“This is John Walsdorf, Charlie,” Sally said. “He manages the club.”

Behind the club manager were two hefty security guards dressed in blue blazers, black turtlenecks, and gray slacks. They fixed on Delmar and Werner, who paid no attention to them.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sun,” said Walsdorf, a short, balding man with a narrow mustache, whose paunch was hidden under a buttoned suit jacket. He eyed Charlie’s bodyguard and Gary’s scary companion nervously.

“It’s a privilege to be invited to speak at this august institution,” Charlie brown-nosed.

“We’ve already got a good crowd,” Walsdorf told him.

“Great,” Mickey Keys chimed in.

“Why don’t I show you where you’re going to speak?” Sally offered.

She started toward the front door of the clubhouse, then froze. Walsdorf followed her gaze and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man bearing down on them from the direction of the parking lot. He recognized him immediately.

United States Congressman Arnold Pope Jr. was an ex-Marine and he looked like he was still in training. His stride was purposeful and his brown eyes were fixed on his wife. The open top button of his dress shirt, the tie that hung at half-mast, and the congressman’s flushed face were hints that Pope was not in full control of his emotions.

“Is this the latest boyfriend?” Pope barked angrily.

Sally stared at him with disdain. “I didn’t know you planned to join us, Arnie.”

“Caught off guard?” Pope said.

“Not in the least, dear. You know you’re always welcome to join me. The only surprise is that you’ve shown up at something I’m hosting. I see so little of you.”

Pope shifted his attention to Charlie. “You’re the guru, right?”

Charlie laughed nervously. “That’s what the newspapers are calling me.”

“What does your religion say about adultery?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, you little prick.”

“Do we have to do this here?” Sally asked.

“Where do you want to do it, in our bedroom or this punk’s hotel room?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally answered coldly.

Pope pulled an envelope from his suit jacket’s inside pocket and took a stack of photographs out of it. Pope held up a snapshot that showed Charlie and Sally groping each other in the foyer of the Popes’ home. Seconds after Sally realized that the shot had been taken through one of her front windows, Pope threw the photographs at her. Then he punched Charlie in the face.

The limo driver rushed out of the way. Charlie staggered into Delmar. Delmar pulled Charlie behind him and hit the congressman in the solar plexus. Pope dropped to one knee seconds before one of the security guards slammed into Delmar, who brought his knee up between the guard’s legs. The guard turned pale and Delmar swung him into his partner, who crashed into Werner Rollins.

John Walsdorf scurried to safety and tripped, tumbling to the ground. Delmar and Werner Rollins were fighting with the security guards in the area between the turnaround and the parking lot. The crowd cleared a space around them. Charlie and Gary Hass backed around the traffic circle until they were far enough from the fight to be cloaked in shadow. Walsdorf saw Rollins knock one of the guards to the asphalt, making sure the guard was down, before joining Gary and Charlie.

Seconds later, Walsdorf saw Delmar Epps deliver a high karate kick to the head of the other security guard. Delmar watched the guard crumple to the pavement, then joined the group standing in the shadows just as Arnold Pope swore at Charlie and charged.

“Don’t, Arnie!” Sally yelled.

The club manager saw flame flash from the general area where Charlie was standing just before Sally reached the congressman. An instant later a gunshot silenced the crowd. Arnold Pope stopped moving. He looked stunned. Then he staggered forward a few paces, wobbled in place, and stared at his shirt-front, which was slowly turning red. Pope dropped to his knees. A woman screamed. Sally ran to her husband. Delmar yelled, “Go, go.” Walsdorf heard car doors slam. Seconds later, the limo drove away but Walsdorf didn’t look to see where it was going. He was staring at Arnold Pope Jr., who showed no signs of life.

Twenty-five minutes later, John Walsdorf learned that one of the officers had found an ivory-handled Ruger.357 Magnum Vaquero revolver lying in the shadows where Charlie Marsh had been standing.

CHAPTER 16

The Westmont Country Club complex straddled two counties. Most of the members lived in populous, urban Multnomah County, but most of the club grounds, including the clubhouse, were in Washington County, where sprawling bedroom communities, high-tech companies, and large areas of farmland coexisted uneasily. Karl Burdett was an athletic thirty-two-year-old with sandy blond hair and a confident smile. The newly elected district attorney for Washington County, a staunch conservative, had narrowly defeated a moderate candidate in last fall’s election. His most important backer was Arnold Pope Sr., and Burdett had jumped into his car as soon as the wealthiest man in the county summoned him.

Of course, Pope had not summoned the DA himself. The call had come from Derrick Barclay, Pope’s personal assistant, a pompous little man whose presence set Burdett’s teeth on edge. Barclay had not told the district attorney why his employer wanted the audience and had not bothered to inquire whether the suggested time was convenient. He had assumed-quite correctly-that Burdett would cancel any conflicting appointments.

Even though Barclay had not stated the reason for the meeting, Burdett knew why Pope wanted to talk to him. The district attorney was charged with convicting Arnold Pope Jr.’s killer, and the old man was going to demand to be involved in the prosecution. Senior would never be put off by the quaint idea that the manipulation of the justice system by a private citizen was highly improper.

Senior had constructed his manor house of slate-gray Tenino sandstone on a high bluff overlooking the Columbia River. With its roof of red tile and parklike grounds, the mansion looked friendly and noble and had none of the personality of its owner. The grounds were surrounded by an ivy-covered brick wall that kept out the riffraff. Burdett used the call box at the gate and was admitted to the grounds. Derrick Barclay was waiting at the carved-oak front door. He was five feet eight, narrow, and had a pale complexion. Barclay’s lips were forever pursed, as if to let the world know that he found everything he encountered distasteful.

“Mr. Pope will see you in the study,” he said in a clipped, British accent. Burdett was tempted to answer, “Jolly good,” until he remembered that Barclay had the ear of his biggest campaign contributor.

Arnold Pope Sr. was pacing back and forth on a Persian rug when Barclay showed the DA into a high-ceilinged, book-lined room. A stone fireplace occupied one wall and a leaded-glass window looked out on a garden. Pope was a bear of a man, who had invested the money he made in timber in several fledgling high-tech companies that were now industry leaders. When the timber industry took a nose dive, Senior didn’t blink.

“Do you have him?” Pope asked without preamble.

“No, sir, but every law enforcement agency in the country is looking for Marsh. He won’t stay lost long.”

“What about that woman? Is she in custody?”

Burdett’s brow furrowed. “What woman?”

Pope stopped pacing. “That gold-digging bitch he married, the person who’s responsible for my son’s murder.”

“Sally Pope?” Burdett asked, puzzled by the suggestion that Junior’s wife had anything to do with the murder. “A number of very credible witnesses saw her when the congressman was shot. No one saw her with a gun.”

Pope glared at the district attorney. “Please don’t play stupid, Karl. You do know about ‘aiding and abetting’ and ‘conspiracy,’ or didn’t you pay attention in your criminal-law class?”