Dark Waters, page 2
AND ACROSS THE isthmus, in bed beside Dewey Raintree, Patty Patilia felt a very similar satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWO
POSTED BY THE Lady to the Lady of the Lakes blog:
Summer’s here, and the time is right for dancing on the isthmus. With the kidnapper dead and gone, we can enjoy the street fairs, neighborhood festivals, and other good times without looking over our shoulders. But remember to keep your eyes open, and if anything strange or dangerous happens, let the Lady know.
ETHAN WALKER LOOKED out his office window at the capitol dome. The seat of Wisconsin’s government loomed large over him in every sense, its fingers reaching more and more into the private sector as it sought to stem the worsening economic chaos that gripped the whole country. Ethan’s company, Walker Construction, had avoided the worst so far; he’d downsized a bit, and some anticipated contracts had fallen through. It was a whole hell of a lot better than the situation faced by some of his competition, and Ethan wished he could take credit for it, but it was really just the luck of the draw. Soon he’d need work just like the rest of them, and he had no idea where it might come from.
Ethan was a big man, broad-shouldered and muscular. He’d served in the army during the first days of the Iraq War, and had avoided the stop-loss trap that snared so many of his fellow enlistees. He’d kept in shape since returning to civilian life, channeling a lot of unruly emotions into his gym routine. It kept him focused on what really mattered.
He had dark hair that tended to flop boyishly over his forehead, making him look younger than his twenty-nine years. But he also had the calm center instilled by his youth spent learning responsibility and trustworthiness on a large dairy farm. It was that center that kept him from the excesses of war and led him to help bring a fellow soldier to justice for rape and murder. Some from his unit—the kind of men who laughed when human beings died—considered him a traitor and a coward. But he lost no sleep over that, or over their threats of vengeance.
Now he tried to keep his thoughts on work, and not on the thing that he did lose sleep over: the aching loneliness he’d felt since Rachel Matre broke up with him. “Broke up” was probably an overstatement: They’d had one date, one night of amazing sex, and then she’d been kidnapped by Arlin Korbus. To help rescue her, Ethan had contacted her lake spirits, baring himself emotionally and physically to their ministrations. The whole experience had been overwhelming, and he still awoke sometimes in the middle of the night, rock-hard and sweating, as the intimate touch of that watery mouth returned in his dreams.
Of course there was no one with whom he could talk about it. His father would simply tune him out. His brother Marty the cop would have him committed. And his former girlfriend Julie … well, the less he saw of her, the better. He did not trust her, or himself when he was around her.
He looked at his appointment book and frowned. He didn’t remember seeing this on the schedule yesterday. He went to his office door and said, “Ambika, what’s this ten-thirty appointment?”
“That would be Mr. Garrett Bloom,” his office manager said in her lilting Hindi accent. “The phone was ringing when I got here this morning. He was most insistent that he see you today.”
Ethan’s stomach plummeted. “Garrett Bloom? Really?”
“Oh, yes. The immensely important Garrett Bloom wants a few minutes of your time for something that might benefit the community as a whole. Those were his exact words, and all I could get out of him.”
“Did he sound angry?”
“Oh, no, he was perfectly charming. And he has the knack of filling up any silence so it’s hard to get a word in.” There was both annoyance and professional admiration in her voice; Ambika prided herself on keeping control of any verbal exchange. “I told him you could spare fifteen minutes. I have no doubt he can talk that long without pausing for breath more than once.”
“He’s a local legend, Ambika. And he does a lot of good work.” And he gets in the way of lucrative projects like the ones I need to get, he added in his head. And he isn’t above showing up with a TV crew in tow to put “greedy profiteers” on the spot. Oh boy.
“I have no opinion,” she said, her opinion coming through very clearly in her tone, “but he did not sound angry. Rather pleased with himself but not angry.”
Ethan smiled. “Okay. Send him right in when he gets here.”
He went back into his office and opened his laptop almost gratefully. Preparing for a last-minute meeting with someone like Bloom should certainly keep his mind off his broken heart. He typed Bloom’s name into the search engine. He knew Bloom’s background, of course, but wanted to be fresh on the details.
He clicked through the splash page with the letters PBN in a Java logo. Then the man’s face popped up on his business’s main webpage: tanned skin, immaculate hair, tie knotted to perfection. His mustache was so even it looked as if it had been drawn on with a pen. He radiated trust and benevolence, which befitted the motto written beneath the image: This is our community, and we should have a voice in how it changes.
Ethan methodically checked the links along the bottom: About, Projects, Comments, Contact. Bloom called himself a “community activist,” battling attempts to alter the basic nature of Madison’s downtown isthmus. He’d unsuccessfully fought the condo project Ethan’s company was now building, and succeeded in getting Walgreens to relocate its newest store to avoid tearing down a street’s worth of old buildings. There was a PayPal link that solicited donations, but Ethan knew Bloom didn’t hurt for working capital. After all this time working with the Madison power structure, the man was as connected as a male octopus in mating season.
Under the Current Activity tab, Ethan found links to a pollution cleanup, a drive to distribute free soap to the downtown homeless shelters, a push to overcome the state attorney general’s religious-based resistance to sex education in schools, and a petition asking the local Catholic bishop to apologize for inflammatory remarks about victims of priestly abuse. He seemed to have no bone to pick with any current construction projects.
Ethan closed that window and clicked the bookmark for the Lady of the Lakes blog. This was the unofficial source for everything on the isthmus, and its anonymous Lady seemed to know everyone’s dirty laundry. He put Bloom’s name in the search box and read the half-dozen entries that mentioned him. Four praised his efforts on behalf of local residents; two criticized his alleged womanizing, but numerous women jumped to his defense in the comments.
On a whim, Ethan put his own name into the search box. There were no results. He couldn’t say why, but this annoyed him. He was involved in those controversial condominium projects, not to mention his role in rescuing the victims of Arlin Korbus, the mad tattooist. The news had mentioned him, although only tangentially, focusing instead on Rachel Matre’s heroics. Wasn’t he worth at least a comment?
He shook off those thoughts and returned to the immediate problem. Why did Bloom want to see him? Was he coming as a friend or as a foe?
ETHAN CAME AROUND his desk and shook Garrett Bloom’s hand. In person, he was as tall as Ethan, and as neat, tanned, and slicked into perfection as he was in his photograph. “Congratulations,” Bloom said at once.
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve chosen you for my newest project.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. Do you know the old mental hospital on Atwood down by Olbrich Park? Just past the gardens, down the hill from the road?”
“Yeah, I know it. It was called Parkside, right?”
Bloom snapped his fingers and touched the tip of his nose. “That’s the one.”
The building always looked more like a prison than a hospital to Ethan, which reflected the attitude toward mental health care during its years of operation. The Mendota Mental Health Institute on the north side eventually absorbed Parkside’s patients, and the building stood vacant for several years, gradually falling into disrepair. It was now little more than a shell, used by addicts and others for illicit activities.
Bloom continued, “We’ve bought it, and we want it renovated into a community center. That whole area is underserved, and deserves more than it’s got. And you’re the contractor we’ve chosen to do it.”
“Really? Don’t you need to take bids, or—”
Bloom waved his hand as if shooing flies. “Not with private financing like we have. We can hire whoever we want, and we want you.”
Ethan was speechless for a moment. “I’m flattered,” he said at last.
“Don’t be,” Bloom said with a smile. “It’s going to be a mess, politically and publicly. There’s a reason nobody’s done this before.”
“Which is?”
“The land is tied up in litigation over its possible Native American significance. But I’m pretty sure I can get around that in a way that will benefit everyone.”
Ethan knew the difficulties that came with this sort of project. After centuries of disenfranchisement, Native Americans were not hesitant to use the courts to stop what they perceived as desecration. Truthfully, Ethan didn’t blame them, but he had no desire to get tangled up in it. “ ‘Pretty sure’ still leaves an awful lot of leeway,” he said guardedly.
Bloom turned serious. “I’m ‘pretty sure’ enough to have raised twelve million dollars in funding. I wouldn’t waste my time doing that if I thought it would fall apart. I respect the native tribes and what’s been done to them; I have no interest in profiting at their expense.”
“Me neither,” Ethan said. Twelve million dollars, he thought, and tried not to smile.
“Then we’re on the same page. Have your lawyer contact my lawyer and we’ll get the contracts drawn up.”
“Okay. But I have to ask: Why me?”
“We want a solid local firm with a history of conscientiousness. The only thing is, I’d like to get started almost immediately. Can you do that?”
“Do you have the plans?”
“I’ll have the architect send them over.”
“Then I’ll look at them immediately and get back to you.”
Bloom smiled and touched his nose again. “I knew you were the right man for the job, Ethan. May I call you Ethan?”
For twelve million dollars, Ethan thought, you can call me Princess. “Sure.”
“Now, I’ll need some biographical information for my website and the press. Stuff to show how environmentally conscious you are.”
Although he never deliberately tried to destroy anything he didn’t have to, Ethan certainly met no environmentalist’s definition of green. “Who said I was?”
“It’s just image. I know you’re conscientious, but we want to accent it. Not,” he said with sudden seriousness, “lie about it. I won’t tolerate that. But you employ legal immigrant labor, you’ve worked to keep the character of neighborhoods, you’ve kept your buildings within environmental codes …”
“None of those were my ideas, though. It’s just what the jobs entailed.”
“Still, you did them and they count. And didn’t you grow up on a dairy farm?”
“That’s right, over in Monroe.”
“And there was something else.…”
“I served in the Iraq War?”
“Yes, that’s definitely a positive. But it was something else.…” At last Bloom snapped his fingers and touched his nose again. “Your brother, that’s right. Well, your adopted brother.”
“He’s my brother,” Ethan said with certainty.
“Of course, of course. Isn’t he Asian?”
Ethan nodded. “He’s Hmong. Originally from Laos.”
“And he’s gay, right?”
Ethan tried not to wince at the thought that Bloom knew so much about his family. Of course the man would’ve checked him out, but still … “Yes. But seriously, I don’t want him brought into this.”
“You’re not ashamed of him, are you?” Bloom said with sudden outrage.
“No!” Ethan almost shouted. Then he caught himself. “He’s a cop, that’s all. He’s got his own job to consider.”
“Oh,” Bloom said. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”
“But he is off-limits,” Ethan repeated.
Bloom waved his hands. “Of course, of course. We have plenty to work with anyway. This will be a pleasure. We’ll be in touch soon. As I said, we want to move quickly on this.”
After Bloom left, Ethan sat behind his desk, staring into space, wondering if the meeting had really happened. Twelve-million-dollar contracts didn’t just fall from the sky, yet this one did. And it was attached to a public figure whose notoriety might push Ethan’s firm to the front of a lot of lists.
When he looked up, Ambika stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. “You’re happy to get this man’s business, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I’m happy to get any business. Why?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I can’t put my finger on it at the moment. But there’s something … off about him.”
“He’s a politician. Maybe it’s just the company he keeps.”
“No, it’s him. I’m sure. I have a good sense for these things.”
He looked at her dubiously, but she only raised her chin and looked at him with faux seriousness. “Others have thought as you do, sahib. They have learned not to underestimate my powers.”
ETHAN WALKED DOWN State Street to Michelangelo’s Coffee Shop, got a latte, and sat in the corner with his laptop. He tapped in Bloom’s name again and pulled up some of the past projects the man had been involved in, wanting to get more detail than his earlier cursory examination. He hated to admit it, but Ambika’s warning had him a bit spooked; it was out of character, and therefore significant.
Before he could get started, though, a new voice said, “You shouldn’t look at lesbian biker porn in public, don’t you know that?”
Ethan looked up. Standing over him was a tall, athletic-looking black man in a business suit. “You know me too well,” Ethan said, and stood to shake the offered hand.
Kenny Hickman turned the chair opposite Ethan’s and straddled it. “I came by your office, and Ambika said I’d find you here. I think she’s starting to like me; she only rolled her eyes at me once.”
“She’s actually very nice. She’s just protective.”
“Like a mama wolverine. So what’s been happening?”
Ethan had known Hickman long enough to trust his discretion. “Apparently I just won the contract for a new lakeside community center on the site of the old Parkside Mental Hospital.”
“ ‘Apparently’?”
“I didn’t even know it was on the drawing board, or that I was in the running for it. I’m still not sure it’s for real.”
“How long has that place been sitting empty anyway?”
“Years. They don’t even have flea markets in it anymore. I’ll have to check to see if an asbestos crew needs to clean it up first.”
“And who’s behind this pleasant surprise?”
“Garrett Bloom.”
“Wow,” Hickman deadpanned. “Did he let you feel the holes where the crucifixion nails went in?”
“What?”
“He’s got a savior complex. Or a martyr one.”
“You don’t believe somebody can just care about other people and want to help them?”
“No.”
“Well, I do. Besides, I’m just tearing down one building and putting another one in the same place. I don’t even think the zoning needs to change.”
“Just don’t sign anything without reading it,” Hickman said.
“I never do.”
Their discussion turned to sports, then inevitably to women. After Hickman left, Ethan got online again and read through the critics of Bloom’s methods. Yet they were overwhelmed by his seriously high-profile supporters, from Wisconsin’s most liberal senator to that great beacon of hope and justice, Angelina Jolie. And his projects had ushered in a new era of environmentally friendly building that truthfully had bedeviled Ethan ever since he started his own business.
He switched back to the Lady of the Lakes blog and read through the latest posts. Minor scandals, a reported series of burglaries, nothing he couldn’t also find in the newspaper or other legitimate sources. Had Madison simply calmed down in the last two months since the Korbus affair, or had the Lady’s thumb slipped from the isthmus’s pulse?
And then, unbidden as always, came thoughts of Rachel Matre. His body responded to her memory as it always did, and he had to uncross his legs to stay comfortable. His torrid encounter with her seemed as fresh and vivid as if it had happened last night, not two months ago. Her mouth, her breasts, the soft curls between her thighs, all filled his senses with desire and longing more intense than any he’d ever felt before. Worse still were the emotions they wrought—feelings that he could neither express nor endure.
And yet he’d promised to stay away. She needed time, she said, to recover from the awful things Arlin Korbus had put her through. And Ethan had agreed, because he imagined it would take weeks, not months. Now he had to face the very real possibility that she might never call, and he would never again be allowed to touch her.
And for some reason, that made his belly knot up with anxiety harder than even the worst firefight he’d experienced in Iraq.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE FIRST time since she’d been abducted and forcibly tattooed two months earlier, Rachel got through a whole breakfast shift without catching anyone staring at her.
When she first came back to the diner after being released from the hospital, the scrutiny had been startling. She knew there would be some interest: She’d been on television, in the papers, and on the Internet. It wasn’t every day a mere diner owner, let alone a female one, single-handedly killed the man who’d terrorized the city with his kidnapping spree. It made sense that people would want to look her over.
And look they did. The diner was packed for that first week, with people lined up outside the door, waiting for seats. The regulars, deprived of their usual positions at the counter or tables, simply stopped showing up. The very faces that would’ve comforted her most were replaced by strangers, most of them from the university, and all of them with the social skills prevalent in the Internet age. They stared and talked about her as if she couldn’t hear them, the way they would’ve if she’d been a video on YouTube.
