She grinned. “Actually, two of the throwing events. I did all of them in high school, then dropped shot put and javelin in college to concentrate on my two best—discus and hammer. The Olympic coaches tell me I would have a shot, so to speak, at either of those for the next Olympics. The problem is, I would have to pick one event and train hard for eighteen to twenty-four months before the games.”
“If I recall, the last games were about a year and a half ago, so that means you would have to make a decision within the next year.”
“That’s about right. If I guessed right now, I’d say I won’t do it. But just in case I do, I need to stay in reasonable shape so there’s not as far to rebuild if I do make the commitment.”
“What would the county say about that? Would they give you a leave of absence?”
“Probably not, so I haven’t mentioned the possibility yet to them. No need, depending on what decision I make.”
Their beers arrived, and they thanked the waitress. Each took a drink. Greta’s was a good-sized one. Her tongue had gotten loose, and she used the deep draught to stop talking.
“I would have guessed basketball,” Simpson said, “because I googled you and got hits on your playing for the Missouri State University women’s basketball. I must have missed the references to track and field.”
“Not necessarily. Track and field doesn’t get much press, except for the Olympics. I’m sure there are far more articles mentioning basketball. If you search again using discus or hammer throws, some hits on me might pop up. I’m not good enough at basketball to make the Olympic team.”
Simpson took another sip, looking at her over his glass. “I guess this explains my first impression of you that night at the pub.”
“The Ocean Brewery and Pub?”
“Yes. When I saw you coming down the aisle, I had the impression of an athlete. You moved so smoothly and strongly.”
Greta felt a surge of pleasure. She already knew she was an athlete, but it pleased her to know a stranger could take one quick look and recognize that simply by how she moved.
I wonder what he’d think if he saw me doing the rumba . . . or the paso doble? she thought.
He asked more questions, then revealed a few personal details, evidently not being too shabby at sports himself. No details, but football, rugby, wrestling, and even a little basketball, although he didn’t look like a basketball player—too square. He carefully avoided mentioning the level he played in any of these, as well as any reference to where he was from.
The conversation had veered completely off her purpose for meeting him. Their lunches arrived, and they dug in. Partway through, she brought them back to her case.
“So . . . I gave you an overview of where we are with the Toompas case. Do you want to add any other suggestions on how we should proceed?”
“Not much more than I already mentioned.”
“I’ve been advised by someone else not to assume it’s too complicated.”
“I agree. Most murders are actually quite simple. Rage, jealousy, lust, greed, a falling out among thieves, turf wars, and the occasional random ones with no obvious lead-up.” He finished his beer and his last bite. “You said you had a second request.”
“There’s nothing at the moment. However, on the off chance I might need some assistance from somewhere with a lot more connections or resources than we have in Tillamook County, I wondered whether I might be able to call on any of your sources.”
He looked at her ironically. “A suspicious person might consider this tit-for-tat for keeping quiet.”
“Heaven forbid!” she exclaimed. “Just a casual inquiry whether such assistance might be possible.”
“It might be, as long as it’s not too demanding or too often.”
“I wouldn’t imagine it to be. I’d definitely appreciate it.”
“No promises, but I would see what I could do. A better bet would be if you knew anybody in Homeland Security or one of the other agencies with a broader mandate than the Marshal Service has.”
“Homeland Security? Hmmm . . . as a matter of fact, I might know someone.”
“I suggest checking with them, and I’m willing to see what I can do, if necessary.”
“Thanks again, Robert.”
The bill came. They paid and said polite goodbyes. Greta went off to continue canvassing; Simpson, to whatever undercover witnesses did.
CHAPTER 19