“Uh-huh,” Susan said. She got her cigarettes out of her purse, lit one, and took a drag. Usually, she’d have asked permission. “He and Archie are friends?”
The lawyer paused and seemed to think about the answer. “Archie has always been generous about keeping the family updated on the case. They’ve known each other for a long time.”
“How long have you worked for him?”
“He was my first client. Right out of law school.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “Lewis and Clark?” All the lawyers in town went to Lewis and Clark. Sometimes Susan thought it must be a requirement in the state bar exam.
“Go Pioneers,” he said.
“They should have gone with Seaman,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“They should have made the mascot Seaman. After Lewis’s Newfoundland. He was right there with them, blazing the Oregon Trail.”
“Is Archie in trouble?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Compared to . . .”
He got his wallet out, extracted an expensive-looking business card, and put it in her hand. “You can always call me,” he said. “I am a lawyer.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “And I’m discreet.”
Susan couldn’t quite figure him out. And she didn’t like that. She looked at her shoes. “It’s pretty out here.”
“As a picture.” He took the cigarette out of her hand, took a drag off it, and handed it back.
Susan looked at the cigarette.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m quitting. But I sneak one once in a while.”
Another gull landed on the dock and pecked at some old bait that lay baking in the sun.
“What was his daughter’s name?” she asked.
The lawyer gestured to the boat. On the back, above the rudder, was a girl’s name painted in glittery gold and black cursive letters. “Isabel,” he said. “She was my sister.” He took the cigarette out of her hand again and took another drag. “Jack Reynolds is my father. Jeremy is my little brother.” He sucked down the rest of the cigarette, tossed it on the dock, and stepped on it. “One big happy fucking family.”
C H A P T E R 35
Are we not talking?” Archie said.
They were driving south on Highway 43, the LO alpine shopping mall on their left, heading back toward Portland. Susan didn’t answer him. A DJ on the alt rock station yammered on about LASIK surgery.
Archie shrugged. He had the gun and cell phone he’d gotten from Jack Reynolds on his lap. He emptied the chamber of the gun and then put the bullets in a dash cubby intended for loose change, and the gun and phone in Susan’s glove box.
“What are you doing?” Susan asked.
“In case we’re pulled over,” he said.
“No,” Susan said. “In the larger sense. What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get a lost kid out of a bad situation.”
Susan flailed a hand at the glove box. “You got a gun. An unregistered gun.”
“Yes,” Archie said.
“Who is that guy?”
Archie smiled. “He’s in real estate.”
Susan could feel her jaw tighten. Someday she was going to take Archie Sheridan by the shoulders and shake the truth right out of him. Until then, she’d have to rely on more subtle manipulation.
“His lawyer’s cute,” she said.
She saw Archie slide her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“Why?”
“Leo,” Archie said slowly, “works for Jack.”
“Doing what?” Susan said. “Real estate contracts?”
Archie pulled at his ear. “Jack is responsible for importing most of the heroin that comes through the West Coast.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me,” Susan said.
“I’m serious.” He reached for the stereo. “Do you mind if I change the station?”
She swatted at his hand. “I like this song.”
Archie sighed and sat back.
They were through First Addition now and on the stretch of 43 that wound alongside the river, connecting Lake Oswego and John’s Landing. “He’s a drug dealer?” Susan said.
“He’s the drug dealer,” Archie said. “The rectangle at the top of the org chart.”
Susan asked the obvious question. “Why don’t you arrest him?”
To the left, beyond the old-growth cedars and mountains of En glishivy, were some of Portland’s fanciest houses, and beyond them, up the hill, the bucolic campus of Lewis and ClarkCollege. The truth was that Susan had applied there as an undergraduate, but hadn’t gotten in.
“His daughter was murdered,” Archie said.
“So he gets a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card?”
“He’s smart,” Archie said. “It’s not like he’s in OldTown palming rocks to crackheads. He’s well insulated.”
Susan looked over at Archie. He was losing it.
“What?” Archie said.
“You just got a gun from a crook,” Susan said, her voice rising. “You’re trying to help his crazy son, who may or may not have been involved in cutting some poor hippie’s spleen out.” Plus there were other bodies—a head, for Christ’s sake. “Possibly more.”
Archie was quiet for a moment. “He was there,” he said softly.