Old Chaos (9781564747136) Page 26

  “They were introduced more than five years ago, right after the Bjorks moved to Latouche County. I called Larry this morning. He said he and Inger had been asked to parties at the Bjork mansion. He went with her the first time. He was pretty sure Inger spent time with the Bjorks when he was out of town, especially in the first year or so after they moved here. He knew she was bored, glad she had interesting new friends.”

  “But the friendship cooled down?”

  “Apparently. Drinkwater hung out with the Bjorks, too. Lars was an investor.”

  “Nice. Cozy. Were they having an affair?”

  “Who?”

  “Inger Swets and Fred Drinkwater,” Prentiss said impatiently, “or Inger and Fred and Mrs. Bjork. A threesome.”

  Rob stood up and went to his window for a good look at the parking lot. Beth had a better view. “I don’t know what the relationships were. I think, whatever they were, that Inger had a lot more emotion invested than Cate Bjork did. Especially at first.”

  “You think she was a dyke?”

  Rob looked at him.

  Prentiss made an impatient gesture. “A lesbian. Forgive me.”

  “It’s possible, of course. It’s also possible that Inger hero-worshipped Cate. That’s a strong emotion, too.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Inger was a beautiful woman and used to the idea, but Cate was a lot of things Inger couldn’t be—classy, fashionable, used to moving among the rich and powerful. Cate was sophisticated. Inger was a frustrated small-town girl. True, she had a locally powerful job, but how many kids want to grow up to be county clerk?”

  Prentiss snorted.

  “I’ll tell you how I think it came down.”

  “Do that.”

  “I think Cate included Inger in her social circle, introduced her to out-of-town visitors here for the scenery or skiing or windsurfing. She and Inger ran together. Who knows, it may have been Inger who suggested that Cate stand for the vacant commissioner’s seat, though I’m guessing that was Cate’s idea. At any rate, all that attention probably went to Inger’s head. I think, and this is a guess, that Cate had a long-term, not very passionate relationship with Fred Drinkwater, with or without her husband’s knowledge, but that Fred and Lars were cronies. When the time came to put the Prune Hill development through the mill, to get approval from the Board of Commissioners, I think Lars asked Inger to substitute the favorable geological survey in place of the one the WSU team filed with the state.”

  “Lars.”

  “It was a couple of years ago. He was only diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year.”

  “Okay I guess.”

  “Or it could have been Fred who asked. But it was not Cate Bjork.”

  “But Inger thought that was what Cate wanted?”

  “Yes.” Both of them sat silent, Rob thinking of Inger as she had appeared there in his office only a few days before, magnificently scornful.

  Prentiss shook his head. “A damned waste.”

  Rob nodded. “It wouldn’t have been easy for Inger to bring herself to switch the two surveys. I don’t think she would have gone against her father’s principles for money. Karl is all kinds of fool, but he’s an honest man, and he and Inger were close.”

  “ ‘I did it to please you.’ ” Prentiss murmured Inger’s words half under his breath. “Yeah, okay. She did what she thought the woman wanted. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “None of them expected that hill to slide.”

  “Your cousin did.”

  Charlie and his supervisor and the rest of the survey team. A fair number of exceptions. “You know how it is, Ed. People who build on scenic land or hazardous land think the regulations are there to inconvenience them. Even people who value the environment.”

  “Depends on whose ox is being gored?”

  “That’s right. Fred didn’t think Prune Hill would collapse onto his kitschy mansions. Lars…well, who knows what he thought? Even Inger probably thought it was unlikely. When it happened, though, it shocked her and Fred to the core. It shocked Cate, too. I think she only found out that the hazard warning had been suppressed when she got her husband’s power of attorney. At that point Fred probably confided in her.”

  “A year ago.”

  “Give or take.”

  “So she held her breath and hoped it wouldn’t happen.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  Prentiss winced at the word guess, and Rob didn’t blame him.

  “Think about the way she used the care-givers’ telephones.”

  “She was protecting her ass.”

  “Minimizing her connections with Fred and Inger. When Prune Hill did slide,” Rob went on, “she was furious with Fred and furious with Inger. They consulted, the three of them, because all three were smart enough to know they were going to be in deep trouble.”

  “You know that because of the phone records.”

  “Yes. Fred went out twice the day of the mudslide. We may be able to find out where they met.”

  “Maybe.” Prentiss sounded doubtful.

  Rob added, with more confidence than he felt, “The last meeting was at Fred’s house at Tyee Lake. I don’t know that Inger was even there. Probably, but if not, it wouldn’t have taken genius for her to figure out the next day that Cate had killed him. Inger probably even knew how she did it.”

  “And felt threatened.”

  “Threatened and conflicted. Inger loved her father, but she’d betrayed him.”

  “Yeah, your Board of Commissioners is in deep shit.” The muscle by Prentiss’s left eye twitched. “I guess I don’t see a little woman like the commissioner taking out two big, aggressive victims.”

  “Christ, Ed, she taught martial arts. The real question is not whether she could do it but why.”

  Prentiss blinked. He’d been investigating Inger, but he must not have found her ties to the Bjorks interesting. He would have been looking at Drinkwater, not Cate.

  Rob gave him a brief summary of Cate Bjork’s background.

  “So she taught classes at UC Santa Barbara.”

  “As an adjunct. The pay was lousy. After her first husband OD’d, she must have decided she’d be better off working as a personal trainer than struggling along as a grad student.” Rob felt a stab of shame. He hadn’t been kind to Charlie, who’d been in the same straits. Charlie hadn’t asked for help. Rob felt sure Cate hadn’t either. The experience had turned her in on herself. Charlie reached out, an important difference.

  “So she taught martial arts.”

  “Self-defense for women. Comes to the same thing.”

  “She turned herself into a personal trainer, found this rich man, sank her hooks into him, and never looked back.”

  “I think she gave him his money’s worth.”

  “Until last night.”

  “Last night she ran out of hope.”

  They were staring at each other, remembering the bridge. Pren-tiss’s eyes dropped first.

  SHERIFF McCORMICK,” BETH said into the phone. She was sitting in Mack’s office looking out at the bit of river she could see and wondering whether she would survive her second press conference.

  “What is this, some kind of joke? I asked to speak to the Latouche County sheriff.” A man’s voice, querulous.

  “This is she.” Very like an English teacher.

  There was a disconcerted pause. “Well, I’m Warren Bjork, and I want to know what the hell—”

  Beth interrupted him. “Your father is at the county hospital, Mr. Bjork. I suggest that you call them at once. We’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

  Bjork spluttered something about Seattle.

  “If you’re in Seattle, you should come back as soon as you can. There seems to be no serious injury, but he’s suffering from hypothermia. At his age that’s serious.”

  “I heard…is it true that my stepmother is dead?”

  “Yes.” Beth opened her mouth to explain the circumstances and decided she
couldn’t do it twice in less than an hour. She checked her watch. “If that’s all, Mr. Bjork, I’m scheduled for a press conference in twenty minutes. My condolences on your stepmother’s death. Good-bye.” She hung up. What an unpleasant man. He’d probably sue the county.

  She wondered what was going to happen to the Bjork estate and to Cate’s estate. When Beth had talked to Maddie that morning, Maddie had described the elaborate house. Was it Cate’s house, or had it been built with Bjork money? If the latter, then Warren Bjork would own it eventually. The thought was intolerable. Beth let her mind ramble around possible solutions.

  The press conference went as well as could be expected. Ellen Koop kindly sat in on it with her, though the only prosecution in the works was the case against Matt Akers for soliciting grievous bodily harm. Rob, the victim, wanted to drop it, Ellen didn’t. Beth didn’t care, and neither, she suspected, did the press. It was good to let Akers sweat.

  Beth supplied the reporters with facts that were relevant to all the investigations. She had no doubt the media would engage in wild theories about Inger’s conduct as well as her death. As for Cate Bjork’s death, the spectacular dive into the river would call for internal investigation on the part of the state patrol, at the very least. However, Prentiss had not been in pursuit when Cate went off the bridge. Beth hoped none of the blame would slop over onto Rob. He had been trying to prevent a chase across the bridge, after all.

  Beth had allowed fifteen minutes for questions after her prepared statement, and she managed to respond to them without catastrophe. Maddie Thomas was in the audience. Strictly speaking, she was not press, but Beth took her question anyway.

  “Sheriff McCormick, have you given any thought as to who will replace Commissioner Bjork?”

  No, but I’ll bet you have. Beth almost said that. She responded with odious piety to the effect that it was way too early to think of replacements. She hoped that didn’t make Madeline angry. They would surely hold another special election. She hoped she didn’t have to choose the new candidate. On the other hand…

  As she made her slow way back to her office, leaning heavily on the walker, she turned the question over in her mind. She found Rob, Karl Tergeson, and a wild-eyed Hank Auclare waiting for her.

  Ramona said, “I thought it was best to put them in there. Shall I bring coffee?”

  “Bless you,” Beth said rather faintly. She hadn’t dared to ask Ramona for coffee for herself. “Uh, are there enough chairs?”

  “Rob doesn’t want to sit.” Ramona bustled off.

  As Beth entered the office both commissioners stood, Karl shakily.

  Rob was standing by the window. He turned. “How did it go?”

  “Well enough.”

  “No thanks to me,” Rob said ruefully.

  “I didn’t say that.” She smiled at him. “Ellen had to leave.” She turned to Karl, balanced on her good leg, and held out both hands. “My dear, I am so sorry.”

  Karl took her hands, tears in his eyes. “Thank you. I hung up on you, Beth. I wasn’t…I didn’t…”

  “It’s all right, Karl.” She edged the walker over to her chair and sat with a thud.

  “Unanswerable questions?” Rob again.

  “Lots. I no-commented extensively.”

  Rob smiled.

  “You have to talk Karl out of it,” Hank wailed, coming out of nowhere. “He wants to resign!”

  Beth shut her eyes.

  Karl said, “I have to resign. My little girl…”

  Karl’s resignation was going to look like an admission of guilt. All of them knew that. None of them said it. And Hank was not a stalwart personality. If the Board were besieged he’d surrender at the first boom of the cannon. Then they’d have to replace all three commissioners.

  Wait a minute, Beth thought. Is this a bad thing or a good thing?

  With suspicious timing, Ramona came in at that point and even volunteered to pour. Beth let her. She didn’t have the strength to lift the coffeepot herself.

  When Meg came through the kitchen door at six-thirty Rob was already there. A bottle of Laphroaig reposed on the table, two New York-cut steaks marinated in a plastic bag beside a heap of thawing chanterelle mushrooms, and the aroma of baking potatoes reminded her that she had skipped lunch.

  She plunked her bookbag, briefcase, and purse on the nearest chair and clasped her hands soulfully. “You’re fixing your Meal!”

  He gave her a sidelong grin. Rob wasn’t a bad cook, but he had only one menu designed to impress the unwary. He had fixed it the first time he cooked for her. He turned back to the oakleaf lettuce he was washing.

  “Where did you get the booze?” Her search for Red Label the night before had been fruitless. “Ah, you took Beth home and popped in for supplies while you were at it.”

  “It’s useful to have two pantries.” He began blotting the greens dry on a clean dish towel, at least she hoped it was clean.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Bridge building. Fence mending.”

  “Ah. Well, it’s Charlie you ought to be cooking for.”

  “First fences first. Besides, Charlie’s teaching tonight.”

  “So he is.” She grabbed her belongings and took them to her office. She had forty-two e-mail messages, thirty of them spam and one a nice long letter from Lucy. She saved that one and whisked into the bathroom. When she had scrubbed her hands and tidied her short curls she looked at herself. Am I ready for this? No.

  She stalked to the kitchen. “About your cousin—”

  “I know. Charlie’s a good kid.”

  “Charlie is a good man.”

  A pause. “Yes, he is.” The Laphroaig had disappeared, probably into the drinks cabinet. They tended to treat it like brandy. He poured two glasses of local pinot noir and handed one to her.

  She sat. “Guess who came to the library this afternoon?”

  “No idea.” He saluted with his wine glass and took a sip.

  “Dede Marquez and daughter.”

  “No kidding. How’s Kayla?” He set out a plate of table water crackers and Brie.

  “Bruised and bored but unbowed.” She slathered a cracker with Brie, ate it, and began to feel more civilized. “You know how it is at the library at that time of day.”

  “Schoolkids doing homework and hanging out, mothers with toddlers, tourists wanting to use the Wi-Fi, unemployed guys reading the help-wanted ads, retired gents whose wives kick them out of the house—”

  “It’s a circus. I was at the Information desk when Dede and Kayla entered. One of the teenagers spotted them and shouted, ‘Hey, it’s Kayla,’ and the next thing I knew they were all applauding, even my staff, even little tots.” She waved another laden cracker.

  “No kidding?”

  “They just stood there and clapped. Kayla turned bright red, and Dede started crying. I was crying.” She sniffed, remembering. “I hustled them into my office before Kayla died of embarrassment, and some kind soul, not Marybeth, brought coffee.”

  Rob sighed. “Kayla ought to run for county commissioner.”

  Meg stared at him, eyes narrowed. Of course someone would have to replace Cate Bjork. “Why not? She’s a hero.”

  “She is.” Rob smiled. “She’ll have to contend with my candidate, though.”

  “Who?”

  “Bat Quinn. The search and rescue guy.”

  “Why not Jack Redfern?”

  “A good idea if Jack wouldn’t die laughing first. One politician per family, Meg.”

  “Must be a local custom.” She thought he was probably right.

  “So what did you talk about?”

  “Kayla didn’t say anything. Dede and I talked about Cate Bjork.”

  He frowned over another sip of wine.

  “Cate was on Dede’s mind. They were good friends once.”

  “Maybe Prentiss should interview her.” He sounded indifferent.

  Meg fired up. “Dede may have a strange angle on things, but she’s an o
bservant woman.”

  “Sorry. I don’t doubt it. I shy away from thinking about the late commissioner at all. I don’t even want to consider Ed Prentiss’s state of mind.”

  Meg touched his hand, she couldn’t help it. She said carefully, “According to Dede, Cate was a perfectionist, obsessed with her image of herself, but she wasn’t particularly greedy.”

  He nodded. “The pre-nuptial settlement she got was modest relative to his wealth.”

  “Sounds like a lot to me, but I suppose you’re right.” Meg cocked her head. “Even though Lars Bjork’s family gave her a bad time, she took pride in her impeccable public conduct. And she loved him. At least that’s what Dede said. You know, Cate wasn’t a wide-eyed, silicon-enhanced starlet. She was a smart woman in her thirties with a sad history. She was grateful to Lars for rescuing her and determined to be a perfect companion. What she couldn’t stand was betrayal.”

  “Unlucky in love,” Rob mused.

  “In a sense her first husband betrayed her. Dede said she was still bitter about that.”

  Rob was listening, eyes dark and intent. “If Fred and Lars betrayed her by their manipulation of the geological surveys—”

  “The mudslide was the betrayal,” Meg interposed.

  “Dede said that?”

  “Nope. I did. None of them believed the slide was going to happen. But I’ll bet Cate wasn’t the one who persuaded Inger to switch the reports.”

  “I agree with you.” Rob got up and started to tear lettuce into the salad bowls. “There’s no way to prove it.”

  “Except by talking to Lars.”

  Rob shook his head. “He’s beyond that.”

  “Not all the time. Long-term memory fades in and out.”

  “I can try.” He chopped a green onion, whack, whack, whack. “Not that it will do any good.”

  “It might ease your mind.”

  He chopped a radish and sprinkled the thin slices into the bowl. Then he turned up the heat under a pot and came back to the table. “You said the mudslide was the betrayal.”

  “She had just been elected as a green candidate when it happened.”

  “Maybe Fred and Inger threatened to come clean.”