Fire Trap

18 - Reinforcements

I met Arnie the following Christmas at a Portland Police Bureau party. He had been on the force four years and was disil- lusioned with the bureaucracy of police work and with the politics of advancement.

A year later, after working with me casually on several cases, he approached me about a job. I put him off saying I rarely had enough work for myself, but, if I needed help on a part-time basis, I would give him a call.

Almost immediately, I acquired a case with a great deal of footwork. I was tied up on another job and Arnie had his chance. He was dogged and resourceful in locating the guy and delivering the summons. I began to realize with his police background and contacts, he was more suited for certain kinds of investigations than I was. Shortly afterward, I contrived a full-time position for him. After a couple of years, a partnership. Somewhere during this process he became my friend and a second father to my kids.

I found myself smiling at the thought of Arnie's arrival.

#

I slept in and, after leaving the Park Plaza, I drove through the mounting sunshine to Palo Alto. It was lovely, but I could tell the day was going to be a scorcher. Human Resources at Genetrix revealed that Lester had taken the day off so I figured he would be in the cave over his garage.

His ancient green Volvo was the only car in the driveway. No one answered the doorbell so I walked around the side of the house and found a gate in the tall wooden fence. I stretched my arm over the top, found the latch and let myself into the backyard.

There was a kidney shaped pool of blue water in front of me. A faint breeze carried the scent of baking chlorine. Beyond the pool with its umbrella tables and chaises was a half-acre of lawn and gardens shaded by a thick oak and a very pretty magnolia tree. Madrones clumped in another corner, providing a barrier from the neighbors.

There was a gardener in a wide straw hat weeding a huge bed of roses between the pool and the madrones. He was working on his knees using a three-pronged hand-held hoe. I went over to see if he knew Lester's whereabouts. "Excuse me," I said from a little distance, not wanting to startle him.

It didn't work.

The gardener jumped in surprise, but as he turned toward me, I was equally startled. Lester was gardening. The last place I would have expected to find him, with his pasty yellow complexion, was out in the sun. Beneath the huge straw hat, he was wearing a long-sleeved silk shirt, gloves, long sweat pants and tennis shoes. The really strange part is that he didn't look uncomfortable in the growing heat of the day.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"Could we talk in the shade?"

He rapped the hoe on his shoe, knocking off dirt. We walked back to the pool and sat beneath one of the umbrellas. We faced the house where small palm trees framed the back deck. An elegant curve of redwood steps led from the deck to the pebbled concrete apron of the pool. I could have used a cool drink but Lester didn't offer one.

"I could see you were surprised to find me in the rose garden. You shouldn't have been. That patch of ground," he said, indicating the rose bed, "is a research site as active as the laboratories at Stanford or Genetrix, maybe more so. People have been breeding new strains of roses far longer than they have been splicing genes. It's very relaxing, working with roses."

"I'm sure it does wonders relieving the stress of working at

Genetrix."

"What do you mean?"

"With Simon gone, the responsibility of all the laboratories and research falls on you doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't find that stressful."