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.” Billie nodded. “We’ll respect your wishes. Please turn around and put your hands behind you.” “Why?” “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Arthur Briggs.”
Daniel rode in the back of a patrol car with his hands cuffed behind him. He spent the first few minutes of the trip to the Justice Center trying to get comfortable and the rest of it with his thoughts, because no one spoke to him during the ride. By the time the car parked in the police garage, Daniel was sick with worry. The Justice Center was a modern, sixteen-story building in downtown Portland that was home to the Multnomah County jail, two circuit and two district courts, state parole and probation, the state crime lab, and the Portland police central precinct. Brewster and Forbus drove behind the car transporting Daniel and escorted him up to the detective division.
Neither detective spoke to him except to tell him what to do. The detective division was a wide-open space that stretched along one side of the thirteenth floor. Each detective had his own cubicle separated from the others by a chest-high divider. As soon as he was brought into the office, Daniel’s cuffs were taken off and he was placed in a small, cinderblock holding cell. Light was provided by a harsh fluorescent fixture that was recessed in the ceiling. The only place to sit in the tiny room was a hard wooden bench that ran along the back wall. There were no other furnishings. Forbus sat with Daniel for a few minutes. He explained that Daniel would be held in the cell for a while and told him that he could knock on the door if he wanted to use the rest room or needed a glass of water. Then he closed the door and drew a metal sheet across a small, tinted-glass window in the door, cutting off all contact with the world outside the cell. Daniel stretched out on the bench, placed an arm across his eyes to shield them from the light, and tried to relax. Twenty minutes later Forbus reentered the room with a photographer who took several photographs of Daniel. As soon as the photographer left, Forbus gave the prisoner a flimsy, white, one-piece, disposable Tyvex jumpsuit made of paper that zipped up the front and felt slick and odd against his skin. The detective explained that Daniel would wear this suit until he was given a uniform in the jail. When Daniel was dressed, Forbus led his prisoner across the hallway into a small interrogation room furnished with several, heavy wooden chairs and a table that was affixed to the wall. Daniel noticed a box of tissues on the table and wondered how many men had wept in this room. Forbus made no attempt to question Daniel about the murder and Daniel had to fight an urge to open the subject. The detective asked Daniel’s age, date of birth, and other statistical information for his custody report. He was tempted to refuse to answer the detective’s questions, but he wanted to put off returning to the cell as long as possible. When Forbus had the information he needed he put Daniel back in the holding cell. His watch had been taken from him and he could only guess how long he stayed in the lockup, but it seemed like hours before he heard a key in the lock again and Billie Brewster came in. “I’m going to take you over to the jail now,” she said as she cuffed Daniel’s hands behind his back. Brewster led him down a carpeted hall to an elevator that took them to the ground floor. After a short walk through Central Precinct and the garage, Daniel found himself standing on a red dot in front of a blue metal door in the reception area of the jail. The detective passed a custody report through a slot to a sheriff’s deputy in a green uniform who was stationed behind a plate of thick glass.
“If you want to talk with me about what happened at the cottage, tell one of the deputies,” Brewster said in a kind voice. Then she surprised Daniel by putting a hand on his shoulder and saying, “Good luck, Daniel.” As soon as Brewster left, the door behind Daniel snapped open and he was ordered into a narrow concrete chute about six feet long and seven feet wide. Another handcuffed prisoner was stretched out on a bench that ran along the wall. Daniel was afraid to ask him to move, so he stayed standing. A few minutes later a door at the other end of the room opened and Daniel was taken out by a deputy who patted him down before leading him over to a brightly illuminated area where his picture was taken again. After that, Daniel was escorted to a window that opened into a small medical facility. A woman on the other side of the window asked Daniel for a medical history then turned him over to another deputy for fingerprinting.
Finally, he was led down a hall along a concrete floor and heard what sounded like a dog howling. The guard prodded Daniel around a corner and the howling turned to screams. They were coming from one of several single cells that lined the wall of a large holding area. Blue metal doors fronted all the cells. Toward the top third of the doors were narrow glass windows. A female deputy was talking through a grille beneath one of the windows in a firm voice. Daniel realized that the inhuman screams and moans he had heard were coming from this cell. “This isn’t doing you any good, Mr. Packard,” the woman deputy was saying, but Mr. Packard was unaffected by her attempts to calm him and continued to howl. The guard unlocked Daniel’s cuffs and placed him in a cell enclosed by chain-link fencing that stood in the center of the holding area. Another prisoner in street clothes was lying on a concrete bench. Daniel took a closer look at his cellmate, who was sleeping through Mr. Packard’s insane lament. The man was stripped to the waist, revealing a torso covered with tattoos. It took an effort not to stare. To make it easier, Daniel turned away and looked at his surroundings through the grille. It dawned on him that no other prisoner was making any noise. He could see into some of the other holding cells through the slit windows and what he saw were men pacing, locked in with their own thoughts as Daniel was locked in with his. At first Daniel tried to remember all he could about his other jail experiences so he could prepare himself to survive. He knew that being in jail was like being back in high school in a class made up of bullies, liars, and lunatics. Most criminals were irresponsible, angry men who were unable to succeed in the world and took out their frustrations on those who could. Daniel resolved to tell no one that he had graduated high school, let alone college and law school. There was a second bench in the cell and Daniel stretched out on it. He had not slept and it had to be early morning by now. He closed his eyes, but the bright lights in the holding area, the hard surface, and the constant, unfamiliar noises made sleep impossible. Daniel tossed and turned for a while until his thoughts turned to the question he would have asked himself earlier if he had not been shell-shocked by the discovery of the dead man and the shame and terror of his arrest: “Who had killed Arthur Briggs and why?” Daniel knew almost nothing about Briggs’s private life, except that he was married and had two grown children. The only times he had been in Briggs’s presence socially were at firm functions. From experience, Daniel knew that Briggs was a rude, abrasive man who was extremely aggressive in court, but he had no idea if Briggs had enemies-or friends, for that matter. It soon became obvious to Daniel that he lacked the information to make even a rudimentary guess about the identity of Briggs’s killer, so he turned to motive. In the message Briggs had left on Daniel’s answering machine he had said that he needed to talk to Daniel about a new development in the Insufort case. He’d also said that he knew that he was wrong about Daniel and that Daniel was the only person he could trust. Suddenly it occurred to him: the Kaidanov report! Daniel sat up. The new development in the Geller case must have involved the report, because that was the only aspect of the case of any importance that involved Daniel. It was the reason he was fired. What had Briggs talked about during their last meeting? He’d gotten furious when Daniel told him that Geller was covering up the results of Kaidanov’s study. Of course! Briggs must have found out that Geller was involved in a cover-up. That would explain why he thought Daniel was the only person he could trust. The firm would lose Geller Pharmaceuticals as a client, and its hefty retainer, if Briggs exposed a plot to cover up Kaidanov’s study, so he would not have been able to trust anyone at Geller or anyone in his own firm. But he could trust Daniel because Daniel had urged Briggs to expose the cover-up. The only problem with his theory was that he could more easily imagine Arthur Briggs involved in a conspiracy with Geller than exposing a cover-up by a client that brought millions to the firm. But what if he was wrong about Briggs? He’d known so little about the senior partner. Maybe Briggs had spoken to the wrong people at Geller and they had silenced him. Daniel had to tell someone what he had figured out, but who? And what proof did he have? A wave of despair swept over him and all of his energy and excitement drained away. No one would believe him if he started talking about cover-ups and conspiracies. They would think he was a crazy, disgruntled employee. Just the type of maniac who would murder the person who had fired him.
An hour later a deputy brought Daniel and his comatose cellmate a brown-bag breakfast. The tattooed man continued to sleep. Daniel opened his bag and took out a baloney sandwich on pasty white bread, an orange, and a small carton of milk. He had no appetite and the sandwich looked repulsive, but Daniel knew he had to eat to keep up his strength. He finished his meal shortly before a guard handcuffed him and led him out of the holding cell. The jail had a receipt for Daniel’s possessions, which included his wallet. For a dollar fifty he was allowed to purchase a hygiene kit containing shampoo, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. The guard took Daniel upstairs to the seventh floor.
After a short walk from the elevator, Daniel was led through a sally port into a two-story-high, open area. At one end of the floor was a glassed-in rec room with a television. Along the walls were two tiers of cells. Daniel was told to strip. The guard took his Tyvex suit and gave him plastic shower slippers, a set of pink dyed underwear and socks, a pair of blue cotton pants with an elastic waist, and a blue, pullover, V-neck shirt. Then the guard told him to enter cell 7C. The cell had a two-tiered bunk bed. A muscular Hispanic was stretched out on the lower bunk. He turned on his side and stared at Daniel with little interest. Along the wall was a concrete slab. Daniel saw that his cellmate’s toiletries were at one end of the slab and he placed his on the other end. Behind the bunk was a narrow window that stretched the length of the cell and looked out at the new federal courthouse. As soon as the guard closed the door, Daniel addressed his cellmate. “How you doin’?” “Okay,” the man answered. Then he asked, “Whatchoo in for?” in a thick accent. “Nothing much.” Daniel knew better than to talk about his case. Every cellmate was a potential state’s witness. “Me, too,” the man answered with a sly smile. “Name’s Pedro.” “Daniel. I’m gonna sack out.” “Yeah sure.” Daniel remembered something he had learned the last time he was in jail. He grabbed his toothbrush before climbing into his upper bunk. He did not sleep, but he did spend several hours using the concrete wall to sharpen the end of the toothbrush into a sharp point in case his cellmate turned out to be less friendly than he seemed.