Archie was looking around, taking in his surroundings. Susan thought she could see his brain clearing. He wasn’t shaking as hard anymore. “This is the Steel Bridge?” he said.

Claire nodded.

“Henry,” Archie said. “Find Henry.”

Chapter 10

CHAPTER

10

The two women were alone.

The Herald reporter he recognized. Her photograph ran next to her column. The hair was a different color, but it was definitely Susan Ward. He would not have known her a week before, but he had studied her face since then, his fingertips tracing over the column he’d clipped until the newsprint smeared.

The other woman wore a gold badge around her neck.

He’d watched them move from the light into the dark of the plaza after the ambulance left.

They made him curious.

The organism of the crowd was reconfiguring itself, volunteers finding their way back to their stations at the seawall. Everyone was interested in something else—the cops in the edge of the bridge where the boy and man had been brought up; the TV crews in the witnesses; the National Guard soldiers in dispersing bystanders. No one noticed the two women in the dark.

Except for him.

The cop had a flashlight. He watched, didn’t move. He could see Susan Ward’s profile in the edge of the flashlight beam, and she reminded him of a squirrel in the road, equal parts focus and terror. The cop handed her something and Susan fiddled with it and then a slender beam of light appeared. A penlight. Its uselessness made him smile.

“What rock was it?” the cop asked.

“‘Mighty Willamette. Beautiful friend,’” Susan said. Her hair was a wet helmet around her head. She had a hood on her coat, but it was back, either forgotten or neglected. He could almost feel her shiver.

He knew the quote.

The plaza was centered on a cobblestone path that traveled beside a slanted stone wall. Rising out of the wall was a collection of carefully arranged stones in the style of a Japanese rock garden. A haiku was carved into each stone, like a collection of graves. A cherry orchard, as jagged and black as any nightmare, stretched the length of the path.

The women walked, and he followed. He stayed five feet behind, creeping along the grass at the edge of the path, the sound of his footsteps lost in the splatter of rain.

He was drawn to them.

“Search the ground,” the cop said. “In a grid pattern, like this.” He watched as she demonstrated, moving the circle of the flashlight’s beam up and down and then across on the path in front of them, and then on the stone embankment to the left and the grass to the right. Neither of the women saw him. The waterfront was noisy, and he moved slowly. He was used to the dark. Besides, they were focused on the ground, and the surrounding night was filled with shadows.