that Chuck had pulled for me. I kept their PPDS reports for myself.
Gunderson was sixty-five with a clean record. Minkins was thirty, on
probation for a forged check.
My eyes stayed on Minkins's picture. When Chuck gave it to me
yesterday morning, I hadn't given it a second glance. But now he
looked familiar. The guy by my table in the library. With shorter
hair and a closer shave, he could've been Minkins. On the other hand,
he could've been yet another lanky guy with dark hair and a mustache. I
might have to arrange an in-person look-see.
For now, I wanted to know what Jackson could tell me. "Have your guy
take a look at these. See if he recognizes them from the site."
Slip glanced at the photographs. "Are you going to tell me who they
are?"
"Nope."
When I left Slip's office, I called my father to make sure he was home.
I wasn't sure I could make it over for dinner, I told him, but I needed
to talk to him now, if he didn't mind.
Five minutes later, he was pouring me a glass of iced tea as we sat
together at the breakfast nook. We both had finally adjusted to the
clean tabletop. When my mother was still living,
this was the place where she stacked her books, mail, and bills. Now
that my father was in charge of running the house, those things piled
up in the den.
"Look what I found." I handed him a copy of the newspaper article,
showing him in the background at the college commencement. "You look
very handsome."
Something dark crossed my father's face. "Where'd you find that old
thing?"
"I came across it when I was going through some old newspaper articles
at the library trying to tie up some loose ends."
"Well, thanks, Sammy. I'll hold on to it. I forgot what I looked like
back then. Not too shabby in my day, was I?"
"I think it's safe to say you were a full-blown hot tie Dad. I was
actually hoping to talk to you about it. Were you doing security for
the commencement?"
Dad shook his head. "I was driving one of the bigwigs. We did a lot
of that in OSP."
"Who were you driving?"
"Oh, who can even remember? That was so long ago. What's this about,
honI'm not sure yet. A couple of names keep coming up on something I'm
looking into, and one of them is Clifford Brigg. What do you remember
about him?"
Dad put the article face down on the table. "Not a lot. I left OSP
when you were just a little kid, and I never looked back. I remember
reading that Brigg died oh, that must have been more than fifteen years
ago."
"But what was he like back then? What was his reputation?"
"I'm sorry, Samantha, but I told you before, I don't want to talk about
this. What's past is past."
No, he told me he didn't want to talk about his reasons for leaving
OSP. The knot I'd felt when I first found the article began to settle
its way back into my stomach. "Dad, does this have something to do
with why you moved over to the forest service? Because that's what you
told me before that you didn't want to talk about."
He was silent for a moment, as if he were mulling something over in his
head before speaking. "I didn't say anything other than I don't want
to talk about it. End of discussion."
End of discussion? I hadn't heard him say that since I was in junior
high school and he forbade me from taking the Greyhound with Grace for
a Duran Duran concert in Seattle. Grace's mother had nixed the idea
too, so we caved.
This time I wouldn't quit so easily. "Dad, I hope you know there's
nothing you can't tell me. Obviously this picture is upsetting to you,
and it's got something to do with our conversation the other day about
Mom "
"It's got nothing to do with your mother."
"OK, whatever, but something about this upsets you. I wish you'd talk
to me about it." I couldn't believe I even had to say that to him. As
long as I could remember, his favorite pastime was to tell me things.
Anything. When I was a kid, it took all he could handle not to divulge
where Mom had hidden the Christmas presents.
Now he wouldn't talk to me about a legislator who had died when I was
in high school.
"Dad, I came across these articles doing research on the East-erbrook
investigation. If you know something, you have to tell me. It could
be important. Melvin Jackson might be innocent."
"If anyone's innocent, it's you, and you're the one I'm worried about.
It's these people, Sam. These people. They'll eat you alive to
advance their agenda."
"What people? Dad, don't leave me in the dark."
He stood up, walked to the kitchen sink, and stared out the window for
a minute, and then another, without saying a word to me. Then he sat
across from me again.
"I did security for Clifford Brigg. The man was well, he was a son of
a bitch. Pardon my language. He's dead and gone, but if anyone
associated with him is injecting himself into your investigation
please, Sam, just walk away."
"Why, Dad? The least you can do is tell me why."
"I can't, Sam. I just can't."
"And I just can't walk away."
I left my father with whatever secrets he was holding on to and drove
to my office, feeling incredibly lonely. Part of me wanted to lie on
my couch, watch TV, and cry, but I knew I needed to work.
I made a list of everything I knew about Clarissa, Gunderson, the
Glenville property, Caffrey, Townsend, and Jackson. Then I used lines
to connect facts that might be related, like Clarissa's ruling on the
Gunderson case, Gunderson's stake in the urban growth boundary, and
Clarissa's affair with Cafferty.
Before I knew it, my legal pad was so filled with overlapping lines
that I couldn't read anything. Frustrated, I finally circled my pen
around the entire list over and over again until I popped a hole in the
paper. What the hell were you up to, Clarissa?
Making sense of everything I'd learned over the weekend was going to
take some legwork. I paged Johnson.
I tried to keep it simple, telling him about Clarissa's safe deposit
box. "I was hoping you'd have another go at Caffrey since you never
got in touch with him the first time. We need to find out what
Clarissa was doing with that videotape."
Johnson obviously didn't share my enthusiasm. "Sorry, Sam, but I'm
working other cases now. I can't pull off to put in more time on
Jackson."
"Do you know if Walker can do it? I've got the rest of the prelim
tomorrow." I had a hard time hiding my frustration. The