suit. Three pairs of tree-horned leather shoes were precisely lined up under the suits. In a built-in set of drawers, Mars found a half dozen pair of rolled socks, three professionally folded shirts, and folded briefs of a soft Egyptian cotton. The briefs were unusual. There was a flat, handstitched seam around the waist; the fly buttoned. God, this guy’s life was complicated. Who the hell would want to unbutton his fly every time he took a whiz?
At the far end of the closet was an expensive leather briefcase.
Mars picked it up and carried it to the desk. The interior of the case was as spare and functionally ordered as the rest of the room: professional literature, an itinerary, and an airplane ticket. There was no passport.
Mars turned to the uniformed officer from the downtown command and the hotel assistant manager who had accompanied him. “Officer, I’d appreciate your having the room and personal items photographed—including the bathroom, then shots of the closet and drawers. After the photos have been taken, get an inventory and have everything delivered to the property room. I’d like a copy of the inventory delivered to me. We’ve already made arrangements to have room access controlled, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I assume the hotel will be given a receipt for anything taken from the room?” The assistant manager was edgy.
“Yes, of course. The officer will see that you get a signed copy of the inventory.”
“And what do we do if Mr. Cook shows up?”
“Our officers handling room control will take care of that. And they’ll make arrangements with your reception staff regarding procedures to follow if Cook turns up at the front desk.” Mars gave one last look around the room before leaving. If Owen Cook were alive, Mars didn’t think there was a chance in hell he’d turn up here. There was nothing here worth the risk of coming back to the hotel.
It was dark before Mars got to the chief.
“I hear we had some excitement down on the bluffs this afternoon, Special Detective.”
Mars slumped into a chair in the chief’s office. He was more than tired. The day’s events followed by hours along the river with the search crews had drained his physical and emotional energy.
“If Cook had done his dive an hour later we would have had the TV stations’ traffic copters up over the Thirty-five W bridge, and they would’ve gotten the whole thing on the evening news. It would have given us a shot at finding Cook.”
“Still no word from the search?”
“They worked for an hour after sundown. Problem is, with all the rain we’ve had, the water’s high and running fast. He could be halfway to La Crosse by morning.”
“Or we could find his body down on the flats, hung up on the undergrowth. Pretty well flooded over.”
“That’s a possibility.” Mars rubbed his eyes.
“How’s the girl doin’?”
“She’s okay. Neck is stiff from how he was holding her, and she took a pretty bad bump to her head when she fell, but she’ll be fine.”
“We’ll need to brief the mayor first thing tomorrow. I gather we’re not going to have much to say publicly?”
“Not till I’m sure what’s happened to Cook. We’re going to release his photo and a contact number with a caution about approaching him. But nothing about the murders.”
The chief shook his head. “Well, justice takes many forms. Many forms. Any way you cut it, you should feel good about putting this one to bed.”
“Not really,” Mars said. “I was off the mark on this one from day one. And this isn’t the end I would have picked. I’d rather have taken our chances in court. It still feels like he got away from us.”
“You’re beat, Special Detective. I think you need a good night’s sleep before you decide how this one came out. Why don’t you head home.”
The chief’s steps echoed as he walked down the hallway. Mars turned, heading back to the Homicide Division. The chief’s reference to home increased Mars’s feelings of failure. Home wasn’t a place. Home was grocery shopping with Chris.
Home was an investigation that was going well. Home was Nettie at the computer, making everything work. And on a night when Chris wasn’t with him and when an investigation had run off the rails, what Mars felt as much as anything was homeless.
He was happier than he would have admitted to run into Nettie on her way out. And he was grateful when she turned and followed him into the lounge. Mars popped a can of Coke and dropped down on the battered lounge couch. He pulled out the cigarette pack, still rumpled from being crushed during the photo lineup, looked at it, then tossed it at a wastebasket across the room. It missed, sliding under a chair.
Mars looked sideways at Nettie, his head laid back on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. “You know what Glenn says. We would’ve had a hell of a time prosecuting even if we’d caught him.”
Nettie made a face and started to say something, but stopped. Then she said, “Do you know what that wiseass kid of yours said to me on the phone this afternoon?”
“Not a clue.”
“He asked me if I knew what Evian spelled backwards was.”
Mars thought about this for a moment. Nothing came. His brain was suffering an oxygen deficit.
Nettie said, “Naive.”
“That sounds more like Gloria than Chris.”
“Gloria?”
“You haven’t heard about Gloria? Chris and Gloria were a couple.”
“How did I miss that?”
“Probably because there wasn’t anything to miss. Except every now and then Chris comes up with something—I don’t know, something sophisticated. It always traces back to Gloria. She’s a whip. A real terror.”
Nettie plopped her feet on the floor. “Well, maybe we could get her a job down here. She could replace Tina.”
“That would be an improvement.”
Nettie stood. “I’m gonna head out. When are you planning on coming in tomorrow?”
“I promised Chris he could go down to the river with me tomorrow morning. The search crews are going out at sunup. I should be back here around ten o’clock—unless we find a body … .”
Nettie took a deep swig of Evian, then looked down at Mars. “So. You think he’s dead?”
The hands on the big wall clock jumped, making the only sound in the room.
Mars sat up, leaning forward, both feet square on the floor. He rolled the Coke can back and forth between his palms.
“No.”