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Then.
Now, however, she was beginning to realize she must.
The Portland offices of Bancroft Development were on the east side of the Willamette River, near the Lloyd Center mall. Savannah nosed her Escape into a spot in the underground parking structure and took an elevator to the lobby, then a different elevator to the eleventh floor. Since it was Saturday, the building was generally deserted, except for the street-level establishments, which were on all four sides of the building and included two restaurants, a Starbucks, a women’s clothing store called Lacey’s, and a shop that sold all manner of kitchen items.
She glanced down at the list of names Hale and his employees had compiled for her:
Clark Russo
Sean Ingles
Neil Vledich
There were other names below those top three, as well. Nadine Gretz, the ex-bookkeeper. Owen DeWitt, the much-maligned ex–geological engineer. Bridget Townsend, the office receptionist. And then the temporary workmen Ella Blessert had mentioned.
Savvy concentrated on Clark Russo, the Portland project manager, whom Hale had said he would call. She had his number, as well, and debated about whether she should phone him directly with a reminder or just walk through the door. She opted for the latter, testing the glass doors to see if they were locked. They weren’t, and she pushed into a vacant reception area with several green chenille armchairs and a small sofa grouped near the west window, while a large reception desk took center stage. An anemic ficus tree stood in the corner behind the desk, and toward the other corner was a door that clearly led to further offices.
Since no one was at the desk, Savvy pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number she had for Clark Russo. It rang six times before going to voice mail. Oh, joy. She left a message, then wondered if the number might be to a cell phone and decided to try texting.
Mr. Russo, Hale St. Cloud said he would alert you that I was coming to see you. I’m Detective Savannah
Dunbar, and I’m waiting in the reception area of your offices.
If he was anywhere around, that ought to do
it. In the meantime she checked out the black-and-white photos lining the walls, which were of buildings in varying stages of completion, the last picture being of the fifteen-story edifice she was currently standing in. So, this building had been one of Bancroft Development’s projects. She realized then that one of the names listed at the bottom of the photographs was someone she was hoping to see: Sean Ingles, the architect.
Her cell phone blooped, and she knew she had a text. I’m delayed at a job site. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Russo.
Savannah made a face and eased herself into one of the chairs, relieved to find they were comfortable and supported her lower back. She felt tired, and for once, the peanut butter wasn’t doing it for her. There was a nagging little indigestion going on.
With time on her hands, her mind drifted back to Herman Smythe’s A Short History of the Colony. A lot of information about Catherine and Mary’s ancestors, but not much concerning the present. The girls’ names weren’t even listed, although she knew the first one was Isadora, and she’d met Cassandra/Margaret, Ravinia, and Lillibeth. She also knew of Lorelei, who, along with reporter Harrison Frost, had been instrumental in helping the TCSD track down Justice Turnbull after he’d escaped from Halo Valley Security Hospital. Lorelei was a nurse who’d lived outside of the Colony complex, and Savannah had heard she’d moved with Frost when he took a job in Portland. Lastly, there was another woman who lived in the Portland area, she thought, who was somehow connected to the Colony, but Savvy didn’t have any definitive information on her.
Lang was the one in the department who knew the most about the current clan, but he’d never mentioned anything about any sons of Mary’s, though Catherine had alluded to them. More than alluded. She’d intimated that they had stronger gifts that were harder to control and so they’d been shunted outside the gates. Savannah wasn’t sure exactly what Catherine had been trying to tell her, but she certainly wanted the knife tested, and with her talk about the boys who’d been adopted out and their “superpowers,” it stood to reason there must be some connection between the two. When she got the DNA off the knife, she’d be able to move forward.
Maybe she should try to interview Herman Smythe in person. It was worth a try, although after she was desk-bound on Monday, she wasn’t sure how much legwork she would be allowed to do. She knew he was at Seagull Pointe, a combined assisted living facility and nursing home. She could stop by this evening, maybe, when she got back to the coast.
Her cell phone rang its new default tone, the one Lang had chosen for her one day when he’d commandeered her phone for a while: “Dragnet.” Funny. Pulling the cell from her messenger bag, she examined the name. Hale St. Cloud.
“Savannah,” she answered.
“Hey, Savvy. How’re you doing? You on your way to Portland?”
“Already here, waiting to see Clark Russo.”
“He’s making you wait?”
“He’s on a job site, but on his way back. What’s up?”
He hesitated a moment, before saying, “I missed talking to Kristina this morning, and I wondered if she’d contacted you.”
“Not today. Why? Something wrong?”
“We’ve just been missing each other,” he said, but something in his tone caught Savvy’s attention.
“Did you see each other last night?” she asked.
“No, she had something to do, and I went to bed early.”
