The Rivers Run Dry Read Online Free Page B

directly below a picture window that framed Seattle’s nightline, a man and a woman ate dinner. The round table was covered by a starched white tablecloth. Steaks were on their plates.
    â€œNo, thank you, Sequoia,” the man said. “We’ll call you back.”
    Sequoia closed the door without looking at me.
    The man lifted a decanter of red wine, refilling their glasses. The woman beside him had a languid posture that reminded me of a waterfall. She lifted her glass, staring at me over the crystal edge, while the man cut a bite from his rare steak, then pushed back his chair.
    â€œRaleigh Harmon, was that it?” He was still chewing as he extended his hand.
    â€œYes, sir.” His skin felt like pumice.
    â€œMartin VanAlstyne.”
    â€œNice to meet you, sir.”
    â€œThis is my lovely wife, Alex.”
    Alex VanAlstyne lowered her sculpted chin just enough to acknowledge the introduction.
    â€œPerhaps you’ll be able to tell us what the FBI is doing to find our daughter,” he said.
    â€œSir, the Issaquah police are in charge of this case. We were called in for forensic tests only.” I carefully explained that unless a federal crime was committed, the case would remain in Issaquah’s jurisdiction, although we would help in any way possible.
    â€œBut a federal crime has been committed,” he said. “Our daughter was kidnapped.”
    â€œDid you receive a note?”
    His body was wiry, younger than the face etched with fur-rows. He seemed to twist with coiled fury. “No, we don’t have a note. But we have every reason to believe she’s been kidnapped.”
    I glanced at the wife. Her wineglass poised in her hand, she watched her husband.
    â€œAnd what reasons are those?” I asked.
    â€œMoney,” he said. “What else? My daughter’s life is worth a good deal of money, Miss Harmon.”
    I nodded, as if agreeing with his theory. “And the last time you saw your daughter was . . . when?”
    â€œSaturday evening.”
    It was the woman who spoke. Her dull voice was somehow alluring, the sound of steady wind over an open field. “It was close to 6:00 p.m.,” she continued. “We were getting ready for the symphony. Courtney stopped by. And then we went out.”
    â€œWhy did she stop by?”
    â€œNo reason in particular. We talked. My husband and I left, Courtney left after us. I spoke to her again Sunday morning, on her cell phone. She was on her way to the math library at the university.”
    â€œMy wife and daughter speak to each other several times a day,” Mr. VanAlstyne said. “Our daughter has never gone a single day without contacting us. It’s been two days since we heard from her and her car is sitting at Cougar Mountain. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”
    I assured him it was highly suspicious. “But in the eyes of the law your daughter is considered an adult. Which means she wasn’t officially missing until yesterday, twenty-four hours after you spoke to her.”
    â€œThis is complete idiocy,” he said. “Your legalistic perception has nothing to do with what’s actually happened. How can you stand here and say these things?”
    â€œSir, I understand your frustration, but until the evidence says otherwise, the Issaquah police will have to handle the case.” I also explained that the FBI doesn’t automatically get involved with kidnappings unless there’s extortion or the kidnapper crosses state lines.
    â€œYou’re telling me the FBI isn’t going to help us?”
    â€œSir, is it possible that your daughter went—”
    â€œNo,” he interrupted.
    â€œShe was going to the math library,” the wife said. “She would have told me if she was going somewhere else.”
    â€œPerhaps somebody has seen her,” I said. “The media can help publicize her disappear—”
    â€œNo,”