Sula was drifting off to sleep when her nurse came into room. “Sula. This is Detective Jackson, with the violent crimes division. He wants to ask you about the accident.”
The cop stepped up to the foot of her bed. His dark eyes and rugged features were intimidating and she wished she’d bolted from the hospital an hour ago. He smiled and said, “How are you feeling, miss?”
Sula relaxed a little, thinking he was attractive for someone his age. “I’m okay, all things considered.”
“Tell me what happened this morning.”
“I really don’t remember.” Sula reflexively touched the gash above her left temple.
“You don’t know what made you run off the road over an embankment?”
“The last thing I remember is turning down McBeth.” She hated lying to this man. She hated protecting Rudker, but she couldn’t risk his retaliation against Tate.
“From Fox Hollow?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing on Fox Hollow? Do you live up there?”
“No.” Sula hesitated. Nothing she said would sound right. “I was just taking a drive. It was gorgeous yesterday and the view is incredible.”
He nodded. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Had you been drinking?”
“No. The doctors took blood samples that will verify that.”
Jackson shifted his weight. “The bicyclists who called 911 and reported the accident said a grey sedan nearly ran them off the road right after they heard your crash. Did you see that car?” His tone was gentle, and Sula sensed he wanted to help her.
“Not that I remember.” That, at least, was the truth.
Detective Jackson gave her a penetrating look. “Did someone run you off the road?”
“Why would they?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Who would want to harm you?”
“Nobody. That seems crazy.”
“Your truck has sizable dent in the tailgate, as though it were rammed from behind.”
“It rolled several times after I landed on the tree.”
“Have you been depressed lately?”
Sula shook her head.
“Are you on any kind of medication?”
“I take Celexa. It’s an antidepressant.”
“But you’re not depressed?”
“I didn’t try to kill myself, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Yet you nearly had a fatal accident.”
“Maybe I swerved to miss a deer. I wish I could remember. I think you’re making too much of this.”
“And I think you’re protecting someone. What I can’t figure out is why.”
Sula was silent. She bit her lip to keep from blurting out the truth.
For a moment, he just stared at her with his intense black eyes. Then he handed her a business card. “If your memory comes back, give me a call.”
“Sure.”
After the cop left, Sula wished she could call him back and tell him everything, but Rudker’s influence in the department had already landed her in jail. She couldn’t go through that again.
Rudker left Prolabs and headed straight for Fred Meyer, which was open until eleven. He picked up a package of duct tape, a black knit cap, a shovel, and a bottle of Pepsi. At the checkout, he asked for two rolls of quarters and they sent him to customer service. He wished he had more time to plan and purchase some chloroform. But this had to be done now. He hated waiting for Sula to come home, but it seemed like the best option. He had to get through this one last ordeal. Everything else was minor and would eventually straighten itself out. He filled up his tank, thinking he would drive around for a while to kill some time.
In was nearly midnight and Cricket was in a state of agitation. What an evening of highs and lows. On the six o’clock news, Walter Krumble had admitted to taking a bribe for his vote on Prolabs’ building plans. Cricket had been so ecstatic, he’d e-mailed everyone in his address book.
Later, during the eleven o’clock broadcast, Martin Tau had announced that the city council had convened for a special meeting and voted to go ahead with the zoning change and allow the development to continue. Cricket was stunned. It seemed like political suicide for the councilors. The public would be outraged by such a decision, made in hasty, secret proceedings.
Cricket jumped up from the worn couch. He had to move now. His squatters needed to be onsite before they poured the foundation. His group had to strike while the public was still angered by Prolabs’ bribe and the council’s decision to ignore it. With the help of Trina Waterman, this could be a rare opportunity to win public support and put a stop to local chemical manufacturing.
Cricket started dialing numbers. It was late, but he didn’t care and neither would his comrades. They often did their best work in the middle of the night.