Mara Lantern: Broken Realms Part 5

"We could pull over here at the falls, and I can drive if you want."

"No, I've had my quota of river gazing for the week."

Without slowing, they whipped past the large brown sign t.i.tled Oregon History that marked the tourist-viewing area overlooking Willamette Falls. Abby stared toward the river and the old industrial buildings cl.u.s.tered on the far side of the river. Mara kept her eyes on the line in the middle of the road.

"You never answered me about biking tomorrow," Abby said.

"I'll call Bruce to let him know we're still on."

"Think your mom will let you?"

"I'll chuck a couple crystals in my f.a.n.n.y pack. It'll all be good."

CHAPTER 8.

BOHANNON GRIPPED THE steering wheel tight enough to keep his hands from shaking as he turned off the highway into a knot of intersections and poorly placed median strips near Foster Road. He had had to swerve twice to avoid oncoming traffic, getting so rattled at one point that he wasn't sure if he was in the wrong lane or the cars in front of him were.

Suter didn't seem to notice and spent the ride rubbing his fingers over his pockmarked cheeks and his thick black eyebrows, as if his skin itched but he didn't want to use his nails to scratch. He had been silent since they had left Gresham.

At a red light in front of a payday loan store, Bohannon turned to him. "So what the h.e.l.l was that all about?"

"You mean the housewife scaling and jumping off a three-story apartment building?" Suter asked.

"We'll get to that in a minute. I mean the gun. She wasn't threatening anyone."

"You didn't find that conduct threatening?"

"Not directly, no. Not enough to justify shooting someone."

"I didn't shoot anyone. I was acting with an abundance of caution."

"You and I have a different idea of caution." Bohannon's phone buzzed, and he hit the hands-free b.u.t.ton.

"They found my wife at the convenience store down the road," said Mark Bartkowski.

"How is she?" Bohannon asked.

"She's fine. She was eating a box of snack cakes and downing a big cola, pleasant as can be. Not a scratch on her. I didn't tell the cops what happened, just that she was acting crazy. She agreed to go to the hospital for observation as long as I agreed to bring food."

"That's great. Good luck, Mr. Bartkowski."

Bohannon hit the Disconnect b.u.t.ton and glanced over to Suter in the pa.s.senger seat. "So what was going on with her anyway?"

"I have no idea. I've never seen anything like it," Suter said.

"You have no idea, or you have no idea you're willing to share?"

"Look, there are some details about the crash that need to be kept quiet for the time being. Pirelli told me that he explained it to you. As far as what went on back there, I'm as perplexed as you. Let's hope we can get through the interview with Mrs. Gonzales without any acrobatics."

Marisol Gonzales's pink two-bedroom house was in the middle of a clean lower-middle-cla.s.s block in Portland's Brentwood-Darlington neighborhood. She and her husband sat on a small sofa in their living room when the investigators walked up to the front door. The door itself was open, but a screen door covered the entrance. When the two investigators knocked, the fiftysomething olive-skinned woman with a thick braid over her left shoulder stood up and shuffled to the door.

"You must be the crash investigators," she said, pus.h.i.+ng open the door. "I'm Marisol, and this is my husband, Miquel." She pointed to the wiry, dark-skinned man on the worn flower-print couch. He nodded once and looked down at his hands.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Special Agent Ethan Suter, and this is Detective Daniel Bohannon. We are working on the investigation of Flight 559, trying to figure out what caused the accident. Would you mind answering a few questions for us?"

She nodded and pointed to a pair of tattered gray high-backed armchairs across from the couch. "Of course."

"Mrs. Gonzales, as your flight was boarding and taking off, did you notice anything unusual? Was anyone acting strangely or out of place?" Suter asked.

"Not when we were boarding. That was normal," she said. "After the flight took off, there were strange lights inside the plane."

"You mean in the panels above your head?"

"No, there was a blue light. It flashed off and on, like a strobe. It was very strange. It started after takeoff."

"Where did this light come from?"

"I'm not sure. It was hard to tell. There was a commotion in the aisle behind me, but, after people got scared, it was hard to tell anything. There was a lot of crying and yelling, people moving around. It was difficult to see what was happening," she said. She turned to look at her husband and said, "If you are so bored, why don't you go out back and sweep off the porch?"

Miquel opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted.

"No, it is not woman's work."

He tried again.

"I will not stop."

"You need to stop arguing with me when I haven't said anything," he said and walked out of the room.

"He hates it that I know his mind," she said to the investigators.

"You know his mind?" Suter asked.

"I know his thoughts," she said. "We are bonded."

Suter looked to the detective to see if he understood the woman.

Bohannon shrugged.

"Anyway, back to the flight. You saw this flas.h.i.+ng light, and there was a commotion. Were they related? Did they come from the same part of the plane?"

"It was impossible to tell. There was so much noise, and we were scared to death."

"I understand. Was there anything about this light that made you think it might have caused the accident?"

"I don't know. Once the plane started falling, I couldn't think straight. We were going down so fast that I could not breathe. I think, at one point, I fainted. I could not take a breath, we were going down so rapidly."

Bohannon's phone rang. He excused himself and walked out the front door. Once outside he stepped down off the small porch onto the pebble sidewalk that ran to the street. He took several steps away from the house and tapped an icon on his phone.

"Please tell me that you have something better for me to do," he said, noticing his lieutenant's name on the screen.

"You're a little green to be having an att.i.tude already." There was no humor in his voice.

"Sorry. This isn't what I envisioned my first day would be like."

"You mean you didn't envision this is what your first month would be like. They've requested you for four weeks. They're even reimbursing the city for your time, so we're leasing you out."

"But-"

"No buts. You're working with the Feds. That's got to have some educational value to a new detective," he said. "There'll still be plenty of crimes for you to bust when you get back. Email me a weekly report so I know you're not slacking off." He hung up.

Bohannon stared back at the little house flanked by rhododendrons and a patchy lawn, in no hurry to go back inside. An eighteen-inch faded blue-and-white Virgin Mary statue stood near the right corner of the house, next to a worn dirt path leading to the back of the house. Brush hanging over the neighbor's fence obscured the view.

Someone hissed at him from the foliage.

He leaned over to get a better look down the path.

A hand reached out and pulled away a branch. Miquel held a finger to his lips and beckoned the detective to follow.

"What can I do for you?" Bohannon asked after he had followed Miquel to the backyard.

"There is something strange going on with her." Miquel nodded his head sideways toward the house.

"You mean your wife?"

"Yes. But that woman is not my wife. She looks like my wife, but she certainly doesn't act like her."

"What do you mean?"

Miquel looked over his shoulder at the house. "My wife is very quiet, not opinionated or outspoken. This one talks all the time, for both of us. She says what she thinks, and she says what I think, even before I can."

"You mean she tries to tell you what to think. There are some wives who do that, right?"

"No. I know it's crazy, but she knows. When I wake up in the morning, she knows what I dreamed. When I have a new idea or have read something interesting, she tells me before I tell her."

"Mr. Gonzales-"

"I am not lying. She knows what I'm thinking."

"Okay," Bohannon said, trying to keep doubt out of his voice.

"I can prove it to you," Miguel said. "She's going to get mad at me for doing this, but it's the only way to show you. Take out your driver's license."

"What?"

"Let me see your driver's license."

Bohannon shook his head but still reached for his wallet. "Okay, but I'm not sure what this has to do with anything." He pulled out the card and held it up to Miquel.

Miquel stared at it and said, "Two, four, eight, two, nine, nine, seven." He closed his eyes and repeated it. "Okay, let's go inside."

Bohannon followed him into the back door. In the living room, Suter nodded as Marisol praised the rescuers who had pulled her out of the river. She stopped when they sat down.

"Why would Miquel care what your driver's license number is?" she said to Bohannon.

Suter raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know the number?" Bohannon asked.

"Two, four, eight, two, nine, nine, seven. Why?"

Bohannon looked at Suter. "Did she leave or use her cell phone or anything in the last five minutes or so?"

"No." Suter narrowed his eyes.

"Mrs. Gonzales, do you think you can read your husband's mind?"

"Of course, he's my husband."

"Can you read my mind?"

"Of course not. I'm bonded to Miquel, not you."

"Okay, thank you." Bohannon nodded to Suter. "Sorry to interrupt. I've got to return a call."

"We're almost done here," Suter said. "I'll meet you out front." He looked like he wanted to get out of there.

Miquel had returned to the backyard and walked around to the front this time to talk to Bohannon. "See? See what she does? That is not my wife."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Gonzales. Maybe you should take your wife in for an examination or counseling. You don't really think she can read your mind, do you?"

"This has been going on for five days. I haven't had a private thought since she got back."

"Even if it's true, there's nothing we can do about it. It's not against the law to read your husband's mind."

"What if someone took my wife? That's against the law. She is not my wife," Miquel said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the house. "If someone took my wife, that is a crime, right?"

"Mr. Gonzales, get some counseling for your wife. She has been through a lot. Maybe go with her. Surviving a plane crash is a terrifying, life-altering event."