Rudker had arranged to meet Jorgovitch at the Wetlands bar on Chambers. The private investigator had picked the time and the location. Rudker had never left work this early before or set foot in such a place. He’d agreed to the time and place because he was anxious to get the report and preferred to go somewhere no one would notice him.
Now he was running late and hoped the fat little man had the good sense to wait. Considering the money Rudker had paid him, he’d better. A two thousand dollar retainer had bought him the promise that this job would never be documented or discussed. On some level, Rudker knew it was paranoid to watch the girl to see what she would do, but as long as he kept it in check, suspicion often worked in his favor.
If Sula had gone so far as to steal a disk from Warner’s office, it was obvious she was out to get him and would not give up easily. Rudker intended to subvert anything she tried.
He pushed the Jeep past the speed limit, ignoring the pounding rain on his windshield and limited visibility. As long as he kept making the lights, he had no reason to slow down. West 11th traffic had started to thin from the rush hour and he made good time. He pulled into the pub’s parking lot and drove to a back space. He liked to keep his rig away from the reckless masses.
The bright neon sign announcing the name Wetlands irritated him. What the hell was wrong with the people in this town? Wetlands was synonymous with weed patch. Who the hell would name a restaurant and bar after such a landscape? It was bad enough that the city council was making Prolabs create new wetlands just so they could build on their own damn land. All because a group of kooky environmentalists thought the wetlands should be preserved. He could not wait to get out of this town.
The stink of burnt grease hit him as he stepped inside. Rudker tried to ignore it. The one good thing he could say about Eugene was that it has passed a no smoking law. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer that offense on top of the grease and moldy carpet aromafest. He glanced around at the noisy blue-jeans-and-flannel crowd. People seemed charged up. Rudker figured it was either payday or Powerball time. He wondered if it was too late to buy tickets.
Jimmy waved at him from a booth against the window. Rudker pushed through the crowd and slid into the seat without ever looking directly at the guy. He didn’t want anyone to ever connect the two of them. Jimmy greeted him with “Hey.”
The PI was half-way through a tall glass of beer. Rudker signaled the waitress and ordered a bottle of Henrys, which he would not finish. He did not want to be noticed, and everyone else had a beer in front of them.
Jimmy started to give his report, but Rudker cut him off. “Wait for the waitress to come back. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
They sat in silence until his beer appeared. Rudker paid the young woman with cash and tipped her a dollar. Just enough to be fair, but not enough that she would remember him. When she left, he signaled Jimmy to begin.
“I checked her mailbox early this morning while she was in the shower, and it had nothing in it. Then she came out of the house at eight clock and drove straight to the post office on Tyinn Street.”
Rudker’s blood pressure bulged. “What did she do there?”
“She carried in two or three manila envelopes.” Jimmy squirmed. “A few minutes later she came out, empty handed.”
“Shit.” Ruder said it softly. “Any idea what was in the envelopes? Were they bulky, like they had an object in them? Or flat, like paper only?”
“Flat, like paper only.” The PI sounded confident.
“Any idea who they were addressed to?”
“No.”
“What else did she do today?”
Jimmy looked down at a notepad on the table. “She went to the state employment office on Coburg Road and spent two hours and forty-five minutes there.”
Relief washed over him. Sula was looking for work. The envelopes probably contained resumes and job applications. “By the way, when you’re done reading your notes to me, destroy them. Tomorrow, commit her movements to memory, please.”
Jimmy squinted at him. “I’ll try.”
“What next?”
“She stopped at a place called Oregon Research Center. It’s on Willamette Street.”
“I know where it is. How long was she there?”
“About thirty minutes.”
“Anything noteworthy?”
“No, but her next stop was kind of odd.”
Rudker raised an eyebrow.
“The building on the corner of 4th and High. Haven’t figured what it is yet.” Jimmy tossed back the rest of his beer. “The weird thing is, she went inside for a minute, then came out and sat in her truck to make a cell phone call. Then she went back inside for a minute, then came back out and left.”
Rudker puzzled over the sequence of events. “Maybe she borrowed the cell phone from someone inside?”
Jimmy gave him a surprised/impressed look. “Could be. After that she went home. Spent the afternoon in her garage.”
Rudker wondered why Sula would borrow a cell phone. She must have one of her own. The only thing that made sense was she didn’t want someone to see her name come up. Who would she make an anonymous call to? His greatest fear was that she had made a copy of the disk before he’d taken it back and maybe already sent it to the FDA. Without data, calling the agency would be a waste of her time. They heard from crackpots every day, people who thought pharmaceuticals were evil and blamed the agency for everything from constipation to global warming.
Had Sula contacted the media? He realized Jimmy was asking him something. “What did you say?”
“Should I stay on her for a few more days?”
“Yes. Let me have those notes.”
Jimmy ripped the top page off his notebook and pushed it across the table. Rudker scooped up the page and shoved it in his jacket pocket. He would run it through his shredder at home. Rudker took a long swallow of his beer, then stood to leave. “Tomorrow, same time.”
“See you then.” Jimmy made no move to leave.
“You’re going back out to her house, right?”
“I thought I’d eat first if that’s all right.”
Rudker was annoyed by the man’s sarcasm but didn’t let it show. “See you tomorrow.”
The rain was still pounding down when he stepped outside, so he decided not to go back to the office. Tara would be pleased to see him home before seven for a change. He backtracked the way he’d come, then headed up Timberline. The mortgage on his home was nearly $3,000 a month, but the location was empowering. Rudker liked being at the top.
He turned left on Meadow View and saw an unfamiliar blue Bronco in his driveway next to Tara’s Mercedes. Damn. He was in the mood for sex, not small talk with one of her charity ladies. He parked on the street because there wasn’t room in the driveway for all three vehicles.
Rudker hurried up the steps, entered the house, and stripped off his wet overcoat. He tossed the coat on the hall table and called out to his wife as he moved through the foyer into the living room. He was surprised to see it empty. Tara and her guest were not in the family room either. Rudker headed upstairs to their bedroom to change his shoes. Tara and her friend were probably in her office, planning some event.
As he reached the top of the stairs, his wife came out of their bedroom, followed by a man Rudker had never seen before. At first, the sight confused him. Who was he and why was he here? Had she called a repairman? Then the man’s young age and stunning looks hit him like chest blow. Dear God, this thirty-year-old Adonis was fucking his wife.
Rudker’s throat went dry and he couldn’t speak.
“Hi sweetie,” Tara gushed. “This is Doug. He’s a volunteer fundraiser for the food bank.”
Rudker swallowed, finding his voice. “Why were you in the bedroom?”
As his wife struggled to formulate a believable response, Rudker took it all in. Tara’s tousled hair and hard nipples pushing through her sweater, unrestrained by a bra. Doug’s flushed face and sockless ankles.
“We were looking for a list of donors that I’d made out earlier and-”
“Shut up!” Rudker’s heart valves pounded like a herd of thoroughbreds at the racetrack. His muscles tightened until he thought his chest would explode.
Doug stepped forward and started to speak. Rudker rushed him, knocking him to the ground. He landed with his knee in Doug’s crotch. The man cried out and Rudker silenced him with a fist to his mouth. The crunch of bone on bone was both painful and rewarding. Rudker pounded the pretty face again.
Behind him, Tara shrieked for him to stop. Rudker ignored her and hammered the guy again and again. He didn’t stop until his wife grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. In a flurry of pain, he swung awkwardly at her, striking her softly in the thigh.
Behind him Doug jumped up and knocked Rudker on his ass. While he lay stunned for a moment, the coward bolted downstairs. Tara stood her ground, biting her lip. The front door slammed as Rudker got to his feet.
“Jesus, Karl. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry-”
He lashed out and slapped her mouth to stop the flow of words. Tara’s hands flew to her face, but she didn’t cry out. For a moment, they made eye contact and silently accused each other of a dozen wrongdoings, big and small. Tara conceded first and fled into the bedroom. Rudker slumped on the top step and put his head in his hands. He heard Tara opening and closing drawers, slamming them occasionally to express her anguish. She was packing to leave. He made no move to stop her.
After a few minutes, she dragged a suitcase by him as she pounded down the stairs, crying softly.
“Why?” he called out to her retreating back.
For a moment she kept going, then at the bottom of the steps she stopped and turned back.
“Because I’m lonely. Because you’re never here.” Her voice gained volume and her face twisted in anguish. “Because you’re not really here even when you’re home. Because I don’t want to move to Seattle.”
His wife spun around and stormed out the front door. For a second, he heard the rain beating on the front step, matching the fury of his heart. Rudker wished he hadn’t hit Tara; that one slap could cost him dearly. But damnit, she had betrayed him. Totally blindsided him. After several long minutes of waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his ears, he went downstairs and took two Ativan. He thought he might have missed his Zyprexa again that morning, so he took one of those too.
Blood seeped from his knuckles, so he stood at the kitchen sink and ran cold water on his swelling hand. Rudker vowed to get back on track, to stay in control of himself until his external problems were resolved. He knew he should fight for Tara. He could win her back with the right promises-and he would. But it would have to wait. He was juggling too many critical things right now, any of which could blow up on him. The land rezoning and expansion. The fraudulent accounting, which could surface and derail the merger. And that damn PR person’s obsession with the Nexapra trials.
Rudker shut off the water and retreated to his study. Sula was his greatest concern and containing her was his top priority. Her visit to the research clinic had unnerved him. He doubted if the girl had learned anything significant, but clearly she was not giving up. He wondered what it would take to intimidate her. The idea of assaulting her was certainly attractive. Punishing offenders could be quite satisfying, as he had just experienced. Yet an anonymous attack would be difficult to pull off, and Sula would probably send the police to him even if she didn’t actually see her assailant. He could not afford to be questioned. Not with his career on the line and with Warner so recently assaulted.
One the other hand, an accident might be just what Sula needed.