in the western Washington area, I’m pleased to present you with this.”
Shaw took and opened the envelope. Inside was a certificate on parchment paper, 5 by 7 inches, depicting a radiating cross and an image of Jesus in the center, looking earnest and kind and more than a little Aryan.
To Mr. Colter Shaw, for courage in championing the cause of Jesus Christ Our Savior.
In addition to the parchment sheet of paper, there was a check in the amount of $50,000.
In the law of contract, a binding agreement can be made by an offer and an acceptance—with words only. Fred promises to loan Sam money, and Sam promises to repay. Bang, that’s a contract, enforceable by both sides.
But a reward is a special kind of contract; it’s unilateral, meaning that it does not become binding until the reward seeker completes the job. Shaw had had no obligation to pursue the young men but once he’d succeeded, a contract magically came into existence, and he was owed the money.
That the facts at trial would probably show that the Ecumenical Council had posted a reward for tracking down the wrong individuals did not negate Shaw’s right to the money. They’d wanted Adam and Erick, and that’s whom they got. Shaw had collected perhaps three hundred or so rewards over the years. He didn’t think he’d ever earned one for a crime the suspect had not committed. Under other circumstances he might have returned it, or a portion, but not today.
Slarr: “Do you think in the last minutes of his life, Adam repented his sins?”
Shaw suspected not, largely because it appeared he hadn’t sinned at all. “One can only hope.”
“Amen,” Kitty McGregor said. They shook Shaw’s hand again and walked up the alley.
As he turned back to the Youngs, he heard a booming voice. “You son of a bitch!”
Colter Shaw had only a few seconds’ warning before the palm slammed into his back, knocking him forward. Not quite to the ground but almost.
He turned to face a furious Dalton Crowe.
Oh my,” Larry Young said.
He seemed to be considering confronting the man but Dalton Crowe outweighed Erick’s father by fifty pounds. He was intimidation personified. The big, swarthy man shot him a warrior’s glare and Larry stayed put.
Shaw regarded Crowe calmly. He knew that the man wasn’t going to do more than try to rough him up a bit—especially given that they were within shouting distance of the Public Safety Office.
The Youngs now relaxed somewhat, noting that Shaw didn’t seem troubled by the slap or bluster or glowering face.
“Dalton,” Shaw said pleasantly.
“You led me on a wild goose chase.”
A phrase coined in Romeo and Juliet, by the witty and doomed Mercutio. Wild goose chase … While there was no TV in the Shaw household on the Compound, the children read and read and read. And often acted out plays, Shaw’s specialty being Henry V.
Crowe continued, “There was no yellow fucking Volkswagen Beetle. That wasn’t sporting. You owe me that money.” A nod toward the check in Shaw’s hand. “That’s mine.”
He reached for it. Shaw leaned forward and looked with utmost—and unnerving—calm right into Crowe’s eyes. The man eased back.
Shaw could very well have waited until later: the privacy of a hotel or in his Winnebago or in the Youngs’ own living room. But because Adam Harper had died under his watch, and because Erick Young was sitting scared as a mouse in a holding cell and because Shaw’s shoulder still hurt from Dalton Crowe’s love tap, he decided that now was the perfect moment. He pulled his fountain pen from his jacket pocket. He looked to the Youngs. He asked, “Your bank account, it’s joint?”
“Our …?”
“Your checking account, both your names on it?”
“Oh.” Emma looked perplexed. “Well, yes. But—”
Crowe grumbled, “What’s this?”
Shaw endorsed the check over to the Youngs and handed it to Larry. This is why he had no intention of returning the reward.
“The fuck?” Crowe snapped.
Shaw said to the couple, “Tanner won’t come cheap.”
Emma said, “I know. But we’ll get a bank loan. We can’t accept this.”
Crowe: “They can’t accept it.”
“It’s done,” Shaw said.
Crowe bristled, then seemed to sense this was a battle he could not win. He pointed a finger at Shaw. “I will get you for this, my friend.” He stalked off down the alley.
Larry waved the check. “If there’s any left over—”
“Get Erick some help. Better therapy than he’s had.”
“We will,” Emma whispered.
Shaw wanted to be gone. He said goodbye to the Youngs and walked back to the rental car. In his mind he heard the exchange between Stan Harper and himself.
Then why did my son kill himself?
I don’t know the answer to that.
He now supplemented his response: Not yet.
Through the windshield Shaw stared ahead at the redbrick walls of the Public Safety Office. He powered up his router and computer and went online, then composed an email to Mack.
He started the car and pulled out of the alley.
A half hour later he was back at the Tacoma RV park, after dropping the poor Kia at the rental company, offering a mea culpa that was heartfelt but not of much significance, given the damage waiver. The new paint job would be on Hertz. The clerk was unfazed.
Stepping inside the homey Winnebago, he was thinking of what lay ahead. As he’d sat in that comfortable lawn chair in Silicon Valley not long ago, he’d been considering which of the two missions to strike out on: going after the reward for Erick and Adam, or driving back to the Compound in the Sierra Nevadas and pursuing the mystery involving his late father.
A professor and amateur scientist—both the political and the natural variety—Ashton Shaw had made a discovery, one so significant and controversial that his life and those of his colleagues were put in danger. He warned his associates about the risks, and promptly moved his wife and three children to a large spread in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
