01 Storm Peak (40 page)
He frowned. He’d planned to leave the body of his next victim on the floor of the gondola. That was another reason for the stolen ski patroller’s uniform that he was wearing.
Ski patrollers were the invisible men of the lift lines. Ski patrollers could barge in at the head of a line any time at all. Lift attendants barely noticed them doing it, other than to make room for them. He’d known that the uniform would ensure that he could board a gondola with a single passenger traveling alone.
Nobody would suspect a ski patroller of being the Mountain Murderer. He smiled to himself, amused at the capital letters in the name. You just knew when a newscaster referred to the Mountain Murderer, he was capitalizing the words in his mind. It gave him dignity and a sense of identity, he thought. He liked it. It was strange, he thought, after years of killing anonymously, he was beginning to enjoy the sense of his own celebrity—it was another twist of the tail to those people who tried to run his life for him.
So, he thought, dragging his mind back to the problem at hand. He’d planned to single out a victim, ride down with her, kill her and leave her body crumpled on the floor of the gondola. The lift attendants at the base, seeing a man in a ski patrol uniform alighting from the gondola, wouldn’t bother to move closer and offer assistance. Ski patrollers knew the ropes. They didn’t need help to stop them tripping over their own feet. More important and to the point, they wouldn’t sue the town if they happened to. He knew he could successfully block the attendant’s view of the interior long enough to let the doors close again and the cabin start on its way around the bullwheel.
Then, when it reached the top station again, the attendants there would find a dead body, stuffed down between the seats and out of sight through the windows.
He’d laughed when he’d first thought of the plan. Their immediate reaction would be to assume that the lift attendants at the base had murdered the woman.
Yes, he thought, it was definitely going to be a woman—the waitress, as he’d originally planned. He’d prefer the blond reporter but it just wasn’t worth the risk.
Besides, he didn’t really want to kill the deputy to get at her. Maybe later, but not now. The deputy should be left alive to puzzle over the latest killing. To realize once and for all that he was up against a brain superior to his own. He thought that maybe he was becoming a little fixated on the deputy, but that wasn’t surprising. Parker was the sort of arrogant authority figure he hated so much. And he seemed to be always getting in the way of his plans. He decided that he’d definitely kill Parker eventually, but not tonight.
First, Deputy Parker had to be humiliated—humiliated on behalf of Steamboat Springs, as Steamboat Springs had once humiliated him.
He sighed, taking another sip from the still half-full can of beer. He wished he still had the jigger. It just wasn’t the same shooting his victims.
Somehow, it lacked finesse.
FIFTY-ONEJ
esse finished the last half-mouthful of wine in his glass and stared moodily out the window.
esse finished the last half-mouthful of wine in his glass and stared moodily out the window.
The fog had rolled farther in as he’d been waiting. The lights from the bottom of the mountain had that wet, swollen look to them that told him he was viewing them through a thin curtain of suspended moisture.
He glanced at his watch. Abby was taking her time, he thought. Then he shrugged. He was in no real hurry to continue their conversation. He guessed she could take all the time she wanted.
The waitress was back. Her long-suffering look told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t amused by all this delay.
“So, did you still want to order, or will you be leaving too?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked quickly. She jerked her head toward the door. The restrooms were outside the main room of the restaurant, and just past them was the exit and the way to the gondola.
“Your friend,” she said, then, as if he needed further explanation, “the lady? She’s decided she’s not having dinner.”
He frowned. “What did she say?” he asked, then regretted it instantly. The waitress was having her revenge for being kept standing around, and for Abby’s quick flash of anger before.
“She didn’t say anything,” she replied. “I just saw her leaving.”
“Goddamn it,” Jesse muttered explosively. He stood up quickly, setting his chair rocking precariously before it found balance once again, and started out around the table. The girl blocked his way.
“Just a minute,” she challenged. “You haven’t paid for this.”
“This” was the empty wine bottle, now half-floating in the melted ice and water of the bucket. Jesse cursed under his breath, fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket and hauled out a handful of notes. He flicked through them. As was always the case, they were all ones. He finally found a ten spot and dropped it on the table. The girl didn’t budge.
“Thirteen eighty, plus tax,” she said firmly. Jesse met her gaze, holding his anger with great difficulty. He started counting out singles, then realized there were at least eight or nine there and dropped the lot on the table, in a creased heap.
“There. Keep it,” he said and shoved past her. The girl raised one eyebrow as she watched him go, then quickly counted the notes. She’d made about five bucks on the deal, she figured. She decided there was no need to share the tip with the other waiters and the kitchen staff-tips here at Hazie’s were usually pooled—and stuffed the excess notes into the pocket of her apron.
H
e was still at the table when she’d come out of the ladies’ room. Going in, she’d walked with her head down, a small handkerchief to her eyes. She was upset about something, he knew that.
e was still at the table when she’d come out of the ladies’ room. Going in, she’d walked with her head down, a small handkerchief to her eyes. She was upset about something, he knew that.
He’d watched their conversation. Their table was too far from the bar to hear anything they said, but the body language was plain. This was not a happy couple. He wondered now why they were arguing. After the paeans of praise she’d heaped on him and the sheriff, he would have expected them to be more friendly.
He shifted on his barstool to watch for her reappearance. Something told him that she wouldn’t be going back into the dining room. It was an instinct. A gut feeling. But his instincts had been right more times than he could count in the past.
Then the ladies’ room door opened and she re-emerged.
She hesitated a moment, glancing at the double glass doors that led back into the dining room. He followed her glance. He could see the deputy still sitting at the window table, his long legs splayed out underneath it as he stared out the window. The waitress was serving appetizers to a table near the doors.
Abruptly, the blonde seemed to make up her mind. She squared her shoulders and moved to the hat rack, taking down the expensive, fur-trimmed suede parka that she’d hung there and tossing it angrily around her shoulders. Some sixth sense made her aware of his scrutiny and she glanced at him. He dropped his eyes to the bar instantly. No harm done, he thought. A woman like that was undoubtedly used to finding men looking at her.
She crossed the bar in quick steps. The deputy missed seeing her. He was still looking out the window. The waitress looked up, saw her as she opened the outer door.
There was a brief swirl of cold air in the bar as she opened the door, then it closed behind her and she was gone.
Without appearing to hurry, he straightened from the barstool and dropped the five bucks that he’d had ready for the last ten minutes onto the bar.
The barman nodded an acknowledgment of the one dollar tip as he moved away from the bar, following the blond woman to the door.
“See ya,” he said briefly, and the barman grunted in reply, continuing to polish a glass with a white cloth. After the cozy warmth of the bar, the cold night air hit him like a barrier, bringing tears to his eyes. The wind swirled around the stairway that led down to the gondola loading base. He saw the lower door just easing shut on its pneumatic closer behind the woman. He took the stairs two at a time to make up ground. As he put his hand on the door handle, feeling the intense cold of the steel through his thin leather glove, he heard the whine and clunk of the gondola cable shudder to a halt.
No need to appear rushed now, he thought. He gave it a few seconds, then opened the door and walked casually through. The gondola had stopped, he saw, so that the attendants could unload a cargo of soda and beer cans sent up from below. The woman was standing at the loading point, outlined against the night mist that was now beginning to swirl around the station, her hands deep in the pockets of her parka. She wore no hat.
The two attendants worked quickly, stacking the cartons of soda and beer cans to the rear of the station. Finally, they were done and they gestured for the woman to move forward from the ready point and board the nearest car. He stepped out of the shadows as she moved, knowing they hadn’t noticed him so far, and followed her.
One of the attendants glanced up as he moved forward, looked as if he was going to say something, then recognized the distinctive ski patrol uniform and stopped, waving him forward.
Just as he’d thought. Ski patrollers were the invisible men of the mountain. He stepped easily into the car, still swinging slightly from the motion of the woman boarding, and dropped with a sigh onto the thinly padded bench opposite her. She glanced up idly and he smiled politely as they made brief eye contact. Then she looked away, out the window at the surrounding mist.
He felt a surge of elation. It was working, he thought. It was working. He moved his left elbow slightly against his body, feeling the hard outline of the Walther in its shoulder holster.
He glanced back and saw one of the attendants moving toward the big green go button that would start the cable again. There was a brief whirring, then a clunk of gears. The car swung back momentarily as the cable lurched forward.
Then another clunk and crash and the car was swinging in a wild arc as the cable abruptly stopped again. He felt a quick surge of anger, wondering if the attendants were having second thoughts, in spite of the ski patrol uniform. Then, as he leaned forward to get a better view of the control station, he saw the deputy hurrying toward the gondola in long strides.
J
esse came down the stairs three at a time, pulling his leather jacket on as he went. Subconsciously, he was aware of a change in the natural rhythms around him. Something was missing. Then he realized what it was. The gondola had stopped running. The deep background hum of the drive machinery and the regular clunk and crash of doors opening and cabins disengaging from the main cable was an all pervading constant in the Thunderhead Station. Now it had stopped. At least, he thought, Abby wouldn’t have left yet.
esse came down the stairs three at a time, pulling his leather jacket on as he went. Subconsciously, he was aware of a change in the natural rhythms around him. Something was missing. Then he realized what it was. The gondola had stopped running. The deep background hum of the drive machinery and the regular clunk and crash of doors opening and cabins disengaging from the main cable was an all pervading constant in the Thunderhead Station. Now it had stopped. At least, he thought, Abby wouldn’t have left yet.
He emerged into the cold wind and fog that swirled around the loading station, just as one of the attendants hit the start button and the machinery ground into motion once more. The cabins began their swaying, dipping dance as the cable began to move again. He could see two dim shapes in the cabin that had just passed the loading point. It hadn’t yet reached the automatic trip that would close the double doors.
He hesitated, measuring the distance, wondering if he could make it in time before the doors shut. Deciding he couldn’t, he swung back to the control panel a few paces behind him and crushed his fist down on the big red emergency stop button.
The whirring and clunking died again. The cabins bounced as the cable stretched and retracted, reacting to the sudden stop. He heard the angry voice of one of the attendants behind him as he started toward the cabin, felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.
“Hey, mister! What the hell are you doing?”
He swung around angrily, shoving the hand away, letting the attendant see his features. His right hand was already reaching into his wallet pocket, where he kept the deputy star that Lee had given him. Then he saw the attendant was one he knew and there was no need for further identification.
“Official business, Frank,” he lied crisply, seeing the man’s expression relax a little as he realized the gondola had been stopped by a cop. He jerked his head toward the cabin. “Someone in that cabin I need to talk to, all right?”
He was striding toward it as they spoke. Frank, with his shorter legs, was having to half run to keep up. He looked a little aggrieved still.
“Well, okay, Jess. But next time, how’s about you tell me what you’re up to before you just crash in here and hit the stop?”
“It’s urgent, else I would have,” he replied briefly, his eyes fixed on the gondola cabin. He thought now he could make out another figure inside it. He frowned slightly. Maybe Abby wasn’t in there after all. He knew the rules on no two people riding down unless they knew each other. Hell, he’d instituted them. So, if there were two people in this cabin, he didn’t see how one of them could be Abby.
He glanced quickly around at the other cabins in sight. There was only one other where passengers might have already boarded. It was fractionally before the loading point, doors wide open, under the full lights of the station. It was obvious there was no one in it. He hesitated, then started back toward the first cabin. Now he could see the pale gleam of blond hair in the seat with its back to him and he knew it had to be Abby. He lengthened his stride.
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