Chambers spent thirty days in a “sober-living house” and had been required to attend AA meetings. Her compliance had expunged her file. Nothing in her bank statements or on her credit card or cell phone records indicated she’d recently come into money, or that she was preparing to flee the country. In fact, she had no savings and very little in her checking account. It wouldn’t come close to paying off her considerable credit card debt, all of which was also in accord with what her sister had described.
This time, Tracy and Kins did not call ahead to ask Phil Montgomery’s permission to speak to Strickland. Instead, Tracy called the law firm where Strickland now worked, and posed as a potential client hoping to set up a meeting. Strickland’s assistant advised that Strickland had interviews in the office all morning, and a lunch meeting out of the office, but said he could meet with her at 3:00 p.m. Tracy said she’d get back to her and hung up.
With cell phones, it was always possible Strickland could still call his lawyer, tell Tracy and Kins to go piss in a pool, and sit mute. Tracy sensed that would not be the case. She had the same feeling about Strickland that Stan Fields had shared. Strickland believed he was smarter than everybody, and he would think he could run circles around them. Tracy was counting on that arrogance.
The law firm where Strickland worked was in a converted one-story house in a mixed residential and commercial neighborhood. Most of the buildings had bars on the windows and metal gates protecting the front doors.
“My how the mighty have fallen,” Kins said.
“Maybe not that far.” Tracy pointed out Strickland’s cherry-red Porsche parked in the home’s driveway.
“Why doesn’t he just put a ‘Steal Me’ sign on the windshield and be done with it?” Kins said.
Kins parked across the street in a spot where they could view the car. Though it remained warm, eighty-eight degrees, the sky had begun to cloud over and to darken. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees along the block.
“You and Dan made any plans for the wedding?” Kins asked as they settled in to wait.
“We were talking about it last night. Dan wants a traditional wedding.”
Kins made a face. “You mean like a priest and a church and all that pomp and circumstance?”
“Pretty much, though I’ve told him I want to get married at the Alki Point Lighthouse.”
“Can you do that?”
“Apparently. That’s where he proposed.”
“Nice,” Kins said. “You know that guy is making the rest of us look bad. Don’t tell Shannah.”
“Too late. Why, how did you propose?”
“My last college game, I walked to the stands where she was waiting, and instead of kissing her, I dropped to a knee.”
“Please don’t tell me you had the ring in your pants.”
“Football pants don’t have pockets.”
“I know.”
Kins laughed. “No. Her sister held it for me.”
“So what’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t think anything was wrong with it. Shannah thinks I did it because with 60,000 fans watching she couldn’t turn me down.”
Tracy laughed. “Dan wants me to wear a wedding dress and have someone give me away.”
Kins nodded, clearly thinking that statement through. “You given that any thought?”
“A little bit. I have a question to ask you.”
“Fire away,” Kins said, now smiling.
“Do you think Faz would do it?”
“Fuck you, Crosswhite.” He laughed, then suddenly sat up and started the car. “There’s our boy.”
Strickland bounded down two wood steps in straight-leg jeans and a fashionable long-sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up and tail hanging out. He slid into the Porsche, fired up the engine with a roar, and peeled out of the driveway onto the street, as if in a hurry.
“Everything is for show with this guy, isn’t it?” Kins said, following at a safe distance.
Strickland drove west, made a couple of turns, and crossed the Ross Island Bridge.
“You think he’s heading home?” Tracy asked.
“Don’t know. Right direction, though,” Kins said. “Receptionist said he had an appointment?”
“That’s what she said.”
Strickland exited just after crossing the bridge. He took surface streets along the Willamette River then quickly pulled to the curb. Kins slid behind a parked car. They watched Strickland exit the Porsche and walk toward the waterfront.
“I hope he’s not another one of those people who likes to walk on their lunch hour,” Kins said.
“Not in those shoes,” Tracy said.
Strickland disappeared beneath a brown awning and entered a restaurant called Three Degrees.
“You hungry?” Tracy asked.
“I am now,” Kins said, pushing out of the car.
They ignored the ma?tre d’, telling the young woman they were meeting someone for lunch, and found Strickland seated beneath an umbrella at a table on the patio. He had his head down, fingers moving rapidly across the keypad of his cell phone.
Strickland looked up expectantly when Tracy pulled out the chair to his right. His smile quickly faded to confusion, then concern.
“What are you doing here?” Strickland’s gaze flicked between Kins and Tracy. His cheeks flushed.
Tracy sat. “We came to tell you good news, Mr. Strickland. Your wife is not the woman in the crab pot.”
“I already know that,” Strickland said. “It was all over the news. And my attorney called to let me know.”
Kins shrugged at Tracy. “Looks like we drove a long way for nothing.”