He turned. Susan was standing, arms at her sides, staring at the crowd by the river. The sandbag brigade had disbanded and joined a huddled group pressed against the seawall, straining to see over it into the river. The sandbags lay where they’d dropped them, getting splattered with rain. There were maybe twenty backsides, more joining by the moment.

“There’s something going on,” Susan said.

Archie let go of the plastic and the man slid out of his hands back onto the bench.

People were pointing now, hollering for help. There was something in the river.

Archie ran. He got out his badge as he did, raising it up to show people as he elbowed them aside.

“There’s someone in the water,” a woman shouted.

A National Guard soldier, probably just out of high school, was at the center of the crowd, frantically scanning the dark river. Archie could see the anxiety in his face, the panic in the angle of his shoulders. Uniforms had a way of fooling people into thinking the wearer had a plan. Never mind that the kid was nineteen. He was probably terrified.

Besides, they’d never spot anyone in the dark.

Archie took control. He made his way to the soldier. “I’m a cop,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Carter, sir,” the soldier said.

Archie pointed out a nearby construction light. “Get that light over here.”

Carter nodded quickly and moved to reposition the light.

“Who saw this person?” Archie asked the crowd.

A woman in a nylon ski jacket raised her hand.

Archie could feel Susan at his shoulder. He wondered where Claire was, and hoped that she had secured the man in plastic. Archie didn’t want him to run.

“I saw someone,” the woman said. She pointed out at a spot ten yards from the edge of the river. “There.” Archie saw only blackness.

“Are you sure?” Archie asked. How anyone could see anything out there, he didn’t know.

“It was a person. I know it was a person.” Her voice was reedy with hysteria. Whatever she’d seen out there, she believed it was human.

Carter had rolled the light closer to the river’s edge.

Archie tried to calculate the speed of the current. If there was a person out there, he or she was probably under the Burnside Bridge by now. “Swing it over there,” he said.

In the sudden silence, the rain seemed to get louder. It pelted the slickers and nylon jackets. It bounced on the concrete. It ran down the back of Archie’s neck. It fell into the river, more and more water—the Willamette seemed to rise even as he looked at it. Archie squinted. The river surged north, a blur of dark, roiling current.

The Willamette in January was about forty-five degrees. In water that cold, you’d have maybe thirty minutes until you lost consciousness. An hour if you were strong and lucky.