Mortal Danger

But John never appeared to be drunk;he was too tightly wound to seem drunk. He was, however, hyperalert.
    There was something desperately wrong with John Branden/Williams’s mind. He had apparently had OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) going back to his days as a superartistic lawn mower, but his bipolarity now zoomed up and down to extremes. Sometimes he felt he could do anything and was excited about all the possibilities that would finally allow him to make big money, but then he would crash into the deepest hollow of depression. Neither Turi nor Randall could predict when he would change gears. None of the mood spikes made him happy. He grew steadily more suspicious and more resentful, and he’d added frank paranoia to the mix in his turbulent mind.
    He was convinced that the world was going to implode very soon. The necessity of procuring a safe hiding place for him and his daughters became an urgent mission. Bizarrely, at the same time, he was still frantically trying to build his fortune with Isagenix.

Chapter Twelve
    In March 2007, John and Turi left for California, on one of their regular trips. They might have gone to see his daughters, or perhaps they had some business meetings. Maybe they only needed to get away from the steady rain and gray days of the Northwest in winter. It was too cold to start building their cedar home in Priest River, and it probably would be for at least two more months.
    They passed through Oregon twice on this trip—going south and coming back. John preferred 101, the coastal route, and that meant they would have driven through Gold Beach. He called Randall several times from the road—as always from pay phones. The trip seemed to be going well, and Nozawa didn’t sense any trouble.
    They were due home on Thursday, March 29. John made his last call of the trip that day from a phone booth on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, which was less than ten miles from Seascape Hills.
    John said they’d had a very, very nice time in California, and everything was great. He said they were “searching for ways to be even closer,” and he thought they’d made progress.
    “Great!” Randall said.
    But things weren’t great now, apparently, as John continued, “We were doing so well, and then Turi said something as we crossed the bridge—and I’m very angry.”
    Whatever it was that Turi had allegedly said, circumstances would make it difficult for Randall Nozawa to remember. “But I remember thinking that it wasn’t anything very much,” he said. Still, John was going on and on about it.”
    “She ruined it,” John went on. “Everything was fine, and she ruined it.”
    He asked Randall to come over to their house, and Randall said he would try to do that later.
    It was almost midnight when Randall Nozawa got a call from Turi. She told him that she and John were still arguing and she had locked herself in the bedroom. She’d managed to find her cell phone to call him, and she asked Randall to come over as quickly as he could.
    “Oh!” she said suddenly, before she could explain. “He’s coming. I have to hang up—”
    Randall started walking toward Seascape Hills. Because of the damage to his eyes, he had trouble seeing when headlights were aimed directly at him, and he compensated by looking away and judging how far away the cars were. On the way, Turi called him on his cell phone and said the argument was still going and they really needed him to hurry.
    Nozawa picked up his pace. John met him at the front doorstep and told him Turi was inside. He didn’t strike Randall as being in a violent mood. “He seemed more sad than angry,” Randall said later.
    “We can’t finish the Idaho project,” John blurted.
    “Why?” Randall asked.
    “Things just aren’t working out.” John appeared to be devastated.
    The two men walked into the kitchen and Randall sat down at the table. John began to pace back and forth, stopping only to open a bottle of port wine. His words came in a steady stream, and they were all grievances about Turi.
    “But he wasn’t angry,” Randall said. “He was just sad—and quiet.”
    They heard Turi unlocking the bedroom door, and John said with an eerie false brightness, “Look, it’s Turi!”
    He still wasn’t angry. The table where Nozawa sat was close to the sliding glass doors, and Turi moved to stand beside him.
    “You need to tell Randall the truth,” Turi said.
    “John got a look on his face like he was a kid who got caught with