Chapter  1


	In Oregon, fall leaks into the warmer months almost unobtrusively, filling the summer dry cracks.  First a cooler day, a night curled closer to one's bedmate, the first misty rain renewing dulled, dusty colors, reddening leafs and the once parching wind now a welcome cool touch swirling the summer into corners.
	Mid-afternoon, Andi Wicksham swept through the door into their Hawthorn office, pretending not to see Lena Kovid, her office manager/partner swinging from her computer, telephone to ear, waving for recognition.
	Lena straightened a finger pointedly toward Andi's phone.  A year ago she'd wrangled a full partner's share of profits and earned it from the first day; clerical engineering flowed effortlessly despite endless phone calls with reports and contracts simply leaping from her computer.  More than simply efficient, she cranked enough skip searches and employee backgrounds to cover the rent plus her salary, negotiated a steady dribble of summons and with balance worthy of Solomon, dispensed enough support to make Andi's days flow with enough lip to keep her humble.
	Andi rolled her eyes and veered growling "Wicksham" in the Sam Spade tone new clients seemed to expect and sank gratefully into her chair.
	"I got a friend in trouble." the voice began.
	"Don't we all?"
	"Mine found a friend's body in his kitchen last night."
	Andi took a wary breath and looked up to the ceiling profitable cases didn't come through friends; they came from people personally up to their ears or lawyers.  "You're not his legal advisor."  It was a statement.  She swung around to the window to see a fat squirrel scampered along an wire and leapt up to a tree branch.  Andi grieved the hazelnut latte and chocolate biscotti she hadn't stopped to get.
	"I figured I'd call you for advice before getting one for him."
	"I advise calling a lawyer now."  Just what she didn't need; a third-party client with a friend.  "Try Janice Thompson." she swivelled back to her address book, found the right card and recited her number.  "What's your friend's name?"
	"Lamar Rasheed."
	"Are you involved in the murder?"
	"Not directly." the voice retained its casualness.
	"How indirectly."  She looked over her shoulder to see if the squirrel returned.
	"I know both Lamar and Jimmy Tuft.  Jimmy was the one in the kitchen."
	"Know?"
	"Uhhh, we've been involved politically." 
	"What politics?"
	The reply was hushed.  "Activist stuff."  There were pauses before and after that phrase, then, "Direct action, pranks on environmental bad guys...some mildly illegal.  I was assured you'd be sympathetic."
	"Pranks with a dead guy while he was living--even illegal pranks...that in itself is not involved." she reassured categorically.  "Were you there when he died?"
	"No."
	"Were you there when he was found?"
	"No."
	"Do you know who did it?"
	"Not exactly."
	"So how are you're involved?"  Andi shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she'd gone for coffee.  She ran a hand through her shortish barbered hair.
	"I know why Jimmy was killed and that Lamar didn't do it."
	The stretching silence hushed the traffic sounds.  "OK."  She chose a new tack.  "How'd you come to call me?"
	"A friend's referral.  Said you were good."
	Andi chewed her lip compliments did not curry favor.  "I work for money."  Anybody could get a few minutes advice, but hand-holding was worth a minimal fee.
	"Of course.  That's not a problem."  It almost leapt from his mouth.
	"Your friend Rasheed needs a lawyer, if you're involved more than peripherally, you'll need one too."
	"I was hoping to keep out of trouble with your help."
	"If you need legal help, hire a lawyer."
	"I'll call your lawyer-friend, but we still need to talk.  This is complicated, but I want to hire you for an environmental investigation."  A hint of impatience.
	Andi yielded.  "I work by the day.  What's your name?"  She let a lilt grace her voice, the tough-guy shtick was a pain to maintain.   She glanced at Lena's lock of wispy, blond bangs dyed red and her violet bandanna.  Lena wore her hair in a short, choppy street-kid look with a single, braided strand dangling behind her multi-ringed left ear the urban look of a retro-waif.
	It took that long for her caller to answer.  "Armando DeVino."
	"That your given name?"
	"Yes."  The edge of irritation had blended magically into a cheerful helpfulness and he gave phone number and address, agreed without a quaver to a five hundred-dollar retainer against a possible day and a half's work, claimed he was the director of a nonprofit and referred by her friend Francois.  Perhaps it was positivism in the face of a friend's murder that seemed out of place; there was a visceral sense of something wrong she could not put her finger on.  "Phoned the police?"
	He coughed quietly.  "I wanted to go over what I'd tell them."
	Andi shook her head and stared blankly up to the ceiling, "You're going to tell them what you know, not some line.  Why don't I think this is kosher?"
	"It's awkward Ms Wicksham, but it's legit."
	"OK...still you need to talk to the cops."  She tapped the eraser of her pencil on the page before her.  "If you know anything that might help your friend, you need to spill it."
	"What we were doing was illegal."
	"More illegal than murder?  More important than freeing your friend?"
	"No."
	"Then you take the risk.  Cops make a big deal about withholding evidence in felonies.  You at home?"  She looked down at the address; just north of Mount Tabor an easy five minutes.  "I'll be over soon as I leave a message for a friend."
	Andi hung up before his response and looked up to Lena,  "Can you crank a standard contract?"  She tossed over Armando's name and address.
	Lena caught the notebook on the fly and stared at her screen.
	Andi punched Ramirez's number.  It was a minor miracle that he answered.
	"Sergeant Ramirez." his flat, cop-at-work voice barked in her ear.  He worked plain-clothed in homicide out of the Southeast precinct and had known Andi since they were teens smoking pot under the trees of local parks.
	"It's Andi.  I got something you want."
	"Wicksham, it's about time.  Tanya yearns for another night of dominos."  Ramirez glided into his old friend persona.
	Andi plunged on.  "There was a body found in a kitchen last night...the guy who lived there's being held.  I got a client saying he knows something."
	"Why doesn't he call himself?"
	"Didn't wanna get in trouble."
	"No doubt.  What does he know?"
	"I'm not sure, but am going over, then want to get you together.  Say a half-hour, forty minutes?"
	"Where?  Here?" Ramirez asked in alarm.
	"Not if we can avoid it.  How's Coffee People on Hawthorne?"
	"You got it, thirty minutes."
	"Sure amigo, ciao."  Andi grabbed the contract on the way past Lena's desk.  "Ramirez is talking a dominos' rematch, Tanya want's revenge.  Come by in an hour?"
	Lena waved her out with a nod and was typing before the door swung shut.

	The new client held up his end of the deal--handing her a check as she came to the ground floor apartment's door and gesturing a bit awkwardly toward a chair.  Andi took the money and chose the couch as she ran through a checklist; curtains drawn against a beautiful day and instead of food smells the rooms smelled musty.  Forty bulbs in table lamps showed a light haze of dust, a spare cobweb and two cheap, light-toned Jackson Pollack prints in minimalist frames.  Armando was thin-faced, in his late thirties with dark eyes and an aquiline nose arguing the authenticity of his name.  His maroon tie was loosely askew under a jacket of conservative cut and indifferent fabric feathers of an executive wanna-be.
	She laid a business card and the contract on the coffee table and sank into the gold sectional couch of questionable taste as Armando settled in the chair across from her.  A radio in a back room lent a muffled hominess and the feeling that someone might be listening, but there was the aura near that of a motel, no books or magazines the miss-matched, better-quality thrift store decor spoke to a bachelor esthetic.
	He skimmed the contract like a speed reader, crossing-out three paragraphs and scribbling notes in the margins as if from memory.   "Might want to give this some thought, vaguer language, cutting the reports and making it piece work."
	"I don't know if I want that sort of job."
	"The job's the same; it's yours, run it anyway you want, I'm limiting your liability."  He held out the page and met her eyes.
	Andi blinked and nodded--she was being paid well enough to be civil, contract or not.  She folded it once, slipped it into her notebook and flipped to a blank page.  "Where do you want to begin?"
	Armando held her gaze and smiled easily.  "Lamar Rasheed and I were doing graffiti.  Painting GET OUT AND VOTE to Nike 'Just Do It' billboards."
	"That's awfully tame."  Too tame to get murdered for.
	Armando shrugged as if amused.   "Afterwards we went for a snack.  I dropped him in front of his house about midnight.  He went right in and found Jimmy."
	"How do you know that if you weren't there?"
	"He called 911, then me.  My phone was ringing as I came in and we were still talking when he let the police in."
	"So, you can give him an alibi for the hours before Jimmy was found?"  Andi's voice remained restrained and professional.  "How come you haven't been questioned?"
	He coughed, "I doubt he named me."
	"What time did you leave him?"
	"We were out from eight-thirty to midnight."
	She tried a smile.  "Where'd you go for the snack?"
	"Common Grounds.  They've already asked the night staff questions."
	She weighed asking how he'd learned that, deciding against.  "When'd you last see the dead guy?"
	"Yesterday afternoon about three-thirty.  He went to video people going into a  meeting at Riparian Industries."
	"Who are they?" Andi's pencil hung poised over her page.
	"Polluters.  The ones who killed him."
	"On the phone you said you didn't know who killed him."
	"I don't know specifically.  Maybe I should have said Riparian's the reason he was killed."
	Andi pursed her lips.  "I assume there's a story behind that."
	"That's what I want to hire for, investigating a polluter."  He smiled, but his credibility stretched like late-term maternity pants.
	"There more you want to want to tell?"  She waited and tried again.  "Nothing else before you see a cop?"
	He only shrugged.
	"You'll talk to my friend Sergeant Ramirez.  He's an old friend of mine."  She held his eye.  "He resents being steered, I suggest opening up more than you have with me.  He's a cop, but not a pig...if you're reasonably honest he might report you and Lamar were doing an art project."  She shut the notebook with a slap and rose to her feet.
	"This is necessary?"
	Andi nodded and gestured for him to get up, "We'll discuss your investigation tomorrow.  Ten o'clock?" 
	He nodded, his jaw set and eyes dark.
	"I'll call at nine-thirty to confirm tomorrow."
	He nodded again, but didn't move from his chair. 
	"Come on.  This is what you hired me for."  She waited as he got to his feet.  "You got a car?  Follow me.  Ramirez hates anybody being later than him."

	Ramirez listened to Armando's statement with a look of professional disapproval, leaning forward across a sidewalk table, taking three pages of notes and dismissing him with the standard warning about someone getting in touch.
	Armando rose from his chair and nodded, tight-lipped and defensive, his dark, long-lashed eyes meeting Andi's with a salutary blink with his murmured, "Tomorrow."
	Armando irritated him mentioning Riparian twice without a reason why they would hate Jimmy enough to kill him.  He watched Armando get into his car and drive away.  "The body was long cold when the uniforms stormed in, six or eight hours.  Bound,  beaten-up and shot...obviously delivered.  Lamar Rasheed isn't a strong suspect, but he's a clam.  Max is trying to use the graffiti for leverage, but exhorting people to vote would get the DA laughed out of court."  He leaned back and changed from horn-rims back to dark glasses.
	Andi slouched in her chair and idly kicked the table leg.  "It was some sort of message."
	"Sure, somebody's playing hard ball.  You got a guess why?  What's important enough to send that message?"
	Andi gave what she hoped was a disinterested smile.
	"Why does he think he's involved?"  Ramirez stared across as if suspecting her of withholding a vital truth.
	Andi examined her fingernails.  "Says he's just an interested friend."
	"You meet ma¤ana?"
	Andi nodded.
	"What for?"
	"Some environmental investigation."
	"Not quite your thing, is it?  Watch your step, in fact I'd advise you don't take the job.  Don't stick your nose into this.  Its Max's investigation.  Do I have to say more?"
	Andi had run afoul Lieutenant Max more than once--in her opinion, each time, helping far more far more than he should expect and still getting grief.  She wondered how close she could take Armando's job without stepping on toes--she didn't believe for a moment it wasn't about Riparian.  She smiled and Ramirez leaned to sip his mocha.  Thankfully, the subject seemed to have collapsed from exhaustion.
	Lena strolled up the sidewalk toward them.
	Andi looked past Ramirez' shoulder,  gave welcoming smile and pushed the extra chair with her toe.  "Que peso, Amiga, ca va?"





Chapter  2


	The next morning, Andi was in the office at nine, beating at the mounting pile in her pending box.  She dropped the contract Armando rewrote on Lena's table with a note to consider the changes, then actively ignored it.  At nine-thirty she listened to the phone rang seven times before his machine clicked on and she was already worrying that he would turn up like Jimmy when he picked up at hearing her voice.
	"I'm here Ms. Wicksham.  We still on for ten?"
	"Where?"
	"Here or anywhere.  Your office?"
	Andi glanced across her work clutter.  "How much privacy do you want?"
	"I'll pick you up.  We'll talk as I drive, OK?"  His voice was as cheery as a Fourth of July hot dog vender.
	"I'll meet you out front at ten."  He hung up so abruptly she was left looking for the downbeat in the dial tone.
	"I take it he hasn't won you over yet."  Lena spun in her chair and tossed a two-inch pile of files into Andi's pending box.
	"No."  Andi decided she didn't even want to bring the rewritten contract, glanced at her watch and kept her head down.  Her hand snuck out to snag a file.  She could get three reviewed if she focused.
	"Given more thought to a vacation?" Lena pressed the issue tactfully over the last months, rationing a few questions a week Andi had been able to shrug a reply to, but wriggle room was running short.
	Andi flailed for a quick answer.  "How about Victoria or Vancouver?"
	"Canada.  I like that."  Lena graced the ceiling's northeast corner with an ethereal gaze before returning to her typing.
	Andi silently cursed and glanced over, Lena's words appeared line after line to a hailstorm of finger taps.  Lena stopped to answer the phone and Andi turned her nose back to the grindstone until a bare two minutes to ten.  Then, with a quick "Sayonara" she slipped down to find Armando's pickup three spaces up the street, the windows rolled down, radio blaring and his feet propped on the dash.
	"Waiting long?" Andi yelled conversationally as she pulled the passengers' door open.  There were two small seats set behind the ample bucket seat, cup holders, brocade head liner, a dashboard of exotic wood and an exquisite stereo pumping salsa.  There weren't many options neglected whenever it was the truck got tricked out--a contrast from the mediocrity of his apartment.
	"Just a minute."  He pulled his feet from the dash, turned the key and pulled out in a single movement.
	Andi fumbled over her shoulder for the seatbelt.  "Mind turning it down?"
	Armando punched and the music stopped mid-phrase.  He glanced over.  "I'll tell you what we need."
	"We?" asked Andi.
	"That's me as far as your needs go, but other's are involved somewhat."
	Andi ground her molars, sure that asking who would not lead anywhere.  "What's the issue we're following?"
	"Pollution, big league stuff, environmental criminals, the real thing."  He glanced over.  "We've worked the regulatory route for years without getting far, now we've decided to search pro-actively for a smoking gun.  That's where you come in--you got chosen to coordinate the investigation."
	Andi filed away the appeal to her ego and lowered his credibility a notch. "I've no experience in it."
	He shrugged. 
	"Does this have anything to do with Jimmy Tuft?"
	Armando gave a quick glance.  "Might.  Make a difference?"
	"I've been warned off.  I'm not supposed to complicate things by mucking in the cop's turf."
	Armando made a sour face.  "Your call on how and where we look.  But our inquiry predates Jimmy's death."  He spun the wheel and pulled onto Powell heading east.  "Been to Powell Butte lately?"
	"No."  His inquiry predating the murder didn't mean squat.  "Tell me about Riparian Industries."  She stretched her legs and stuck her elbow out the window.  Maybe a vacation would feel like this, the rumble of smooth roads and the sun on her arm.
	"Riparian owns a dozen companies that work hand in glove.  There must be a trail of memos or notes that would nail them to a wall.  We ant to find them."
	"It's throwing your money away."
	"The money's committed, my job's arranging the bang for the buck, that means you."
	"Just who would I work for?"
	"Unofficially you're working for us all, the society, for the good guys, for yourself."
	Andi allowed a disgusted look and stared out the window.
	"Officially, for a nonprofit called  Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition, Inc.  It's a front.  Ask you friend Francois, you'll work with him.  He referred you."
	She'd never heard of Oregon Nature  "On what basis?"
	"Straight forward investigation.  You coordinate and call the shots."
	"What's the budget?"  She allowed herself a flicker of interest.
	"We've been salting way into this account for a years." Armando fanned a superior smile.  "It's ample.  You'll get whatever you need."
	"Just who's backing it?"
	"Private sector business.  They think they're busing loggers to environmental rallies and beating up tree huggers."
	Andi paused, Armando's sophistication was at odds with painting graffiti, his tacky apartment at odds with his truck.   She stared quietly, watching his profile, red flags waved and her bullshit meter pegged.  He shot her a glance.  His face was dry and relaxed, breathing regularly, he seemed willing to let her suspect anything and take as much time as she wanted.
	"Riparian's competitors?" she asked evenly.
	Armando responded with a little smile.  "Francois said you were sharp."
	"I get the feeling there's doo-doo to be stepped in."
	"What do you want?  Bank statements?  References?"
	"References to start."
	"Your friend Francois."  He turned into the drive leading to the parking lot atop Powell Butte, revving the pickup's engine to take the curves like a sports car.  "You'll be paid up-front...no financial risk."
	"What's the downside?"
	Armando steered smoothly into the parking lot.  "Jimmy Tufts was murdered, Lamar has been threatened, these people play for keeps.  You want more?"
	"You're saying it'll put me at risk?"  Andi leaned back in her seat, staring out the window at the roof lined valley and rim of haze-masked mountains.
	"Yes."  Simple and straightforward, his eyes didn't waver.  "Don't come to this with illusions.  Riparian hires serious professionals and there's not a chance your involvement will stay hidden."
	"If I take the case, I'll take the chance with Riparian.  Right now, I'm debating who's on this side."
	Armando smiled benignly.  "All in good time.  It's a complicated picture."
	"What you're saying is that everything is not on the up and up with this project."
	"Morality and ethics are." Armando shot her a sincere, haughty glance.
	"Not legality?"
	"Your discretion as to what you do"  He pulled up and set the parking brake, then reached to turn off the engine.  He turned toward her had leaned back against his door.  "I'm not asking for anything unethical.  The investigation will be under your personal control."
	"You're implying something illegal might go on parallel to the investigation?"
	"I was doing graffiti...that's illegal."  He gave a shrug and let the comment hang in before them like the trinket on his rear view mirror.
	"Anything more serious?  You mentioned a 'worst case scenario'?"
	He began in a monotone, his eyes fixed on her own.  "There are a few possible scenarios.  The first has Riparian realizing what cards we'll hold and voluntarily stopping its spewing of poison.  If we get evidence to take to court that option will be played as hard and fast as we're able...hoping to encourage them.  But we suspect they'll respond with hostility.  They've already pushed the stakes to murder."
	"I don't think I want to be involved."
	"How about thinking it over?  The greater part of your work will be done before they get riled and you can walk any time you want."
	"Including now?"
	"You've already been paid." He reached for the key and ground his engine to life.  "But talk to Francois before deciding...please."
	Andi nodded.  He paid for a professionally reasoned decision, the least she could do was talk to Francois.  Just for good measure, she'd call Ramone Bodega, a past client in the environmentalist world, who would know the dirt on DeVino if anyone did.
	

	Andi returned to find four phone messages waiting--a call from Francois, one from her mother, a prospective client concerned about her daughter in law's past and her friend Tris--no doubt about babysitting.
	Armando's contract was retyped and lay on Lena's table within reach, but Andi ignored it.  "Mom called?"  The paper dangled from her fingers and she gave a quizzical look.
	"Cheerful, but tired...wanted you to know she's back from your sister's."  Lena stopped typing.  "You should call.  She could have asked us to meet the plane."
	Andi sank back in her chair, feeling weak.  Her mother breast cancer was in bones and she was weaker every week, but she'd taken the diagnosis better than Andi; staying philosophical while her daughter crumbled.  Andi mustered enough focus to punch in the numbers feeling shrunken to half size as she listened to the hollow ring.
	"Hello?" Doris Wicksham's voice sounded electronic and disembodied.
	"Hi Mom, Andi.  Good trip?"  Cinny, who she'd visited, had been the good sister, Andi, the constant embarrassment who never met the mark.
	"Fine, but exhausting.  I don't think I'll make it again."  Her voice wavered.
	"Are you OK?  What do you need?"
	"Nothing." The rejection was emphatic.  "It's the medicine, either knocks me out or makes me sick.  I need some rest.  Maybe you could visit tomorrow?"
	"Sure Mom.  How's Cinny?"
	"Fine, Bob's fine, Rachel's fine.  She wants me to move down there to hospice."
	Andi waited out a two measure pause before breaking down.  "Are you considering it?"
	"No.  It would limit my options.  Not unless I have to."
	The option was suicide.  "Ok." Andi replied quietly.  "Shall I call this evening?"
	"In the morning dear.  If I'm sleeping, better not wake me."  She offered a little forced laugh then there was a rattling as the phone missed its cradle, then another rattle before the connection cut.
	Andi waited a long moment before putting the phone down.  The receiver's smooth plastic melded with her fingers as she clung to that brief connection.  The world seemed heavy, the air thick, she rubbed her eyes and swivelled to the window, sitting a long time without seeing.
	Lena watched from across the room, brow creased, a worried smile flicking the corner of her mouth.  The tender moment was severed by the phone Lena reached without taking her eyes away.  "Investigatory services.  Hi Francois.  She's tied up at the moment, anything I can do?"  She scribbled, the phone caught between shoulder and ear.  "You talked with Armando DeVino?  Sure."  She glanced up, weighed the options a brief moment.  "Andi?" she asked carefully.  "It's Francois."
	Andi swung about and gave Lena a chin-jutting nod as she lifted the phone.  "Francois.  I talked with your friend Armando.  This thing legit?"
	"The investigation.  Why?"
	"It smells of fish.  I don't know which side he's on."
	"Our side.  For sure."
	"You referred me?"
	"You're who I think should do it."
	"Am I hearing that you think it's important?"
	"Very.  I'm already on board."
	"He said you'd be working for me."  The tide was pulling against turning the job down, it felt like an undertow.
	"I'll do research."
	"So this really an environmental case?"
	"Yeah, complicated by fraud, blackmail, intimidation, destruction of evidence and murder."
	"Why not just drop a dime on 'em."
	"No evidence.  DEQ can only work with what they're given.  They need proof that will stand in court and it keeps disappearing.  Remember I mentioned murders?  That's plural.  A couple years ago DEQ looked into Riparian, the first guy assigned to the case disappeared--flat-out missing.  Since declared dead.  A week later, the local administrator overseeing the investigation was found dead in his camper; gunshot, possible suicide, unsolved.  Then, a guy taking samples in the river was found drowned.  Unexplained boat accident.  The office is too scared to start a file.  Now there's Jimmy Tuft."
	"And the police?  What do they think?"
	"No evidence."
	"Three deaths and community suspicion that Riparian's involved.  That should spark an investigation."
	"Each death was in a different jurisdiction, a state senator got the state police to interview eight people, his office wrote it up as a wash and folded the tent.  It's a slim twenty pages saying nothing."
	"Maybe there's nothing to find."
	"No, there's a lot to find out there."
	"How about the FBI?" pushed Andi impatiently.
	"Who knows?  They don't comment."
	"So, bottom line, you think the investigation's legitimate?"
	"It's real." answered Francois carefully.  "But understand it's of a company that uses lead pipes."
	"And you're asking me to go against them?"
	"He's asking you, I'm already in.  Somebody has to do it.  Got a better way?"
	"I'll give it some thought.  What's the money half?"
	"You'll be strictly payment for services, no liability.  The money's there, even if it's dirty."
	"He implied his supporters are corporate polluters."
	"The lion's share comes from major sleaze, proof pond scum rises to the top.  It's cool by me they pay."
	"Scumbags are paying for it?"
	"Interesting irony, 'eh?"
	Andi let four bars beat.  "You got more?"
	"Non.  Au revoir mon ami."
	"Yeah, so long." Andi hung up.
	Lena looked over.  "Legit?"
	Andi chewed her lip.  "Is the bear Polish?"  She punched Ramone Bodega's number holding Lena's eyes.  A message machine answered, she asked for return call.
	Lena balanced a pencil on her finger.  "I say take it.  You could use a challenge."
	"Ramirez would hate it.  Jimmy Tuft is Max's new baby."
	Lena pointed at the contract.  "It's in the name of Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition, Inc.  Two copies.  His changes were in our favor."
	"I haven't made up my mind." Andi glared.
	"Suit yourself."  Lena slipped the contract about halfway down in Andi's pending box, grinning as if pleased with herself and turning back to her keyboard with a little flounce.
	"Armando's funders?"  Andi sat back in her chair.  "You've talked to Francois about them?"
	"Conservative slime."  Lena mumbled under her breath without looking up.
	Andi pulled out Armando's phone number, but could feel there was something wrong.  Armando answered on the second ring.  "Hello?"
	"It's Andi Wicksham."
	"Yes, Ms. Wicksham?"  He seemed ready to listen for hours.
	"Your organization's Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition?"
	"Yes."  His voice held a quizzical tone, asking what difference it made.
	"Funded by major polluters...and you're executive director?"
	"Yes."  His tone was cheerful.
	"Yet you portray yourself as an environmentalist?"
	"To you I do.  I told you, the coalition's a front."
	The line hung open most of a four-bar phrase.  "Wanna explain that?"
	"The Coalition's a legally incorporated nonprofit, funded by some of Oregon's nastiest that does highly visible public service announcements with a positive, green message, allows a decent tax deduction and rights to brag about being responsible.  And quietly, a portion goes into projects...like this one."
	"This one?  Excuse me?" Andi drawled sarcastically.  "Isn't that fraud?"
	"Absolutely not.  Our bylaws specifically earmark a reasonable percentage of our income for non-reportable expenditures.  It's what the funders want."
	"Non-reportable?" Asked Andi doubtfully.
	"They like to think I hire heavies to break environmentalist's fingers."
	"You expect me to believe that they let you spend their money anyway you see fit?"
	"Sure...they insist on it to give themselves deniablity.  Our mission statement authorizes a pro-active, invisible, role to bring change, without records...the direction is up to me.  They don't want to hear what goes on, but give me credit for any random violence that happens."
	"That's handy."
	"That's salesmanship.  By the way, your friend Sergeant Ramirez called twice.  I said I didn't know much."  He let a moment of silence bob like a leaf before asking, "Made up your mind?"
	"No." returned Andi quietly.  "I just wanted clarification.  Thanks."  Andi sat back and stared blankly at the ceiling.  The pluses money and working with Francois.  The negatives Max's investigation ran close enough to feel the keys in his pocket and the whole thing smelled of trouble.  But she might steer clear of Max and could close-up shop if things went south.  The corner of the contract stuck out conspicuously from the stack, but she reached for the top file, skimming the report, scrawling her signature, glancing at the invoice and going on to the next.  She'd completed her fourth before realizing she hadn't paid attention to a single one.  "Time for lunch." she announced.
	Lena looked over with half-lidded eyes and said, "Tough decision?"
	"No," she lied "just hungry."
	"Beau Thai?"  Lena smiled benignly.
	"That's cross town."
	"It's Lamar Rasheed and Jimmy Tuft's neighborhood." Lena dangled sweetly.  "We'll cruise by."
	Andi returned a stare to curdle motor oil.  Lena batted her lashes and smiled innocently.  Patient as a log jam.
	"OK." Andi surrendered.  "But you have to drive."
	

	Returning after lunch there was a single call on the machine; Ramirez, suggesting coffee.  She returned it.  "It's Andi." she barked flatly after his grumpy, "Sergeant Ramirez."
	He switched to his personable voice, "So Wicksham, you free for a social moment?"
	"Social?" asked Andi, warily.
	"Sure.  Coffee this afternoon?  On me.  What's the problem, going paranoid?"
	Andi took a moment to consider before replying.  "I had this flash that Max imagined I'd stepped on his toes."
	"Guilty conscience, 'eh?  So do we have a dinner plan."
	"I told Lena."  He was pushing a little too hard for it to be simply social.  "What's up with Jimmy Tuft?"
	"He and DeVino stuck their noses in a rattlesnake nest, no surprise he got bit.  Max has 'em as bush-league environmental whiners with more attitude than brains.  When we gonna do dinner?"
	"Who are the rattlesnakes?" Andi half-feigned a yawn.
	"Hasn't your client told you?"
	"I haven't accepted the case yet."
	"Should you see him again, how about asking a question for me?  What pushes the stakes high enough to drop Jimmy's body in Rasheed's kitchen?"
	"You've already asked that.  Anyway, you warned me off."
	"Right.  And you always do what you're told.  I figure you're gonna accept DeVino's job.  Does he want you to look into Jimmy's murder?"
	"Hasn't said a word about it."  Andi smiled to herself, Max and Ramirez were spinning their wheels.  "So Lamar Rasheed wouldn't give what you want?"
	Ramirez came across like a pillar of rationality.  "First, I'm not telling whether Rasheed said anything at all.  Second, he claims he has no idea why anybody would dump Jimmy by his sink."
	"Believe him?"
	"Course not." Ramirez snorted.  "He's a lying little snot who doesn't care if we threaten him."
	"Poor baby, that takes away Max's main prod, huh?  Too bad he didn't play good cop instead of asshole.  Intimidating people, then expecting cooperation is stupid."
	"Yeah, I got in too late to build bridges.  So when do we do dominos?"
	"I heard you talked to Armando."
	"He claims his memory's faulty, but he's sure Riparian did it."
	"That's better than nothing."
	"No, it isn't.  It makes Max suspicious.  You free for coffee or not?"
	"Haven't you already asked me Max's questions?" Andi asked pointedly.
	"Sure, but the personal touch might soften you up.  He tells me to take you out for coffee, I say 'why not.'  He's buying."
	"Too bad it isn't lunch."
	"Could have been.  I tried to catch you earlier."
	"Will it keep until tomorrow so Lena can join us?  Think Max'll go another meal?"
	"Sure, he'll get twice the chance for inside gossip."  There was a pause, "But I got a twelve-thirty meeting."
	"OK.  Eleven o'clock.  Wanna stop by here?"  She got a grunt in reply and they both hung up.  "Early lunch, manana con Ramirez." she called to Lena while punching in the next number.  Babysitting--friend Tris wanted to take partner Jason for an anniversary dinner; a bit of food, a little wine and some spicy food leading up to a little romance.  Could Auntie Andi come over Friday at six, pick up one and a half year old Simone, bring her home, play, feed her dinner and read her to sleep, then drive her back home around midnight?  Of course.  What else were friends for?
	Lena sat quietly through that negotiation, hands in her lap and her screen saver bouncing ever riper tomatoes until they burst with smears of juice and seeds.  Every time it came up she resisted the "auntie" role and had secured preemptive exemption from all such chores.
	Andi scribbled herself a note and worried.  This would be the first time Simone stayed at their house without mama, she hoped it wasn't a mistake.
	The next call had its own set of problems.  The prospective client wanted passionately to shed a ray of darkness on her new daughter-in-law, wanted desperately to catch the creature in some act against nature, but couldn't quite come up with the dirt.  "That's what I want you for." she shrilled self-righteously.
	"I'm sorry ma'am, it's nothing I'd be good at."  There were lots of PI's with no scruples who would take the work.  Some would even manufacture something from whole cloth for enough money.  "I really don't have time.  Have you looked in the yellow pages?"
	"Of course." The distraught mother-in-law scolded.  "You're the only listing with a woman's name.  I assumed I could trust you."
	"You don't trust your daughter-in-law."
	"But she's evil."
	"Sorry, we don't do exorcisms." Andi stated flatly.  "Call a priest."
	The next was incoming, from Ramone Bodega. "What's up?"
	"You know Armando DeVino?"
	"Oregon Industry/Nature something?"
	"Coalition."
	"It's a funny conservative hybrid, I haven't figured out.  Interested in him particularly or the group?"
	"Both."  Andi pulled out the middle drawer of her desk, put her feet up and leaned back in her chair with the eerie feeling Bodega had just done the same.  It was enough to make her pull her feet back and pull herself up to her desk.  "I'm considering taking him as a client."
	"They can afford you, but it's not your crowd."  Bodega allowed dryly.  "Corporate polluters hiring you?  You might ask why?"
	"I did.  Tell me about them."
	"You must have seen their TV spots.  Slick, but with ill-chosen subjects so strange the net result probably isn't bad."  Bodega chuckled.  "One points out how clear-cutting enables us to see more scenery with pictures of nasty clear-cuts framed by untouched old growth and a beautiful sunset.  Such a double message, it makes you wonder."
	"That was Industry/Nature?"
	"Oh yeah.  Most of their stuff's tame.  Resource management being their verb-form for mining, logging and grazing; pastorals of wildlife or and fly fishermen, encouragement to pick up litter and drown campfires, smiling children...mountain vistas."  Bodega paused, but Andi didn't offer anything, so he continued.  "What they want you to do?"
	"Investigate a polluter."
	"Doesn't really sound like their mandate, does it?" Bodega hummed doubtfully.
	Andi slouched.  "No.  What do you know of him?"
	"Never met the man.  He doesn't hang with tree huggers."
	"Claims to be an environmentalist." Andi murmured.
	"Does he now?"  Bodega's inflection exaggerated the question, then he laughed, "I bet he doesn't claim that around his sponsors."
	"A closeted one.  How about his personal life?  Anything?"
	There was moment of quiet as if Bodega had to consider the question.  "Not a flashy dresser, but remember I've only seen him across crowded rooms.  He has one of those faces that seems familiar."
	"Familiar?"
	Bodega took on a thoughtful tone.  "I've heard others say it too.  But understand, my friends don't mix with his crowd."
	"You don't know anybody who could help me?"  Andi could hear shuffling papers in the back ground.
	"Nobody I know.  He's a sweet-talking mouthpiece for industry.  How could anyone with scruples take the job?  Is there anything else?"  There was a final plop of papers on his end. "Sorry I haven't been much help."
	"Actually, you've been a big help.  How about if I buy us coffee as repayment?"  She reached for her notebook.
	"Will it come with a cookie?" Bodega chuckled absently.
	Andi had the feeling he was looking through her calendar just as she was.  "Tuesday?"
	"Tomorrow's tight.  Wednesday?"
	"Morning or afternoon?"
	"Two o'clock, at Powell's coffee shop?"
	"Done." Andi penciled it into her appointment book.  Three files down, she called her mother.   "Hello Andi."  Her voice was definitely weaker.  "I've phoned Portland Hospice."
	"What?" Andi's voice came out an octave and a half high.
	"Checking out options, prices and that sort of thing."  Her mother chirped on, oblivious to Andi's discomfort.  "They're usually booked solid, but I understand there's quite a turnover."
	"That's not a joke, is?"
	"Not a very good one." Her mother admitted.  "I've rather made up mind to stay home."
	Andi shut her eyes.
	"I'd like to talk to you tomorrow or the next day.  Late in the afternoon if possible, maybe before you head home?"
	"Tomorrow?"
	"I'd like to talk things over."
	Andi swallowed.  "Anything now?"
	"No.  Give my love to Lena."
	Keeping the phone to her ear, Andi looked up.  "Mom gives her love."
	"Kiss, kiss."  Lena blew a smooch.
	"She say's 'kiss, kiss.'  There anything you need?  Anything I can bring?  Books, juice, cappuccino?"
	"No.  I keep everything covered.  We'll talk tomorrow."
	Andi was defeated.  "OK."  She felt six years old--not even allowed to bring a magazine.  She could feel the blood drain from her face and felt light-headed.
	"Fine.  See you then."  There was a rasping wheeze to the dismissal.
	"Tomorrow." Andi whispered as she slowly lowered the phone.  Her mother always kept things covered, it left no room for anyone else.  Eyes tight, she filled her lungs and held her breath until it burned.  Then, determinedly, she blinked, snatched the next file and worked another hour without pausing.  She had just finished the invoice of a skip-search file when the phone rang.
	It was Armando.  "Have you made a decision?"
	Andi considered putting him off, but remembered the uncomfortable thoughts that would fill any idle moments.  "I'm a common carrier, detective for hire."
	"When can you start?"
	Andi glanced at her pending box, then across at Lena who shrugged.  "Now, if you want."
	Lena risked a quick glance, the corner's of her mouth twitching toward a barely concealed smile.  She raised an indulgent eyebrow.
	Armando continued.  "Four-thirty at my place?"
	"I'll be there."  It was twelve minutes to four.  She had a half-hour to do something useful.  "I'll bring your contract.  Anything else?"
	He exhaled audibly.  "Thanks Andi.  Just thanks."
	Andi lowered the receiver, she rose to her feet and strode to the door.  "Let's take a break.  I'll fill you in on Armando."
	Lena tapped a few last strokes, watched three screens whiz past and tapped a few final keys.  She stretched languidly as she rose.  "Coming." she claimed, gracefully touching her toes and tapping some papers into a neater pile before joining Andi in the hall.


	They discussed the project over coffee and a scone, then ambled back, where Lena reclaimed her role as high priestess of the clerical Gods and Andi slid the waiting contract into a folder.
	  Armando's red truck waited before his apartment.  Francois' Subaru was parked under a tree around the corner despite ample parking in front.  The front room curtains were still drawn.  Francois sat at the far end of the couch, the same musty smell staled the air, but two fat piles of paper waited on the table.
	"Should I have parked around the corner?"
	Francois made a dismissive wave of his fingers.  "Security.  Come by my place tomorrow and we'll talk details."
	Armando's face was as blank as an IRS clerk's.  "Francois' here to lend credibility.  I took the liberty of cutting a second check to pay-up a couple weeks ahead, we'll settle as we go along; per diem plus expenses, plus overhead,  No need for receipts, just tell me the gross."
	Andi nodded.  The check laying before her started with a six and had three zeros before the decimal.  She fought down a smile.
	"Our primary target is Riparian Industries--owned and managed by Rebecca Sauturne.  Three paper mills, an industrial chemicals brokerage, a trucking firm and a string of machine shops.  Being privately held they're almost completely opaque.  This is the meat of what we have." Armando gestured to piles on the table.
	Andi took one, leaned back and glanced through a fact sheet on Riparian's holdings;  numbers, descriptions, addresses and names.  There were two envelopes containing photos clipped behind the reports.  She looked up expectantly.
	"We'll start by taking a general inventory.  After we have the big picture we'll turn to specifics."
	"If you've been up against Riparian all these years, you must know the big picture."
	Armando shot an amused smile.  "We've been at it so long we have to assume we lack a balanced view.  Call it earning your trust, you can double check everything."  His delivery was smooth as silk, professionally neutral without a hint of political zeal.
	Andi blinked in response.  Visible or not, partisan fervor was in him somewhere, she wondered how big a part it played.
	"The violent arm of Sauturne's organization is a security company called Mardell Special Forces.  They run security rent a cop guards and sub-rosa muscle."
	"Interestingly enough, Riparian companies are Mardell's only contracts." inserted Francois blandly.
	Andi flipped through a couple of stapled reports, lists and table and two fat bundles of photos.  The larger bundle held candids of men in security uniforms, guns on hip, standing at doorways, sitting before consoles, or walking.
	Armando narrated.  "That's the latest batch of security guards.  They bring in new faces all the time, rotate them through the Riparian firms and give 'em a pink slip.  The other snapshots are Sauturne and Mardell's management teams.  Those top two are attorneys."
	"Catch and release guards?" Andi asked casually.  "I thought it was a tight labor market?"
	"It keeps them from getting cozy anywhere or understanding much that goes on.  Their low level office help's the same.  Moral is understandably low as you might guess, the situation doesn't earn much loyalty.  After stepping through the system, good or bad, employees are dumped without warning."
	Andi glanced through the photos, there were only two women among the peons, they all looked tough and world-wise.  "Do they pay a premium?"  She asked without looking up.  "They don't look like greenhorns."
	Armando coughed quietly and answered without inflection.  "No, actually they pay a lot less than industry minimum.  They hire a particular type of applicant."
	"What type?" Andi slid the photos back in the envelope.
	"Men with serious convictions just out of prison.  Sauturne's nothing if not cynical.  Labor without options comes cheap."


	Back at the office Andi cranked into gear, setting up subdirectories and file folders, making lists.  Lena set aside her other projects.  "So we focus on Sauturne?"  She sat by the window looking through the photographs, a pile of new file folders at her elbow.
	"We'll start with generalities; credit checks on management, suppliers, tax histories."
	"Where do we stash the sensitive stuff?"  Lena clipped the photos inside the covers of folders and carefully printed headings on the tabs.
	"What do you mean?"
	"If Riparian's liable to search us we'll need a file they can find as well the real one."
	"This is going to be a pain in the ass, isn't it?  Got ideas?"
	"Ask me tomorrow.  Let's call it a day."
	Andi smiled.  "Soon as we finish.  How about crab ravioli?  White wine, garlic and butter sauce?  We'll stop by Shawn's."
	"Oh, Mama." Lena gave a little contented shiver.  "Throw in a hot bath and some quiet jazz and you're on."





Chapter  3


	During their breakfast of bagel, lox, onion and tomato at Noah's Bakery, Lena discussed the merits of bed and living room color schemes.  Andi nodded indulgently, already preoccupied by her meetings with Francois at nine, Ramirez for lunch and her mother after work.  Once at the office Lena tucked into Riparian's corporate charter, noted that Francois already sent a sheaf of material and left Andi to beat at her pending box before heading off to her meeting.
	Francois had always seemed obsessed with security, but she would confer to keep Armando happy.  She drove down Division where he owned an entire block of storefronts and apartment and where, among the jumble of buildings lay his hidden cache of computers and racks of peripherals with bays of open-faced connections to hundreds of phone lines.
	Andi entered the small Asian market.  The clerk Janeen Tran was the studious daughter of the owner, getting a second advanced degree in the intersection of quantum mechanics and what sounded like metaphysics.  A year ago, Andi'd tried to discuss it but couldn't get past the first concept indescribable without calculus.
	Janeen glanced up with a distracted smile and reburied her head in her book as Andi picked her way through the aisles of bright packages and exotic smells, past the little cubby bathroom, into the light-well behind and up the backstairs of the apartment building beyond.
	She trod the six flights to the third floor landing, ducked inside and tiptoed through the carpeted halls to push a button set into the edge of a window casing, pressing three times, pausing, then once again, watching a station wagon do an awkward job of parking below.
	A minute later, the door on her left opened and Francois appeared.  "I hope it's OK I started on the easy stuff...Lena get it?"  He led through two right-hand turns and ducked into a small mechanical room crammed with an industrial-sized furnace with ducts branching off in all directions.  He pulled open a hinged cover, exposing a door.  The furnace was gutted.  Inside a ladder led upwards.
	They traveled from one dusky attic to the next before dropping down another ladder into his secret office and the industrious smells of coffee and ozone.  A colorful shawl draped artfully over a floor lamp, Miles Davis' Seven Steps to Heaven played on the radio and a high intensity reading light illuminated a patch of desk.  There was a neatly made bed in the corner and a small espresso machine waited on the counter of the minuscule kitchenette.  The subdued light gave Francois' skin complexion a goldish-red tinge.  He settled in one of the chairs.  "How's Lena?"
	Andi headed for the kitchenette for a bottle of lime bubble water.  "Fine, just finished giving a meditation course.  She wants us to take a vacation."
	"She told me you were going to Canada."
	Andi glowered.  "It's not decided."  She wondered how long ago Lena told him, trying to remember if Canada had really been her idea.
	Francois pointed vaguely to two computer screens crowded with scrolling lists blinking to some internal logic.  "Riparian's tax records."
	"Get far?"  Andi didn't bother looking.
	"No.  I'll be careful with anything compromising.  Lena mentioned security."
	"She suggested dividing up the files."
	Francois made a face.  "That's only a start.  We'll encrypt, you'll have things as they come in, to Lena's 'puter on a separate line."
	"Secret codes?"
	"Armando'll spring for another system.  Soxx let us in the attic?"
	Bobby Soxx was her landlord, she nodded.
	"Hide it and link with IR."  Francois scribbled notes, mentally well past the permission stage, halfway into running wires.  "Who do we target?"
	"Corporate officers and executives.  Go for the dirt.  Expand to their friends and family, follow anything interesting...Armando's treat."  She smiled and flicked her notebook with a finger.  "And everything about Riparian there is; interworkings, who buys, sells, what, where, when who."  She put down her list.  "Now how do I get you money?"
	"Dr. L.I. Snowden at OHSU.  Treat it like a normal consultant with an open research account.  All official."  Francois slid out a keyboard and whizzed through menus.  "I'll send a filing drawer of  vanilla stuff to Kinko's for printing."


	Back at the office, Andi sent Snowden e-mail about vaguely sketched-in research.  It went so quick she made followup notes referencing telephoned details, then one confirming an agreement.
	Ramirez arrived at ten to eleven wearing horn-rim glasses and a tweed coat with suede elbow patches like an academic marching toward tenure.  They trooped down the stairs and went three-abreast up the sidewalk to the restaurant.
	"This is Max's treat so you can grill me?" Andi tore a slice from the complementary basket of bread.
	"To grill you both, unofficially.  He assumes you're DeVino's minions."
	"Damned nice of him." Lena chirped.
	"Unofficially, why do you think Jimmy died?"  Andi chewed thoughtfully.
	Ramirez shrugged.  "Looked under some polluter's carpets.  They got scared and struck out."
	Andi nodded.
	Ramirez sighed.  "Seems last time we talked you were gonna do that too.  Think it's the same company?"  Ramirez' voice was quiet and patient, both elbows on the table, he leaning forward for a sense of intimacy.
	Andi looked him squarely in the eye.  "Just started.  Riparian's owned by a woman named Sauturne and has a corporate culture joining the Gestapo and the mob.  I assume that implies they might be bad neighbors, but I don't even know who's on their corporate board."
	The waitress arrived.  Lena ordered the blackened snapper salad, Andi a Caesar with extra anchovies and Ramirez the ravioli soup with polenta.
	"So you took the DeVino job?"
	"Yeah."
	"You know." he drawled slowly, "Armando's a funny guy, never had a driver's license before a year and a half ago."
	Lena busied herself, tearing bread to bits with frozen butter, pausing but not looking up.
	Andi smiled.  "He lived overseas, somewhere on the Mediterranean since high school."
	"Know what he does for a living?"  Ramirez beamed a smile warm enough to melt truck tires.
	"Executive director of Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition, my official client."
	"I suppose you looked into who that is.  Anything strike you as strange?"  Ramirez gave a little depreciating shake of his head and switched to longsuffering, good-cop interrogator--all sincerity and good intentions.  "Why's a corporate stooge poking into the dirt of one of his own?  And hiring you?"  He smiled wanly.
	Andi gave a vacuous smile.  "I looked into all that, but was satisfied by references."
	"Try satisfying me." Ramirez muttered dryly.
	"He admits it's a scam--using polluter's money to do environmental activism."
	"Does that make sense?"
	"Does a corporate-dupe who does leftist graffiti make sense?  You worked out the acronym of his organization?"
	Andi waited until Ramirez's disgusted snort.
	It took him an embarrassment of silence to change the subject.  "So what do you know about Riparian?"
	"It's a conglomerate owning the polluters."
	The smile slipped from his face.  "And?"
	Andi looked directly into his eyes and took a long breath.  "We haven't found anything illegal or interesting, we barely started on their corporate structure and players."  She paused, "I found out their security company hires a high percentage of people with criminal records."
 	Ramirez's eyebrows lifted.  "How did you learn that?"
	Andi ignored the question.  "Their only clients are Riparian-owned, they probably are too."
	"That significant?"
	"Not that I know."
	"Hardly worth the price of lunch."
	"Max's loss."  She offered two palms up.  "How about if we give you Riparian's corporate board and an incomplete list of their holdings?  At least you won't leave empty handed."
	Ramirez screwed up his face.
	Lena nodded, beaming friendly concern.  "I'll show you everything in my computer and files and even write you a note for Max."
	Ramirez combined a disparaging wince with a nod of thanks and tucked into his soup.  "Tanya wants another game night.  Our turn.  Thai stir-fry with peanut sauce on rice noodles, won ton and ginger snaps."
	"Ginger snaps?" Lena repeated in disbelief.  "With Thai?"
	Ramirez got out his planner.  "Mine is not to wonder why.  When are you free?"
	They settled on the Saturday after next, shared a piece of espresso cheesecake three ways, let Ramirez pick up the bill and sauntered back to the office discussing the appropriateness of apricot and peach as living room colors.
	Lena gave Ramirez a guided tour through her files and printed a half-dozen pages of trivia.  Andi picked a folder from her pile to keep her hands busy and her mouth shut.  She kept her eyes down while he surveyed what he was given and smiled vaguely at his "So long."
	Lena returned to Francois' material while Andi knocked-off two easy background checks and chipped away at her pending files to keep from thinking of her mother.  Somehow they managed until five-thirty and drove home.

	Once home and changed, Lena rattled pans and fanned the refrigerator door.  Andi grabbed a Levi jacket and tromped downstairs yelling "I'm going," but not waiting for an answer before striding purposefully to her car and pulling out a bit too fast.
	She parked almost in front of her mother's apartment, under trees that were changing colors.  Fall's coolness was in the air, leaves littered streets and the sky was streaked.  Vitality and life was being blown away by the wind.  Details jumped out; the shaking branch as a squirrel jumped, a glistening snail's track across the concrete, the calls of linemen putting up telephone cables at the end of the block.  She steeled herself and rang the buzzer.
	There was a long wait.  There were at least a dozen layered colors where a chip had come off a much-painted window sill.  Then the front door buzzed, she pulled it open and waded through the warm, deep carpet to where her mother stood clinging to a door jamb. 
	"Hi Mom." she began lamely.  "How was your day."
	Her mother's face was noticeably more gaunt, her eyes clouded, her color grey and pasty.  She nodded a reply and started turning--then all but collapsed as Andi helped her back into bed.
	"You don't look well."
	There was a momentary pause as if considering her answer.  "I'm not well."  There was a pause filled only with labored breathing.  "I believe I've started my decline."  Her voice was reflective.
	Andi could feel her stomach tighten as she remembered Charlotte's Web--Charlotte said languishing.  Andi prayed that her mother wouldn't use that word.  "You'll rally.  Maybe a remission."
	Mrs. Wicksham looked up sadly and flailed a hand to grasp Andi's.  "What for?" she asked with a wry smile.  "So I can be miserable another month?"
	"Mom..." Andi's voice caught in her throat, she bit her lip, then after a moment.  "You barely got out of bed."
	"I'm aware of what I can't do.  Over there, there's a front door key on the bedside table, so I won't have to get up next time."  There were two keys, each on separate little rings, one clipped with a scrap of paper with her name.
	"Two of them?"
	"The other's for a visiting nurse.  She has your number and permission to tell you anything."  The strength returned to her words if not her voice.  "Even though I'm not hungry, I've signed up for meals on wheels and Mrs. Bronstein let's them in twice a day.  I'm not helpless you know."
	Andi squeezed her mother's hand, trying to smile.
	"If I ever ask, in the lap drawer of my desk, in the back, you'll find a pill bottle labeled Ophelia."
	"Andi swallowed, knowing what would be in it.
	"I want a promise from you."  She looked sternly into Andi's eyes.
	A lump in her throat delayed the answer, "What?"  She remembered being twelve and afraid of being sent to boarding school.
	"I've had severe pain, very weakening, it's often unbearable, even with narcotics."
	Andi clung to her hand, staring helplessly into her face, noting the wrinkles, how her thin hair barely covered her scalp, the yellow tinge and milkiness of her eyes.
	"Those pills.  If I can't reach them I'll need your help."
	There was another long silence, thundering noiselessly with echoing memories being tucked in and read stories, oatmeal cookies, clothes still warm from the dryer.  "Mom..."
	"No, Andi.  You have to listen.  Life is a wonderful miracle I've enjoyed, almost every moment.  I've given this an enormous amount of reflection.  I've discussed it with Rabbi Aryeh and Roshi Sarah...the doctors and Mrs. Bronstein."
	"Everybody but me?" whispered Andi, hurt and small.
	"Neither you or Cinny." her mother returned with irritation and shot a reproachful glare.  "Think.  Do you really want to discuss my dying with me?  Could you give honest advice not influenced by love?"  Tears showed in her eyes.  "I needed confirmation, a reality check, not emotion.  I can't stick around forever anyway."  She gave a little sad smile.
	Andi squeezed her hand tighter.
	"I haven't told Cinny anything.  She wouldn't understand.  I'd like it if you didn't either, but that's up to you."  She squeezed Andi's hand, then relaxed as if in exhaustion.  "If I can't swallow the pills you'll have to crush them, mix them with syrup and squirt them in my mouth."
	Andi opened her mouth to object, but her voice refused to function.  She shook her head to protest, but her mother shook her own and hissed an insistent whisper.
	"You have to hear this.  We might not get another time completely alone and I don't want to put you in unnecessary risk.  The nurse will probably put me on an IV so I can get pain meds as I need them.  It'll probably have a branch.   With your key is a phone number.  If I can't keep down the syrup, phone and ask for Jack, mention my name my name and that you're my daughter.  He'll get you vials and a syringe."
	Andi glance over to the bedside table and regarded the square of paper in horror.  This was the issue she'd alluded to over the past months, finally in words though neither could say the words kill or die.
	"I can't ask anyone else." her mother appealed weakly, more helpless than Andi had ever seen her before.  "I know it's a terrible burden, but my last request to be saved the worst of this agony."  She coughed and wheezed.  "I promise I won't ask until the very last moment...until pain blocks my experiencing life, and I don't want more narcotics."
	Andi nodded, lips pinched together to keep from blubbering, her throat choked, her heart hurting.
	Her mother's head sank back into the pillow and she labored for a deep breath.  "Now I'm very, very tired, Dear.  I need some rest.  Can you let yourself out?"  Andi nodded and held her mother's hand, watching the wrinkled eyelids close over her discolored eyes, watching for a long time as her face relaxed, her eyes twitched as if in dream and her shallow breath slowed.
	Some time later Andi disengaged her hand as if it was a rehearsal for the request.  She retrieved the key and it's paper, slipping them into her jacket pocket, then walked around the apartment looking at pieces of furniture she remembered from her childhood home; the brocade wing chair, the writing desk with fawn-like legs, its alabaster pen stand with ink-wells of paper clips and the enlargement of an old daguerreotype of great-grandmother and father Goldberg, stiff and unsmiling in upright collars and formal clothes, little things that had anchored her life being pulled loose by time's tide.  
	It seemed hours were lost when she let herself out to walk slowly through the dark to her car, feeling as if the planet was barren.  The promise to her mother was like a dirty secret she didn't dare tell a soul, back at home dinner waited and Lena would be there, but the issue hovered.
	Lena met her at the top of the stairs with concern creasing her cheeks and adding depth to her eyes.  Andi claimed she didn't want to talk and kept that resolve through a shower that did not clean her and dinner, but afterwards, crying, she described every word and thought she had endured and later that evening they sat together on the couch, Lena reading, Andi holding a book but lost in thought.


	The next morning, tired and depleted, Andi staying in the office attending her backlog and minding the phones while Lena took an early morning run to Salem for a folder worth of corporate data on the Riparian companies from the Board of Corporations.  Riparian Industries, Inc. owned the stable outright and, at least on paper, each was independent, though every single board member was pulled from the same small pool.
	Andi called Francois to let him know she was office sitting.  He started a cautious probing of their computer systems only to run into firewalls and computer trip-wires.  Two hours later he switched to poking along the edges, cataloguing outgoing phone lines and office staff e-mail, lurking in the virtual background for passwords to steal.  Before lunch he reported finding the weekly bookkeeping was encrypted when sent electronically from the companies to the Riparian mother-ship.  Somehow he wrangled copies and set super-computers in three states beating away in pilfered minutes, but wasn't promising results this decade.
	Andi stayed at her desk while Lena drove by each of the Riparian companies' offices, branches and warehouses; confirming addresses, taking snapshots and noting thumb-nail first impressions while Andi sat grumpily in the office, tracking her via phone calls.
	By mid-afternoon Andi saw the bottom of her pending box, a singular phenomenon unique to her experience, unprecedented in the last five years of business, giving her the opportunity to visualize Lena driving about and phoning in.  The threshold sparked the insight that an office manager was a type of puppeteer, a spy master pulling strings from the warm and comfortable safety of her desk.  She could almost feel the pulse of the endeavors at the ends of her telephone lines; Lena sleuthing, Francois in his digital burrow, Armando doing whatever he did, untold others potentially at her beck and call.  Smiling at the thought, she put her feet up and started reading up on Riparian's history of pollution Armando had documented over the past ten years.
	She phoned her mother, catching her between naps and steering clear of the issue.  Her mother sounded tired but maintained a lucid, upbeat conversation and usual, bristly veneer leaving Andi staring blankly at the wall.
	Pulling herself together, she assembled a first-pass version of Riparian's organizational tree, but it bogged down with marginalia and lists.  Lena could no doubt do better, she pushed it aside and returned to reviewing their environmental history.
	Mid-afternoon, Francois called.  "I cranked out the executive's background and credit work-ups."  Forty minutes after that he rang again almost crowing.  "I got a huge break!  A&C Machine Works keeps their work-sheets unencrypted on separate, computer...damn near unsecured."
	Andi lifted her eyebrows, but kept her lips shut.
	He continued on excitedly.  "I lurked in their PBX, figuring which lines fed accounting and waited until the assistant director connected, jammed in a Trojan hoof and daemon to catch passwords and zip them out to a neutral address.  Well it worked.  Once in, I set did the same on all the phone lines, learned the system and collected damn near everybody at work's password.  From there it was down hill through the operating system and making myself a super-user."
	Andi blinked to clear her head.  "Congratulations.  What does it mean?"
	"Means we got one of their computers eating out of our hand and an original to match with the encrypted accounting sent to mama."
	"Oh."
	"Course there are majorly big ifs.  Riparian uses a sperate computer as a gatekeeper..server, buffer, screening and routing.  Unless I find a back door I'll have to barge through that gate and there's no telling what they've got watching the other end of the pipe."
	Andi shut her eyes and tried to imagine what it all meant.  "So far so good." Cautiously encouraging.  "It's Friday afternoon, Dos XX time.  You calling it a day?"
	"Absolutely not, I'm on a run, got ten things going,  I need to check if the other companies are set up the same, see if they use the same encryption.  I'll be up past midnight, catch a few winks and hit it again before dawn.  With any luck I'll do my biggest screw-ups over the weekend while their sys-op's home in bed."
	"That sure gives confidence."
	"What?"
	"I've complete confidence." rephrased Andi, pulling herself from the brink of superciliousness.
	She was putting things away to go home when Lena rushed in, all but bouncing off the walls, her energy sweeping in like a tsunami.  "Just for the hell of it, I followed a suit leaving Janus Chemicals.  He made a bee line to Titan Marine, picked up a big folder, went on to A&C Machine Works where he stayed all of six minutes before coming out with another.  Then he made a bee line to Riparian."  She gave a look of triumph over her shoulder as she paced to the file cabinet and started rooting through files.
	"Recognize him?" Andi asked, raising her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Know what he carried?"
	"Didn't have the photos and of course not." Lena pulled the material from Armando from the drawer, opened it on the desk and hummed tunelessly as she shuffled through the executives' photos.
	"Thomas Boyd"  She read the name from the back and tossed the photo across the desk.  "That's him.  Vice president--Facilitation.  What the hell does that mean?"
	"He facilitates."  Andi turned back to straightening.
	Lena paced at the pace she'd spent her day.  Andi must come in that way without ever noticing, she watched Lena bob on her toes with nervous energy.  "It was cool that I recognized him and followed.  Was I a slick sleuth, or what?"  She gave a smug grin.
	"Congratulations.  So you want to be a gum shoe?"
	"Why not?  I'll lay you odds there are shady goings-on at Titan Marine."  She still cruised along at fifty down from sixty-five.  "I could feel it."
	"No work on weekends, remember, my little workaholic?  Your rule" Andi tossed the photo back.  "Wanna haul the trash, Ms. Sleuth?"

	
	The evening, though not eventless, unfolded without serious injury.  Andi collected Simone from Jason and Tris, installed the car seat, loaded diaper bag, bucket of toys, changes of clothes, favorite videos, blanket, stuffed animal and child for transport and came home to find her first unfortunate situation.  Once carried upstairs, Simone raced joyfully at full bore, grasping at everything in reach not to be trusted not to tumble down the stairs or shred philodendrons, or tug lamp the floor while her extra loads of paraphernalia were schlepped from the car.
	Andi rued her heartfelt promise to remove Lena from all burden.  Fortunately, Lena relented with only the trace of a I-told-you-so smile, sitting on the floor with a mystery novel within reach, her legs fencing half the room and ineffectually trying to engage Simone in piling blocks.
	Andi carried and Lena retreated to the far end of the couch when Andi reassumed the reins, chattering baby talk to Simone who had decided with undampenable resolve that climbing up on the window stool was the most sincere and ardent goal of her life.  It took twenty minutes of distracting, but at last she settled into climbing on Andi and watching A Hundred And One Dalmatians.   It was a classic Andi had not seen in twenty years.  It was magic--she became deeply involved.
	Then there was the crash.
	A tearful wail imbedded itself in the walls and mumbled curse from Lena followed--Simone sat beside a side-table, indignant after pulling a pile of magazines and a vase of chrysanthemums down upon herself.
	Lena hurled herself first with a self-righteous glare.  Simone wailed, strewn with flowers and howling at the injustice of the world.  Lena passed custody of the screaming toddler and dashed for towels while Andi comforted and changed Simone's clothes, understanding why two extra sets of clothes came for a simple few hours of visiting.  Finally settled with stuffed animal and blanket, she stared somewhat resignedly at the movie and Andi and Lena spent a few hasty moments moving the most obvious plants and lamps from ready grasp before settling again into domestic peace.
	Meal time provided another excuse to deep clean the house, including even the tops of the kitchen baseboards and under the bottom edge of the refrigerator.  Lena wiped cabinet doors and mopped the floor while Andi snuggled with Simone in the livingroom, watching cartoons and dancing the favorite stuffed animals.  By eight Simone was tired, but too excited to know it.  Then, about twenty-after a tearful wail erupted as she suddenly realized she'd been tragically separated from mommy.
	She was not to be consoled by any combination of distraction, cuddling, toys or attention.  Abandoning Andi to the fate of all aunties, Lena adjourned without comment to the bedroom with her book and Andi coped until finally, with Simone dozing on her chest, she lay peacefully on the couch watching One Hundred And One Dalmatians a second time.
	All told, it was a win, win, win situation--Andi survived the evening feeling somewhat successful, Lena's predictions of doom proved true and Jason and Tris appeared flushed, ruffled and blissful in quickly donned bathrobes when Simone was delivered to their door, asleep.





Chapter  4


	Armando called just after ten on Saturday morning.  Andi idled at the kitchen table listening to Lena's tussle with the newspaper crossword and reviewing her argument why wall-papering the kitchen and bath would not be worth the hassle.
	"How are things getting on?"
	"We've pieced together most of the big pieces, but nothing you wouldn't already know."
	"Nothing?"  Only a hint of an edge more than a conversational tone.
	"I'm expecting a call from Francois." Andi stalled, grasping for a way to put off the conversation.  "I don't think he'd approve of discussing it on an unsecured line."
	"No?  Ask what he thinks of scramblers."
	Andi groaned.  No doubt Francois'd think it great.  "Where will you be later?"  I'll leave a message.
	"My phone goes with me." he assured smugly.  "It's a life style not a job."
	A half-dozen smart-assed remarks vied at the tip of Andi's tongue, but she swallowed them, "Sure.  I'll let you know."
	"Perfect."  Armando maintained the enthusiasm of a used car salesman--which didn't credit his credibility.  The line went dead.


	Mid-morning, Andi visited her mother, letting herself in with the key.  She was in bed, skin stretched almost transparent across her skull, her ears sticking out from her thin, stringy hair.  "Hi Mom." Andi tried valiantly.
	"Hello sweetie." Mrs. Wicksham gave the smile she would give a waitress.  "Will you get me a little water?  Just tap water, not cold...squeeze of lemon?"  She exuded the energy of a spindly thirteen-year old in an iron lung with hundred and five degree fever and the sensitivity of a drill sergeant.
	"Of course."  She held her mother's head to help her drink and dabbed then at a dribble with the edge of the sheet.
	"I've been thinking about what you asked me." Andi began insecurely.
	Her mother weakly shook her head.  "Not now."  She shut her eyes.
	"Mom?" Andi pleaded.
	Her mother's eyes popped open--they were bleary with film and barely focusing.  "I'm too tired now, we'll talk later."  She shut her eyes and waited.  A minute later she murmured, "Goodbye."
	Andi felt the floor sinking beneath her as she shrank to insignificance.  She'd come with every intention of being supportive, but the issue screamed.  The little bottle labeled Ophelia now sat on the table by her bed, half-behind the bedside lamp.  Andi swallowed the hurt, but a steel band tightened about her heart as she let herself out and drove home quietly cursing.


	That afternoon Andi was able to spend a considerable amount of time preoccupied with Riparian without betraying it to Lena.  They spent an hour touring shelves of first the supermarket, then Pastaworks, then Shawn's deli, Lena content to let Andi wait passively as she made decisions.  Back home at one-thirty to unload, two messages waited--neither from Francois, or Armando.
	They headed back out if only to get away from phones.  The options were the Japanese Gardens or Sauvie Island--Andi chose the latter and trailed along, her dark glasses hiding her thoughts, hardly noticing the blue herons, egrets and pelicans inspiring Lena.
	They gazed out over the river and walked through the lush, stepping-stone paths; Lena absorbing the esthetic wonders and Andi mentally reviewing Riparian's environmental vulnerabilities.  Titan Marine generated a lot of  waste overhauling engines, pumping bilges and scraping poisonous paint off hulls.  A&C machine works went through cutting oils and solvents by the barrel-full.  Janus Industrial Chemicals was just a name so far, but anything labeled industrial chemicals came with hard-core implications.  She'd made a mental note to ask for details.
	When they returned home at quarter to six to change before going out to dinner the phone was ringing.  It was Francois.  Lena handed the receiver over with a shy smile and retired to the bedroom.  There was every indication that it would be a romantic evening.
	"You're back." Francois chirped.  "I been trying to get you."
	"We're about to go out for dinner."
	Francois talked at a rate usually attributable to a triple espresso.  "I got stuff for you."
	Andi closed her eyes, willing the responsibility to go away.  "How important is it?" she asked hopefully.
	"Significant and sensitive."
	"Can it wait?"  Andi asked, still hopeful.  "How about tomorrow?"
	"Uhhh, I guess." Francois wasn't helpful.  "But I was going to work through the night and need to confirm strategy."
	"It really isn't convenient."
	"Shutting down my work isn't either." Francois fussed.
	"How about meeting at," Andi looked at her watch, "Nine-thirty?"
	"Done."
	"Where?"  She didn't care, she was wondering how dressed up Lena would want to make their dinner date.
	"We'll pick you up." Francois replied.
	"We?"
	"I'll come with Armando.  There are things he wants to go over."
	Andi took a breath and sighed it out with her eyes closed again.   "Sure.  That would be fine.  Anything else?"  Lena would unfairly think she'd set it up to avoid a romantic evening.  She hung up feeling soured.
	The walk to the bedroom stretched like an inmate's last mile.  Lena accepted the news with silent disapproval noted with a switch from slinky dress to levi's.  Dinner was good, but less than romantic.  Andi was so used to being blamed for being a workaholic that she didn't make excuses, accepting the mantle of an insensitive scum and hoping for eventual acceptance if not forgiveness.
	When they returned just after eight.  Lena showered, then emerged, clean and smelling of herbal somethings, head swathed in a towel, body in a robe, settling carefully at the far end of the couch without a direct glance or word.  Andi felt doubly grungy and buried herself in a mystery.


	She was in an all-time sour mood by the time Armando pulled up in front.  Francois shifted to one of the rear seats, the one behind Armando, leaving the passenger seat for her.  "Good progress," Armando announced before he'd even pulled from the curb.  "Riparian's choice of encryption left a little to be desired."  He flashed a smile and pulled around the corner heading north.
	"I got a break at the University of Washington campus...a cruncher picked apart the algorithm."
	Andi raised her eyebrows in silent reply, but it was too dark for the subtlety.
	"I'm picking apart the server they use for a firewall, went in on a PSU dorm number and left a ton of footprints so they'll think it was a sophomore geek."
	"You take me away from a romantic evening to for this?"
	"There's more." noted Francois confidently.  Armando smoothly wheeled them onto Sandy Boulevard heading north-east.
	"Their mainframe is a Digital, an old VAX, running VSM.  I think I can get through the firewall but figured we should talk it over."
	Andi looked over at Armando.
	He shrugged and shook his head.  "Your call."  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged then he slowed to stop for a yellow light.
	"What's at risk?" Andi asked cautiously.  She barely knew what he was talking about.
	"If we fuck up they'll know somebody broke their security and will shut it down plus make it triply hard.  As it is now, all they know is that the latest punk of an endless line of them diddled around at their gate.  There's no trace that files got copied, only a half-dozen unauthorized accesses that could be normal error.  Their security is focused on barring access, not internal monitoring and no data's kept in the server so they left it with security a Radio Shack box could break.  It's a pretty sloppy setup, maybe we should offer to upgrade their security."
	"Any advantage to waiting?"
	"Probably not.  And a weekend's probably safest anyway."
	"What precautions would we need?"  Andi noticed Francois' shift from I to we, and played along.
	"Nothing special.  I'll go in through a Riparian switchboard so it'll seem somewhat normal.  I got enough passwords and'll bounce between two separate incoming lines.  The risk is that there's no way to know what's on the other side."
	"What of the other companies?"
	"Breaking the one, unlocked 'em all.  Same setup and they use the same encryption on everybody's accounting."  Francois loss of respect rang warning bells.
	Andi looked past Armando out the window, they were headed toward the airport.  "We've only been going a few days.  We can wait another week."  She glanced over, Armando smiled without glancing over.
	"OK." said Francois cautiously.  "I'll grab copies of everything going in and out, but it'll take more storage than I have on hand."
	Armando glanced over and met Andi's gaze.  "Whatever he needs.  He said you need another computer or two.  Just tell me the bottom line and we'll cover it."  He made a left and then another one.
	Andi counted two eight-bar phrases, then on an upbeat, she asked, "Is Armando DeVino an alias?" She came in low, under radar to see what sort of response it would bring.
	Armando immediately started chuckling.
	Francois coughed uncomfortably and asked, "Where did the cover go wrong?"
	Andi looked from Armando to Francois, back to Armando, then again to Francois.  "DeVino didn't have a driver's license up until two years ago."
	"No license.  Ever?  Damn." cursed Francois.  "I thought he just hadn't renewed in Milan."
	"Milan?" Asked Andi.  "So there's a real Armando DeVino?"
	"Was." corrected Francois.  "He died, or at least disappeared years ago.  Not even an Italian death certificate.  Bureaucratically he's still alive."
	"But you aren't him?" Andi asked Armando.
	"I like to think I am." answered Armando blandly.
	"Stupid answer." Andi grumbled.  "If I ask who you are, would you lie again?"
	"You probably wouldn't believe any other name I gave."
	"How much more of this story is made up?" asked Andi irately.  "The industry group?  The budget?  The problem?"
	"It's all legitimate." Armando glanced up from the road.  "Armando's the only thing questionable.  A years worth of positive articles and a handful of planted editorials in polluter trade magazines,  followed with letters, a publicity package and phone calls put me in this role.  Pure salesmanship."
	"The funders's are legit and the budget's real."  Francois leaned forward so she could see the sincerity in his face.
	"So's the pollution." inserted Armando flatly.  "And the murders."
	Only the sound of the engine, traffic, and a plane taking off could be heard for the next few minutes.  Armando drove down 82ed, obeying every traffic law to the letter.  "We need to discuss phone security," he said without shifting his eyes from the road.  His face shifted from neon pink to blue as they passed from one lit sign to another.
	Francois spoke up from the shadows.  "There's decent audio PGP, but takes computers and has a delay."  He gave a dismissive cough.  "Scramblers are pretty good and unless we're up against somebody with incredible resources, we'll be secure any short while."
	"They'd be a pain." lobbied Andi firmly.
	"We're going to be noticed and monitored." cautioned Armando.  "There's a lot at stake."
	"Scramblers?" asked Francois, counting the vote.
	"Fine with me." conceded Andi sulkily.
	"Give me cost, for say...four."  Armando said.  "Small enough to carry.  Maybe with a few different channels.  Good ones.  OK?"
	"Check." responded Francois cheerfully.
	"Anything else on the agenda?" asked Armando.
	Andi shook her head.
	"No for me." put in Francois.
	Armando, smiled, not saying a word until pulling up to let Andi out.  "Thanks for making time."  He leaning forward to look clearly into her eyes.
	"That's what I'm paid for." Andi said, managing to smile.
	"I know you didn't want to."
	"We'll talk next week."  She waved without looking back and headed up to the porch, cursing to herself as she unlocked the door.  Even double time wouldn't get close to making up for it.
	"There wasn't any reason for me to go tonight." she raged as she crested the top of the stairs.  A conspicuous silence answered her from the bedroom.  Concern gripping her, Andi strode anxiously down the hall and pulled open the door with feeling of apprehension.  Lena lay in bed, her book open in her lap, chin to chest.  Heart in her throat, Andi crossed to her side half expecting her to be cold and stiffening, but her skin was soft and warm with life and her breath came in easy sighs.
	Andi carefully pulled the book from her hands and pulled up the covers.  Lena half-woke, struggling a moment before snuggling under the covers, murmuring something from a dream.  Andi switched off the light and retreated into the bathroom.  Tossing her clothes to the floor she took a quick shower and slipped on sweats and a pair of socks.  Back in the living room she sat, waiting in the dark for hours, think about her mother, listening to the quiet and wishing thing were different.
	

	Sunday morning, before the blankets were kicked from the bed, Lena was insisting they get away from their phone.  Andi called her mother, asking if she and Lena could stop by and offering to deliver a bagel and coffee.
	"With Lena?  Of course, please, oh yes.  But come after you eat.  I really don't want anything."
	They bought a newspaper, stopped by Noah's for lox, tomato, onion and cream cheese and bagels and crossed to Coffee People for lattes and a lingered moment in the sun outside, sharing the alternative smells of incense, patchouli and puppy poop with the neo-hippies and semi-students.
	Mrs. Wicksham held court in her bedroom.  She and Mrs. Bronstein fell into and awkward silence as if discussing something too intimate for Andi and Lena's ears.  Andi kissed her mother and held her hand, on the edge of the bed a bit ill at ease.  Mrs. Bronstein withdrew to the chair by the window and blended into the woodwork.
	"We're going to Saturday Market." Lena smiled.
	Mrs. Wicksham nodded slightly.
	"Can I bring you a book on tape?"  Andi tried.
	"I have two." her mother whispered.
	"How about company?  We can stay or come back?  Every day if you want."
	"I sleep most of the time."  She offered an uncomfortable smile.
	"How about tomorrow?"
	There was a shake of her head.  "Let's talk on the telephone.  Go on to Saturday Market.  Right now I've a few things to finish with Mrs. Bronstein, then I'll sleep again.  It's really OK."  She glanced at the door.
	Andi filled an awkward ten minutes with small talk, feeling it dent the floor like lead biscuits before offering an awkward goodbye and retreating to their car.  Lena made supportive murmurings as they drove down Stark, crossed the river and strolled through the crafts and artwork.  Andi hardly spoke as they walked through Forest Park then found a burrito stand.  An hour later, Andi slipped away a bit disquieted, to her Sunday jam session, thankful for distractions that didn't leave space for thinking.


	Monday morning, the office phone machine had eighteen messages.  Two early ones from Armando, four for employee checks, a lawyer needed a witness and another background on an opponent's expert.  There were four garbled messages from a drunk looking for Irene as if he was sitting with a pile of quarters and reading the number upside down.  There were two hangups and one asking for Andi by name, appealing that she'd been referred by a friend.  The very last was from Ramirez.
	They attacked the call backs, Andi taking Armando.
	"DeVino here..." Armando answered on the third ring, in his car with a low engine roar, street noises and awkward pauses as if he was steering one-handed.
	"Andi Wicksham."
	"There's been a spill at Titan Marine.  I sent people last night to map and sample downstream and wanted you to be in the loop."
	"Do you want me out there?"  Environmental investigation was, after all, why she was hired.
	"No, we'll get lab results before anything's done.  Titan Marine won't let you on their property and your role isn't toxicology--we'll let the science folk do their thing.  If they come up with anything, we'll call."
	"Sure."
	"But it'll be a realistic cover.  I'll fax the map, lab results and an interpretation to fatten your files.  We've got this aspect pretty much down to routine."  It seemed that traffic was demanding his attention.  "That was it, OK?"
	"No problem." said Andi.  Easy, short and sweet.  Log the call in her book and move on.  Her next call went to Ramirez.  "Yo, Ramirez.  It's Andi."
	"Wicksham.  So kind of you to be responsive.  How old would you say DeVino is?"
	Andi shut her eyes.  If Ramirez was asking he was suspicious.  Offhand, she'd guess Armando was something under forty.  "I don't know, maybe fifty?"
	Ramirez snorted derisively.  "I would have guessed thirty-eight, but I only met him that once."  Disbelief dusted like rock salt on a crepe.  "You know he left the country quite a few years ago...twenty seven to be exact.  Any idea where he's been?"
	"The Mediterranean.  Somewhere in Italy."
	"Hmmm." stewed Ramirez, there was a pause as if he was taking notes.  "You got an idea where Lamar Rasheed is?  He had an appointment with Max."
	"No.  How long he been out of sight?"
	"Only since yesterday, but he's been more and more squirrely the last couple of days.  Less willing to talk each time Max hauled him in."
	"You think that's surprising."
	"Probably not.  You learned anything more?"
	"Come on Ramirez.  We just got in the office.  Wasn't Max satisfied with what you got?"
	"What do you think?  It was filler and he's not a dummy.  Right now he's fixated on Rasheed and trying to get enough gravel under his wheels to stop spinning out."
	"Maybe Max's fixation made Rasheed uncomfortable." hypothesized Andi neutrally.
	"Could be." yielded Ramirez.
	"What did the Medical Examiner say about Jimmy?"
	"Twenty-five caliber, low-load pistol round;  point blank to the back of the head.  Didn't expire in-situ, he was brought there already dead.  Arms and legs strapped with duct tape for quite a few hours before he died, multiple contusions from being beaten, nothing forensically interesting in his clothes."  There was a rustle of paper as he read.
	"Physical evidence?" quizzed Andi.
	"Top surfaces of the tape were wiped clean, but a few partial prints turned up on the underside, but they're just bits and they haven't found a match.  The tape's some heavy duty stuff you don't find in hardware stores--expensive but not rare.  Two teeth got broke in the beatings, they weren't in his stomach or Rasheed's kitchen so Max figures they're still wherever it was done.  He wore a coat and glasses that are still missing."  Ramirez sighed.  "Aren't you going to ask how they got his body into Rasheed's without people seeing?"
	"There's a high hedge by the driveway, bushes all around are overgrown, an empty lot next door and an empty house across the street."
	"Wicksham!  You promised to keep your nose out of this."  He tried to sound ominous, but his heart wasn't in it.
	"Just drove by.  I didn't stop, not even to look in a window.  We were on our way to lunch."
	"Cruised Jimmy Tuft's place too?"  Ramirez didn't miss much of what wasn't said.
	"Ask no questions, you'll hear no lies."
	"That's a lie itself, Sherlock."
	"Hey, go easy." she complained.  "Like I said, I haven't the foggiest idea who offed Tuft and my investigation hasn't overlapped in the slightest way...that I know of."
	"Wicksham..." he appealed.
	"Hey guy, I've got your phone number memorized.  If I hear anything I think you should know, I'll pass it on.  What else can I do?"
	"You don't really want me to answer that do you?"
	"Say 'so long' Ramirez.  We're not getting anywhere."
	"Until then." he conceded cheerlessly.  "Ciao, amici."
	"Ciao bella." she replied in kind.
	Lena had returned the calls of their established clients all routine trade keeping the office pot boiling.  The last calls, the ones from prospective clients, they split--Andi got the one claiming she'd been referred.
	"Hello?"  There was an anxiousness in the greeting, as if expecting news of a tragedy.
	"Andi Wicksham of Investigatory Services, returning your call."
	"My name is Robin Dubrinski, referred by Janice Thompson, the lawyer?"  She paused, as if waiting reassurance.
	"Yes, Ms. Dubrinski.  What is it I can help you with?"
	"I need to find a piece of furniture I inadvertently sold last week."
	"A piece of furniture?"
	"Yes an oak roll-top desk...it turns out my husband secreted some valuable papers under a drawer."
	Andi'd traced spouses and pets, once a storage locker and twice safe-deposit boxes, but this was the first request to chase after furniture.
	"You sold the desk last week?" Andi asked noncommittally.
	"Yes, that's right."
	"For cash or check?"
	"Well actually a little of both, they paid half with a check amount and the rest in cash."  She sounded embarrassed and a little fearful.
	"That's not my concern, Ms. Dubrinski...you might trace the check through the bank where you deposited it.  If you call as a customer, they'll order a photo copy."
	"It was a week ago, the check's already cleared."
	"They'll have photo records, but don't encourage digging them up because it's a pain.  They'll probably charge a fee."
	"Will you trace it for us?"
	Andi offered a friendly sigh, "Actually, you can do it better.  We'd have to sign a contract, then get a notarized power of attorney hand delivered to the bank and they'd probably argue about anything they did.  As a customer, you'll get it with a smile with only a phone call.  Once you get a copy of the check you'll probably have an address and phone number.  In worse case scenarios, you trace it back through the bank to whoever's account it is."
	"Uhhh...sure...."  It sounded like she was taking notes.
	"If you hit a brick wall with the second bank, ask them to address and send a letter you'll write and stamp.  They might snivel, but can be done."
	"You don't want the work?" Robin Dubrinski asked, surprised.
	"Actually, I'd rather you do the first part even if you want us later."
	"Well, thank you." there was a moment of confusion.  "Do I owe anything for this advice?"
	"If you get what you want and are still thankful, send us a gift."  Andi rolled her eyes.  Demand money for helping out?  Only a lawyers and New Yorker's would be that cheap.
	"OK." Dubrinski sounded uncertain.
	"Yes ma'am.  Good luck.  Andi hung up before another question could leak out.  She looked up to find Lena waiting.
	"You turned away business?"  She gave an decent imitation of amazement.
	Andi pursed her lips and tapped her fingers.
	"Dr. Snowden at OHSU left an a note asking you to call."
	"Snowden?"  Andi drew a momentary blank.
	"Francois.  Remember?"  Lena dropped her jaw and shook her head.
	"Oh yeah, the good Doctor."  She punched in Francois' number.  "Snowden?" she grumbled.
	"Hello Ms. Wicksham."  Francois affected a posh, faux British accent.  
	"I hear you want to talk."  She was losing enthusiasm for pretend names.
	"Are you free?"  Snowden reeked old world ‚lan.
	"No, but if you get your card stamped seven more times you get an espresso drink."
	"In a spot of foul mood, are we?" Snowden didn't give up.
	Andi refused to respond.
	Her silent rebuke worked, Francois returned.  "OK.  The Division apartment?  Now would be fine."
	"Sure.  Ten minutes?"
	"I'll be waiting."  


	Francois' Division Street apartment was tucked within a rangy complex, one of a few marginal flats he kept as guest rooms, stocked with pots and pans, plates, stray clothes and struggling philodendrons.  As she pulled into the driveway and set the brake, she could see him waiting in the sun, leaning on the porch-rail in a peasant shirt of fawn-colored rough silk.  It was a second-story place, postage stamp size, one of those strange add-ons you find in continually remodeled old buildings, built without permits in the sixty's, of patched together material after remodeling more valuable units.   Fifty leftover square feet of what was once a hallway tacked onto what once was a pantry and an office's back room.  Toss in some make-shift plumbing for an idiosyncratic low-rent student or struggling somebody's apartment with a door above the refuse bins.
	Francois met her at the door.  "Fall's coming early."
	Andi looking down at the street again.  The air was clear and cool, a nice day to be outside.  A maple across the street had half-turned an eye-jabbing yellow.
	They lingered without speaking, watching a young couple ambled the sidewalk enveloped in mutual bliss.  Two cars cruised by, then a nervous old woman in too large an overcoat dragged an empty cart toward Division.  "What you want?"
	Francois turned away from the street, "I got the week's bookkeeping cleaned up, but it'll probably take a team of CPAs a month to figure it out."
	"Any subcontractor names?"
	"They'd be entered as account numbers."  Francois looked down and tapped idly at the rail post with the toe of his shoe.  "Probably have to hack Riparian to get them."  He glanced up significantly.  "Wanna get to it?"  He bobbed he head toward the door.
	Andi nodded regretfully, it was nice standing outside.
	Once in he flipped the dead-bolts with a practiced twist.  She followed into the bedroom where the closet's clothes were already pulled aside, then waited as he tugged at a shoe rack to swing the lower half of the wall open.
	She'd come this route many times before; Francois' security obsession hardly wasn't even surprising anymore.  Somewhere in the past century the adjoining rooms had been a brothel connected with this corridor with peek-holes for blackmailing or voyeurs.  With the holes plastered over, the corridor served as part of an elaborate maze through which Francois moved about his city block of adjoining buildings.
	Around a few more corners, they climbed a ladder, passed through a couple of attics and eventually descended into his hidden office.  The smell of ginger and chilies and rice wafted through the light-well window and the arching guitar of Mike Bloomfield's intro to Our Love is Drifting filled the room.
	"What sort of stuff in the bookkeeping?" Andi asked 
	"Routine.  Hard to believe it's worth the trouble of encrypting, but there's a lot of it.  By the time you tally up a dozen medium-sized industries, it's huge."
	Andi nodded, it always took him a while to get to his point.
	"There are a few ways to go about making sense of it.  I'm filtering everything for text, but have gotten much.  They use six-digit account codes for almost everything.  I've pieced together a few solvents, typing paper and brooms, that's about all."  He tapped at his keyboard and looked up at one of the monitors.  "But all Riparian's companies seem to use the same codes."
	"Problems?"
	Francois looked over the tops of his glasses.  "The subsidiaries got a jumble of different computer systems.  Typical for a collection of bought-out companies I guess.  There are PC networks, a couple mini's, three UNIX's...one an antique, even a MX PDP-10!  I got dead-code cuckoo eggs in...all but two have hatched."
	"In English please." Andi prompted bluntly.
	"Uhhh, different computers have different operating systems.  They do their thing if somebody runs the code it's stuck in, then I set up trap doors to get in when I want."  He paused until she blinked in understanding.  "Things are going OK."
	"What's vulnerable?"
	"We're exposed going in, probably logged as I diddle, but they'd have to know what wasn't their own...unlikely, but it's there if someone suspects.  I'm using very circuitous routes and being very careful once in.  Nothing's obvious."
	Andi got the gist and nodded.
	"I'm setting up phantom accounts as archives and use native programs to search."  He smiled.  "I look like a regular user and split outgoing data into three phone lines that collect at U of O accounts I never actually log-onto because I syphon everything off going in.  Bottom line--we're as secure as we're going to be."
	"Anything else?"
	"Janus Industrial Chemicals both buys and sells materials almost exclusively to Riparian firms."
	"That means something?"
	"Maybe not since their only clients are Riparian, but it's strange for an industrial chemical firm to sell brooms and typing paper.  I'm running lists by Armando."  He slowly reached for a dish of almonds, took a handful and quietly observed her expression.
	"I'm betting Snowden didn't call me here just to fill in background."
	Francois' eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair, a smug smile creased dimples into his cheeks.  "Running the background's of executives I came upon a guy personally paying the bill for twenty-two cellular phones."
	"That's interesting." Andi allowed an expression of restrained pleasure, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips.
	Francois shared a self-satisfied smile bordering on a leer.  "I thought so too, four or five might be plausible if he had spoiled teenagers and an on-the-go wife.  Twenty-two's over the top."
	"And?"
	"He's had them over a year and almost all the billings are to the other phones."
	"And?"  She felt she could tell from his almost electric intensity that he was leading into something significant.
	"That was as far as I felt I should go without bringing you in.  We haven't discussed phone tapping.  I want to."  Francois' eyes held Andi's.
	"Aren't cellular phones legal to listen to?" she asked carefully.  "I thought tapping laws don't apply."
	"Wireless frequencies straight out of the phones are fair game, but we'd have to follow all twenty-two phones around and pick 'em out from everyone else's.  Technically easy, but too cumbersome.  What we can manage is tapping, but it's a federal crime."
	Andi stared into his golden-brown eyes  wishing there was an easy answer.
	"Not that I've scruples, mind you.  I'm already tapping for data."
	She didn't interrupt.
	"I didn't want to start without asking, but we should."  He blinked and sat back in his chair.
	"Talk me into it."  Andi forced herself into a neutral state of mind.
	"In for a dollar, in for a dime."  He shrugged and tossed an almond in his hand.  "Left on my own, I'd have already done it.  We've already committed the crime...it would only expand on it."
	"Legality aside...you got other issues?"
	"On ethics?  On one hand it would be fighting fire with fire, on another I'm always pissed when I think somebody's tapping me.  But the cops have tried for years and it's lowered my threshold of shock.  Considering murder's involved and that the cops need evidence for search warrants, if it's going to get done, it'll be us."  He popped an almond in his mouth.  "Call me cynical, but I consider it public service."
	"Set it up, but don't switch it on.  I'll ask Armando."
	"I already did.  He said wire-taps were your decision."
	Andi rubbed her cheek with a finger.  "What else you discuss?"
	"My wish list...with prices.  Snowden already faxed it to Lena and you client's already cut a check."  He smiled contentedly to himself.
	"When do you get the equipment?"  Andi tried to remain objective.
	"I already ordered.  Bobby Soxx gave Lena keys to your attic.  I'll put in the computer tonight, so tomorrow we go encrypted.  Hardware's coming tomorrow, cell phones soon enough."
	Andi felt resentful.  Once they started using phone scramblers Francois was likely to insist on them from then on.  "Anything more we need to go over?"
	"How about hacking Riparian's VAX?"
	"Not yet."
	Francois smiled.  "I didn't figure you'd go for it."  His eyes flicked up toward the hatchway to the attic.  "Ready to go?"





Chapter  5

	Lena made yam soup that evening, with spinach salad and biscuits.  Andi watched football, rooting for the Forty Niner's over Miami, which was easy since they jumped up ten points in the first five minutes and coasted into a twenty-three/fourteen win.
	They ate at half-time and afterwards Lena painted her nails with glitter polish, rearranged her ear and nose rings and looked through a book on quilting while Andi felt every arching pass as if she was running under it.  Their traditional gender roles were almost scary--Andi glanced over and chewed her lip; quilting was another corner of women's culture about which she hadn't a clue.
	Andi celebrated the Niner's win with a scoop of ice cream and a cookie.  She hadn't called her mother and guilt gnawed, but it had grown too late to fix it.  They were in bed by eight minutes after ten with Lena asleep by ten-thirty.  Andi watched the ceiling another hour.


	Tuesday, rain was pounding the window when they awoke to OPB radio's news.  They dawdled through day-old bagels and yogurt, lingering until the last moment before braving the office.
	Armando, e-mailed a ream of numbers and laboratory reports Lena sent to the printer, but he hadn't called, either the spill hadn't offered much of real interest or he had other things more important.  It was nice he had not called--she didn't have to feign dedication.  Andi paged through her notebook while Lena finished her e-mail.  Three or four down was one from Francois:

	Things went fine, you're all hooked up.  Gave both computers a boost in horsepower.  Encryption password is on your bulletin board in your coffee cup--check LEARN.XX file in your LENA dir for misc.

	Keep the faith,  Snowden

	PS: I used the last of the half-and-half.   L.I.S.PHD.

	Lena pulled the scrap of paper from the bulletin board and read, "What type of breeding did an early target of Andi's have?"  She snorted a laugh and leapt back to pull up the LEARN.XX file and typed POODLE when it asked for a password.  The screen blinked, flashed blue and opened to a screen reading;

	"WELCOME TO SNOWDEN'S PLEASURE DOME OF ENCRYPTION.  IT'S NOTED YOU HAVEN'T READ THE 'LEARN.XX' FILE YET...IF YOU DIS THE DEMIGOD YOU'LL EAT FLAMING DEATH."

	Lena squealed with pleasure.  Andi looked over with an indulgent smile and punched the button on the answering machine as Lena exited and pulled up the LEARN.XX file.  Ramirez left a message, mentioning it was Tuesday morning, so they hadn't missed him by much.  Andi settled back in her chair and called him back.
	"I didn't want to disturb you at home, but Lamar Rasheed finally turned up."
	"Max happy?" Andi wasn't much interested.
	"No.  Rasheed was found taped and beaten like Jimmy Tuft...in an alley, Sunday night."
	"Damn."  It was obvious Max's unwarranted attention contributed, if not directly lead to Rasheed's death.  It was a bitter thought; there would be neither justice or recognition, but maybe she could bring it up over a glass of wine someday--get Ramirez contemplating the frailty of human nature, then remind him of his complicity.
	"He was last seen Thursday morning."
	"That all you know?" Andi asked quietly.
	"He wasn't identified right off so no one made the connections.  The case was assigned to Phillips in North precinct.  Max is having to cuddling up with him to get information.  I asked for reports and photos and was told they weren't ready."  Ramirez sounded disgusted.  "Yesterday evening after the identification, Max crossed a blurry line and went into Rasheed's apartment.  It pushed Phillips' buttons."
	"Anything interesting in the alley?" asked Andi carefully.
	"Forensic's spent a few hours, but the rain didn't help."
	"Time of death?  Fingerprints?" Andi pushed.
	"Not in yet...but he was popped somewhere else like Tuft.  No finger prints on the outer surfaces.  Tape looks similar and the way it was done.  Seems the same perp."
	"I suppose there was nothing interesting in their rooms?"
	Ramirez snorted, "Seems they both lived out of suitcases, almost nothing there, little food, not enough clothes to believe they really lived there.  Both appeared in Portland out of thin air a year ago.  Both lived in rented, furnished apartments without visible incomes.  Both were twenty-something.  No fishing rods, auto parts or exercise equipment...nothing personal, no letters or checkbooks, no photos or beer or roach clips, no radical literature.  Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with that picture."
	Andi coughed in lieu of answering.
	Ramirez accepted it as agreement.  "It's comes to mind that the next closest possible victim would be your client."
	"Seems obvious." Andi conceded cautiously.  "Are you developing a concern for him?"
	"I've taken a oath to protect the public." replied Ramirez stuffily.  "Any idea who's pulling the strings?"
	"Armando's sure it's Riparian.  We haven't got anything on them, but we're getting closer."
	"Closer?" Ramirez asked, his voice inflecting musically upwards.
	"Don't ask.  You don't want to know...believe me."  Andi tried to let her voice rumble ominously like he did--wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
	"Wicksham..."
	"Hey, Ramirez.  If you knew, you'd be disappointed and have an ethical dilemma."  That was as close to spelling it out for him as she was going to go.  "Believe me, I'll tell you anything important.  How many deaths is that now?  My count says at least five.  You need all the help you can get, so chill out for Gods sake."
	"Five?" that caught Ramirez' attention.
	"Three DEQ people.  Armando swears it's all tied together."
	Ramirez fell silent.  
	"Killed four or five years ago?  No suspects, no serious investigation, no nothing else?"
	Ramirez's voice was quiet, "I knew about them.  The woman was in our jurisdiction, but it didn't go anywhere.  It was only a missing person."
	"Investigation dropped a bit prematurely, right?"
	"Maybe." Ramirez allowed cautiously.
	"Different venues, different MOs, but all three victims looking into Riparian's pollution...interesting huh?  Not only that, but their files at DEQ went missing at the same time.  There's a report on file somewhere if you want a laugh; I've seen it, we're talking obvious white wash."  
	Ramirez didn't comment, it sounded like he was taking notes.
	Andi took a breath and continued.  "Make sure you're wearing your skeptic's hat and dust off your conspiracy theories.  There's talk of a cover-up from on high, certainly all the obvious loose ends weren't looked into."  She could hear Ramirez breathing and the background noises around him and waited for a response.
	"Four connectable deaths and a disappearance might put things in different light." Ramirez' voice had grown cautious and reflective.  "I'm pretty sure Max hasn't tied in the DEQ stuff."  There was another pause, then his voice doubled in volume and dropped an octave.  "You're sure about this?"
	Andi snorted.  "Of course not.  It's third or fourth hand rumor.  If I knew anything I'd have told you long ago.  I assumed you'd made the connection and were ignoring it."
	"OK." he placated.  "I'll look.  Do you mind if Max knows where the hint came from?"
	"No.  It might salve our relationship."
	Ramirez didn't rise to that bait.  "Any other details?"  He was overly polite, as if his feelings were hurt.
	"No my friend, but I'm glad you're picking up the ball."  Andi let the receiver down to her desk and chewed her lip, deep in thought.  A minute later, she phoned Francois, but had to settle for leaving a message about Rasheed.  "What do we know about the DEQ deaths?" she asked Lena suddenly.
	"Names, dates.  Not much more, you saw the report Armando gave us."  Lena answered without looking over.  She was slogging through Snowden's LEARN.XX file, taking notes as she went.  "What do you want?"
	"I don't know.  More background at least.  I should have paid more attention when Armando brought it up."  She tapped her fingers on her desk top, then looked up into Lena's eyes.  "Damn...why have I been taking this so lightly?"
	"The DEQ thing moving to high priority?" Lena was already saving her work and clearing her screen.
	"Yeah, I suppose so." Andi had her notebook out, searching through her notes and glaring at the piles amassing on her desk.

	There was a check from Armando with the mail--eight thousand dollars.  "You have Francois' wish list?" Andi waved the check.
	"Yo." Lena handed over a list of equipment and costs.
	Andi did a little quick addition and wrote a five-thousand dollar check to Dr. L.I. Snowden at OHSU noting "research" in it's corner.  It rounded up Francois' costs by almost a grand, but the prices he quoted seemed unrealistically low and she rationalized that he had earned anything left over.  She folded it in a blank sheet of paper, enclosed it in an envelope, printed the address and tossed it in Lena's out basket.
	In that short bit of time Lena'd come up with digitally scanned, microfilms of old newspaper reports on the earlier deaths.  The first ran a scant three inches and told of a female investigator with the Department of Environmental Quality who had vanished while out in the field, then two follow-up clips rehashed that she was still missing and that family and friends had no idea where she could be, concluding darkly that foul play was suspected.
	The second and third incidents left bodies, which earned considerably more column space.  The administrator's death was termed possible suicide though nobody who knew him thought him in least despondent.  The drowning was reported as an accident, both articles made mention to the storms and flooding.  There were two follow-up articles on each death, rehashing facts and ten after the second to articles on successive days linking the two with their colleague's disappearance, noting they were from the same office and that they had disappeared or died within a week it alluded to an investigation, but that was the end of it, no note of the eventual report.  No mention of Riparian ended up in print.  Andi punched in Armando number.
	"DeVino." he answered.
	"It's Andi Wicksham.  I'm sorry to bear bad news, but I just heard Lamar Rasheed was found...dead."
	"Killed?" Armando's voice was hushed.
	"Like Jimmy Tuft, cloth tape, close range shot to the head."
	"Oh."  It was a very quiet, shocked response.
	There was near silence for six or eight breaths.  Andi could hear the background traffic noise.
	"Can you wait a minute until I pull off the road?"  There was a few moments of dead air.  "OK.  What a shock.  When?"
	"He was found in an alley Sunday night.  Have you seen him since last Wednesday?"
	"No.  I'm submerged in a project.  I called, but he never called back."
	"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."
	"Is that why you called?"  Armando asked almost in surprise.
	"Well, actually no.  Tell me about the DEQ deaths."
	"What do you want to know?"
	"I've got the newspaper reports and the white wash.  I was hoping for something meaningful."
	"Sure." Armando gathered himself.  "The first one disappeared, no trace found; she just never returned to her office.  Her car was left in a Safeway parking lot, wiped absolutely clean of prints.  There's never been a trace found."
	"She was investigating Riparian?"
	"Their two paper mills flushing PCB's into the river."
	"How do you know that?  It wasn't in the papers."
	"There's a lot of information on the grape vine."
	"I've friends in the environmental community, but I never heard it."
	"Well..." Armando sighed, "Be that as it may, I'm telling you the straight story."
	"OK." Andi conceded.  "Tell me about the administrator."
	"He was a good guy." Armando sounded genuinely distressed.  "Serious, knowledgeable, even handed.  Everything you'd want in a civil servant--stable, dedicated, a wife and two kids, deacon in his church, coached girl's soccer, no visible reasons for suicide."
	"What happened?"  She was scribbling notes as fast, but needed to slow him with rhetorical questions.
	"He drove his truck to work, left at the end of the day and never came home.  His body was found in the back of the truck three days later near Grant's Pass with a bullet in his heart...next to the gun that killed him.  No one who knew him believed it to be suicide."
	"Did you know him?"
	There was an awkward silence.  Armando coughed to clear his throat.  "I knew of him.  I wasn't here at the time." he stated cautiously.  "Next was a water quality toxicologist out on the river taking samples.  The boat was found overturned, his body the next day, drowned, but with defensive injuries on his forearms and a busted skull.  He was sampling Riparian's out-flow when it happened."
	Andi wanted to ask where he got such specific information if he wasn't around at the time, but held back.  "Didn't DEQ have an ongoing investigation of Riparian?"
	"Yes, but the files were empty when they next looked.  There'd been eleven, fat dog-eared folders, but the police found only two with a page or two each.  The investigation heard all that, but decided it was nothing out of the ordinary."
	"Who can confirm this?" Andi asked.  He'd recited a lot more than was reported anywhere she had seen and his credibility was shaky at best.
	Again there was a moment of silence.  "You said you had friends in the environmental community?" Armando's voice was quiet and hopeful.
	"A few."
	Armando's voice was that of calm reason itself.  "Ask around among people who were around then."
	"How about Ramone Bodega?" Andi pushed.
	"Yes he'd..." Armando began eagerly, but stopped abruptly before saying soberly,  "He'd be fine, I've heard of him."
	Andi waited a moment but he didn't elaborate.  "Thanks for the help.  The police hadn't connected Jimmy and Lamar and the DEQ.  I encouraged them to look into it."
	"Good luck.  I'd given up on them."  He paused again, as if lost in thought.
	"Ramirez pointed out that you'd be next in line."
	There was another silence.  "I suppose so."
	Andi took another breath, waiting for more.  "Be careful, OK?"
	"I will, Andi, I will.  Unless there's more, I need to be going."  He sounded apologetic.
	"Sure.  Thanks.  We'll talk later."
	She immediately called Ramone Bodega.  Of course he wasn't in--she left a message and turned back to the pile on her desk.  It took until mid-afternoon for him to get back--by that time she'd re-read all her notes and was halfway through re-capping Riparian's interconnections.  Lena was on another call so Andi answered herself.  "Investigatory Services."
	"It's Ramone.  What do you need?"
	"Do you remember three DEQ people dead or missing two years ago?"
	"Of course.  It was tragic." Bodega's voice softened.  "They were well liked."
	"Do you know what they were working on at the time?"  Andi didn't want to give obvious hints.
	"Paper mills...carcinogens in the effluent."
	"Remember the company's names?"
	"Not off the top of my head.  Is it important?"
	"Maybe not.  What can you tell me about it?" Andi tried to make it a friendly request.
	He paused like a professor choosing his answer.  "Washington and Oregon rivers have receive more legally dumped carcinogens than any other rivers in the nation...maybe the highest illegally dumped too.  Unfortunately, the data is self-reported and not checked, so it could easily be twice or three times what industries claim."
	"And they get away with it?"
	"Sure do...money and politics."  Bodega seemed to shrug it off as a truism.  "Paper mills are important to small town economies."
	Andi was writing notes as she listened.  "OK.  Why do they use the carcinogens?"
	"They use chlorine to bleach and soften the fibers, but the chlorine bonds to natural molecules making some of them super-toxic.  Why are you interested?  It's a little out of your usual sphere."
	Andi ignored the question.  She wasn't going to be sidetracked.  "You don't know who owns the mills?"
	Bodega, paused.  "I used to.  Two or three companies control the industry.  I think the ones being investigated shared owners or something."
	"Do you remember if DEQ was investigating the owners when the deaths occurred?"
	"They don't investigate owners, just individual companies.  Each location is a point-source, each is handled individually."
	Andi paused, shutting her eyes a moment to help her concentrate.  He hadn't come up with Riparian or its subsidiary companies.  Corroboration was still missing.  Ramone Bodega was coming close, but Armando's spin on the situation still stood alone.  She bit her tongue to keep from prompting.  "What do you remember of the DEQ disappearance and deaths?"
	"I think first a woman disappeared.  I'd met her half a dozen times, an earnest, serious type--I don't think she was ever found.  The second was a real nice guy who ran the north-central office.  An articulate guy with a big smile who could schmooze with us and industry reps at the same time, a real mediator.  He was a suspected suicide.  Then a few days later a toxicologist was found drowned...it was too much coincidence for anybody to believe an accident."
	"Do you remember who was suspected?"
	"No, I'm sorry.  I was up to my neck fighting Rogue Valley air particulates."
	"You can't remember?" Andi could hear the disappointment in her own voice.
	"Sorry.  But there's a guy who was really involved at the time, a guy in a wheelchair, missing both feet.  Long hair in a ponytail, thick glasses...real noticeable, but I haven't seen him around in years.  Why don't I ask around?  His name was Alvin Delgatto."
	"Alvin The cat?" Andi chuckled.  
	"Nice guy, hung out with Sandi George and Jerry Snyder.  But they're no were around these day either."
	Andi scribbled, leery of veering off on a tangent.  "If you remember more about the DEQ thing please get back quick as you can.  There may have been two more murders now."
	"Oh yeah?  Sorry I wasn't more help you more.  Are we still on for coffee tomorrow?"
	Andi quickly flipped through her day planner.  "No sweat, two o'clock.  Thanks again." she scribbled a last note as she hung up the phone.  So much for definitively confirming Armando's story.  She sat ruminating, the investigation was going no slower than many, but this one was lifted by a welling urgency.  She'd never met Tuft or Rasheed, but had lied to one of her oldest friends because of them.  She was already sick of the investigation.
	Bits and pieces straggled in from the Snowden material Lena culled--most not very compelling; purchases, connections between projects and companies, accounting minutia and chains of stray detail.  Andi buried herself in their organizational scheme, tracing hierarchy and responsibilities while glancing through whatever Lena highlighted.  She was making slow, but steady headway at five-thirty.  Lena made noises about closing shop, but Andi dragged her heels.  Finally Lena began the evening's clean-up and Andi was pushed into saying point-blank that she wanted to keep working.
	Lena seemed to expect it, cheerfully offering to get take out from El Loco Burrito.  She straightened the office, emptying waste paper baskets, cleaning the coffee maker and throwing out the wilted flowers.  Andi ate at her desk, hardly looking up when Lena slid the burrito before her and slipped out the door again.  Riparian moved under the watchful eye of three upper-vice presidents answering directly to Rebecca Sauturne.  Each supervised a series of subsidiaries headed by business drones over managers of physical plant, sales and purchasing, environmental, personnel and the like.
	It was eleven before she got to a stopping point.  Exhausted, she called Lena to pick her up, cached the files in their closet hide-away, looked out the window at the night-time traffic, locked the door and descended to the mist-dampened sidewalk.

	Wednesday morning, Andi woke early, caught between eagerness and dread over the investigation.  She lay thinking an hour and three quarters before the alarm went off, then quietly watched Lena set out breakfast.
	"Here, Sherlock." Lena slid a bowl of oatmeal topped with apple sauce in front of her.
	Andi felt a twinge of guilt--Lena seemed strangely accepting of her workaholism.  "Thanks Watson." she offered shyly, undeserving of indulgence.
	"I can take up the slack when it's important." Lena pinned her with a hard look, her knuckles resting on an out-thrust hip.  "We're in this together."
	"Thanks." smiled Andi, pouring milk and wielding her spoon, aware that being nice was how to get back to the office and bury herself in work.  "Winter's coming.  It's frosty outside."
	"What?" asked Lena, startled from the depths of the morning crossword.
	"Simone's cute." Andy smiled, cheek in her palm, her eyes focused on some inner horizon.  "Babysiting was OK.  You think so?"  She smiled--not a hint of a work-related scheme.
	"OK.  Get your coat."  Lena threw down her pencil in disgust.  "I'll get the dishes this evening."  She shot Andi a glare and rose stiffly from her chair.  "It's going to take me a minute to get ready.  No, no, it's OK.  If you're gonna obsess, we can go in early."  Her mouth twisted, playing martyr like a religious pro.
	"What?" chirped Andi defensively, sitting up and looking around.
	Lena ducked into the bathroom, yelling, "Do you know where my purple socks are?"  She turned the sink on full-force and scrubbed away at her face.
	Andi rose, smirking at the way Lena's brain was wired.

	Back in the office, Andi sank into her chair, flipped on her computer, pushed in a floppy disc and pulled up files, having a moment of disassociation as she emersed in the web of Riparian connections she'd mapped yesterday--feeling like a hovering spider, waiting the slightest tremor of prey.
	Lena tapped into the attic computer and fielded the collected phone messages--two of them and a hang-up.  She glanced over at Andi who was oblivious to the world.
	The first call was Ramirez, just checking in.  The second was Janice Thompson wanting an auto body shop checked out.  Lena picked up her phone and called Ramirez.
	"Hey Roy, it's Lena.  What's up?"
	"Put on Andi."  He was not in a chatty mood.
	"What, I won't do?"  She paused.  "You know, it sounds like your blood pressure is pegging the red-zone?"
	"Not now...put her on."
	"Please hold."  Lena pushed the hold button, dryly muttered. "Andi.  The Mexican bear's on a Maxian errand...he's steaming."  She shook her receiver as if it had stuck with glue.
	Andi pushed line two.  "Grumpy are we?"
	"Wicksham?  What the heck is the story with you and Max?  I tactfully pass on what you're doing for us and he goes ballistic, wanting me to run you in."
	"Sheriff, I told you from the git that the boy was off-kilter...he's about a strap and a half short of a straight jacket." Andi drawled.  "What's it gonna take to make you a believer?"
	"Yippy-yi-ki-yo.  I'm officially telling you you're supposed to explain everything you know about anything, and pronto.  Not that I expect you to do that and not that I think it's a wise idea and don't be insulting me now."
	"Lay it on the table Ramirez."
	"Max wasted three hours trying to find something significant in that stack of pages we gave him, then an hour reaming me for letting it get to his desk."  Andi gave a supportive sigh.  Ramirez sounded like he had his feet up and was contemplating the light fixtures.  "He needs something to chase.  What can it hurt?  Give him a tire to snap at."
	"You don't understand."
	"Wicksham, we're talking getting the guy off your back."
	Andi let a touch of dissatisfaction growl in her throat.  "Haven't we been down this path?  Out of the blue, my work becomes Max's case and bingo and I've retroactively broken the Prime Directive.  What's the matter with the DEQ connection?  That's a plum."
	"It's in the works.  Wicksham...I'm pleading here." Ramirez' voice didn't need horns, Bobby Blue Bland couldn't have wrung more soul from it.
	"If he thinks I've learned something, he can retrace my steps, it's not like I'm privy to first-hand information."  Andi fought, but knew she'd have to yield, she was being manipulated by a master.  "If you indulge him he'll come to expect it...it's not good for his training."
	"You're right, but it'll keep him off your back another day or two."  Ramirez sensed her yield and eased off.
	"A day or two?"  She feigned outrage.  "It should be worth a month."
	Ramirez responded, smooth as silk, "It's not a perfect world.  I'll see what I can do.  What do I tell him?"
	Andi pinched her eyes closed, wondering where to send him.  "There was a guy in a wheelchair around a few years ago, amputee or something...no feet maybe, thick glasses, long hair.  He's an activist who followed the DEQ stuff closely, but has been out of things a couple of years.  He's the one to fill in the blanks."
	"No feet?  Is this a con?  Got a name and address?"
	"I'll see what I can do." Andi parroted, making him work for it would stretch the distraction another day or so.
	"Wicksham.  Give it up."  Ramirez frothed at the point of yelling.
	"Ramirez, listen to my words.  At this moment I honestly don't remember his name, but if you're a nice cop...if you're a mild-mannered cop, I'll see what I can do."  she delivered the lines in a hard-edged, but saccharine whisper.
	"OK."  It came in his bright, school kid voice as if he'd flicked a switch.  "That's done.  Are we're still on for Saturday?  Give my love to Lena, gotta go."
	Chuckling, Andi paged back through her notebook to the page with the call to Bodega and ran her finger down the page until she found it.  Alvin Delgatto, the guy in the wheelchair.  She smiled and looked up to get Lena's attention.
	"Lena, drop everything and do a rush skip search on Alvin Delgatto, some environmental friend of Bodega's in a wheelchair.  Disappeared two years ago...should know about the DEQ."
	Lena tapped at her keyboard as she swiveled around, all business.  "Delgatto?  Portland metro?  Nothing but environmentalist and wheelchair, sans feet?"
	"Thick glasses, long hair, smart.  I'll ask Francois to cover the same ground."
	"I'm on it."  She paused and looked up.  "The lady after the desk recovered stock certificates worth a mint and wants to repay your kindness with two hundred dollars.  I set up an file and printed an invoice."  She slid down in her chair as if low-riding--hands shoulder high on the keyboard, chin to her chest, looked over the top of her glasses ready to drag race.
	Andi rolled her eyes and called Armando.  "What do know about an environmentalist, circa a couple of years ago named Alvin Delgatto, wheelchair, thick glasses."
	"What?" exclaimed Armando, then a silence.
	"Alvin Delgatto, I'm told he'll know about the DEQ murders."
	"I'm sure I've heard the name, but..." offered Armando cautiously.
	"But what?"
	"But I never really traveled in that crowd."  The answer came quickly, with a stamp of finality.
	"How many of you could have been paying attention to the DEQ right then?"
	"It's a big world."
	"You really don't know of him?"
	"Of him of course, but nothing much else."
	"Can you ask around for me?"
	"You want me to drop what I'm doing?"
	"No...what's the problem?"
	"Nothing, I'll see what I can find."
	Andi returned the phone to its cradle and checked her appointment book--nothing until coffee with Bodega at two.  She reached again for the phone and called Francois.
	He picked up, first ring.  "Yo, Sherlock.  What's cooking?"  He sounded distracted, as if doing a couple things at the same time--keyboard clicks and equipment hums filled the background.
	"I got favors to ask."
	"Ask and ye shall receive." Francois was still distracted.
	"Everything you can find on the DEQ murders and a quick personal search."
	"Who on?"
	"Alvin Delgatto.  Lived in Portland somewhere...last seen a couple of years ago.  He might have moved out of state."
	"Sure." replied Francois vaguely.  "Can I get back in an hour?"
	"That'll be great."
	Francois yawned.  "OK.  Adios," and he was gone.
	Andi looked up to catch Lena's eye.  Lunch?"
	Lena nodded and turned back to her computer.
	"Where?" Lena asked, swinging around and rising from her chair.
	"Il Piatto?" Andi suggested.
	"For a fancy sit-down meal?" Lena collapsed back in her chair as if she were a rag doll.  "You're going to leave your desk for more than a minute.  Where's that urgency that drove us here at dawn?"
	"Hibernating."  She offered a hand to pull Lena from her chair.
	"You been sniffing glue?" she stood and snatched up her coat.
	"I think I've come to a plateau." announced Andi grandly.  "Suddenly the clouds are clearing."
	Lena gave her a look of sudden, wide-eyed alarm, then burst into high gear and hustled Andi to the door.  "My God...an epiphany." she gushed.  "Let's go quick, it's your turn to buy."





Chapter  6
	

	In the leisurely moment between eating and paying the bill Lena pursed her lips and touched a finger to Andi's wrist.  "I called your Mom last night.  I figured one of us had to and you were up to your lobes in Riparian."  She watched Andi's face for signs of disapproval.
	Andi sat up, unsure whether she felt relieved or threatened.  "How is she?" she asked quietly, fighting a wave of shame, the difficult and uncaring, queer and irresponsible daughter.
	"Seems OK...all things considered.  We talked quite a while."  She smiled, "It was more than just OK.  I'll do it again."  Folding her napkin evenly suddenly took on overwhelming importance, keeping her from looking up.  "We talked about you and her."  Lena finally smiled and held Andi's gaze with her own.
	Andi could feel a hot flush flood her face.  "Me?" she croaked uneasily.  "And?"  She felt the blood drain from her face.
	Lena smiled easily.  "She knows she's been unrealistically hard on you...says she tries not to be, but slips back into it."
	"I'll call her tonight." Andi promised with all her heart.
	"She says she's 'not close.'  And that you'd know what that means."
	Andi's breath came in a gasp and she felt tears in her eyes.  The crushing weight returned, her stomach soured and she needed to get outside.  She fumbled for her wallet, tore out a ten and a twenty and tossed them loosely on the table before rushing for the door.
	 Lena followed after checking the tab, adding another dollar to the tip, and gathering both of their coats.
	Andi's forehead rested against a poster encrusted telephone pole beside their car.  She stood, breathing hard.  "I don't know what I'm going to do if she actually says 'it's time.'"
	Lena unlocked the car, helped her into the passenger seat and went around to slip before the wheel.  "You don't need to know right now." she stated firmly.  "It will depend on a lot of things.  If she's in agony, whether you want to do what she wants."
	"But it's her decision." Andi retorted.
	"Not alone and your actions are your decision." Lena peered over her glasses.  "You'll do what you think is right...trust yourself.  It'll be painful any way it goes."


	Lena finished Francois' LEARN.XX file; the attic's Pentium evidently knew it because she wasn't dished a nasty message.  Files magically encrypted or decrypted and appeared in their computers as if by magic.  She shown Andi.  "There's nothing in our computer at all, Adolf just watches until you ask."  Lena tapped a flurried command on her keyboard,  smiled and pointed to her screen.
	"Adolf?" Andi snickered.
	"The attic 'puter.  Some acronym."  Lena checked-off voter's rolls, phone books and all the normal sources for Alvin Delgatto.  A name search pulled up a few newspaper stories and a photo from the newspaper morgue.  She added the results of a standard, credit check and saved everything into their new encrypted storage.  Andi went through them, grateful for the distraction, still feeling like she was moving in molasses.
	There was a quick rap on the door and Francois sauntered in carrying a briefcase and wearing dark glasses, a coffee-colored leather coat over a floral shirt, slacks and wide Panama hat.  "Kon nichiwa colleagues." he offered with smile and bow.  "It's Santa-san with telephone scrambler's for all the good girls and boys."  After looking to see if he had their attention, he opened the briefcase and pulled out three rather standard looking, cell phones.  "Here, we have the latest in scrambling technology.  It slices, it dices, it crawls on its belly like a reptile."  He handed each of them a phone and pulled out his own up for demonstration.  "Note the stylish charcoal finish, the tasteful appointments, the retracting aerial which is recommended you use extended in adverse situations.  Each has a little case of accompanying cords that will plug into standard telephone lines if you find you're out of range."
	He removed the back of his phone.  "It's got three different scrambling technologies utilized singly or piggy-backed.  Each one has six scrambling patterns.  The company claims there are a million possibilities...if we don't like these we can trade up for a modest tariff."
	Andi nodded, Lena grinned and held up her phone like a puppet saying "Gee Mr. Francois...how many lawyers does it take to screw in a light bulb?"
	He responded straight-faced, without missing a beat.  "Lawyers don't screw in light bulbs, they can't get their briefs off...but seriously folks, this little gem is a regular telephone that you work in the standard fashion." he pushed the on button and punched buttons.
	Lena's phone rang, she looked surprised and answered.  "Hello?"
	"Hello Lena, down in front.  When you want to scramble, you hit..." he held his phone up and pointed, "...this button and, voila.  a tasteful, fuchsia-colored light blinks.  Magically, your voice comes out the other end as a meaningless garble.  Four score and twenty years ago, our forefathers brought upon this rock..."
	Lena held the phone to her ear, smiled in delight and held it over for Andi to hear the scratchy static.
	"To un-scramble, you push the button." he nodded for her to do so.  "And there I am, slightly tinny, but actually fairly clear compared with the competition.  Not surprisingly, the secret to this miracle is both of us having our phones set on the same scrambling systems.  That entails setting it correctly and brings up important security issues."
	Lena was already poking at her phone's extra buttons.
	"We'll scramble as a matter of course...and un-set everything afterwards.  We'll schedule changes and if there's a glitch,  go back to the last setting used.  If it's an emergency, use a different phone to blab the settings.  If it's really important, do anything that gets you through the night."
	"I have to carry this turkey around with me?" Andi dropped it to the desk and pointed if it was ebola virus.  "Know how many years I've fought this?"
	"Since the Pony Express." quipped Francois.  "So, don't use it, just carry it.  You'll have it if you want it."
	Andi smoldered, Lena toyed, wide eyed, turning knobs, pushing buttons and plugging the auxiliary cord into the box by her desk.  "Look it's line three." she glowed.
	"Moving along and gracefully changing the subject.  I have your search for Delgatto here," he reached in the briefcase and lifted a sheaf of papers with thumb and forefinger.  "Hard copy, rendered dry as toast...just the way you like it."   The pucker of his mouth conveyed his distaste as he pushed the papers across her desk with his finger tips.
	"Andi's going digital." bubbled Lena.
	Andi shot a censoring stare.  "Paper's just fine."  She assured graciously.
	"I'll send Lena e-copies, just in case." smirked Francois.
	"Thank you Mr. Science." Andi said dismissively.  She started paging through.  Lena caught Francois' eye and nodded toward the door.
	Andi kept her head down, comparing Francois' results with Lena's, the standard credit information came up identical, though Francois went to greater depth.  The Veteran's Administration had Alvin Delgatto listed as a legitimate vet who lost feet and ankles to a land mine.  Francois tapped into some police files that showed no arrests or traffic tickets, but a slew of unoffical departmental flags dating back decades.  Delgatto stopped writing checks and using his credit cards three years ago, but his bank balance kept increasing from the automatic deposit of his disabled veteran's benefit, minus a monthly automatic mortgage payment.
	Veterans Administration assumed him still among the living, but if he was he lived on another source of income.  His driver's licence was renewed a year and a half ago an he remained a registered voter.  He was indeed photogenic in the newspaper photo, looking full-faced into the camera among a group at a clean water conference.  His hair was parted in the middle and tied back; he had high cheek bones and an infectious smile.  As Bodega noted, he had one of those familiar looking faces and was someone you would remember with his thick glasses and a wheelchair.
	Andi moved on.  A search of death records and obits came up blank.  He'd taken classes in the PSU Urban Studies program, owned a house in town--she scribbled the address in her notebook.  Taxes, mortgage and assessments were current which meant somebody was taking care of his business if he wasn't.  She called main post office asking about forwarding addresses.  They referred her to a branch where a man told her forwarding addresses only were kept six months.  Polite pleading got him to check if it could be somewhere in their files.
	It was.  Andi smiled a resolute smile and copied it into her notebook, pushed the notebook aside, reached for the phone and punched in a number.  
	"Sergeant Ramirez." he answered.
	"It's Andi.  I got the name of the guy in the wheelchair.  It's Alvin Delgatto, lived here in Portland, then disappeared."
	"Congratulations Wicksham.  Your credibility quotient just swung into the normal range.  I didn't know whether you were shining me on."  Ramirez turned his dials to warm and friendly.
	"Let it be a lesson to you."
	"Anything else, Ms. Good Citizen?"
	She could hear somebody in the background calling his name.  "Can't think of anything." she replied curtly.  "Auf Wiedersehen, mi amigo."
	"Sayonara." he laughed.
	Andi turned back to Riparian's corporate structure, Lena returned to the office giggling, but without Francois.  After a smirk in Andi's direction, she slid into her chair without a word.  Andi put in a decent half-hour, then with mind to poking through the stacks at Powell's before her meeting, she grabbed her notebook and cell phone and went to meet Bodega.


	Powell's Books is a two story, city-block sized bookstore with satellite stores for technology, gardening and cooking; room after room stacked high with books.  Andi found a parking place two blocks away and hoofed to the entrance and went straight to the environmental section hoping for something understandable on PCB's.  The shelves were lined past reach with tomes too heavy to fathom.  If there were understandable books among the thousands, they were hidden well.  Overwhelmed, she retreated to Art  for coffee table picture books--Georgia O'Keeffe prints and a study of contemporary quilting to placate Lena.  With them under an arm she returned to the coffee shop and paged through the quilt book, almost forgetting about the time--Bodega surprised her, arriving twenty minutes late with tales of snarled traffic.
	Andi smiled and pushed her books aside.  "I spent some time stalking the environmental aisles."
	There was a flicker of smile. "For fun?"
	"Aversion therapy."  She shook her head, stretched and leaned back in her chair.  She picked up her latte and took a sip.  "I've got a lead on Alvin Delgatto."
	"Yeah?"
	"Old address anyway.  He dropped off the charts, but still pays his bills.  Maybe he's he's out of the country?"
	Bodega shrugged.  "Probably burnout.  He took thing too seriously.  It's hard to beat against the system."  He gave a sad-eyed look.  "The half-life of hard-core activists is about five years."
	"You've survived." Andi toasted him with her latte.
	"I'm not on the front-lines, I do science, not organization and confrontation.  You can chip away in science for a lifetime, enviro-politics consumes people and spits them out half-ravaged."  He blinked and looked off into the distance.
	"Been there, done that?"
	"Learned the dance and bought the t-shirt."  He gave a half-hearted grin and shrugged.  "I asked around about the DEQ thing.  Scuttlebutt has it that Riparian Industries was being investigated..its paper mills."  His jaw was set with barely suppressed anger and his hard gaze fixed on her eyes.  "This is not idle gossip.  There's no doubt in anyone's mind, it's been stewing in a vat of bitterness for years now.  Riparian is pinned as the murderer by everyone I spoke to."
	Andi finally coughed to break the spell.  "That's why I'm here, but popular wisdom's sometimes wrong."  Basic investigatory arithmetic--if three people tell something passed on by a single person, you only have one useful statement--and sometimes not even that.
	"You can ask them yourself.  Both worked water and PCB issues then."
	"Names and numbers?"
	Bodega's eyes never left hers.  "Judith-Anne Chapman and Lenore Wong."  He lay a card before her; neatly printed, with names and phone numbers.  "Take this thing seriously Andi, it's something people care about.  A lot of people are behind you.  Take it to the wall."
	Andi sat silently, feeling like a conspirator.  The air between them sparked.  She smiled a tight smile, averted her eyes and tucked the card into her notebook.  "I'll do what I can."
	Bodega looked at his watch, shrugged nervously and pushed his barely touched cocoa to the center of the table.  "Call if I can help more."
	Andi looked up, "I will." she promised again.
	He made a stiff little nod, turned away and walked out without looking back.  Andi pulled the card from her notebook and read the names once more.  It crossed her mind to phone right then, but she couldn't face pulling a cell phone out in public.  Safely in her car, she punched in the number for Judith-Anne Chapman.  The phone rang eight times before a machine kicked in.  Andi gave her office number and asked for a return call, saying she was referred by Ramone Bodega.  Flipping a page in her notebook, she noted the call and tried Lenore Wong.
	"Hello?" a businesslike voice answered.
	"Hello, Ms. Wong?  This is Andi Wicksham, I was given your name by Ramone Bodega as somebody who knew details of the DEQ murders of a couple of years back."
	"Yes...Ramone mentioned you." The melodious voice replied.  "How can I help?"
	"I'm investigating what might be an extension of that problem.  I'm looking for anything and everything...motives, names, details."
	Lenore Wong laughed tensely.  "The motive's clear.  They wanted to hide their dumping in the river.  They accidentally spilled their nastiest effluent every time there was a storm, figuring enforcement would be off the river and higher flow would mask it.  If nothing was said over the next week or so, then they'd forget that it happened."
	Andi scribbled notes.  "How about the who of the murders?"
	"Generally, it's Riparian Incorporated, which means Rebecca Sauturne.  Specifically, it was her crew of bullies."
	"Mardell Special Forces?" Andi asked.
	"Of course." Wong's answer was clipped.
	"Any evidence you can point me toward?"
	"No, I'm sorry."
	"What can you tell me about Alvin Delgatto?"  Andi slipped the question in without an introductory segue, listening closely to gauge the response.
	"Alvin?" Wong's voice sparkled with pleasure.  "Until Ramone mentioned him, I hadn't thought of him for years.  He was dedicated, worked out of a wheelchair, studied chemistry until he understood it like a pro, had incredible legal knowledge.  Great skills for an activist.  But I haven't seen him in years.  He's not in trouble is he?"
	"No." assured Andi, "I would ask him the same questions I've asked you.  Maybe I won't have to now."
	"Oh." she sounded disappointed.  "Is there anything else?"
	Andi took a second to glance down at her notebook.  "Not at the moment.  May I call you again?"
	Lenore laughed, "Sure, anything, anytime.  Ramone speaks well of you."
	Andi jotted her notes and pulled into traffic, paging back in her notebook at the stop light for Delgatto's old addresses.  Both were East side streets, she could swing by going home.


	The first, the house in his name, was a little bungalow set back on its lot with well kept Fall vegetable gardens taking up the front yard.  She pulled to the curb uncertain of what she wanted, then walked up to the door and knocked.
	The door was answered by a thin man with a loose pony tail.  Rock and roll played in the background and there was the smell of beans and rice.  "Can I help you?" he asked politely.
	"I'm looking for Alvin Delgatto."
	Andi could hear kitchen clamor in the background, then somebody yelling "Who's there, Chet?"
	"It's a lady looking for Alvin." Chet called back.  "Sorry, he's been out of the area for some time, are you a friend?"
	"Friend of a friend actually." she admitted.  "Can you tell me how to get a hold of him?"
	"Nooo." puzzled Chet.  He called back toward the kitchen, "Know how to get a hold of Alvin?"
	"He's traveling or something."
	"Where do you pay rent?" Andi tried.
	"We send checks to Judith, she's a friend of his."
	"Judith-Anne Chapman?" Andi asked helpfully.
	"Oh, you know her?" Chet beamed a gap-toothed smile.
	"Actually not yet." confessed Andi with a touch of embarrassment.  "But I'm getting a hold of her."
	"Yeah, she's hard to reach." confirmed Chet with a knowing nod.
	"Do you have her address?"
	"I guess we must." smiled Chet.  "What's Judith's mailing address?" he yelled back toward the kitchen.
	The voice from the kitchen had it on tongue tip.  It was the same as her second address.  "Thanks." Andi smiled.
	"Anytime.  Sure thing." smiled Chet.  He stood by the door as she turned and walked to her car.  When she looked back, the door was closed and no curtains were pulled to watch.
	The forwarding address Delgatto had given the post office was a down-scale real estate office six or eight blocks away with a sign in the window announcing, "We have rentals" and "Post Box Rentals."
	Inside, Andi asked a wide-eyed young thing for Judith-Anne Chapman
	"Ms. Chapman is out of the office.  Can I help?"
	"I need to speak to her."
	The young woman's face clouded.  "You could leave a message."  She shrugged uncomfortably.
	Andi better things to do.  She had left a message, DeVino's story was corroborated without any added details.  She mentally re-ran the conversation with Bodega.  In all the years she'd known him, she'd never seen the kind of anger that stiffened his lips when he told her to 'take it to the wall.'

	Back in the office she asked Lena to, "Find everything you can find on Judith-Anne Chapman and Lenore Wong." and handed over Bodega's card.
	"Thank-you, yes...I'll do it master.  Yes, yes, of course" Lena limped from the copy machine as Dr. Frankenstein's drooling, hunchback, Igor.
	Andi smiled, shook her head and reached for the phone.  "Yo Francois.  About Mardell."
	"Wrong phone." he abruptly hung up.
	Andi cursed and almost threw the receiver across the room.  Growling curses, she took out her cellular.  "Francois." she greeted in as sweet a voice as she could squeeze between gritted teeth.
	"Hello.  Scramble please."
	She cursed again, shut her eyes to remember their system, then held the phone out to Lena.  "Quick Watson, the code."
	Hardly looking up from her work, Lena reached, set the dials and passed it back without comment.
	"Francois?" Andi rumbled.
	"Andi.  Good to hear your tinny voice."
	She didn't bother with civilities, "Mardell Special Forces.  How do we get a look-see."
	"I assume we're dispensing with our usual discussion of ethics?"
	Andi chewed her lip, "OK.  What are the options?"
	"Bugs, tracers and taps.  You got some idea what we're after?"
	"Everything we can find.  We're after Riparian and who gives orders for Mardell's dark-side stuff."
	"A good start would be tapping those cellular phones.  At the very least we'd track their traffic."
	"OK."  Andi conceded grimly.  "What else do you suggest?" the question came across more peevish than she intended.
	"Turn me loose on Riparian's VAX.  I'll probe Mardell a bit to see what we're up against."
	"Go for it." Andi authorized.  It was time to shift gears, they'd wrung as much information as they were going to from the cautious approach.
	"Consider it kick-started.  Anything else?"
	"No.  Have at it cowboy, give 'em both barrels."  She took a deep breath or two, counted to ten and dialed her regular phone.  "Hi, Mom?  It's Andi."
	"Oh.  Hello." the voice drifted a bit druggily.
	"Are you asleep?" Andi asked.  "Did I wake you?"
	"No," Mrs. Wicksham snapped to a more lucid tone.  "It's a bad pain day.  My bones feel like they're splitting."
	Andi was caught up short--her mother never complained. "Shall I come over?"
	"No...please don't.  I'd feel responsible to entertain and would be better off sleeping.  This short call is fine."
	Andi waited too long after she said that, hoping for something more.  "Sure Mom.  Is your new nurse OK?" came out awkwardly.
	"Oh, yes.  She's a lifesaver...no, that's not the right term, is it?  She's been wonderful.  I'm on an IV pain killer with a button I push when I want...like a research rat.  I have good times and bad times..."  She was drifting off.
	"Do you need to nap again Mom?" Andi asked disturbed.
	"Please.  We'll talk tomorrow."  There was the echo of silence, then the receiver rattling into its base.  Then a click.
	The move image of a long, uninterrupted beep signaling death echoed in Andi's imagination, it made her skin crawl.  She sat silently unaware of time passing, then a casual glance at her watch showed quitting time.
	They were already into their coats when Lena reminded, "Don't forget your cell phone."
	Andi stomped back, snarling ominously.
	That evening, Jason called, wanting a babysitter for Simone.  Andi glanced to Lena, declined and rose without a word to take a shower.

	Thursday morning started placidly.  They'd been on the project a week and a half--a decently-lived job considering most customers assume the possibility of immediate information.  Lena dove into Adolf, Andi reached for the phone.
	Three rings and Francois' recorded voice came on as a fast-talking used inhumation salesmen, offering two-for-one on low-milage coffins complete with flowers and a tape of Jim Nabors' Abide In Thee.  Please  leave name and number.
	In her most businesslike voice, Andi authorized him to put a pair on her tab if she could have lavender and teal, button tufted.  Chuckling, she pulled up what they had on Mardell Special Forces.
	Mardell was overseen by Thomas Boyd, Riparian's vice president in charge of 'facilitation,' the man Lena tailed from Janus Industrial Chemicals to Titan Marine, then back downtown.  Andi pulled out his photo--squared chin set at an angle of power; tanned, aggressive; intent eyes and mouth in an impatient twist.  She flipped through the photos.  The Mardell executives wore thousand dollar suits, one short and wiry, face pitted, hair in a back-swept stylish cut.  The other a rounder, baby-faced man with dyspeptic expression and ill-advised crew cut making his ears look badly glued on.  There were two pictures of them together, in both the rounder man was leaning toward the smaller who's hands were up as if illustrating his words.
	Did the pose suggest the smaller man called the shots?  Why did Riparian need high-powered, assumedly expensive leadership for a security company?  Andi laid out pictures of Thomas Boyd with the Mardell duo, what Armando claimed as the security brain-trust; Riparian and Rebecca Sauturn's muscle.  "Lena..."   Andi sat back in her chair.  "Got background on Thomas Boyd?"
	Lena nodded.  "Here's Wong and Chapman."  She handed over a couple sheets.  "Chapman was another blank before eight or ten years ago.'
	Andi glanced through the placid stuff, addresses, drivers license numbers, credit histories.  What stuck out like a sore thumb was that Chapman had no credit history, no educational background and had never used plastic--interesting, but not damning and peripheral at best.  She pushed the executive's photos aide and dealt mid-management photos like a solitary game.  There was only one suit the caliber of the bosses.  Andi looked at his name.  David Zim--it meant nothing to her.  The rest of that team were standard-issue ex-cons trying to avoid attention, blue collar regular Joes, in need of a job, but not stupid.  The professional loyalty of most would not stretch to murder.
	She moved through the lower rungs.  Despite the handicaps, the photographer pulled off well-framed artiness; a tight-jawed female face staring almost directly into the hidden camera before a thick-lipped man staring blankly into a bank of closed-circuit screens.  Per-hour grunts and looked it.  Despite passable photography, there was a pasty dullness to them.  She counted the photo's--twenty-two.  Andi sat back in her chair.  Twenty two was hardly enough for three shifts covering a dozen companies.  If they averaged three guards per-shift per location there would be almost a hundred, if there were six it would be two hundred and it would take more than half a dozen to cover all entrances and patrol the fences of some of the businesses.  Considering Mardell's automatic redundancy and factoring low-wage turnover, there would be steady work for some human-resources person with the telephone numbers of Washington and Oregon half-way houses.
	Andi threw the photo's back onto her desk.  "Did you get Francois' stuff on Boyd?"
	Lena answered, "It's in Adolf."  She made a flurry of strokes and an icon began blinking on Andi's screen.
	Riparian's Thomas Boyd was a graduate of UCLA, received an MBA at U of Washington and now lived among the surgeons crowded around OHSU's hill-top perch and commuted to the downtown high-rise in the Mercedes Lena had seen him in.  House paid-for, stock portfolios, 401K tax shelters, excellent credit.  Between his UCLA BA and  graduate school he'd been arrested twice, once for mail-fraud in an insurance scam targeting nursing home patients, once for aggravated assault.  The mail fraud brought a grand jury indictment which was eventually dismissed and the aggravated assault plea-bargained to a misdemeanor and petty fine.  He paid both child support and alimony to his ex and a separate child support won in a paternity suit--paid both regularly through a third party.


	Where would Riparian or Mardell hide incriminating scraps leftover from things such as the DEQ murders?  Few organizations ever thoroughly purged things from their exhaustive files.  Would they keep dangerous documents downtown or at the small companies?  She swivelled to look out the window.  It was obvious.  They'd centralize.  Their structure spoke to distrust at the top and Sauturne would want to control the skeletons in her closets.
	That wasn't much of a revelation.  The real question was what, exactly where and who'd have access.  Armando might be the one to ask--Andi shut her eyes and tried to form questions, but drew a blank--it might be better to have Francois doing the asking.  She stretched the tension from her neck before punching Armando's number which rang and was answered by a voice mail system.
	"Armando, it's Andi.  I'm looking for key words, names, dates, places, general subjects."  It was cryptic enough.  She dialed he mother.
	"Mom?" she asked when the phone was answered.
	"No, this is Nancy Fishburne, Mrs. Wicksham's nurse."  The voice was cautious and professional.  "You must be Andi, Mrs. Wicksham's daughter?"
	It took Andi a moment.  "Is she OK?  Why didn't she answer?"
	"Mrs. Wicksham is as well as can be expected."  Ms. Fishburne's tone was warm, but Andi could find reproach in it still.
	"Can I speak to her?"
	"No, she's sleeping."  There was a pause as if the nurse had gotten up to check.  "But if you have a moment, let me move into the kitchen so we can talk."
	Andi's heart caught in her throat through Nancy Fishburne's feet tapping from the living room, through the dining room into the kitchen and the scrape of a chair being pulled.  "Ms. Wicksham?  You knew your mother arranged for me to come in?"
	"She'd mentioned it."
	There was a pause.  "I've been seeing her for the last couple of months; at first only occasionally, then daily, now I'm spending the majority of my time here.  You do know that your Mother is dying?"
	"Of course." Andi responded a bit sharply.  It was like her mother not to tell that she had brought the nurse in months ago.
	"I wanted to make sure we were on the same page." returned Nancy.  "Mrs. Wicksham has been very insistent that I not call you until the last minute.  I'm not here to get between you and your mother.  She simply felt the involvement of a professional would relieve some of the stress on your family."
	"Tell me about my mother." insisted Andi, she was the only family in Portland.  Her fingers tapped nervously and fought the tightening in her throat.
	"Your mother is in her terminal stage.  We've discussed the matter at length, she's an extremely strong woman."
	"Yes, I know."
	"She said she's discussed it without mentioning that she's been incontinent much of that time and unable to eat much.  Now she's chosen to limit nourishment and medicines to hasten the final stages.  She's refusing everything but pain medication."
	Andi could feel tears on her cheeks.  "And you let her!  Isn't that wrong?  Don't you have professional standards?"
	Nancy Fishburne took a deep breath and answered in a calm, restrained tone.  "Ms. Wicksham, I'm a hospice nurse.  The expected medical outcome for your mother is death, I take great pains to understand her wishes and help her follow them.  Her choice is to limit both her own pain and that of you and your sister and I'm attempting to honor her wishes."
	"Do you know she's asked me to..." Andi started, but her voice caught.
	Nancy interrupted.  "I know she's made private requests.  But I've no official knowledge of any such things...and I'd rather keep it that way."
	"What else has she discussed?"  Andi asked warily.
	"She's put her affairs in order, made advanced directives, named you as power of attorney in a living will and understands the physical manifestations of her condition.  I've had no reason to doubt her mental capacity and am here to serve her interests.  She's a remarkable woman."
	"She is." Andy replied quietly.  "But she hasn't asked for me?"  It hurt that a stranger was there, it implied a vital lack in herself.
	"She feels you care so much it would be hard to actually take care of her physical needs.  With her incontinence and weakness you'd have to clean her and feed her and I think she's too shy and proud."
	"Oh."
	"She knows you love her deeply and fears this will be painful for you.  She's trying to limit its trauma.   And," Nancy gave an ironic chuckle, "I think she's used to keeping decisions to herself."
	"Yes.  She's always done that."  Andi listened to her own sad whisper as if she was simply watching.
	Nancy continued.  "I'm sure much of her physical care it's easier for her with me than you, and easier on you as well.  I can maintain professional distance."
	Andi felt the blood pulsing in her ears.  "How much...?"  She couldn't quite get it out before her throat seized.
	"A couple of days...perhaps a week?  She's weakening fast, sometimes refusing even water now.  You can come whenever you wish, you know."
	Andi felt dizzy--as if she might faint.  Her lips moved as she tried futilely to for words.  "But she's sleeping now?" she finally croaked.  Days, maybe a week--less time than she had dreamed.
	"Try this afternoon.  She said you work until five or six?"
	"Yes." Andi replied weakly.
	"Come then."  Nancy whispered.
	"I will." Andi set down the phone.


	Lena looked over her shoulder when she heard the phone go down.  "I think we should get out of here.  Get your coat, we're going for a walk."
	Andi was too busy choking back tears to respond.  Lena pulled her from her chair, cajoled her into her coat and herded her through the door.  They looped south four blocks, then back to Hawthorne before Andi started talking.  Scattered clouds sprinkled a misting drizzle, nothing worth avoiding.
	"A couple of days?  Maybe a week?" Andi's voice was a throaty whisper, she held her trembling hands before her as if expecting them to answer.
	Lena took a hand between her own.  "What do you want to do?"
	"Go see her, but she's sleeping.  Do I say I know?  What if she asks for the pills?"
	"You don't need to decide any of that now."
	Andi didn't respond and they coursed another block without speaking.
	"What would she tell you if you were talking right now?" Lena asked gently.
	Andi shook her head.  "She'd tell the Zen story about the student asking her teacher what was a good life."
	Lena gave a questioning glance.
	Andi gave Lena a self-conscious glance.  "Grandmother dies, mother dies, daughter dies."  Except for city sounds and the scuffing of their shoes, there was a long stretch of quiet.
	"Yeah?" Lena gestured for Andi to continue.
	"That's it...the whole story." Andi replied simply.  "That's a good life.  When life goes that way and people die in order, it's as good you can expect."
	"Does it hurt that there's no happy ending?"
	"Yeah." Andi grimaced.  "But it's the story she'd tell, that's reality.  I've heard it a hundred times."  She straightened her back and studied the clouds.
	Lena whispered cautiously a half a block later.  "What are you thinking?"
	"I think a good life's OK."  She set her jaw and took a breath, "Hard to accept, but OK."  She shrugged and offered a smile she didn't feel.




Chapter  7

	They returned to a message from Armando and an e-mail from Snowden saying he'd downloaded new material to Adolf--Lena looked and groaned at it's size.
	Armando's message said, "Returning your call.  I've a list of key-words.  But the big news is, I got a list of chemicals Janus receives from..."  There was a pause as he seemed to check a note.  "...Titan, A&C, Machine Salvage, their machine shops and others.  It's exactly the piece we needed, what they'd potentially dump...very exciting, but I'll be out of touch a few days.  I'll send money to tide you over."
	They settled before their computers and flipped through screen after screen of material.  Andi focused on the material Francois gathered on Mardell, Lena on the huge volume on the other companies.  Bryce Smith, the smaller lawyer with a bad complexion, headed the firm, he had a degree in history before getting a JD from Brigham Young, spent time in Miami where he was charged with fiduciary fraud and larceny, pled to misdemeanor malfeasance for a reprimand.  Then he moved to Dallas before moving here nine years ago.  He stepped into his position apparently out of the blue; managing director of Mardell Special Services.
	Jesse Clayton, the well fed one, took a liberal arts degree from a Southern Bible college and endured the Marines for a decade before leaving to attend a Tennessee law school.  He'd had a stormy Marine career; domestic abuse, numerous drunken brawls, three demotions and a divorce, but they gave him an honorable discharge.  Law school took him three and a half years, but he passed the bar and partnered with Smith in Dallas where he continued to get into bar-fights; since coming to Portland he had kept a clean record.  His jovial cheeks, suit and well-washed look hid the violence quite well.
	"Francois' dumped a truckload on us."  Lena complained.
  	Andi clicked to the new files.  It was as if Francois scooped whole archives of business documents; correspondence, equipment orders, personnel reports, internal investigations a various sites and more.  Too much to digest at a sitting.  Andi absently punched Francois' phone number.
	Francois answered--second ring, "Yo, Wicksham.  Got that stuff?"
	"It's going to take days to dig through." Andi complained.  "What do you think?"
	Francois replied curtly, "This line's not secure.  Phone back on the cell phone."
	Andi cursed, but phoned back on the portable, trying to rein in her irritation.  "OK.  I'm here." she spit as Francois picked up.
	"Scramble." he answered evenly just before a barrage of clicks and static came through.
	"Lena." Andi wailed.  "What channel are we scrambling through?"
	Lena glanced over.  "You got three nobs.  Count consecutive AM's and PM's on the first knob, who phone's who on the second and the hour of the day on the third."
	Andi stared blankly at the knobs.  Lena used her driest pedantic voice.  "First knob...starting yesterday afternoon, this morning was two, this afternoon's three.  You're three phoning him, he's four, I'm five and Armando's six.  It's one thirty-five or thirteen thirty-five from which you subtract multiples of six.  That brings you back to one thirty so you set that knob to one...three, three, one, easy."
	"Christ." mumbled Andi as she set the knobs to three, three and one.  "Hey, Snowden.  You there?  This scrambler idea sucks donkey ears."
	"Yeah?  Your mama raised a mule skinner." Francois' retorted.
	"It's too complicated."
	"You'll get used to it, I got confidence."
	"Thanks for nothing." Andi grumbled.  "Is there anything especially significant in the stuff you sent?"
	"Smoking guns?  Not that I've seen.  But I didn't look too close, just pinched a bit of everything hoping this trawl will focus our next visit."
	"Hmmph." Andi grumped, opting to err on the side of crabbiness.  "Did you see anything interesting?"
	"I liked their e-mail tech-support they saved from when the system was set up.  It's like eves dropping on them discussing how it works."
	"Anything I'd like?"
	"Check their purchases three years back.  They have enough armaments to start a bush war."
	"Are we making any headway?"
	"Sure, I'm rather pleased with where we are."
	"Where's that?"
	"With a foot in the door.  I got Paco helping me pick apart their VAX and we've already started sifting Riparian's files for key words."
	"Great." replied Andi unenthusiastically.
	"Anything else?" he asked lightly.
	"I guess not."  The conversation revived her and she smiled as Francois hung up and she flicked the phone's knobs.  She was still smiling ten minutes later when Ramirez called and launched right into an attack.
	"We can't find your Alvin Delgatto...but I suppose you knew that we wouldn't be able to."
	"It turns out I couldn't either." Andi admitted, "But I came up with other sources for what I needed."
	"Like Judith-Anne Chapman?" Ramirez interrupted.  "Anne with an 'e'?"
	"I haven't talked to her yet.  What did you find out?"
	"Evidently she's a major pain in the ass whose feelings about cops put the militia jerks to shame."
	"You mean she couldn't fill you in on the DEQ murders?  I thought she'd be anxious to get them looked at."  Andi mused silently a moment.  "Who questioned her?"
	"Want a wild guess?" Ramirez sounded disgusted.
	"Max?  Himself?  Jesus, Ramirez." Andi whistled compassionately.  "You gotta keep that guy on a shorter leash."
	"Yeah, he has me on one.  She wanted to meet at Laurelhurst Park and I had to follow in his wake like his driver.  I stood at his elbow as she cursed him up one side and down the other."
	"I would have enjoyed that.  Did she say it was Riparian being investigated by the DEQ?  That they were the popular contemporary suspects?"
	"Yes.  She did." Ramirez sighed.  "But with so much vehemence she's a lousy witness.  She lost credibility calling Max a pig."
	"Lost credibility?  That should certify her accuracy."
	"She claims that one report splashed so much whitewash that Riparian might have been managed by Mother Teresa.  Max was guilty by association.  It's a closely held secret, but here in the public sector, investigative bodies have a higher stature than hostile citizens calling us names."
	"I'm underwhelmed at your professionalism, Ramirez.  You mean Riparian isn't suspected of being the target or doing the murders?"
	"It means files with that much dust are a lost cause...especially if we're not motivated.  Besides we don't have a connection between Tuft and Rasheed and the DEQ."
	Andi shut her eyes.  "You bother to ask Riparian about Jimmy and that meeting he was going to tape?"
	"Ask who, Wicksham?  Riparian is a corporation...a snake with a thousand heads.  We don't know who might be involved.  All we have is third-hand hearsay that un-named persons did something vaguely bad."
	"So nobody was asked questions?" Andi asked incredulously.
	"Actually, Wicksham, I spent three hours on the phone asking fruitless questions of underlings and three executive-types who bounced me between them, willing to listen for hours, but claiming to know nothing.  Midway through that was a public relations nebbish who didn't even know the names of the corporate officers.  I tossed him back and spit an angry word or two at the administrative assistant referring him.  That won me a referral to a vice president of something who took an hour and a half to obfuscate their chain command into meaninglessness."
	"What was his name?" Andi asked;  at least she had Riparian's corporate structure figured.
	"Uhhh."  Papers shuffled.  "Thomas Boyd."
	"He's Vice President in charge of Facilitation...evidently Riparian for security.  Directly in charge of bad stuff.  The murders would have been his doing."
	Ramirez interrupted.  "Is this a long story Wicksham?  Complicated?"
	"Yeah.  Why?"
	"I think it would be better if you told it over a mocha.  At Max's expense."
	"OK."  Andi glanced at her appointment page.  "How about at three o'clock at the Caf‚ Underground?  Sorry you didn't get more from Chapman."
	"No sweat."  Ramirez didn't sound upset.
	"Where does that leave you?"
	"With Max's instructions to rattle your cage until you  talk.  He's convinced you're withholding something crucial.  The mocha's his version of a velvet glove." Ramirez sounded genuinely contrite.
	Andi glanced at her watch.  She could work another few minutes before going.  Andi pulled up the original report on the DEQ murders.  It was indeed a whitewash--an obvious one, stating unequivocally in the overview that they were investigating accidents and suicide and containing less substance than the newspapers had.  There was no mention of DEQ files going missing, they didn't interview a single DEQ employee and found no reason to assume even a casual link between their jobs and the "accidents."  They even officially questioned the Medical Examiner's concern over possible wrongdoing.
	The report was theoretically overseen by state senator Robert Hyde; as far as Andi's muddled awareness of state politics went, he was still in office.  She toyed with the idea of phoning Francois again, but held off, made a note to check Hyde's campaign contributions, grabbed her cell phone and ran to meet Ramirez.

	He waited at a small table in the corner.  There were only a few people around at that hour--two browsing though the deli cases and three at a table on the far side of the room.  "Sit down, Wicksham.  I ordered your mocha."  He flicked the on button of a little tape recorder and set it between them.
	Andi glanced to the woman at the counter who raised a glass mug, smiled a toothy smile and busied herself behind the espresso maker.  "Is there any way to get Max's aggression documented?"  She figured that offense to be a tolerable defense in situations such as this, especially since Max had obviously not curried Ramirez' favor by dragging him off to question Chapman.
	Ramirez silently shook his head and pointed at the recorder.  "You've been investigating Riparian Industries?"
	It was more of statement than question, but Andi answered, "Their environmental record anyway."
	"Word has come down from the brass that you are harassing them."  Ramirez gave up nothing in his blank expressionless delivery.
	Andi's mocha was set before her and the waitress wandered off.  "No one I know has so much as talked to a receptionist secretary.  They must have meant you guys."
	"They named Investigative Services and you specifically, by name."
	"Why would they do that?"
	"You tell me."
	"I not personally aware anyone in our vast organization ever speaking to a Riparian employee, recently or ever in the past.  And that extends to each of the dozen or so companies Riparian owns.  In addition, I have not authorized and do not know about a single phone call to any of their employees or subcontractors, in my name or otherwise."
	Ramirez sat before her like a rock.
	Andi sipped her coffee.  "Hello?  Ramirez?" she grinned, she waved a hand before his face.
	"Will you put that in writing and sign it?" he asked politely.
	"Sure.  Why?"
	Ramirez blinked again.  "It's in direct opposition to what we've been told.  I was at a meeting where the brass claimed you were harassing Riparian."
	"Harassing?" queried Andi as innocently as she could pull off.  "How could we be harassing if we haven't had contact."
	"No contact whatsoever?"
	Andi looked directly into his eyes.  "Lena drove by various company locations confirming addresses.  She took photos, but I've seen them.  All exteriors from across the street.  Why would they even have our name?"
	"You have a contract to investigate them?"
	Andi could see where this lead.  "No, a contract to investigate what they might have done.  But still we haven't talked with anybody."
	"If you were me, would you find that believable?"
	"Since you know me, absolutely.  Yes," she lied.
	Ramirez gave a sour smile and sipped his coffee.  His eyes examined the scratches on the wall behind her.  "Max won't believe it."   He replied without easing his stone-faced persona.
	Andi gave a warm, insincere smile accompanied by a shrug.  There was nothing to be gained from opening her mouth.
	Ramirez gave her a two bar opening she didn't step into, then changed the subject.  "You said you didn't get hold of Judith-Anne Chapman."
	Andi shook her head.  "I called and left a message, but she never called back.  I wanted confirmation on the rumor that Riparian was the focus of a DEQ investigation, but somebody else made that connection, so I never called back."  She favored Ramirez with a sad smile.
	"Do you think Riparian was involved in any of the murders, then or now?"  It was a softball question if there ever was one.
	"I've no evidence that points in that direction.  All I have is the suspicions of people with axes to grind.  Want that in writing too?" she asked helpfully.
	He avoided her eyes.  "What's your gut feeling about it."
	Andi paused to weigh the options.  "I think Riparian snuffed them and Rasheed and Tufts."
	"Based on?" Ramirez was prepared for her answer.
	"Female intuition?" she grinned a silly grin.  "They're hostile to the DEQ and have benefitted by all five deaths."
	"Max had somebody look into them and was told Riparian seems like a responsible company."
	"You asked for my gut feelings.  My gut says they're murderers."
	"I'll pass it along to Max."  Ramirez' stretched a kink from his shoulders.  "I still might need that denial of contacting Riparian." He turned off the recorder and slipped it into a pocket.  "But I'll bet nobody wants to start a file on that."
	Andi shook her head sadly.  "Now tell me...was this worth disrupting my day and wasting your time?"
	Ramirez smiled innocently.  "Gee, it worked for me.  Out of the office and coffee with a friend paid for by my boss."  He slouched, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  "Tanya is changing from fried wontons to wonton soup.  Lena doesn't have a special diet does she?"  The twist of his lips betrayed a sort of amused distaste.
	"No pork for me, no eggplant for her, no okra for either of us." Andi smiled a friendly smirk.  "And none of us need fried anything."
	He rose to his feet and hefted his empty mug as if judging how much glass was in it.  "I don't suppose you have another lead for Max?"
	"How much trouble are you interested in risking?"
	"Try me."
	"The whitewash report was overseen by Robert Hyde."
	Ramirez stared back mutely--it took almost a minute for the grin to drain from his face.  "That might be a bit much." he admitted hoarsely.
	Andi let him stand another minute.  "Did you know that Mardell has enough guns to take on a third-world country."
	"Is that an educated guess?"  He leaned back as if trying to get her in focus.
	"Educated hearsay."
	"Any chance of learning your source?"  He scratched his ear.
	"I don't really know it for sure, do I?" she responded uncomfortably.  "Slip Max the Robert Hyde thing.  It'll drive him crazy to have a lead he doesn't dare follow."
	Ramirez's lips pursed as if holding back comment, then he changed the subject.  "Tanya wants to get togther earlier in the day to give more time for games."  He winked.  "Vio con Dios." he turned and walked out without looking back. 
	Andi slowly finished her coffee, trying not to think about Riparian.
	

	At workday's end, Lena and Andi grabbed their coats and cell phones and drove quietly to Andi's mother's.  Andi used her key and called out at the door.  "Hi Mom...it's Andi."
	"And Lena." Lena added cheerfully.
	"In here."  Nancy Fishburne called from the bedroom.  She was sitting beside the bed in an occasional chair, but rose and moved to the foot of the bed.
	"Hi Mom." Andi choked.  She gave her mom a long kiss on her cheek.
	Her mother was weaker still, hands now bird-like claws, her cheeks sunken, her color a brownish yellow from jaundice.  "It's good to see both of you."  She smiled painfully and clung to her hand. The  steady drip from the IV continued.  The Ophelia bottle waited on the table beside the bed.
	"Nancy said you'd talked."
	Andi nodded awkwardly, licked her lips and asked, "You want anything?  Shall I call Cinny?" she sidetracked, eyes opened wide.  She felt a anxious need to make up for every slight or selfish thought she'd ever had through growing up.
	Mrs. Wicksham tried to shake her head, but settled for whispering "No.  I told them my prognosis, but I didn't tell how close.  Call her afterwards."  She smiled.  "Dying isn't hard." she winced and it took a moment for her eyes to clear.  "It's natural.  My body knows what to do."  She smiled weakly.
	"Mom...I..." Andi ran out of words, tears welled and she fought an urge to run off sobbing.
	"Remember last winter when I'd go off to the beach."  She looked up at Andi as if willing her to understand.
	"After they told you." Andi whispered, she tried to smile.
	"I was coming to grips with it.  This isn't being done to me and it's not being done to you.  It's part of life, like sunsets and storms."
	Lena squeezed Andi's hand, Andi squeezed her mother's, the world spun off without them.
	"Nancy says I'll go into a coma that may last a few hours or days.  If it goes longer than days I expect you to do something to help me."  Her face was suddenly etched with concern.  "Don't call Cinny.  Please...she'd try to save me."
	It took all Andi could do to nod.
	"I've arranged for a simple cremation without embalming.  You and Cinny can arrange a memorial...but at a park or something, OK?"
	Andi swallowed hard.
	Mrs. Wicksham pursed her lips like she used to do when about to give a defining statement.  "And I don't want you waiting by my bedside; that's morbid.  The strain will make your sick."  She looked over Andi's shoulder.  "Lena?"  She spoke sternly and searched Lena's face.  "Lena, don't let her.  She'll want to put everything else on hold, but I want my legacy to be that life is for living, not sitting shiva."  A day or two of mourning is OK.  Say Kiddish once or twice, but there's too much grieving in the world already."
	Andi and Lena nodded solemnly.  Andi's mother peered over to see where Nancy was, then looked up and whispered, "Come closer.  Both of you."
	Lena and Andi hovered over her face anxiously as she whispered.  "Instead of grieving, I want you to make love in my memory."  She blushed underneath her jaundice and suddenly waved them away as if embarrassed.
	Andi looked over to Nancy, but if she'd heard she hid it, looking out the window as if that were everything in her world.
	"Now I'm very, very tired." Mrs. Wicksham wheezed and seemed to collapse into the pillow.  "I hope to see both of you again, but if I don't.  Remember I love you and remember what I've asked.  Goodbye dear."  Tears appeared under her eyes and followed the furrowed wrinkles past her cheeks.
	Lena squeezed Andi's fingers before released them and slipping out of the room.  Andi stood awkwardly tears streaming, glancing from her mother to Lena's retreating form.
	Her mother, shook her head slightly with an indulgent half-frown, "You've always clung Andi.  Go on now, your life's with her...go."  She smiled, then shut her eyes in dismissal.  Andi reached a finger to caress her cheek and silently left the room.  Tears ran down her cheeks until they were almost home.

	Thursday morning, their clock radio went off at seven thirty and they listened to the morning's news.  Lena stretched, rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen.  "What do you want for breakfast?"
	Andi pulled a pillow over her head instead of answering.  She had woken from a dream in which she was resenting her mother who nagged unrelentingly.  Awake, she was drowning in shame.
	"Let's go out."  Andi slipped from bed and stood in a shower as hot as she could endure.  Her stomach knotted painfully.  She just wanted out of the apartment, out of everything remotefully painful, needed work and distraction, tasks and problems, to be anywhere but home.  Throwing on her clothes, Andi grabbed both cell phones, tossed Lena her coat and headed for the door, Lena draped with her coat and tying her shoes in the car.
 	Half an hour later, Lena valiantly gave a monologue on whether they should paint one living room wall a bold color.
	Andi, nodded half listening, distracted.  Riparian claiming they had harassed them was significant, even more so that they hadn't contacted any Riparian company.  Usually she erred on the side of impulsiveness.
	Lena moved on to wall paper and Andi nodded at more or less the right  moments without paying attention.  If Robert Hyde was involved even peripherally, the investigation would turn into a politically sensitive crisis.  Hyde was aiming for the Governorship or Senate, no doubt he didn't know of their complicity, no oversight was done by staff. 
	She couldn't wait to see if Riparian played a role in Hyde's political fortune.  She pushed bits of her waffle about on her plate and bided her time until Lena swallowed her last bite.  "Ready?"
	"Work?" Lena teased, she leaned her head sideways and grinned mischievously.  "Maybe we should discuss our vacation."
	"Have we decided?"
	"I have brochures."
	"We don't have time."
	"But no, ma cher‚." Lena whispered in a husky French accent.  "I've taken the liberty to block-out a whole week; already discussed with our loyal regulars.  Sonny'll come in a few hours a day to check the mail and phone machine and phone excuses and you and I will sleep between exotic Canadian sheets."
	"There's too much going on." Andi dismissed.
	"Armando's job will be over by then." Lena didn't mention Andi's mother, but the certainty of her life being over as well hummed about them like the mechanical silence of an ICU.
	"Can we discuss it later?" asked Andi through tight lips.  She pulled bills from a pocket and reached for the check.
	"Sure." demurred Lena, gathering sweater and bag and following a step behind toward the register.
	Once outside, Andi said, "I'm sorry I'm uptight."
	"I'm sorry too." Lena looked away uncomfortably.
	Andi felt as distant and barren and alone as the quiet craters of the moon.

	Their office's door stood open a couple of inches with a splinter of wood from its jamb jutted inward and its striker plate lay three feet beyond.  As they stood there, the phone started ringing.  Lena pushed the door with a finger tip.  It swung halfway and stopped abruptly.  The office was in shambles.  Andi's computer monitor lay on the floor, its screen shattered, desk drawers had been pulled out and emptied, the pending box's files dumped and trampled.  Filing cabinets had been emptied by handfuls into a pile a foot and a half high.  Both computers were significantly absent, their cords and keyboards left dangling.
	The phone kept ringing.  Lena shook her head and looked back to the mess.  The ringing stopped and the answering machine whirred.  It was Bodega asking about coffee.
	"I'll call Ramirez from downstairs." Lena grimaced.  She reached with the lip of her bag to catch the knob to pull it closed, but stopped when Andi pointed at the feet and legs taped together, lying almost out of sight behind the door.
	It was Armando, on his side, arms behind him--laying as Jimmy and Lamar must have except for the three-foot puddle of blood below his head.  Andi was so sure he was dead she didn't even check his pulse.  There were red-brown smudges on the throw rug and a few bloody, half footprints as if one of the killers had stepped in the blood and wiped it on the rug.  Armando's eyes were open, as if in surprise, face badly cut and bruised.
	"I'll stay here.  You run." Andi pushed Lena out and turned to inventory the damage.  She surveyed the room quickly, they would be chased off when the cops arrived; until forensic dusted at least.  There was no blood splattered on the walls so he'd been on floor when shot.  She peered close enough to see the pores of his skin--obvious trauma, one ear torn, the blood almost dry, an eye swollen closed.  The small round hole behind his ear showed a blue grey halo as if a powder burn from the gun held close.  The exit wound was on the underside, out of sight--no doubt to cause of death; low-powered, small caliber round, point-blank to the brain.
	She clasped her fingers behind her against temptation and inspected the forced dead-bolt, then swept the walls and ceiling, window frame and closet with a point by point scan.  Only then did she cover the floor, trying to figure what order things had been searched.  Her desk's debris made up the first layer of detritus, then the file cabinet, then the boxes from the closet.  Things seemed dumped more as punishment than search.  She restrained herself from digging for that featureless Riparian file kept as decoy, sure that it was gone.
	Lena's unplugged keyboard lay in the congealing puddle.  Its top spattered, implying that it was on the floor when Armando was shot which implied they'd searched while he was still alive.  Andi felt she was falling through the floor; light-headed, falling forever.

	Max himself arrived with the second batch of officers.  Ramirez didn't show for another twenty minutes.  She and Lena were escorted to the handle-less back seat of a patrol car.  Andi started to refuse, suggesting a table at the Cup and Saucer, but Lena pinched her arm, shot a glare and started explaining.  When he arrived, Ramirez offered the back seat of his unmarked car to wait in, offering Max his personal word that they would not flee.
	The Medical Examiner showed a quarter of an hour later.  The forensics team milled outside, impatient to get on with their photos and prints.  Beside them stood a goodly crew of uniforms and plain clothed officers serving as back up, propping up their egos pretending to be official.
	Max stayed upstairs until Armando's body was removed.  With the main attraction removed, the forensics team swept in and most of the hob-nobbers drifted off to coffee breaks.  Max and Ramirez emerged shoulder to shoulder, talking without breaking stride.  A minute later, Max returned upstairs while Ramirez slid behind the wheel and snapped off the radio.  "I offered to get personal statements, but he's insisting I haul you down.  I suspect he going to ruin your day, so I told him you needed something from home."
	"What?" asked Lena perkily, it seemed she almost was enjoying the experience.
	"I implied tampax, that usually sets cops on their heels, but between you and me, you'll need snacks and a decent paperback."  He looked back over the seat.  "One of you want to sit in front?  It'll look less funny."
	Andi got in front.  Glancing up to their office window, she could see the cops, trying to make sense of their ruined office.  Hiding the case's files and computer disks had been a better idea than she'd thought; not only did it keep things from Riparian, Max and his minions would get nothing as they rummaged through the leavings.
	"Can I have a page from your notebook?" Lena leaned forward and poked Andi's shoulder.  "I need to make a list."  She already had a pen in her hand.  "Insurance coverage, replace computers, fix door, move our dead files out of the closet."  She scribbled fast.
	"What's left of the dead files." quipped Andi.
	"Let's hire Sonny to help put things in order.  Until then we'll need the office phones switched to our apartment and Adolf checked.  They probably have Armando's cell phone."
	Ramirez broke in as he spun the corner off Hawthorne.  "Andi?  You have a cell phone?"
	There was a moment of silence.  "I've been railroaded.  They're still an invention of the devil."
	"Yeah..." murmured Ramirez, "Who's Adolph?"
	Lena interrupted strategically.  "Max is going to let us in so we can tell him what's missing."
	"It won't occur to him for a while."  Ramirez responded in a deadpan.
	"I suppose you won't guess how long they'll keep us out?"  Andi looked over.
	Ramirez shrugged and snorted, "Usually hours or the rest of the day.  Usually by the end of a shift.  But since it's you, I suspect it'll take until Monday or Tuesday."
	Lena groaned.  "I've got bookkeeping to do.  Can I get the files and check messages?"
	Ramirez glanced over his shoulder to catch Lena's eye.  "Max won't release anything for now...guaranteed."
	"Ask him for me." demanded Lena.
	They picked up books and snacks and drove to the Eastside Policing Center where they sat in separate small rooms until five that evening, their silent meditations interrupted time and time again by a thin-faced officer in street clothes who was openly contemptuous of their short, simple statements on finding the break-in and body, then promptly phoning the authorities.
	Books and snacks had been good advice.  Andi reviewed the Riparian entries in her notebook, jotting down a page and a half of questions before putting up her feet, tilting her chair back and taking out her paperback.
	Just minutes before five they were brought out for a sullen lecture by Max.  Evidently he'd gotten nothing of interest from searching their office.  "I know for a fact that you have knowledge of the murders you aren't tell me and make no mistake, withholding it is a felony I'm going to hang you with."  He stared icily at them and pulled the cuffs of his shirt until the gold cufflinks gleamed at the edges of his cuffs.  "Don't leave the city without notifying my office.  And don't talk with anybody...the press foremost.  The smartest thing you could do is quit playing it cute and tell me what you know."  He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if trying to gain their confidence.  "I don't believe you killed your client, but the evidence could be interpreted in a way...mistakes like that happen all the time.  Do I make myself clear?"
	Lena chirped a friendly, "Sure Officer Max." beaming him as warm a smile as any policeman had known in decades.  He winced at the demotion, but didn't correct her.
	Andi glowered stone-faced, staring at a smudge on the wall beyond Max's shoulder and biting her tongue.  She wasn't going to give him satisfaction even if she had to spend the night in that little room.
	They were driven back and told not to reenter the office.  Andi stared up at the windows wondering how the office door was secured.  Andi called Francois from home, blurting out Armando's death without floundering for a tactful approach.
	Francois gave a throaty, clench-jawed growl and hung up.
	That night, Lena didn't bother to set the alarm--without an office, who cared if they slept in?




Chapter 8

	It was ten minutes to six when Andi rolled to look at the clock, still feeling like she was falling down an endless mine shaft.  She had lain awake for hours, remembering Armando's fixed pupils and drying blood and the muffled pop of a handgun that haunted her sleep.  Just outside, a car ground its starter and sat idling for what seemed an interminable time before doors finally slammed and it purred away.
	Lena slept unaware, her breath regular, an arm slung out and her head turned away.  Andi tossed and turned until finally escaping to the kitchen to start coffee.  A few minutes later she was in the living room, pulling back the curtains and snuggling on the couch with a blanket to watch the morning sky grow pink.  What threat were they posing worth the crime?  What had Jimmy Tuft and Lamar Rasheed known that was worth risking execution or life imprisonment?  What made Armando so dangerous that Sauturne would risk the attention of a murder investigation?
	She should have questioned Armando more closely.  Six people were dead and she hadn't learned anything of note.  Andi sipped her coffee trying to think herself awake enough to shake her sense of sinking.  Should they stop the investigation?  Why continue?  Would Lena's bound body be dumped at her feet next, a bullet in her brain and bruises on her face?  They hadn't learned anything really damaging, but did Riparian know that--or care to take the chance they would not stumble onto their secret?
	Pink clouds splashed with sunrise-gold stretched above the house next door.  They could turn back to their regular business and the project would die a natural death.  Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition's interest would drop it like a brick once a new administrator was appointed.  Riparian had won game, set and match--who was going to care about anything unproven a week from now?
	She paged back in her notebook, drifting through her last dealings with Armando.  They'd met last Saturday, but talked on the phone Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, then played phone tag.  His last message promised checks and a list key-words and mentioned something about a list of chemicals Janus bought from Riparian companies--he said he was excited.  Andi meditated on what he said as if it were a snapshot.  Why would he be excited?  "Excited" wasn't a term he used much.
	Outside, the clouds shifted and the sunrise faded to light-blue and grey.  It wasn't much of a revelation, but was probably worth a couple phone calls.  They still had some of Armando's money to spend.  She scribbled the date and made a few notes.  Soon as it got to a decent hour she would call Francois, then Bodega.  Then who?  And why as well?  Other than simply to consume the last of Armando's retainer, there wasn't much reason to keep working.
	A buzzing ring interrupted that reverie.  It took a moment to identify it, another to find its source--her cell phone.  She stood frozen a moment.  The killers must have Armando's, how much effort would it take to know her number or code?  It was only the fear of waking Lena that extended her hand to answer it.
	"Hi, it's Francois.  Switch to scramble."
	Andi cursed as she reconstructed the formula--yesterday's AM was two...this was four.  He called...four.  And it was seven-o-four...subtract six, so set the third knob at one.  "Hi."
	"Tell me about Armando."
	"There's not that much to tell.  We found his body in our office, small caliber round, point blank, beat him up first.  They trashed the place."  She padded back to the couch.  "Whoever killed him has his phone.  Do you want to use this line?"
	Francois' voice was hushed and quiet, but with a clipped edge that might have come from a hard-clamped jaw.  "Not in the long run.  Even if they beat the scrambler system out of him they'll probably have to bring in a consultant for the code.  I'll get on fixing that."  Francois' tone was icy.
	"You sure?"
	"I'll get replacements with different scrambles.  Rumor has it he was bound like the other two."
	Andi wondered where he would hear such rumors, the police would never released such information.  "Similar." she conceded.  "How do you know?"
	"I'm monitoring Max's computer for anything on this case."  It was a surprisingly candid admission.  "This morning, the light was flashing."
	"Francois...nooo." Andi moaned.  "Not the cops, not Max.  You're getting us in too deep."
	"I got trip wires set every which way and send it through one of the phone company's loops through the FBI office.  From the FBI, it goes back to the police department computer, then to a local church, then through a half-dozen rerouted numbers and back to record on the police mainframe.  I passively monitor it going through.  It looks like the cops watching the Fed watching the cops watching the Feds watched by a church."
	"A church?"
	"Church of the obnoxious flashing sign." Francois snickered.  It was a particularly bigoted Portland branch of the intolerant tradition.  "Nothing else about Armando?"
	"No.  Did he give you a list of key words?"
	"No."
	"Any idea why he'd be excited over a list of chemicals Janus would buy from Titan or Machine Salvage?"
	"No, but I'll look into it."
	"He said something about taking off for a few days.  Did he think Mardell was after him?"
	"Said nothing to me.  When did he say that?"
	"Wednesday in a phone message.  It didn't seem important and without a computer we can't even access Adolf."
	"Adolf wasn't discovered?" Francois asked, concerned.
	"Don't know." Andi admitted glumly.  "We were entertained at Max's."
	"I'll sidle on by there.  What do you need to set up an office?"
	"An office here?  You've been here.  The closest things to a computer we have is the TV."
	"OK.  Computers, monitors, keyboards..." Francois mumbled as he scribbled memo to himself about replacing their gear.  "Max thinks it might take until mid-week to sift your office for evidence."
	"Mid-week?" Andi wailed.
	"We'll set you up there.  I'll have stuff by ten.  Are you offering brunch?  One of Lena's fancy omelets, salsa and potatoes...coffee?"
	"You don't expect much do you." Andi observed dryly.
	"I'm a simple craftsman."
	"She's not up.  You might have to settle for my omelet."
	"I'll wait until eleven."
	"Sure, I'll drag her to the kitchen by her toes if she's not awake by quarter-of." 
	"I'd like to see that.  Shall come early?"
	"Ca va.  See you when you get here."  What was he thinking, hacking the cops?  She sat quietly watching the sky fill with darkening clouds, until the phone rang.  She grabbed it before the third ring, but even as she was saying "Hello," Lena's groggy voice, mumbled "Yeah?" into the extension by their bed.
	"Hey Lena, sorry to wake you."  It was Ramirez.  "Go back to sleep, I'll talk to Andi--she sounds awake.  Tanya'll call later to gab food."
	Lena murmured something incomprehensible and there was a click as she hung up.
	"I'm surprised you have the gall to call."
	"Come on Wicksham.  That wasn't me, it was Max.  It was a bad deal, but you got to aim at the guys who killed your client."
	"They didn't hold us hostage all day and bar us from our office."
	"Neither did I."
	"If your fellow officers complained about his lack of principles, you wouldn't have this dilemma." Andi pointed out nastily.  "It's not like your force is riddled with assholes like Max.  How hard can it be to get rid of one cop without ethics?"
	"You're right." Ramirez replied with false humility, "mea culpa, mea culpa.  I'm a frail human being and I have erred."  He gave her a moment to respond.  "You want to hear the good news?"
	"There's good news?"
	"Forensic worked late and the night crew whipped their computers to a gallop.  Armando's his legs were cut free so he could walk then were re-taped in the office...leaving prints on their inner surfaces.  Good ones.  Ones that pulled in a computer match."
	"Who?"
	Ramirez had to check his paperwork.  "Robert Greg...an ex-con with a rap sheet three pages long.  Mostly violent crimes, a good candidate for 'three strikes and you're out' if this wasn't a multiple murder already."
	Andi jotted the name in her notebook.  "Pick him up?"
	There was a moment of silence.  "No.  A team of uniforms showed up at his job, but he either wasn't there or was hiding.  He was probably tipped-off, because when they went by his apartment, his housemate said he'd skipped, freaked out of his head."
	"Let me guess where he works?" Andi asked, her voice liberally laced with irony.  "Mardell Special Forces?"  She did not bother pointing out that one of his fellow officers would have had to leak the information.
	"Funny thing, 'eh?  I told Max that Mardell was Riparian's security and that I guessed they were hiding him."
	"Hiding my ass.  He's a liability.  He'll be hiding from Riparian."
	"They might not know what we have."
	"They've got serious pull with your brass, remember?" Andi reminded.  "Your chief trip all over himself trying for political brownie points."
	"Armando's not his real name." Ramirez rumbled.
	"Duuuh.  No surprise there." taunted Andi.
	"He had prosthetic feet."
	She reflected a moment.  "That would make him Alvin Delgatto."
	"Bingo Wicksham, you got it first-guess.  I suppose you didn't know that all this time?"
	"Would I have gone on my wild goose chase if I did?"
	"I'm not sure." Ramirez offered hesitantly.  "There are a lot of loose ends."
	"What else has you pacing the floors?"  She poured everything into a warm, friendly tone.
	"His apartment was never lived in."
	"What do you mean?"
	"Just that.  A bedspread, but no blankets or sheets, one shirt in the closet, little of anything but coffee and pop in the kitchen.  He didn't even camp out there."
	"Actually I'm not surprised.  It smelled like it was never opened to fresh air."
	"Yeah?" Ramirez responded sarcastically.  "Funny you never mentioned it to me."
	Andi didn't rise to the bait.  None of it mattered any more.
	Ramirez broke the silence.  "Your tip about Senator Hyde went over like super glue lube.  Max is twisting into a pretzel."
	"I'll give you odds he shelves it."
	"To his credit, you'd lose.  He's feeling his way forward.  Cautiously pow-wowing with the chief, sorting out the politics; developing cover in case of a fire-fight.  They aren't bureaucrats for nothing."
	"Tell him I'm impressed."
	There was a three-beat pause.  "How could I tell him that Wicksham?  Admit that I've been blabbing?"
	Andi was indifferent to the dilemma.  "We need access to our office."
	Ramirez sighed.  "I've brought it up three times and got a promise you can get in as long as we get copies of anything you remove and you express gratitude for Max's largess."
	"Gee.  That sort of thing that makes me fantasize about actually trying the nasty stuff Max thinks I pull."
	"It's nice to know that you both live up to your reputations."
	"We still on for dinner?"
	"Tomorrow?  Of course." Ramirez snorted.  "I can't cancel Tanya's dinner just because you accuse me of kidnaping, torture and being unethical."
	"I should hope not.  Want us to bring dessert?"
	"She'll talk to Lena.  You and I aren't to be trusted with that responsibility."
	Andi smiled.  "You know...this could work into a system."
	"Stick with me Andi.  I've been married long enough to come up with good angles."
	Andi hung up and returned to watching the morning.  With the cops finally cranking into gear, it might be time to let the investigation die.  Letting it die--the thought triggered a wave of guilt.  She reached for the phone and called mother.
	Nancy answered.  "Mrs. Wicksham woke at about six this morning, but is sleeping again."
	Guilt slithered down her neck like a drip from snow-covered eves.  "I was going to come yesterday, but a client was found dead in our office."
	"That's a shame." Nancy responded from a professional distance.  "I'll tell your mother you called."
	"I'll come today.  When will she be awake?"
	"Perhaps early this afternoon?" Nancy guessed vaguely.
	"Is she OK?" Andi asked fearfully.
	"About the same as when you were here last.  Not quite ready.  She'll stop all liquids, when she decides, but she hasn't said anything to me."
	Andi shivered.  "Give her my love." she pleaded.  "Please."
	"I do that on a regular basis."
	Andi gave a silent prayer of thanks.  Attending to traumatized families must come part and parcel with her job.  "Thank you."
	"Of course.  We'll see you this afternoon."
	Andi mumbled another thanks and hung up, mentally replaying all the disappointments she'd visited on her mother through her life.  She shut her eyes and sat, wishing she could cry.
	Half an hour later Lena mumbled, "Good morning."
	"Coffee?"
	"Shower." Lena called from the bathroom.  The sound of pounding water brought life back into the apartment.  Andi took deep breaths and encouraged the clouds, she wanted a class-ten storm, enough to flush her insecurity to the Pacific.  In the kitchen, she splashed water on her face and affected a veneer of competent puttering, hefting the teapot to check its water and dumping the old grounds.  By the time Lena emerged she was sitting at the kitchen table, dry eyed with the omelet fixings waiting on the counter and coffee brewed.  "It's about time.  Francois demands an omelet in compensation."
	Lena offered a kiss.  "What did Ramirez want?"  She poured a mug of coffee and plopped into a chair.
	"They got prints from Armando matching a Mardell employee."
	Lena's lips curled into a sneer.  "Get him?"
	Andi shook her head, her coffee held cradled between her palms.  "Blew it."
	"Do we know his name?"
	"Robert Greg."
	"Tell Francois?"
	Andi shook her head, "His call came earlier."
	"When's he coming?" Lena drummed her fingers on the table top.
	"Soon."
	"Maybe I can catch him."  Lena rose and got her cell phone.  "Francois?  Lena.  Push the button."  She punched in the scrambler code.  "Hello?   Hello?  Fingerprints from Armando match a Robert Greg...yeah Greg, Mardell.  Figured you might want to search.  Andi OK'd it.   Yeah, REALLY pissed.  All stops...yeah full-out.  OK."  She pushed the off button spun the scrambler dials and sat back.  He'll be here at eleven."  She chewed her knuckle and stared down at the table, then suddenly dashed to the bedroom pulling the towel from her head as she moved.
	"Maybe we should let the investigation die before one of us gets it."
	"No way.  Get dressed, I'm going to get our hidden disks."
	Andi rose donned levi's and a plaid shirt."
	Lena raged.  "They're not going to get away with it.  'Vengeance is mine,' claimeth the geek."
	Andi swallowed a restraining word and followed down the stairs, thinking of her mother, but unable to bring it up.
	Their office door had piece of plywood tacked over it with a police ribbon, a paper seal and a note threatening dire repercussions for violating it's sanctity.  Lena marched past to the janitor's closet, unlocked the door, pulled a bucket out of the way and took two large packages of toilet paper from a shelf.  An almost unnoticeable panel came off to reveal the dead-space under the  attic stairs.
	Inside were two boxes of paper files and a shoe box of computer disks.  She seized one of the boxes and thrust it into Andi's arms, then grabbed the computer disks and replaced panel and toilet paper.  "Adolf still upstairs?" she asked, kicking the bucket back in place.
	"Francois was going to check.  Think anybody's watching?"
	"Of course they are."  Lena stared into Andi's face as if hoping for contradiction, then spun on her heal and pounded on doors until she found graphic artist Johnny Iris down the hall.  He made a joke about seeing her so early--Lena cut him off.  
	"We need to get some stuff past people watching outside."
	Johnny returned a puzzled grin.  "Sure."
	"We'll leave first.  Give us a few minutes then meet us behind Safeway.  If we don't show, go on home and lock everything up."  Lena dumped her box of files at his feet, stuffed half of the computer disks under the waistband of her jeans and gave a conspiratorial wink.  They left, apparently empty handed, and what they hoped were hang-dog expressions.
	Lena watched out the back window as Andi circled two blocks back to a cross street vantage in time to see Johnny loading posters and cartons and rolls of paper into his aging Toyota.  Andi watched to see if anyone thought him interesting, then dashed down the cross street and hung a right on Harrison to watch him pass going south on 39th.
	They met Safeway and redeemed their files without any obvious supervision.  Mission accomplished, they returned home.  Once there, Lena arranged for the telephone company to transfer their office calls and called Ramirez to arrange going into their office while Andi donned a charwoman's scarf, grabbed a bottle of cleaner and returned to the car with an empty box.  For the benefit of anybody watching, she cleaned the interior of accumulated trash and, giving the headlights a gratuitous swipe, returned upstairs with the files.

	Francois arrived at quarter to eleven with computers, monitors, keyboards, printer and a suitcase of cables and Lena's omelets became more lunch than a breakfast.  The computers took over the living room table, with Adolf's files copied to a hidden computer with an IR connector tucked into a discrete corner.  Francois and Lena chortled over Andi's embracing technology she set her jaw and ignored them, impatient to pull up Robert Greg.
	Finally, Lena sat at one keyboard and Francois the other they had two lines into their apartment working and scabbed two neighbor's for a third and fourth, all routed through a half-dozen bounces to Francois' web of resources.

	After a minute or two of typing, Francois suddenly sat back, waiting.  Andi crouched behind Lena, waiting.  "What's happening?"
	"It takes a sec to get into Mardell.  They're pretty high-tech." Lena smirked.  "They spared-no-expense on equipment, but they missed a few details."
	"What?"
	"They don't hiring brains enough to run it.  Nobody's minding the store, we're almost totally safe.  Francois, rigged their monitoring software to piggyback ignore us and splits our signal into three batches coordinated by a fourth.  At this point they'd have to suspect something, tap all four lines of meaningless static to even know there's a leak."  She shifted as her screen came to life and started tapping through menus.  "Here's Robert Greg's file.  He's in their oversight' team."  She flipped through files, clipping and posting faster than Andi could read.  "I'm sending it to print."
	Andi turned to Francois.  "What are you doing?"
	He didn't look up.  "Diddling Riparian, tagging files for a key-word search and fine tuning in your scrape the bottom search."
	"What we got on management"
	"School, driving, investment, prison and criminal records, credit checks and the down and nasty from two private data bases I'm privy to.  He punched up a list with a flurry of keystrokes.  "I'm supposed to send what I have to the printer?  God what a waste, I should have brought another computer."
	"I'm fine." snapped Andi firmly.
	"Troglodyte." Francois murmured from.  "Good thing I brought three reams...paper junky...tree killer."
	"We'll honor work-style diversity here, thank you."  Andi reprimanded primly before making a grab at the pages spitting from the printer.  She retreated to the couch, leaning against the arm, her legs propped before her and the pages affixed to a clipboard.  Her mechanical pencil and yellow highlighter set to work scribbling notes and marking the interesting.  Her shoes were off, the home-office concept didn't seem too bad.
	The oversight team's supervisor was Jesse Clayton, the smoothed-jowled, second in command, wife-beater, personally directed them and his office staff of two; a secretary and a computer jockey.  No doubt Francois was monitoring the geek.  Since contingents of lay security personnel watched the monitors and walked hallways, the oversight members evidently had another role.
	"Greg's co-workers?" directed Andi without looking up.
	Lena grunted grumpily and sent the files to print.
	Immediately under Thomas Boyd, who was under Rebecca Sauturne, Bryce Smith was over Clayton and Clayton ran the technical specialists, including Greg, his picture showed an average guy, a bit dissipated, but no more than your average Joe-six pack with the hard-set jaw and glinty look of a Mardell employee.  His official file was useless; hobbies were listed as trout fishing, choral music and watercolors--as likely a match as crocheting and Adrienne Rich and his work history was just as implausible.  Francois' data bases had him as a confidence man who'd dabbled in armed robbery in his youth, spent two years under a state roof and was booted out of the service for fighting.
	The other two had similarly phony bios.  Hadrian Smiley had an extremely thin face, hollow cheeks and a receding hairline, his lips were thin, his chin recessed, the bridge of his nose was bent aside and healed out of line and his eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue.  It was a face one would recognize after seeing only once.  Francois' alternative bio noted that he once shoved a pool cue down a man's throat for stepping on his shoe and had frequently indulged in knife-fights, only one of which gained him any time in jail.  He once was arrested for firing a shotgun at a driver cutting him off in traffic and it was noted he carried a knife strapped to an ankle and had a preference for abdominal wounds.
	They weren't going to get much of use researching the underlings.  Andi looked up and asked for, "Jesse Clayton from Mardell and Thomas Boyd?"
	"They're already printing." Lena smirked and exchanged high-fives with Francois.
	Andi returned to the oversight team; the third man, Gary Plaskett, looked like a surfer-boy; tanned face with blond wavy hair and a winning smile.  Everybody's boy next door except for a wild, distracted look and a bio cataloging abductions and rapes, animal mutilations, a page of reports of casual violence and rumors of two murders he'd never been charged with.
	Against the usual turnover policy, all three had been with Mardell some number of years.  Andi tossed their credit checks to the floor without a glance and shuffled through criminal records and Francois' special databases.
	Robert Greg was described as an out and out sociopath, with a catalogue of damage inflicted in attacks over the past twenty years.  He'd used police batons to break bound victims limbs.  Her stomach turned sour as she read.  There was no mention of duct tape or small caliber pistols, but the detail and volume lent a believability in its dry police style.
	Greg's fellow specialists had a lot in common.  They were Mardell and Riparian's, muscle, heavy hands to encourage cooperation from whoever strayed across their boss's path.
	Andi pulled another sheaf of pages from the printer; all three were on board during the DEQ murder era.  She highlighted significant dates and items, scribbled a note in her notebook and set the pages aside.
 	Francois whooped from his keyboard.  "We've a hit connecting them.  Ball-and-chain roomies.  Jesse Clayton, Robert Greg and Thomas Boyd all were guests of Texas law enforcement; same time same station, but not prison...a county jail."
	"Charges?" Andi asked absently.
	"Clayton was drunk and disorderly, Boyd aggravated assault, Greg apparently for traffic tickets.  The dates over lap five days, you can bet your booties it's where they met."
	"Are you still inside Riparian's VAX?  Any mention of the DEQ?"
	"That's the key-word search." snapped Francois impatiently.  "Did you look through Janus and A&C?"
	"No."
	"In Adolf."  Lena explained.  "I haven't either."  She gestured for Andi to come over.  It was a huge list of key word hits.  Lena started combining the words more conservatively and Andi went back to the couch pleased with the pace.
	There were invoices recovered from Janus Industrial Chemicals, lists of materials in and out.  It was probably what Armando was excited about, but it meant nothing to her.  She grabbed the phone and called Bodega.  "Ramone.  It's Andi Wicksham.  I got some questions."
	"I heard about Armando." his voice was husky with suppressed anger.  "Is this involved?"
	"Yeah." Andi answered quietly.  "Something he said in his last message to us.  He was excited about a list of materials Janus Industrial Chemicals handled."
	"Can you fax it?" he asked.
	Andi's enthusiasm dropped like a brick.  "Fax?  I can't I'm at home..."
	"Yes you can." called Lena.  "I'll pull it up an send it.  Jeeze Andi, you're in the dark ages."
	"I heard her." Bodega's voice announced over a series of clicks and beeps. 
	Andi stood and paced.
	"OK." Bodega announced.  "Methyl-ethyl ketone and toluene with a variety of additives.  This is pretty standard stuff." he mumbled as he read.  "Armando was excited about it?"
	"Maybe...it's stuff Janus buys from Riparian's industries." Andi offered hopefully.
	There was a long empty moment, then a hushed, "Buying?  Oh yeah, I see."  Bodega seemed pleased with his revelation, but he didn't explain.  "Sure...poly-chlorinated aromatics with heavy metals...poly-chlorinated phenol, anisole and toluene soups...nasty stuff.  They were buying this?"
	"Yeah." Andi replied carefully.  "What does it mean?"
	Bodega laughed cynically.  "Spent solvents like toluene are collected for re-distillation.  They're not worst of it." he emitted a bitter chuckle.
	"What?" Andi demanded.
	"They're waste.  Toxic leftovers most industries pay big bucks to have hauled.  Calling it a saleable commodity--not a waste product it escapes environmental regulation."  He chuckled to himself.  "Pretty slick scam.  Probably legal too."  His chuckle wasn't laughter, it had changed into something darker.
	"Janus is buying pollution?" Andi asked incredulously.
	There was a snort of disgust.  "Pollution's a word like weeds," Bodega explained slowly.  "One person's weed is another's flower, what you don't want is pollution or weeds.  Chemicals are only pollution if they're somewhere you don't want them and waste only if you aren't using or selling them.  Calling the stuff commodities instead of by-products avoids regulations.  Type a different label and poof.  No toxic waste."
	"And that's legal?" Andi demanded, outraged.
	He laughed ironically again.  "Why do you think industry keeps howling about too many regulations.  These are the loop holes they're after."
	"But where does it go?"
	"That's the real question, isn't it?" Bodega responded quietly.  "If it's a product, it could sit on somebody's shelf for the next hundred years or just disappear and no one would be the wiser.  Nobody keeps track."
	"Thanks."
	"Remember I told you this is important?  Tap me for anything you need."
	"OK"  She hadn't mentioned that Armando was really Alvin Delgatto, but the things were going he might have known that all along.
	"Francois." Andi grabbed her notebook and stepped to his side.  "I've got a project worthy of your talents.  We want to follow the crap Janus buys.  Find out where it's going."  She sat at his elbow to get him started and glanced at her watch.  Two o'clock--time to visit her mother.




Chapter 9

	The sinking sensation returned as she pulled into a parking place half a block down, plummeting in an elevator that would never stop.  She was lightheaded, there was a softness to the sidewalks and the world moved in dreamlike slowness--she wondered vaguely if she'd driven all right, she'd no memory of the drive.
	From the front door through the carpeted hallways she was assailed by memories--stealing three old standing Liberty silver dollars from her mother's jewel box when she was nine, breaking the tip from a knife and swearing she hadn't, the smallest evasions.  She had a urge to confess and beg forgiveness for every lapse she'd ever had.  She shook her head to clear the thoughts and unlocked her mother's door.
	Nancy bowed quietly out, retiring to the kitchen.  Her mother was awake, but drifting with her eyes half-shut.  When Andi took her hand, she clung with a grip that reminded Andi of a parrot.
	"I woke this morning and enjoyed waking." she said simply.  Her shallow breathing didn't raise the covering sheets and she didn't seem to have strength to turn her head.
	Andi gave the hand a squeeze.  "Good."  She searched her mother's face, trying to remember the younger, dynamic woman who'd made breakfasts, brushed hair and helped with homework.
	"I've decided." she whispered.  Then she sighed a wheezing gasp, not turning her head to look up, her lips cracked and drying mucus forming a slight crust along her eyelids.  Her skin looked almost transparent against the white sheets.
	"What?" Andi swallowed the tearful lump in her throat.  The sinking came faster--like a long drop of an airplane hitting an endless air pocket.  "I love you." she cried, squeezing the bony fingers in both hands.  Her tears finally released, but flowed uncontrollably.  She gasped for breath, shaking her head to clear her vision without releasing her mother's hand; trembling, the tears streaming down her neck to wet her blouse.
	"I know." her mother's hand gave a quick squeeze.  "I've always known...even when you didn't."  Still without looking, she sighed a deep, wheezing sigh and her hand released its grasp.  Andi, held herself frozen a moment, watching to see if that was her last, but her breath continued, shallow and uneven, but recognizable.
	Andi sat another half-hour, but her mother didn't wake.  The room buzzed with stillness and the sun through the window seemed to bring the outside's chill into the over heated room.  Everything was neat as a pin, unnaturally neat, like a motel, even the stand that once held the IV was pushed neatly against the wall.
	Nancy came beside her quietly, standing a long moment before saying anything.  "That's the longest she's been awake all day.  She fought to stay up for you...refused her pain medicine.  She probably won't wake again today."
	"Can I stay a while?" Andi asked, a little girl needing permission.
	"Of course, as long as you like." Nancy reassured.  "But she made me promise to keep reminding you to go about your life.  She was emphatic about that."  Nancy lay a hand on Andi's arm and offered a fleeting smile, then disappeared, leaving her alone with her mother and troubled thoughts.

	She drove back home slowly, acutely aware of the fragility of existence--her mother's life, her life, the frail web of life on earth--there but for fortune, she herself could be staring into the void.
	Lena was out, but Francois was still working.  "She went to your office."  He'd commandeered Lena's computer, running both at the same time, his attention focused.  Andi was grateful to escape questions and slipped through to the kitchen to stare out the window into inner space.
	Twenty minutes later, Lena came in, her conversation plowing ahead of her as she tromped the last few stairs.  She'd already dispensed with two or three items before bursting, mid-sentence, into the kitchen.
	"...and then I said in a flat-mean voice, 'Listen, I don't play at being a detective, I work at it.'  With that, I turned on my heel and stomped out."  She crowed triumphantly.  "I've been waiting for years to use that line."  She turned with a smug swagger to Andi for comment.
	"What?" Andi replied, distracted.
	"Raymond Chandler." Lena gave her a questioning look.  "Philip Marlow, private eye said that."  She stopped suddenly, dropped her hands and read Andi's face.  "Your Mom?"
	"She couldn't even move her head, couldn't open her eyes." Andi choked, but she didn't cry.  After a deep breath she said, "She only said a couple of sentences, then drifted off again.  It was the most she'd done all day."
	Lena sat quietly, fingers touching Andi's wrist, wishing she could take back her last few minutes.  "Did she know you were there?" she whispered.
	Andi nodded, sniffling.  "Said she knew I loved her when I didn't know."
	It was enough to dampen Lena's cheeks.  They sat, Lena dabbing at her eyes and Andi mute, wishing it would all go away.  They recovered to find Francois quietly sitting across the table.  He held Andi's eyes as the building ticked and the muffled outside slipped to virtual silence.  ""My Dad ten years ago, my Mom three."   It was a rite of passage, suddenly your family doesn't stretch ahead."  He voice filled the emptiness.  "Finding myself near the head of the line.
	Lena sniffed.  "I was fourteen...my mama."
	Andi reached to cover Lena's hand.  Francois blinked.  They sat, not speaking, for what seemed a long, long time.
	"I'm going for sandwiches.  Turkey and Swiss?" Francois broke the spell and exchanged a glance with Lena.  "Ruben, Andi?  Doctor Pepper's all around?"  He disappeared.
  	"How's the office?"
	"A mess." Lena shook her head.  "Worse than when we left it.  We should have taken pictures, Max and friends trashed everything that wasn't already wrecked."
	"What'd you bring home?"
	"Not much.  They'd listened to everything.  There were fourteen hang-ups and nine messages."
	"The first two," Lena pulled out a crumpled envelope.  "were Ramirez and somebody named Gloria Mistosky.  Ramirez wanted a call back, Mistosky is missing a sister who might have Alzheimers.  Then there three hang-ups."  She tapped the envelope with a finger and continued.  "Janice Thompson wanting another witness, somebody named Joey Paretti who only left a phone number, then a man named Sam..no last name..who was very nervous, wanting to talk about Titan Marine and the DEQ...then Bodega."
	"DEQ?"  Andi struggled back into working mode.  "You contact anybody at Titan?"
	Lena shook her head.
	"Where'd Sam get our name?" she puzzled.
	Lena shrugged, paused a moment, then continued.  "At least the cops left the machine on."  Lena sighed.  "There were seven messages after that, two from Bobby Soxx.  He offered condolences, says he has an extra door and asks if there's anything he can do."
	Andi smiled distractedly.  Lena tapped her note.  "Francois called once.  Janice Thompson again, the mysterious Sam again, still nervous...somebody named Dave English, and Judith-Anne Chapman, who is suddenly very eager to talk."
	"Judith-Anne Chapman." Andi murmured.  Who didn't get back to her, who cursed Max.  No doubt heard about Armando.  Andi shrugged, she'd already talked to Bodega, Ramirez, and Francois.  "I'll take Sam and Judith-Anne if you do Thompson and Bobby."
	"Sounds fair."
	"How about mail?"
	Lena rummaged in her bag for a thick bundle of letters.  Andi sorted through the envelopes, tossing everything looking like junk-mail.  Nine letters down was a plain white envelope the size of a birthday card addressed in block letters with a single capital "A" for a return address.  She showed it to Lena, and ripped the flap.
	Inside was a colorful card with a cartoon of a seedy caf‚ with loitering beatnik types.  The message printed over the picture said,

	A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a double-skinny vanilla latte with hazelnuts, and thou...singing in the weirdness...

	Inside, a sheet of paper was folded around two checks, each made out for twelve thousand dollars.  The papers were copies of Mardell's invoices and the inside flap of the card was inscribed in the same block letters.

	Threats have increased...here's the lists and some money to cover expenses.
	I'll be out of touch a while, but will get back soon.  
					Do good work--Armando.

	Andi passed the card to Lena and glanced at the invoices, they looked identical to the ones she'd gone over with Bodega.  The checks lay on the table.  She was almost afraid to touch them.
	"Twenty-four grand?" whistled Lena, looking up, her eyes opened round.
	"I don't know what to do..." Andi picked one up and examined it front and back.
	"I do!" shouted Lena.  "They go to the bank.  Armando's personal accounts are probably already frozen, the Industry/Nature's will be next. There isn't a minute to waste."
	"But." Andi started.
	"But nothing.  We're still working for him.  We can always give it back, but if we sit on it, we won't have a say."  She glanced at her watch, set her jaw and stared levelly at Andi.  "Sign the backs, I'll run 'em over."  Andi signed the checks and pushed them across the table doubtfully.  Lena shoved them in her blouse's pocket.  "I'll cash 'em at his bank and carry a check to ours."  She had her bag on her shoulder already and was headed for the door.  "Want to come for the ride?"
	Andi shook her head and continued sorting the mail.  After Armando's note there weren't any others tempting enough to open.  She pushed the pile to where Lena's spot;  she'd come to believe Lena secretly loved wading through junk mail, bills and checks.
	She slid back her chair, grabbed the phone and dialed Judith-Anne Chapman, listening to it ring six times, idly subdividing the time between rings into seven-four time bars of three and four counted in two.  Judith-Anne's message invited her to leave her name and number.  Andi said who she was, that she was returning the call and was half-way into relaying her number when Judith-Anne broke in at a gallop.
	"Andi Wicksham.  I'm glad you got back.  I'm assured you're one of us."
	It took Andi a moment; Judith-Anne came across like she'd maxed her caffeine allowance.  "Yeah, what do you want?"
	"I hate those sonofabitches and want to help flay them."
	Andi almost winced at the vehemence.  "Who do you think did it?" she asked evenly, consciously toning down so Judith-Anne might too.
	Judith-Anne gave a laugh.  "One of Mardell's heavies pulled the trigger, but Rebecca 'the bitch' Sauturne gave the order."
	"Mardell?  How much do you know about them?"
	"Enough to know that we'd be smart to discuss it in person and not on the phone."
	Andi blinked.  "Unless it's something absolutely urgent, I'm busy until tomorrow."
	"How about this evening."
	"I'd have to get back to you.  My partner is out at the moment and we're in a bit of a fix.  The cops've locked us out of our office."
	"Pricks," spit Judith-Anne.
	"Can I call you later?  Maybe tomorrow."
	"This is important."
	Andi wasn't about to be bull rushed.  "I'm really busy..."
	"OK."
	"I'm told you know about the DEQ murders." Andi offered the question as consolation.
	"Not on the phone." Judith-Anne snarled.  "Phone me when you have time."  She hung up with a bang.
	Andi shook her head.  Judith-Anne's bark must be worse than her bite or she would be doing time.  She tried the mysterious Sam and stared blankly out the window as it rang twice.
	"Yeah." a cautious male voice answered.
	"It's Andi Wicksham returning your call..."  She put on her business voice, the one with the double-starched creases.
	"We need to talk." he whispered hoarsely, as if afraid somebody might hear.
	"What do you want?"  
	"Not on the phone." he hissed.
	Andi closed her eyes, already tired of the line.  "Can you tell me what it's about.  It's been a hard day so far."
	"About Titan Marine."
	"Yes?" Andi prodded, "You said that in your message."
	"I need to talk to somebody." he repeated.  "I'm not asking for money.  I'm trying to give you information."
	"OK." Andi sat down and picked up her notebook.  "How urgent is it?"
	"I'll be dead tomorrow if this phone is bugged."
	Andi shut her eyes again, feeling the pulsing behind her eyes.  "Where are you calling from?"
	"Southeast Stark."
	"Can we meet in some public location, somewhere unlikely to be bugged?"  She wasn't about to be lured into a corner where she could be sucker punched and taped.  The doorbell rang--Francois with their sandwiches.  Andi carried the phone and let him in.
	"You know the pizza place on Washington?"
	Andi searched her memory.  "Flying Pie?"  The best pizza in town.
	"I got a red baseball hat and a black tee-shirt."
	"Forty five minutes?" Andi asked hopefully.
	"If it has to be."
	"Who gave you my name?" Andi asked conversationally.
	There was a moment of silence, then.  "Not on the phone."  Then the line went dead.
	"Where's Lena?"  Francois stuck his head in.
	"At the bank." Andi replied.  "We got a letter and money from Armando."
	Francois nodded and shrugged as he pulled the sandwiches from the bag and set bottles of Dr. Pepper on the table.  He settled in a chair and looked up at her.  "Phone calls?" he asked, pointing to her hand.
	Andi blushed.  She still held the receiver.  "It's been a hell of a couple of days."
	The front door slammed, "It's me."  Lena's shoes pounded the stairs and she swept into the kitchen to collapsed in her chair as if finishing a marathon.
	"Turkey on whole wheat, Swiss cheese, hold the mayo, dijon mustard, extra pickle." Francois pointed.
	
	Andi snagged her cell phone, grabbed a coat and headed off to Flying Pie.  Sam was easy to identify in the quiet valley between lunch and dinner.  He sat impatiently by the door in a red baseball hat, Levi's and tee shirt, twisting a blue warm-up jacket between his hands.  He leapt to his feet and asked "Andi Wicksham?" as she stepped across the threshold.  He was maybe five eight, fifty pounds overweight and balding.
	Andi nodded.  "You thirsty?"  Armando's retainer could foot the cost of a coke or beer.
	Sam shook his head.  His eyes almost bulged from his head and sweat stood on his forehead like beads.  "Let's walk."  He slipped on his wrinkled jacket and peeked cautiously out the window.
	They were past the AA hall before he said anything.  "You know about Titan Marine?" he asked, looking up Washington to check the traffic.
	"Some."
	"I've worked there seven years." he glanced at her with fear naked in his eyes, then hurried across the street in a gap between cars.
	Andi hustled to keep abreast.  "How's the work?"
	"Not too hard, not too dangerous.  The work, that is." he amended, with a sideways glance.
	Andi kept silent.  He hadn't called her to tell her that.
	"You know the DEQ guy killed a few years ago?" he asked, unconsciously speeding up to a jog and glancing nervously over his shoulder.  "I saw it."  He wiped his lips and jaw with his palm and continued around the corner heading east.
	The houses they passed were working-class homes.  This been the edge of town when they were built and in nearly a century few owners did much landscaping--yard after yard had a few shrubs along the edges of flat plots of grass beginning to brown.  Sam had sped up to a trot.
	Andi grabbed his arm.  "We're more obvious going fast.  You mean the guy in the boat?"  Andi let two measures beat by.  "Who told you to contact me?"
	He gave her a worried look.  "I don't know if I should say."
	"Why should I believe you're not setting me up?" she held his eyes.
	Sam kept silent, walking slowly now, it seemed to take concentration to keep it slow.  "Jaimie told me." he said quietly.  "I felt I could trust him 'cause he has Earth First! bumper stickers and talks about environmental things.  He got your name from somebody else."
	"Do you know who that was?" Andi asked, trying to smile.
	"Judith something." he said quickly, then he pinched his lips.
	"OK.  That's great.  Thanks." Andi nodded encouragingly, kept her smile and conversational tone.  "Tell me about the guy in the boat."
	Sam closed his eyes.  "It was a night shift and raining really hard.  I had to go to the dock because somebody didn't bring up blocking cleats and there weren't any more around."  He looked at her unhappily.  "I'm the go-fer."  He took a couple of deep breaths and glanced across.
	She nodded.
	"I was most of the way to the dock when I saw a boat maybe twenty feet off."  Sam licked his lips.  "The river was getting white caps and nobody in their right mind would be out there."  He took two breaths before continuing.  "Then I saw a guy standing on the dock.  He was screaming at the guy in the boat and yelling into a walkie-talkie, but I couldn't understand anything.  Then another boat roars up with two guys and grabs the guy's boat.  I that's when I stopped walking."
	Sam walked faster and faster; Andi pulled him back again, just enough to slow him down.  "The second boat has a big engine and they cursed each other.  I couldn't really hear, but they were angry.  Then the boat gets herded to the dock where they make the guy lay down on the dock while they threw all his stuff in the river."
	Sam's eyes rolled.  "The guy on the dock swings a stick at the guy...real hard, hits him a few times.  Then the guys in the boat drag his body in their boat and take off towing his."
	Sam stopped walking and turned to Andi.  "So there I was, out in the open with no place to hide when I realize that the guy on the dock was going to turn and walk toward me."  There was a pause as Sam took another deep breath.  "What could I do?  I backed-up as fast as I could until I saw him turning.  Then I bent down like I was shielding my face from the rain." he pantomimed with an arm raised, the crook of his arm to his forehead, bent over watching the ground.  "And started forward as if I'd just gotten there.  It was all I could do, hoped I looked too dumb and wet to see anything."
	Sam started walking again.  "I slowly picked my way down pretending I didn't see anything, not even looking up, until he pushed into me.  He said he was security, but he wasn't in uniform and poked me with a gun.  I put on my stutter and tried to look even stupider than I am...pretending to be dumb is smart."
	Andi smiled encouragement.
	"He was real mean, jabbing me and yelling.  Over and over, I told him I was told to get cleats.  Finally he calmed down and I said something about how crappy a night it was and how come him and me had to go out in the storm."
	"What a story.  Smart."
	"It's true." he insisted, eyes wide open.
	Andi smiled and lay a accepting hand on his arm.  "Then what?  Did you see him again?"
	"I got the cleats.  He followed me to the warehouse and watched me get chewed out for taking so long."  He looked into Andi's eyes for reassurance.
	"Was that it?"
	"The next day the manager, the guy from the dock and two men in suits talked to me.  They asked me about getting the cleats.  I said it sucked that they made me get them, like all I cared about was being in the rain.  They asked sneaky questions about the dock and boats trying to find out.  I was sweating, but kept complaining about getting the cleats as they looked back and forth to each other.  A day or two later, when the guy's body was found, the guys in suits came back and watched me, but I wasn't called over."
	Andi let the sound of their shoes fill the street for a minute before replying.  "Was the guy from the dock with them?"
	Sam looked into her eyes.  "No, but I've seen him talking with bosses.  I keep my head down."
	"Would you recognize them from pictures?" Andi pushed.
	"I think so." Sam said, nodding seriously.
	"Let me see if I can get you some."  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Lena.  "Scramble." she glanced at her watch and punched in seven, three, five.
	A moment later Lena came on sounding concerned.  "What's up?"
	"I need pictures of Mardell's team, the Riparian's brass, everybody important."
	Lena talked to Francois.  "We have candids of Jesse Clayton and Thomas Boyd, but most everybody else are the digital from personnel."
	"Can't you print them?"
	"Not on this printer.  Francois's shipping them to his place.  Where are you?"
	Andi looked up at a street sign, "Seventy eighth and Harrison. There's a little corner store up a few blocks.  We'll get a snack and wander toward Flying Pie."
	"He's out the door." Lena reported.  "Anything else?"
	"Nope." Andi responded.  "See ya soon."
	"Sayonara." Lena quipped.
	Andi smiled at Sam.  "Sam's not your real name is it?"
	"No." he admitted nervously.  "Jaimie said I should make up one."  He looked at his shoes in embarrassment.
	"That's OK.  You can be Sam to us."  Andi reassured him.  "Want a candy bar?"  They went into the little store, dallied fifteen minutes, then walked back.  Francois must have been breaking speed limits--his brown Subaru pulled up almost immediately.
	Andi took the manila envelope he handed out the window, said "Thanks" and Francois gunned his engine and sped away.  Andi and Sam retreated to her car where she tossed the envelope on Sam's lap and pulled out into the traffic.  Sam pulled out the photos.  "It's them." he whispered.
	"Ok." Andi soothed, peeking in her mirror before swinging to the curb.  "Tell me which ones you know."
	"This is the man on the dock...the mean looking one." Sam's voice was suddenly wheezy and he eyes were opened wide again.  He held an eight and a half by eleven color copy of Hadrian Smiley.
	"He's the one who saw you there?"
	Sam swallowed painfully.  "On the dock."
	"Who else have you seen?"
	Jesse Clayton and Thomas Boyd were the men in suits who questioned him and Robert Greg and Gary Plaskett had been frequent visitors.  He didn't recognize Bryce Smith or Rebecca Sauturne.
	"What brought you to call?"
	"That man from the dock came around asking questions again.  I know they don't believe me."
	"Are you willing to tell the police what you've told me?"
	"I don't want to.  They'll want my name."
	"I'll see if a friend can negotiate witness protection.  It would give the best protection."
	"They know where I live.  They know I saw it."
	"Do you have a car?"
	Sam pointed back over his shoulder toward Flying Pie.
	"Do they expecting you at work before Monday?"
	"No." Sam's head sank.  "But, I don't think I'm safe at home.  Jaimie said the man on the dock asked him questions.  They know."
	"Can you call in sick?"
	Sam nodded, staring at the tips of his shoes, abandoned.
	Andi pulled her car to the curb.  "Do you trust me?  I can find a place for you to stay, but you'll have to stay inside by yourself until we can get you protection."
	Sam lifted his head, nodded and said, "Yes.  OK."  He swallowed painfully, his eyes were damp and his hands shook as they held the photos.
	"You're going to have to talk to the police."  She caught his eyes.  "They're the only ones who can help."
	Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  He tried again, then gave up and nodded--a sheen of sweat and tremor lent a look of terror.
	"OK." Andi straightened and tried to sound assured.  "I'll follow you to your apartment, but you can only bring away two bags, do you understand?"  If Mardell had its eye on Sam they might be watching, but uprooting him with nothing was destined to failure.
	"What's your address."  She fished out a pen and opened her notebook.  "Do you have a back door?"
	Sam carefully printed his address.  "I got a back door."
	"Park as you usually do and go inside, then let me in your back door.  We'll gather what you want.  Important things only, OK?"
	Sam's eyes were restless from second thoughts, probably wished he hadn't opened up.  He gave a damp-eyed sigh.
	Andi let him out and swung round the block to get behind him.  She punched in Francois' cellular number and scrambled.  "Sam needs witness protection.  He saw one of the murders.  Can you stash him in one of your priest holes?"
	"I'm still in my car.  I'll follow to see if you're tailed."
	Andi read off Sam's address as Sam's car pulled from the curb.
	The complex was of the stuccoed, sprawling variety; ugly, with big parking lots.  It needed a lot of maintenance, the management was behind in hauling away auto carcasses and the litter lined the straggly bushes.
	Sam dipped through gutter into the driveway and pulled into a place across from a group of young men drinking beer.  Going on to the next driveway, Andi pulling past without looking and back into a place between a pickup and a van.  Sam wasn't in sight, but she found his ground floor apartment and walked around back.
	The sliding-glass door waited between a decrepit love seat and a weathering pile of magazines.  She reached for the handle and pulled.  It didn't open.  She tugged again, jerking and rattling, but it was latched.  Had Mardell waited inside or grab Sam as he stepped from his car?  She rapped insistently and cupped her hands to look inside.  A dining room table stood beyond a kitchen as unwashed as any in Portland, littered with dishes and stray odds and ends.  No sign of life, no body on the floor.  She knocked again, as hard as she could.
	At last Sam appeared, wide eyed, hurrying awkwardly from the hallway to flip open the lock.  "I had to use the bathroom." he whispered as she tugged the door open.
	Andi slid the door closed and set the lock.  "What do you want to bring?"
	As if lost, Sam made a slow full turn.  "I don't know."  He dropped his coat and wandered toward the bedroom.
	Andi followed, wrinkling her nose at the unwashed clothes and long-souring grime.  "Family pictures?" she looked for an album among the unorganized piles of clothes, old boxes and junk.
	Sam pulled a dog-eared shoe box and a flat metal box from under his bed, brushing off a year's collection of dust bunnies and sitting on the bed to languidly poke through the contents.
	Andi seized a half empty carton of smaller boxes and dumped it's cardboard spawn on the floor.  She took Sam's boxes and placed them carefully in hers.  "Mementos or anything you really like?"
	Sam turned his head, staring a moment at each pile in turn.  "No." he shook his head.
	"How about clothes?" Andi pushed, swinging open the closet to find nothing but empty hangers on it's rod and it's floor a foot deep in detritus.  She chose the least grimy looking shirts and pants from the floor.  A pair of shoes peeked from under the bed; Andi tossed them on top.  "Anything else?  We have to go."
	Sam shrugged, pulled an almost-new jacket with the Raider's logo from under the sheets and got to his feet.  "That's all." he mumbled, wandering out the door as if in shock.
	Andi shut her eyes, wondering if what ahead was going to do to him.  She picked up the box and followed.  There was a radio-CD player beside the bed, Andi tossed it and three old Phish CDs into the box.
	Sam retrieved his toothbrush and toothpaste and a thin purple towel that hung over the bathtub.  There was nothing she would value on the dining room table, but she waved her hand toward it before stepping into the kitchen.  "Do you have favorite dishes or glasses?"
	Sam picked a mug with a picture of Princess Di.
	Andi tucked it among his other belongings and turned back.  "Books?  Family bible?  Anything else?"  She added the jacket he abandoned on the floor.  He shook his head and hugged his new Raider's jacket close.  "OK.  I'll carry the box.  Lock up and come out and walk slow.  If you see me, pretend you don't know me.  My car's half-way down the line."
	Sam clutched his jacket and slid shut the door behind her.  Andi affected a nonchalant swagger carrying the carton around the end of the apartments and cut across the dying lawn.  She drew no attention, even the lager-louts had better things to do.
	Sam circled his car as if to say farewell, then wandered over.  Andi tossed his box in the back seat, unlocked the passenger door and started the engine as he slipped in.  She rummaged for cap and dark glasses, Sam slipped them on and leaned back like a sultan.  After a quick look around, she pulled out quickly and headed for the exit furthest down.  Once on the street she sped into the surrounding suburban maze.
	Her mirror showed nobody following.  Zig-zagging south to Division and turned west.  Her cell phone buzzed.  "Yeah." she barked.
	"Francois here."  Then a few clicks and scrambled static.
	Andi juggled the phone and steered with her wrist to set the dials.  The static didn't clear.  She cursed and tried again.  The same.  She then glanced at her watch, it was just past six--she pushed in seven, four, six.
	"Hi.  You took off like a bat from hell."
	"We're on Division, crossing 205, I'll cut north on 82ed and turn west on Stark."
	"Sure." replied Francois.  "Take the first left off Stark, then the second right up Alder, I'll check you again going up the hill.  Keep this line open?"
	"Sure."  Andi drove nervously, keeping the phone in her hand, expecting at any moment to hear Francois announce a tail, waiting for lights up 82ed, and again in the turn lane.  She turned South and threaded along Alder to 76th.  
	"Nobody even four blocks back and no one on the next streets over." Francois announced confidently as she pulled up Morrison.
	"Meet at the hoops in the crater?" she asked, turning left.
	"Will I have a TV?" Sam asked anxiously.
	Andi glanced over, licked her lips nervously and didn't answer.
	Parked in the lot by the basket ball courts she introduced Sam to Francois.  Francois shook hands as if meeting Sam was an honor, then turned to Andi.  "Give me your phone."
	He took the phone, exchanged a few plug-in chips and punched in numbers.  "Lena?  It's me...checking Andi's new scrambles.  First one?"  He carefully set the dials...cool, second?"  He fiddled again.  "OK, three.  Great.  Bye," He tossed the phone back.  "She says to stop by Pastaworks for sheep romano."
	Andi responded with a surly squint, transferred Sam's box of belongings into his Subaru and passed on the TV request.  Sam stood beside them, rocking from foot to foot.
	"TV?  Of course.  Even cable." he grinned.  "Get in.  You like pizza?"  He nodded to Andi and a minute later pulled off .
	Andi watched them round the corner, hefted her phone with a crooked smile and drove to Hawthorne for Lena's romano.




Chapter 10

	Lena was in the kitchen making linguine and clam sauce when Andi got home, a sexy saxophone wailed loudly through the apartment and Andi waited until it's final pumping surge before turning it down and phoning Judith-Anne Chapman.
	"What do ya want?" Judith-Anne demanded as a hello.
	"It's Andi Wicksham."
	"Are we going to meet?"
	"I just met somebody a friend yours named Jamie referred to me."
	"Small world.  Some guy from Jamie's work, right?  He's OK." was Judith-Anne's off-hand response.  "He asked who could help and I knew you were involved."
	There was relief that the detail checked.  "So, are you free tomorrow?  Late morning?"
	"I'm up nights." Chapman assured her.  "Mid-night, two o'clock isn't too late for me."
	"It's too late for me." Andi admitted.  "Make it morning.  My office?  Your house?  You wanna pick a place?"
	"Do you know the Eagle?" Judith-Anne demanded.  It was a leather bar on the west side.
	"Yeah?" hazarded Andi cautiously.  "There?"
	"Start there." Judith-Anne responded.  "Ask Tony the bartender where to find Cassius.  You'll wander a little before we meet."
	"OK." Andi responded, doubly glad she'd opted out tonight.  "When?  Eleven-thirty?"
	"Make it eleven."
	Smouldering, Andi tried Ramirez both at the station and home, settling for leaving messages.  People like Judith-Anne put lumps in mattresses.

	Saturday morning, Andi emerged from dreamland little worse for wear.  She pulled a pillow over her head, kicking and growling at Cheerful Miss Lena who had to playfully see if Andi's toes were as nibblable as they looked.  After a shower and breakfast Andi faced the phone call to Ramirez about Sam.
	Ramirez explained the drill of Witness Protection in an irony-laced tone--first he'd have to get Max on board, Max could bring in the DA; the DA who had the ear of the federal prosecutor who might or might not authorize it.  "You got to realize protection's more a empty promise than anything we really follow up on."
	Next, she called Janice Thompson, promising to underwrite her fee.  She gave a silent "thank you" to Armando for the money and left a message for Francois with Thompson's number so he could get them together.
	She dressed in levi's, work shirt, denim jacket and lavender bandanna and got Lena out the door by half-past ten.  They cruised Northwest's 23ed killing time with catty comments about storefront displays.  Lena sported a handful of ear rings, a grey cowboy hat over her red splashed hair and an orange Raggedy Ann smock over grey leggings and violet, paint-spattered blouse, determined to remind Andi there were more important issues than rubbing the Judith-Anne's nose in her attitude.

	Eleven o'clock saw them back on Burnside, walking up to the harshly painted decor of the Eagle.  Inside, three androgynous souls, pale even for Portland's night-folk, were on their way toward alcoholic oblivion, served, though obviously disdained, by the muscled, tattooed, and pierced bar keep in a cut-off tee shirt and red bandanna.
	"You Tony?" Andi asked bluntly.
	"Usually." he leaned back to look down his nose at her.
	"How can I find Cassius?" Andi asked bluntly.  Lena stood at her elbow like a second.
	"Always a good question." the bar-keep smirked.
	"Is there a good answer?"  Andi gave a hostile look.  She wasn't in the mood.
	"Go buy a purple daisy at the cart across the street and come back this way.  A kid'll give you a flier." The bar keep practiced his bored look, shrugged and turned away to polish a glass.
	Andi shook her head in disgust; not even bad TV shows had plots that stupid.  She and Lena crossed with the light, paid six-bits for a slightly shopworn, single bloom and came back to have a green haired adolescent shove yellow flyers in their hands.  The kid disappeared and they leaned against the brickwork, examining the sheets for instructions.  Printed in red ballpoint on Lena's was an address a few blocks away.
	"She's looking down from some window laughing her head off." grumbled Andi, staring up at the buildings above.  
	"Relax, mi amiga, it's an adventure.  Just because Chapman think's she Mata Hari's no reason not to have a good time."  Lena slipped on a pair of rhinestoned, tear-drop sunglasses and delivered a playful poke in the ribs.  "Lighten up."
	Andi returned a smile complete with batting eyelids, pinched her lips into a snarl and stalked ahead.  Their rendezvous, turned out to be a half-remodeled storefront who's dusty window revealed a few scraps of plywood, a pile of debris and two sawhorses.  Andi pounded on the door, then looked up at the windows across the street.
	At that moment the phone in the booth rang.  Lena gave a questioning glance, but Andi was already reaching, her face as grim as a black and white TV show about World War II.
	"This for me?" Andi demanded.
	"Who else would answer it?" replied Judith-Anne sarcastically.
	"I don't like being jerked around."
	"I didn't know who your bob was.  It took a call to get her cleared."
	"Bob?" Andi's bad mood remained as shiny as the day it left the showroom.
	"Not a biker, huh?  Babe on back."  Judith-Anne sounded bored.  "Just across the street there's a maroon awning."  Andi turned and looked.  "We'll buzz you in.  Go upstairs until you see a water glass on the newel-post, turn right down the hall.  Somebody will let you in."
	"Don't you think this spy shit's a little over the top?" Andi complained, but Judith-Anne had already hung up.  She glared at Lena who returned a warm, wide smile.
	Andi strolled slowly to the corner and crossed with the light to make Judith-Anne wait a minute or two longer.  The door's buzzer chattered as they approached the awning.  Lena pulled it open while Andi ran her eyes down the panel of doorbell buttons--numbered, no names.  The door was old, wide and oak, with beveled glass and a tarnished brass kick-plate.
	The lobby's floor was terrazzo that had known better maintenance half a century ago.  Oak wainscoting surrounded them, the ceiling was detailed with the old embossed metal of a bygone era, the banisters and stairs were oak and there was a large plate glass mirror hanging over a long, narrow table set against the wall.  An plush, but old maroon runner in need of steam cleaning and crying for a vacuum, led up the middle of the stairs.  It was a classic residence of a by-gone era, the lobby was hushed to even traffic noise.  On the left, an out of period set of mailboxes graced the wall.  No names posted there either.
	Lena waited until Andi surveyed the lobby and cautiously tried the unmarked door at its rear.  The water glass waited at the third floor in a silence so noticeable even their shoes on the carpet seemed loud.  Whoever lived here didn't listen to salsa or rock turned up to ten, maybe they only rented to retired, deaf and dumb librarians.
	Andi hung back six or eight feet, leaving Lena to walk ahead.  They were almost at the end of the hall when a door opened at Andi's elbow.  A thin young man gave her a hostile glance, he was almost morbidly thin, of medium height with brown hair and clothes looking like they'd been slept in.  His face was lightly fuzzed from either not shaving or a doomed attempt at a beard.  Andi suppressed any look of surprise, simply leveling what she hoped was a withering stare.  The man invited her in with a nod of his head, stepping back cautiously to hold the door.
	Lena stood defensively beside Andi.  "Is Judith-Anne here?"
	Andi suppressed her smile.
	The young man looked from Andi to Lena and nodded them in again.  Andi stepped past him, purposefully so close he had to back even further against the wall.  Lena followed, craning her neck to see beyond Andi and ignoring the man as if he were furniture.
	The living room decor matched the building's style, an over-stuffed couch bracketed with lamps on end-tables with fading shades, two matching easy chairs, a mahogany coffee table everything oozing a gentility out of date by at least eighty years and overseen by a dark print in a gaudy, gilded frame; a harvest scene near sunset, sheaves of grain, men with scythes, tired women in heavy skirts bent over, binding bundles, one of them wiping her brow; long shadows that couldn't hide the dust and sweat.
	Waiting on the couch beneath was a woman in levis and a sweatshirt with her hair in a grey streaked, practical bun.  Her legs crossed at the knee, shirt sleeves bunched up to her elbows revealing thin arms thrusting straight down to the couch, supporting her weight on her palms.  "Andi Wicksham." she stated.  It was a greeting, not a question, and she didn't offer her hand.
	"Judith-Anne Chapman." Andi returned, immediately moving to the chair to her side.  "Why doesn't it feel like we're on the same team?"
	Lena settled silently on the chair directly across.
	Chapman gave Andi a level gaze.  "I don't know you.  There's a lot at stake and I probably blame you for Alvin's death...unfairly."
	"Alvin Delgatto?"
	Chapman's eyes gave an affirmative blink that seemed strangely foreign, formal, or out of date gesture exuding a propriety at odds with her clothes.
	"I'm responsible?"
	"Not really, but he took on things you should have been doing and died in your office."
	"Alvin..." Andi started.
	Chapman interrupted her.  "You know him as Armando Delgatto.  Funny that detail would escape a detective."  She gave a wry smile with a tired resignation Andi could relate to.
	"I did know that, but I hadn't know you were close."
	"He was an incredible person.  We've been together a long time, planned this project six years ago, set up Armando's life, did it all together."  She gave an uneasy smile.  "I even winnowed through investigators and picked you out.  Now that Alvin's gone I'd like to continue your contract, but..."
	"But?" Andi asked.
	Chapman shook her head.  "I'm sorry.  I'd stated that wrong.  You have to continue.  Her eyes appealed more than her voice.  "This is too important and now there's Alvin's murder.  You're the only one who can pursue it."
	"Why?  What's wrong with you?" Andi asked bluntly.
	Chapman leaned back against the back of the couch and smiled nervously.  "Because Judith-Anne is as fictional as Armando was...maybe more so."  It was a sad admission.  "It would be too risky."  She looked away, toward the window.  "Anyway, I do my best work from the sidelines."  Again the uneasy smile.
	"I don't think you'll get what you're after."  Andi stated with deliberate slowness.
	"What do you think that is?"  Judith-Anne's bristly defensiveness was back, her chin jutted and her mouth twisted confrontationally.
	"Revenge." Lena inserted, her hands sedately folded in her lap.
	Chapman turned to frown in disapproval.  "I'd like to think of it as justice."
	"I'm sure you would." Andi commented.  "But it won't give satisfaction."
	Chapman, sat back in the couch again, her the smile flickered.  "There's more of course.  There's still the problem behind Alvin's death."
	There was a change of mood in the room.  Andi dropped her sparring and got down to business.  "OK.  But we don't have enough evidence to put anyone away."
	"You don't have what we have."
	"But you're going to fill us in?" Lena asked politely.
	Chapman didn't bother looking away from Andi.  "If you're going to be the one to use it."  The young man rose and disappeared.
	Andi watched him go.  "I have a long time friend in homicide.  He'd like to get the DEQ murders to the district attorney.  His Lieutenant is in charge of the murders of Lamar Rasheed, Jimmy Tuft and Alvin.  You think it's Mardell.  Why?  Where's the substance."
	Judith Anne moved to the front edge of the couch and gestured to the young man who rose and silently slipped out.  "We've researched them as well as we could, even had somebody in their office awhile."
	The young man returned with a cheap plastic briefcase he lay on the table.
	"This is Simon." Chapman introduced him as if he'd just arrived, then flipped the latches to open the case and tossed out photos like the one's Armando'd given.  Simon sat beside her now instead of standing in the background.
	"You saw the photos?"
	Andi nodded.  "There were significant employees overlooked."
	"Oversight?  They weren't overlooked.  We didn't want to telegraph what we knew."  She took an envelope from the briefcase, handing it to Lena while talking to Andi.  "Three years ago there were five of them, two died."
	Lena held up the picture of Robert Greg.  "Greg's missing now too.  He left prints on the adhesive when he retaped Alvin's legs, somehow they found out and retired his number."
	"And then there were two." Judith-Anne mouth twisted to a pucker.  "How do we make a case?"
	"I don't know.  What else do you have?"
	Chapman pulled out a thick folder.  "We have copies of all the invoices and transfer documents from Titan Marine, Machine Salvage and A&C Machine Works to Janus.  They used to file EPA manifests for hazardous waste using Janus as hauler...their bookkeeping's not bad.  Then suddenly they changed to invoices noting sale and delivery of bogus products...with no hazardous waste disposal." she set the file on the table between them and looked up expectantly.
	Andi tried to look enthusiastic.  "We'd guessed, but dumping waste, avoiding regulations and exceeding permits will only cost a fine.  Only pinning the murders are going to cause them grief...and we still don't have a case."
	Chapman remained silent, watching alertly.
	"If we give you this, who'll it go to?"  Simon was suddenly concerned.
	Andi answered quickly.  "Ramone Bodega.  If it doesn't come through a legitimate channel the bureaucrats won't hear it."
	"That'll take forever."  Simon complained.
	"I'm not offering satisfaction."
	Judith-Anne lay the file on the table before Andi."
	Andi smiled.  "We agree on the goal.  Let's get back to Riparian and Mardell."  She flipped open her notebook looked up expectantly.  "What do you know about the latest murders."
	Judith-Anne straightened her back.  "The duct tape came from Titan Marine."  She reached into the box and retrieved the end of a roll.  "Batch number's printed inside." she pointed.  "The oversight boys would have taken their rolls from the same case."  She tossed the tape to Andi and sat back smugly.
	Andi's eyes sparkled, she hefted the roll in her hand.  "I'll see it gets in the right hands.  What do you know about Hadrian Smiley, Gary Plaskett and Robert Greg?  Is there a weakness we can exploit?"
	"They're loyal Sauturne, not temporary jocks."  Judith-Anne's smile dimmed.  "She's paid for their loyalty."
	"Are you factoring in Greg's early retirement?  It's got to set them wondering."
	"Only if they know."
	"Sauturne might have tipped her hand."
	"She's more liable to have used one of the others to take Greg out.  Why are you so sure he isn't just hiding out?"
	"The cops muffed catching him because he was tipped.  She has enough pull to find why they wanted him and that they screwed up...it that's true he's road-kill."
	"You think he'll run?"
	Andi shrugged.  "Who would tell him he's in trouble except his bosses?   And why would they risk him getting caught?"
	Judith-Anne shrugged.  "If I knew where he was I'd solve his problem as fast as Sauturne."
	"What else?" Lena fidgeted.
	"They did Alvin's friends in a room in A&C Machine's basement."  Simon offered.  "Driven there in a Mardell van."
	"You know this?" Andi looked up in surprise.
	Simon shrugged.  "It's third hand to you."
	"Can you find where?" Andi thought of Jimmy Tuft's teeth.
	"I'll get a map." Simon answered simply.  "My contact's on the ball."
	"Will he testify in court?"  Lena offered her winning smile.
	He offered a lopsided smile.  "She."
	"I'll pay for an attorney...or Alvin will." Andi corrected.
	"I'll ask."
	Andi turned back to Judith-Anne.  "The DEQ murders had different MO's.  Clean, professional...no physical evidence.  The last three were all the same style and sloppy?  Hardly seem the same perps."
	Judith-Anne smiled her patronizing smile again.  "Remember I said there used to be five on the team?  The missing two were the brains."
	"They weren't replaced?" Lena asked almost idly.
	Simon coughed.  "Our guess is that the others wouldn't trust an outsider."  He shrugged.  "Boyd probably figured he needed middle-management.  Think he'd admit to his boss that things weren't as professional as before?"
	"What happened?"
	"The top guy, Tod Compton, just disappeared.  He was the brains behind the DEQ hits.  We had somebody working for Mardell then.  Compton and William Belamy, his second, argued about money just that afternoon."
	"You're implying he killed him?"
	"They went to a construction project together and Belamy came back alone with mud on his clothes."
	Lena fiddled with her ear rings.
	"Compton was the charismatic one, he kept the rest in line.  Belamy had brains, but an iron fist.  With Compton gone, Belamy became jerk and the others didn't like being pushed."
	"Belamy did Compton as a career move?"  Lena didn't crack a smile.
	"He moved into Compton's office the next day, but was dead two days later.  My guess is Clayton and Boyd wanted to put the kibosh on that style of advancement."
	"There was a body?" Lena prodded gently.
	"Found in his office, pistol in mouth--no note.  Had bruises on his wrists and face, but they still called it suicide."  Simon gave a humorless grin.  "The remaining three got the message.  No one swaggered or moved into the office."
	"Dangerous place to work."
	"Dangerous for everybody.  It seemed reason for us to be more concerned with security.  That's why we're here...security."  Judith-Anne gave a prim smile.
	"Unfortunately, you're not very good at it." returned Andi levelly, she paged back in her notebook.  "Instead of meeting here we could have met at your house...the one Judith-Anne bought from Sandi George five years ago." she read Judith-Anne's address from the back of Bodega's card and gave a not very amused chuckle.
	"How did you find that?" Judith-Anne's eyes opened wide.
	"Investigating is what we do.  But it wasn't hard.  You collect the rent for his house, you have a driver's license, the house is in your new name, you talked to the cops about Armando, Sandi George disappeared, the coincidence of your names on the real estate transaction."  Andi shut her notebook and rose to her feet.  "Is there more to go over right now?"
	Judith-Anne recovered almost immediately and was all business.  "What do we do next?"
	"Do you still have contacts?" Lena stretched and stood.
	"Not in Mardell, but we have friends at A&C, Titan, Machine Salvage and Sandoz Paper."
	"Lets start pulling together whatever loose ends are out there.  Do you know about Riparian's connection with Senator Hyde?" Andi was already heading for the door.
	"Of course." Judith-Anne snapped.
	It was enough to get Andi to stop and turn around.
	Judith-Anne smiled.  "I've been looking closely for years now.  Sauturne and her PAC of executives fund him both above and below the table..have for years."
	Lena nodded stonily.  "If you can document that, we can use it."
	Andi rose. "You're getting me that map to A&C's basement and giving your friend my number so I can put her in touch with our lawyer."
	Simon shut the door behind them and the dead-bolt clicked home.





Chapter 11

	It turned noon when they got to Andi's car and headed east over the river.  
	"Hungry?" Lena chewed a broken fingernail.
	"Not particularly." Andi mumbled.
	"It time to visit mom?"
	Andi nodded, but a profound silence expanded about a mile in all directions.  The knots taking up residence in her stomach and throat began wringing themselves tight.  She glanced up, then back to the road.  "Thanks."  At the corner she looked again.  "I'm OK." it came out in a whisper.
	After parking Andi was almost too weak to move and knew; if she held out a hand it would shake.  No ambulance or cop out front--she kicked herself for noticing as they passed through into the cool inside hallway, Lena called "Hello?" as they  opened the door.
	Nancy emerged from the kitchen sounding relieved.  "Come in, I'm glad you got my message."   She wiped her hands with a cup towel and crossed swiftly to the bedroom.
	Andi and Lena followed silently behind, exchanging a glance.  "Message?" Lena whispered.
	Nancy stood at the edge of the bed with a hand on Andi's mother's inert under sheet, talking in the professional tone of a nurse giving report.  "She asked yesterday to stop IV fluids.  It was her decision.  She thought it easiest on you and asked me not to say anything until she was in a coma.  This morning she had normal sleep, but an hour ago she slid into coma.  I left a message at your office."  She looked up, concern in her eyes if not in her voice.  "There's no suffering."
	A million anxious thoughts strafed as she cradled her thin fingers; her feet were glued to floor, her heart ached and the hurt radiated through her body.  There was nothing to do, her instructions were explicit; no intervention, no heroic measures.  Her mother's hand, had no weight, the limp fingers could have been soap bubbles or sewn from rags, only the tug of the wrist gave substance.
	She sank to her knees holding the hand, wishing she could cry, wishing for something profound to say, some thought that could sum things up and give meaning.  "Mama." she whispered, studying the pale, wrinkled face, laying artificially straight on her back, arms over the top of a clean, starched sheet.  Nancy's work no doubt .  They held that pose almost twenty minutes, focused as if meditating.  The doorbell rang and Nancy exited as a silent acolyte, eyes to the floor passing behind them.
	Roshi Sarah, her mother long-time friend paused at the door with Nancy, sharing a whispered word.  Andi straightened self-consciously, still cradling her mother's hand.  She tried to say something, but it came out a croak and her mind was blank.  Her eyes met Sarah's.
	Sarah and her mother had known each other for decades through zen and she had known Andi from birth.
	"I've been coming by every day or so." Sarah smiled, her eyes quiet, but searching.  Andi fell into her eyes.  "She knows she'll live on in however she touched us.  She loves you very much, she said you needed reassurance."
	"What do we do?" Andi ached.
	"Go on about life." smiled Sarah.  "It's what she wanted.  Rabbi Aryeh is coming, we'll stay maybe forty minutes to share some prayers for letting go.  We can't stay here, it might take her a few days...she's a tough old bird."  Roshi Sarah's eyes dampened with love.  "She'd hate it if any of us waited here as a death watch."  Her palms came together and she nodded slightly.
	"You can come and go as you can.  Otherwise, someone will call." Nancy nodded toward the door.  "She asked for it to go this way."


	Andi came home exhausted and pierced by a headache, wishing for a way to make it all go away and settling for a nap.  
	Lena tucked her in bed, pulled the blinds and retreated to the kitchen for a tomato and cucumber sandwich and tea while calling Tanya, Ramirez' spouse to talk dinner plans.  A moment later Francois called on Andi's cell phone and it took three rings of frantic searching to pull it from a coat pocket at the head of the stairs.
	"Andi?"  Francois asked, a bit confused.
	"No, Lena.  She's napping.  What do you want?"
	"Scramble." he murmured.
	There was a click in her ear.  She looked across the room for the time, set the dials. "Yeah?"
	"I traced the Janus Chemical stuff."
	"Do I need to take notes?" Lena asked cautiously.
	"No, just get the general idea.  I just need to tell someone, I've been working for twenty hours and it came together in the past twenty minutes."
	Lena leaned back, and propped her heels on the table.
	"Janus buys all Riparian industries' as if it were useful, accurately labeling it as some compound then in turn selling the stuff to a flimsy company that bought a small ranch in Utah with an abandoned mine.  They don't even bother to hide what their doing, not that there's anyone to look.  Once the mine's filled they'll dump some dirt over the head, scratch out their roads and go bankrupt."
	"How can they get away with it?"
	"Because they claim it's a product so it's private property not toxic waste.  Things are what we say they are.  It's not spent cutting oil contaminated with heavy metals, it's a petroleum distillate with suspended heavy metals somebody will eventually find it in the groundwater.  It's a doozie of a scheme.  A few letter head and mail drop owning one another; passes along and disappears along the way.
	Lena murmured "Uh huh..." as she scrambled for pencil and paper.
	"The bookkeeping is standard issue.  Everybody's happy...all the numbers add up, nothing's mislabeled, so on the surface it's not even fraud."
	"Damn."
	"Brilliant.  Nobody complains."
	An stretch of silence followed.  Then Lena asked.  "What do we do?"
	"That's the problem.  Maybe, with a lot of effort, somebody might prove toxic disposal laws have been broken."
	"But the company buying the stuff."
	"The intermediate owner's business sense might be questionable, it's not against the law to make bad business decisions.  Riparian itself seems doing everything above board no victim, no complaint, no crime on the short term."
	"But there will be when the barrels rust out."
	"Well, sure...but that's not now.  Sauturne goes for immediate profits."
	There was silence  "Andi's mother's dying." Lena murmured.
	"I knew."
	"Went into coma today."
	"Oh."  There was a long moment when the light static in the phone line seemed to fill the universe.  "How's Andi?"
	"As expected." Lena blinked back tears.
	"Let me know." He said quietly.  "There's a lot more on Riparian, but it's not as interesting."
	"I'll tell Andi when she wakes. Bye."  She hung up.
	"Tell me what?"  Andi appeared at the kitchen door with pillow hair and bleary eyes.  "Was that?"
	"Francois.  You could have spoken."
	Andi waved her hand to dispel the thought.  "What'd he want?"
	"He figured out the waste thing.  Sounds out of our league.  He'll call again."
	Andi scrunched her forehead.
	Lena stroked Andi's hair with her hand.  "We're have dinner at Tanya and Ramirez's if you feel up to it."
	"No problem.  I feel like I was dragged through storm drains."


	Andi paced, unable to settle down.  She stared blankly at the bookcase until Francois called, answered and punched in the scrambler code.
	"I'm sorry about your mom." Francois opened.
	"Thanks." Andi returned grudgingly, despising herself for being shallow.
	"This can wait."
	"No, what's up?  Lena said you chased-down the waste."
	"Through corporate boards without employees."
	"American ingenuity." Andi quipped morbidly.  There was a long silence.  "Anything else?"
	"I've hacked a freeway into Riparian's mainframe that's all but invisible."  He mentioned it like an after thought.  "We got access to everything."
	"What did you find?"
	"Dug up the account codes first then trolled for key words and got such a flood all I had close up and re-enter after setting it up through three Mardell phone numbers shunted through an obvious phony to a cache at Mardell.  If anybody catches the transfer, it'll look like Mardell is raiding them."
	"You sure?"
	"Nobody'll notice.  We'll get away clean."
	"Famous last words."
	"There's a mountain of stuff, way too much for Adolf...really."
	"Why so much?"
	"Cause I can't sit there reading and deciding what you might want.  What flavor you want?  Sorted by key-words there's more in each than you can read in a year.  How about a gift sampler...a handful of each?"
	"Nuts as well as soft centers?"
	"It's take what you get, but its files only  Sauturne and her top VP's can access.  I was going to dump their entire works onto Snowden's new tape storage, but don't have it."
	"Snowden got ahead of himself?"
	"Typical academic, head in the clouds, believing a sales rep.  Glad to bring humor to your life.  When do you want your gift pack?"
	Andi thought a moment and looked at her watch.  "Tomorrow.  Lena'll call."
	"Fine and dandy.  Over and out."
	Andi was still chuckling when she went into the kitchen.  Lena looked up, "You've recovered some humor."
	"Just talked to Francois.  He's stripping Riparian bare.  What'cha making?"
	"Sugar-lemon peel sauce and gin over grapefruit."
	"The thing you did at Gloria's?" Andi grinned.
	"With mint." Lena rolled her eyes.  "I already asked if we can spend the night."
	

	They met Ramirez and Tanya's at their door at five-thirty with kisses and hugs and wandered to the living room; Andi and Ramirez to choose music and Tanya and Lena to the kitchen to talk food.
	"The Riparian thing's going to blow wide open." Andi murmured casually.  She ran a finger down the row of disks, pulling an old Talking Heads and handing it over while debating an old Aretha Franklin.
	"What do you know that I don't?" He casually loaded the disks into the player.
	"I know Robert Greg's partner's in crime.  And witnesses seem to be coming out of the woodwork...first the DEQ guy's killing, then a witness for a basement room where you'll find Jimmy's teeth."
	"Major detective work Wicksham, how come he's not at the station?"
	"She.  It's complicated.  How about a lead on toxic waste shipped to Utah in a Riparian scam and stuff Senator Hyde will find hard to scrape off."
	"Talk is cheap."
	"There's more, but I got a problem with Max's prime directive."
	"Overstepped our bounds, did we?" he asked musically, accepting Miles Davis's All Blue.
	"I might get access to computer files that could ice Riparian.  The problem is that they might have been borrowed without express permission, so I'm not sure how to hand it over to the DA."
	"Want a glass of wine?" Ramirez turned and smiled.  "I got a nice dry merlot and a spicy zin."  He started toward the kitchen.
	It took Andi three steps to catch up.  "Were you listening?"
	He smiled. "Wine?"
	"Fine.  Merlot." she shot a glare and followed.
	Lena and Tanya were giggling by the stove.   "Whoops...busted." Lena blurted, as they entered.  She and Tanya turned around, chocolate on both lips and fingers, a small pipe beside them.
	"Can't leave the two of you alone for a minute..." Ramirez teased as he pulled a bottle from the wine rack and rummaged for a cork puller.
	"Quality control.  See the lengths we go through to keep your deserts to the highest standards?  And what thanks do we get?  Grief and abuse...the injustice."  Tanya lifted her chocolate smeared hands in an appeal to heaven, struggling to keep a straight face.
	"That's right...injustice." echoed Lena like a deacon.
	"I see you've already started your party, want some merlot as well?"
	"Of course." asserted Lena self-righteously.
	Ramirez got down four glasses, poured two, handed Andi hers, snagged the bottle and gracefully retired to the living room.
	He settled at the end of the couch as Andi sank into the rocker.  He confided, "Max wants the DEQ witness under his protection before making commitments."
	"Too bad.  Just because he wants something doesn't mean it makes sense."  She studied Ramirez feign of nonchalance.
	"He doesn't see it that way." Ramirez held his glass up to the light.
	"He thinks his priorities are the only ones that count."
	Ramirez slouched, pursing his lips as if deep in thought.
	Andi gave him a minute to contemplate that truth before changing the subject.  "Got advice on passing on tainted evidence?"
	Ramirez gave a stoic shrug and a lopsided smile, raised a finger like a baton and lectured, "Standard procedure is to plant it on a third party and set them up on a different charge.  When they go down, then it evidence that's fair game and the pigeon won't complain because it's not relevant to his case."
	"Dirty pool." Andi chastised.
	He shrugged.  "You asked and that's how it's done.  Receiving stolen files is illegal too."  He contemplated the light through his wine again.  "The issue is keeping it credible.  Too much out of context and a lawyer with a correspondence degree can paint it as phoney as corporate morality."
	Andi bobbed her toe in time to the music. 

	Lena served their first desert, pouring two jiggers of iced gin over bowls of chilled grapefruit slices and liberally adding the lemon/sugar sauce.  Tanya swooned, throwing Lena a kiss and raving that it was incredible.
	 The table was cleared for dominos, chattering and sharing gossip.  Two games later, cheese, fruit and crackers were served with small glasses of a rich port.
	Lena and Tanya disappeared to the back porch, leaving Andi with Ramirez and another glass of port, "If Max pushes the witness protection," she observed, "the case'll be gift-wrapped.  Think that warrants a thank you?"
	"For offering one-stop shopping for felony witnesses?  You find 'em and arrange a lawyer before we see their faces.  Max thinks it interference you should be jailed for."
	"Give me a break.  Max would use him and leave 'em for the vultures."
	"True." Ramirez smiled indulgently.  "But there'll be a price to be paid.  Max feels you've gotten the best of him."
	Andi gave a sour look.  "By the way, the toxic thing might be legal."
	Ramirez turned.  "Your understanding of the law is getting sophisticated.  Acknowledging that just because something's bad doesn't mean it's illegal...that's progress."
	"You used to argue just because something was illegal didn't make it bad.  When Max pulls things that are both illegal and  bad none of you cops say a word.  Doesn't that make you accessories?"  She favored him with a insincere glower.  "To the imperfection of the universe."  She raised her glass.
	"To imperfection.  L'chayim." Ramirez saluted.
	

	Lena and Andi spent the night.  The extra room had its own bath and shower, the bed was stocked with five fluffy pillows, a firm mattress and down comforter.  It was like a B&B; gracious hosts and hot cereal, grapefruit, toast, cinnamon rolls, pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage and coffee when they rose.  "What do you say we put ourselves up for adoption?" Lena pushed her plate away, dabbed her lips and accepted a coffee refill from Andi as Ramirez went to answer the phone.
	"Let me think on it."  Andi was mentally ranking the morning's responsibilities--Sam, Janice Thompson, Francois and Nancy.  She tapped a finger.
	Ramirez strode back.  "I've got to deal with Max." he rumbled.
	"Walk us to the car." She popped to her feet and retrieved their coats and Lena's bag.
	Lena looked up in dismay.  "Already?  We were going to make pies."
	"Not a problem, stay, but I need to call Nancy...from home."  She dropped Lena's coat on a chair, gave her a quick kiss, whispered "Thanks" and called to Ramirez, "Wait up, I'm coming."
	"Max wants to make you produce Sam." Ramirez warned.
	"I honestly don't know where he is." Andi responded happily.
	"But Max knows you know how to get him."
	"He'd kill a goose laying golden eggs." she quipped with what she hoped was a warning stare.
	Ramirez held her gaze.  "I'm forming the impression you don't like him."
	"That insightfullness is why you make the big bucks, Sergeant.  Ask when we can get our office back."





Chapter  12


	Coming home, the first thing Andi did was call Nancy.  Quickly, without time to think, still her stomach was threatening to cramp.  The phone rang twice before Nancy answered.  "Wicksham's residence."
	"Hi, it's Andi, how's Mom?"
	"No change.  Profound coma, depressed breathing, extreme hypo-tension, heart rate irregular and under forty."
	A clinical report when what she wanted was forgiveness.  Andi left her cell phone's number, shut her eyes against dizziness and paged anxiously through the last notebook entries.  She reached Janice Thompson at home.  "Hi, it's Andi.  Any progress?"
	Thompson sounded overworked.  "Two meeting with Sam, two with the cops and DA and a long phone conversation with somebody who tried to pass himself off as a bigwig telling me there wasn't a chance in hell.  There aren't that many levels of authority and I can name them, so that was pure bogus.  They're being miserly...all caveats and conditions to set up reneging.  I edited a list of questions for Sam to answer on tape.  They took it, but all I got back was threats."
	"Normal for Max." allowed Andi.
	"I pointed out that they didn't know the witness's name and that the only way they'd get access is to commit themselves to protecting him.  They got huffy at obstructing justice and dictating policy.  When I pointed out that justice was the point I was defending they got rude, so I walked.  They phoned once last night and twice this morning, but I'll be difficult to find until they say yes."
	"Councilor, I like your style.  It'll be a pleasure to write your check.  How about the witness to A&C's basement?"
	"I met with her and informally discussed it with the DA.  She's on hold pending Sam."  It sounded like Thompson had her shoes off, her feet up and a mug of coffee in her hand.
	"Give some advice?  If somebody had incriminating information, but they got it illegally, could it be used as evidence?"
	"The short answer's no and the long answer's no in Latin, except that if a case is important enough or a lawyer persuasive enough, details mean nothing.  Generally, any lawyer worth her Porche could beat tainted evidence into a lump of poor intentions."
	"You're meeting the DA again?"
	"Yeah.  But I won't wear pantyhose...fem attorney disrespect."  She chuckled.  "Anything else?  There's a pecan roll out there with my name on it."
	Andi logged the call and paged back through her notes on Sam to make sure she wasn't missing the obvious.  Francois was next, he picked up immediately and switched on the scrambler.  
	Andi wasn't a but a second behind. "How's Sam?"  She tapped.
	"Just left him.  He's bored with daytime TV so I rented a dozen movies and left him milk and cheerio's.  I'm going back with hamburgers and shakes."
	"Riparian?"
	"Your gift selection's installed on Adolf.  I've glanced through, notes bad-mouthing the DEQ and overtime requests from the oversight team the day of the boat incident and requesting reimbursement for a boat rental, overtime the day the woman disappeared and when the administrator died."
	Andi tried to takes notes, but was making a mess of it.  "Great." she mumbled, "But it's a long way from solid evidence."
	"But no, mi capit n." Francois was unhealthily cheerful for a Sunday morning.
	"Yes it is.  How do we get this to the DA as admissible evidence?"
	"There's a way, don't worry.  Riparian's got a security utility that logs accesses to confidential files--time, date and password.  Most of her accesses are between nine and midnight from home.  I imagine her dreaming up capitalistic excess with white wine, sharpened red nails and a batiked-silk leisure suit, curled with a lap-top on a white leather couch in a room with glass tables, Chinese rugs and an incredible view."
	"You've an imagination." Andi conceded.  "All I know is that she's listed with the board of corporations."
	"Did you know that living in too concrete a conceptual world is a psychiatric symptom?"
	"I didn't and don't care.  Stolen files won't be inadmissible evidence."
	"Stolen by anybody?"
	"What are you asking?"
	"If you or I stole them it's a no-no?"
	"Right."
	"What if Thomas Boyd or Jesse Clayton at Mardell took it."
	"That's a big if...keep working."  She cut him off.  If talk was cheap, too much imagination was worthless.
	She hung up and put in a call to Ramirez's for Lena.
	"Pie central." Tanya answered bawdily.  "Pie in face, hit one.  Pie charts, two.  For blackbirds, four and twenty."
	"Tanya, it's Andi." she interrupted impatiently.
	"'Andi, dear.  We've got three in the oven and another four in the works..."
	"Seven pies?  Who do you expect to eat them?  You better not fatten up my girlfriend."
	"Lena, she's nagging again."  Tanya held the phone over her head as she yelled, then asked into it.  "You got a favorite flavor?"
	"I'll eat most anything."
	"I'm sending apple and a peach.  Here's Lena."
	"Hi babe.  What's up?" Lena chirped.
	"I can't remember how to access Adolf."  Honesty was often the best policy.
	"I'll be home in a hour or so."
	"That's too long." Andi whined.  "I need in now."
	"Read a book.  Go for a walk.  Get out of the house.  Sunday's supposed to be a day of rest."
	"That's Saturday for some of us."
	"Like you observe it." Lena scoffed.  "So?  Pretend it's Saturday.  I'll be home in a few hours."
	"You know what Watson?  There's a cold, insensitive streak in you."
	"I've learned to live with it, I'm sure you will too.  Oh geeze.  Nooooooo.  Damn.  Here comes that streak again."
	Andi was left holding the dead receiver to her ear, called Francois back and asked if she could come over.

	Even stopping at Bower's for treats, it took only twelve minutes before she was knocking on the door over the refuse bins.  Francois hadn't made it down yet.  She stood under the porch's low roof watching the drizzle drift leisurely; a dry day by Portland standards, one of those the Irish call soft.
	"Come in."  Francois ushered her to the back with a bow.  The sugary smell of sticky buns filled the dusty air as he pulled the shoe rack closed.
	"Mocha?"  He asked moving to the espresso machine and pulling out milk.
	Andi nodded, dumped the buns on a plate and settled in her usual chair.  Under the raucous screech of steaming milk, she sat quietly, running through details as the smell of coffee competed with the yeast of the rolls and ozone from equipment.
	"Tell me about the high security files."
	"Each executive has a private account and there's a series they access together, each protected by two seven-digit passwords."  He puttered with some equipment.  "Sauturne doesn't trust them.  She has a master-key and gets into their stuff...just two days ago in fact."
	Andi smiled and sipped.
	"She's suspicious.  Her sys-op doesn't keep executive  passwords and is locked out of the top-level code.  She comes five half-days a week and works out of an cubby next to Sauturne's secretary."
	"But can we prove Sauturne had intimate knowledge of the dirty work?"
	"I'm pretty sure, she's a neurotic memo writer and micro-manager.  Documents everything...even buying off Senator Hyde.  How much she'd offer, second thoughts, her eventual donations complete with concerns about avoiding the reporting requirments."
	"The DEQ murders?" Andi sipped cautiously at her mocha, excitement swelling.
	He nodded, straight-faced.
	"Show me?" Andi scooted her chair closer.
	Francois tilted a screen to her, tapped a flurry of keystrokes and sat back as the computer beeped and two other screens scrolled.  Her screen blinked and filled with numbers.  He typed another line and the screen flashed,
	
	FROM: SAUTURNE.    
	TO: BOYD.
		We need to resolve the problem of the environmentalists and their colleagues.  Question: do we assign oversight to elimination or continue pressuring?  It seems to me, current policy has been fruitless.  Tuft in particular has increased video surveillance of facilities, apparently undissuaded.
		If the decision is neutralization, we should fully exploit the action as added persuasion to other targets; our focus must be removing the larger threat, not just eliminating foot soldiers.  The message must get driven home.  We need to get as much bang for our buck with oversight...they're costing more than outside contractors might.


	"Sauturne's concerned with bang for her buck?" Andi raged.  "Murder isn't enough, she needs to make it cost effective?"
	"Scary 'eh?  It goes on like that.  A lonely exec hooked on daiquiris and ruthlessness."  He assumed a dignified pose.  "I only play a lawyer on TV but it looks to me like enough for indictment."
	"Its still not admissible."  Andi debated how desperate an act she could live with.
	"Ideas?"
	"Ramirez claims the cops have been know to plant evidence on a third party and bust 'em."
	"You OK with that?"
	"No."
	"How about the guy with his fingerprints on the duct tape?"
	Andi shook her head and gave a wistful smile.  "He'd be great, but if he's already dead it would fall apart.  Anyway, who'd believe he was geek enough to get access?"
	"We could import the stuff into common files at Mardell and encourage Max to search for it."
	Andi shook her head again.  "Not sure enough.  Why would he and even if his geeks were up to it he'd need a warrant and budget."
	"I got an idea." Francois spun back to his keyboard and came up with a name.  "Shirley Patagorski."
	"Who's she?"
	"Sauturne's sys-op..."  Andi's screen filled with Patagorski's biography.  Andi read the bio in silence.  She  She had a Master's in computer science and math from University of Washington, was married with two kids, enjoyed camping and read Romance novels and was contracted through Work-Digital to Sauturne personally; not Riparian."
	Andi smiled uneasily and glanced over to Francois.  "She doesn't sound like a criminal."
	"Probably isn't."
	"She hasn't blown any whistles."
	"But she at least arguably could access the files."
	"If she could, she either hasn't or is as bad as they are."
	"She might be a geek, but she couldn't stomach out-right deceit it would take.  She's only around a few hours and kept busy with mundane chores.  A decent hacker needs a devious, anti-authoritarian mind and lots of unstructured time.  She was probably hired because she wasn't sneaky.
	Andi stared at him blankly.  "So what are you suggesting?"
	"Passing the information to the cops would innoculate her against charges of involvement..."
	"Tip her off?"
	Francois sat back in his chair.  "First we need to finish copying so they can't just punch delete."  He adsorbed himself into his monitor.
	Andi finished her coffee, rose and walked to the espresso machine.
	"Sauturne's got a six day weekend blocked out two weeks from now.  She's the only one who could do anything if I slip up."
	"Too far off."
	Francois seemed not to have heard.  "We'll put them in her path and get her to call Ramirez."
	"How?"
	"A glitch in an obscure command could get her into the files,"  He looked up excitedly, "No, use similar addresses just a keystroke off so she assumes it's an entering error."  He'd started making notes.  "And something else so she looks through it."
	Andi sat back.
	"The first pages will have to be so outrageous that she's shocked."
	"We can choose the worst files, but can we trust her not to go to Sauturne?"
	"I'll see what I can come up with."


	When she got back home Lena was working.  "I thought you wanted those files?"
	"I went to Francois'."
	"I brought back pies."
	"Apple and peach?"
	"Oh, she told." Lena sounded hurt.
	"You did them with your own hands?"
	Lena shrugged, "It was a joint effort." she shot across a defensive glance.  "Want some?  Go ahead.  You doing band practice?"
	"Of course."  Andi swung her feet up on the living room table.  "Want to hear Francois' ideas?"
	"Slipping Ramirez the files?"
	"Indirectly.  Francois zeroed in on Sauturne's sys-op, he wants to help her stumble into the files."
	"Won't work and risky."
	"Got better ideas?
	"This sys-op's not a bad guy?"
	"Not that we know of."
	"Then do it for her." Lena said without cracking a hint of a smile.  "Make her look a reluctant heroine."
	The phone rang.  It was Janice Thompson.  "Witness protection for Sam.  They caved to everything.  I wanted to touch bases before bringing him over."
	"Tell him I said good luck."
	"That it?"
	"Yeah.  Be careful what you say, this phone is probably bugged."  Andi heard a quick intake of breath as she hung up.  Pulling out her cell phone, she settled on the couch and punched Francois' number.  "Yo, Snowden.  It's Wicksham."
	"Professor Snowden is at the university." Francois answered formally.
	"So who are you?"
	"Jeeves, Professor Snowden's gentleman's gentleman.  If you utilize the appropriate security, your call will be transferred." the line clicked and buzzed into scrambled mode.
	Andi ground her teeth, glanced at her watch and punched three, three, one.  "Francois.  I hate this stuff."
	"Techno-phobic dear?  It's intended to keep you and your's safe."
	"Still..." Andi grumbled.
	"Do you use potholders and seat belts?"
	"Yeah, but..."
	"So, get used to it.  What's on your mind?"
	Andi ground her teeth.  "Any dirt on Shirley?"
	"No, she's an Episcopalian, husband's a social worker.  Not even parking tickets, kids do well in school, she has two sisters and a mother in a small town in Iowa."
	"Lena thinks we should pretend we're her."
	"Oh?"
	"Take it out of her hands.  Use her work line to dump the files and blow the whistle."
	"Cool idea.  The cop's IM geek would be a natural contact.  I like it...oblique and Machiavellian.  You're my kind of woman."
	"Is that a compliment?"
	"What?" Lena asked from the stove.
	"He's called us Machiavellian, oblique and deceitful..."
	"I told you it's sexy."
	"Is it a go?" cut in Francois.
	It took Andi thirty seconds.  "Set it up, but don't give it a push."
	"Banzai..." Francois screamed fanatically.  "Geeks for truth, justice and the American Way."  The line went dead.
	
	Monday, two hours before lunch they gathered in Francois' office.  He'd dedicated a computer screen to monitoring Shirley, tapped into her outgoing ISDN line and rerouted through four different exchanges, and switched her phone line so he could commandeer hers.  It was nearly two thirty before he finished.  "She logged in at ten, but hasn't been active.  Every day, same time, her schedule lists 'meeting with RS'."
	Andi looked over his shoulder.
	"She just logged off, it's show time." Francois tapped in the number of the Portland Police Bureau's computer section.
	
		HELLO, POLICE? 

	It took almost two minutes to get a reply.

		HELLO.  WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO REACH?

	Francois typed back,

		I'VE BECOME AWARE OF SOME VERY SERIOUS CRIMES.  I FIGURED YOU'D BE SOMEONE I CAN COMMUNICATE WITH.  I NEED TO FIND OUT HOW TO HANDLE THIS DILEMMA.....S.

	It took a longer moment to get a reply. 


		S:
		WHY NOT PHONE OVER THE REGULAR LINE?  HOW SERIOUS ARE WE TALKING?  .....HENRY.

	Francois smiled over his shoulder, "Henry's a nice guy, we should put him in a for a commendation."

		I HAVE TO STAY ANONYMOUS.  I'M SCARED.  THIS IS VERY SERIOUS--MURDER.....S.

		S:
		WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THERE'S BEEN A MURDER?.....HENRY.

		I STUMBLED ACROSS DOCUMENTS DETAILING THE MURDER'S PLANNING AND TALKING ABOUT THEM AFTERWARDS...MEMOS AND E-MAILS.  THEY DISCUSS THE MURDER OF THOSE DEQ AGENTS A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO AND THE RECENT MURDER OF THREE MEN.....S.

	It took Henry another two minutes to get back to them.  He probably called his supervisor to discuss it.  Francois sat back grinning, Lena chewed her nails and Andi wished she'd brought something to nibble.

		S:
		I'VE TALKED WITH ANOTHER OFFICER AND WILL HAVE SOMEBODY DOWN HERE FROM HOMICIDE IN A FEW MINUTES.  PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE LEARNED.....HENRY.

		WHO ARE YOU TALKING WITH?!?
		YOU HAVE TO PROTECT ME.  MY BOSS CAN'T FIND OUT ABOUT THIS!!!!  IF SHE FINDS THAT I'M TALKING MY LIFE WOULD BE IN JEOPARDY...IF THEY LEARN I'VE CALLED YOU I KNOW I'LL BE KILLED.   I'M SCARED, I HAVE A FAMILY....S.

		S:
		I'LL DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO KEEP YOU SAFE, BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO COOPERATE.  I'M TALKING WITH LIEUTENANT IRWIN MAX FROM  HOMICIDE.  WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND THAT MAKES YOU THINK THERE'S BEEN A MURDER?  IT WOULD REALLY HELP YOUR CREDIBILITY IF YOU WOULD TELL ME YOUR NAME.....HENRY.
	
	Andi howled with laughter.  "He's talking to Max?"  She and Lena all but rolled in the aisles.
	Francois looked over his shoulder.  "They're tracing it, should have confirmed it's a Riparian line."
	
	I'M A SYS-OP FOR A LOCAL CORPORATION...THAT WILL HAVE TO BE ENOUGH IDENTIFICATION.  I'LL SEND YOU SOME OF WHAT I'VE FOUND.  BUT I CAN'T STAY ON LINE, IT'S TOO DANGEROUS.  I CAN'T TELL WHO I AM, WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO MY HUSBAND AND CHILDREN?  WHAT HAPPENS IF THEY FIND OUT?.....S.

	Francois keyed in a change of screen and sent Henry the bundle of memos.  There was a delay on the other end as Max and Henry raced to read through them.

		HI, S:
		I'M BACK.  WE'RE AS SAFE AS WE'RE GOING TO BE.  LIEUTENANT MAX IS IMPRESSED AND WANTS TO HELP, BUT NEEDS TO CONFIRM YOU'RE NOT A PRANKSTER.  
		I'M ON YOUR SIDE, BELIEVE ME...HOW CAN I CONVINCE HIM?  WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?.....HENRY.

		HENRY........A PRANKSTER?  I DON'T KNOW HOW TO CONVINCE YOU.  I'M AT MY TERMINAL, DOWNTOWN AT THE RIPARIAN CORPORATION.  PLEASE DON'T LET ANYONE FIND OUT.  THIS IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN YOU REALIZE.  I'M BEGGING YOU.
	MAYBE I CAN SEND YOU SOMETHING TO SHOW WHO I AM.  
	HOW ABOUT MY PASSWORDS OR THE PASSWORDS OF THOSE I'M TALKING ABOUT.....S.

		S:
		WHERE DID THE MEMOS YOU SENT ORIGINATE?  WHO SENT THEM?  COULD SOMEONE BE PULLING YOUR LEG?   LIEUTENANT MAX SAYS TO SEND PASSWORDS, BUT HE'S STILL SKEPTICAL.....HENRY.

		DEAR HENRY,
		THE MEMOS ARE BETWEEN MY BOSS, REBECCA SAUTURNE AND HER EXECUTIVES, THOMAS BOYD, JESSE CLAYTON AND TOD COMPTON.  ORIGINATING AT VARIOUS LOCATIONS; HERE AT RIPARIAN, AT MS. SAUTURNE'S HOME, MARDELL SPECIAL FORCES, ETC.   I DON'T THINK THIS IS A HOAX BECAUSE I'M THE ONLY OUTSIDER WITH ACCESS.
		MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT IS HOW CAN YOU GUARANTEE MY SAFETY?
		WHOOPS...HAVE TO GO...I'M BEING PAGED.  DON'T CALL ME!!  I'LL CALL BACK TOMORROW IF I CAN.  THE PASSWORDS WILL BE IN AN ATTACHMENT.   
		THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.....S.

	Francois logged off with a victorious flourish and spun around to exchange high-fives.  Lena was dancing, her hands in the air.


	Tuesday morning at ten there was a sense of expectation.  And stopped for bagels with lox, tomato, onions and pickles, Francois made lattes and they hovered around the computers noshing.  Shirley logged on at 9:52 and plugged through routine chores for an hour and a half.
	"She's OK," Francois admitted begrudgingly.  "Probably the right kind of personality for a sys-op.  I'd be poking into everything I shouldn't."
	Lena perched cross-legged on one of the swivel chairs, assembling Francois' clutter into sculptural arrangements.  The screens scrolled with Shirley's connecting and disconnecting e-mail accounts, assigning passwords and answering questions.  She scrolled through daily accounts and logs.  They could almost imagine her, coffee in hand watching the entries the way a mechanic might listen to an engine, monitoring with half her attention.
	"What if she notices yesterday's log?" Lena retrieved her latte and swung into a squat, both feet on the seat and an arm wrapped across its back.
	Francois gave a nervous smile.  "She's probably scanning for technical glitches."
	Shirley started typing again.  Then the screen paused, her curser drifted up to an entry, then paused and dropped two lines.  Francois glanced to another screen.  "She got a phone call--Sauturne's line."
	A moment later they watched her flip through a half-dozen screens before settling on one about computer equipment cost and sending it.  A minute after that Francois reported, "The call's over.  She's logged off."  Andi's hands were sweating as Francois set up his circuitous telephone routing, checked Shirley again, switched her line, logged on and dialed Henry.

		HELLO?   HENRY.  ARE YOU THERE?  ...IT'S "S"

		It took Henry a minute and a half to log on.

		S:
		HENRY HERE.  ARE YOU OK?  I GOT WORRIED WHEN YOU LOGGED OFF YESTERDAY, ARE YOU SAFE?.....HENRY.

		I'M OK, BUT I'M MONITORED EVERY NOW AND THEN.  WE HAVE TO BE QUICK.  I'M GOING TO SEND YOU ANOTHER BATCH OF STUFF A BIG BATCH.  ENOUGH THAT WE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO RISK COMMUNICATING AGAIN.  I'M SCARED FOR MYSELF AND MY FAMILY.  I HOPE THIS WILL BE ENOUGH TO BRING THESE KILLERS TO JUSTICE.  
	PLEASE, PLEASE, PROTECT ME.  DON'T EVER LET ANYONE KNOW I'VE HELPED YOU.....S.

		S:
		I'M HERE ON YOUR SIDE, S.  WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN LATER IS OUT OF MY HANDS, BUT I'M IN YOUR CORNER.  THE GRAND JURY MIGHT WANT TO TALK IF SO IT CAN'T BE HELPED.  I LOOKED UP THE NAME OF RIPARIAN'S SYS-OP--ISN'T YOUR NAME SHIRLEY?.....HENRY

		OH GOD, HENRY!...I HOPE I'M NOT BEING MONITORED.
	I TALKED IT OVER WITH MY HUSBAND AND WE'VE DECIDED I SHOULD DENY ANYTHING YOU SAY REGARDING ME HELPING YOU.  HE SAYS I MIGHT HAVE TO APPEAR BEFORE A GRAND JURY--IF SO, PLEASE ONLY ASK ME IF THESE TRANSMISSIONS APPEAR TO HAVE COME FROM MY TELEPHONE LINE...NOT IF I MADE THEM.  THIS IS IMPERATIVE!!! 
	THE LOGS WILL SHOW THAT, SO PLEASE DON'T ASK OTHER QUESTIONS.  
		I WILL DENY CONTACTING YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE TO PROTECT MY CHILDREN AND HUSBAND.  I HAVE TO, PLEASE DON'T PUSH ME.  PLEASE UNDERSTAND,  HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER, I HAVE TO PROTECT MY FAMILY.  I'M HELPING YOU ALL I CAN.  
		I'M GOING TO SEND OVER A LARGE BATCH OF MATERIAL (APPROXIMATELY 7MB), SO SET ASIDE ENOUGH STORAGE.  I'LL NOT COMMUNICATE WITH YOU AGAIN.  
		GOOD LUCK.....SHIRLEY.


	Francois triumphantly punched a key to end the transmission and punched another to start Riparian's computer sending out the information.  "This is going to take a minute or two, I hope she don't notice."
	"Why don't we distract her?" asked Lena.  She punched in Riparian's number.  "Shirley Patagorski, please."
	 The number rang until the receptionist came back on, "Ms. Patagorski doesn't seem to be answering, would you like her voice mail?"
	"No thank you." Lena responded.  "Can you connect me with Ms. Sauturne's secretary?"
	"Certainly."
	"Rebecca Sauturne's office." the secretary was a man, with a polite, nebbish voice.
	"This is Sandi Wonder at Work-Digital.  I just tried Shirley Patagorski's number and she didn't answer.  Did she come in today?"
	"Yes, certainly.  She's in with Ms. Sauturne now.  I'm afraid they'll be involved another hour, then may go for lunch.  Would you like to leave a message?"
	Lena gave Francois a thumb's up.  "No.  It's nothing urgent.  I'll try later."  She hung up.
	Francois mused.  "Maybe I should make it look like somebody crudely broke in?"
	"Might protect her from Sauturne if this doesn't work."

	They went out for a Thai lunch, then split up--Francois about his business and Andi and Lena back home to close out the project, packing things up as best they could and locking the more delicate files in a back corner of their basement.  Andi slipped off to her Mom's to sit beside her quiet figure for almost an hour--awash with memories and all that left unsaid.
	Just at quitting time they got a call from a police intern; they could re-enter their office.  It was dismal, the rug was gone, but Armando's blood still marked the floor and their files lay spilled and mixed across the floor.  They turned chairs upright, roughly piled the paperwork and tossed out the wilted flowers before pulling the broken door closed behind them.  It would have to wait for daylight hours.

	Wednesday morning at quarter to seven, Nancy phoned.  Andi's Mom had breathed her last sometime that AM--that wait was over.  It was a muted blow on already numbed flesh.  Andi felt deadened, not anguished as she called Cinny, only to find Nancy had already called her.  She was getting a ticket to come up tomorrow.  Neither of them felt like talking.
	Andi mumbled to Lena that she wanted to be alone and walked through the rain, returning subdued and silent.  Fussing about dry clothes was as much concession as she would allow.  Then they drove to her mother's apartment, but there was no privacy; a team of policemen and the coroner's crew were there.  Even pre-choreographed, the process took forever.  With her mothers's body finally away, they returned to the office--it took into the evening to sort files and straighten the mess.

	Thursday morning, Ramirez called.  "Sorry about your Mother, Wicksham."
	"Thanks, Ramirez."
	"Seen a morning paper?"
	"No."
	"Want the latest on your client Armando?"
	Andi took a deep breath and let it out.  "We gave up the investigation when he died."
	"That so?  A couple of days back we got a phone call from an employee at Riparian."  He paused politely for comment.  "Actually it was a computer conversation."  Another moment withered unused.  "You'd see it on the first page if you had a paper, an employee blew the whistle.  Not only talked, she sent Max memos and notes in neat packages all sorted out and annotated.  Seems to have even figured who pulled the trigger on Tuft, Rasheed and Delgatto...even connected the DEQ deaths with documentation."
	"So you didn't need me after all, did you?"
	"Naw.  It was enough for open-ended warrants.  Went in with the fed's last night and sealed their files and the Feds are footing the bill for digging through it.  All the key players were arrested and denied bail.  Since we got their computers under lock and key, the DA'll use the original files so the whistle blower won't ever appear."
	"That so?" Andi gratefully released her breath.
	"Yeah.  But even stranger than that she knew about things she couldn't of as just a sys-op is that she denies ever blowing the whistle.  Says somebody must have done it in her name.  Isn't that strange?"
	"Stretches credibility." granted Andi dryly.
	"Not only that, the very same attorney that negotiated for your friend Sam showed up demanding this employee and her family gets Cadillac witness protection if her name's even whispered.  And even stranger yet, the attorney claims her fee's already been picked up, just like with Sam and the other witness.  Isn't that a coincidence?  It is a coincidence, isn't it Wicksham?"
	"What else could it be?"  
	"Gee, I don't know.  I'm just glad it's done with."
	"Is there anything else?"
	"What are you doing weekend after next?  Tanya's talking up dinner."
	"Unless you're in Victoria, BC, it ain't going to happen." Andi grumbled.  "Lena's booked us out of town for a week and a half starting Monday.  She won't let me bring anything work related."
	"Sounds appropriate."
	"She called all our clients, demanding they not offer me work."
	"Life is tough, Wicksham...sometimes you just got to roll with the punches."

THE END