Tahoe Chase (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (35 page)

The turns were numerous. On the sharper ones, Joe leaned sideways, helping to carve the sled like a motorcycle, which helped Spot and me stay on. At times, it was like a slalom course, left and right, left and right. We hit a steeper section. Joe leaned forward and kept the throttle up. But I felt and heard the track spinning beneath us, shooting loose snow in a rooster tail behind us. Then the track grabbed, and we lofted over the rise and slammed back down on a flat section.

The next open flat area was Lake of the Woods. After a quarter mile sprint across its surface, we climbed up its far side. We popped over a lop-sided saddle and entered the Lake Aloha basin.

At 8100 feet, the snow was softer and deeper, but Joe kept the speed up, and the machine kept planing on the snow.

Joe angled to the north and climbed partway up the southwest-facing slope as he’d earlier said. The slope was steep, so he only went up far enough to give us a view across Lake Aloha.

The lake, and the Crystal Range on the far side, glowed in the dim moonlight coming through snow showers. With almost no trees around the lake, it was a giant white slab of snow. It made a seamless transition to the angled slab of rock that rose to the three, 10,000-foot peaks on the other side. The three connected mountains of Pyramid Peak, Mt. Agassiz, and Mt. Price seemed a forbidding blue-white monolith whose tips disappeared into the thickening cloud bank.

As Joe coaxed the sled farther up the opposite slope, the mountains, coated in thick snow with no interruptions, were other-worldly, like a landscape one would find in Antarctica.

Joe leveled out onto a traverse near the base of Cracked Crag to the northeast. The machine, less stressed, sped up. I focused on holding onto Spot while I gazed across the plain of Lake Aloha, looking for any movement, any dark speck.

The dim moonlight grew darker. A glance at the bright headlight swath made the moonlight seem non-existent. The snow was brilliant white, smooth and mesmerizing as the machine raced across its surface. Then the right ski tip struck something. There was a shriek of metal on rock as the rear of the sled skidded to the left. The edge of the track caught the snow, the machine tipped, and we all launched into the night air.

FIFTY-FIVE

I landed face first in the snow. My eyes and ears and mouth were packed full. I pushed myself up, arms sinking into the powder. I rolled sideways, got my boots beneath me, pushed them down, compacting the snow beneath me. I stood up, my legs buried up to my thighs.

I spit out snow, wiped it from my face and ears. “Joe?” I called. “Joe, where are you? Joe?” I turned.

A bright blue-white light turned on. Joe’s headlamp. I could see no other part of him. He was obviously covered in snow.

“Over here. I’m okay. Where’s your hound?”

“Spot, where are you?” I called out.

I heard movement in the snow behind me. I turned. Spot was bounding toward me, his long legs having trouble getting purchase in the deep powder. But he made exaggerated leaps.

“Hey, boy, you’re okay, huh?”

He jumped on me, all excited. Flying through the air on a snowmobile was fun.

“Easy, largeness, let me get over to Joe.”

Spot leaped around as I trudged across the slope to the buried figure with the headlamp. Joe was in a sitting position, leaning back as if in an easy chair. He reached out his hand.

I took it and pulled him up onto his feet. He was lighter than me, and his snow boots were bigger, so he got more support in the deep snow. He only sunk in up to his knees.

“You okay?”

“Didn’t see that rock,” he said. “Sorry.” Joe sounded stressed.

“Hey, Joe, I was watching ahead. I didn’t see it either.”

“Where’s the sled?”

I looked around. It was behind us, turned on its side, mostly buried. The engine had killed. The headlight was dark.

“Your dog is okay,” Joe said.

“Yeah.”

“Where are your skis?” Joe asked.

I raised my hands above my head where the ski tips should be. There was nothing.

“They must have ripped out of the pack sleeves when we hit the rock.”

“And now they’re buried in the snow somewhere nearby,” Joe said.

“We’ve gotta get that sled out and started up,” Joe said. “That girl needs us.”

I looked around at the dark, snowy slope.

Spot was looking, too, but at something else. His head was pointed toward the north end of Lake Aloha. His ears were focused forward, turning slightly like antennas trying to pick up the best signal.

“Joe!” I said in a harsh whisper. “Turn off your headlamp.”

He did so. He too looked at Spot. I turned to study the area that Spot was looking at.

My eyes were still lacking night vision because of our lights. I looked to the side, tried to see with my peripheral vision.

Maybe there was movement a mile away. Maybe not. But all I saw for certain was a gray sky filled with snow. There was no sound, no movement, no indication of anything but a frozen landscape. I figured it was a false sensation, triggered by my concerns.

But Spot knew otherwise. He walked ahead in the snow, focused on something. From behind, I could see his ears held rigid. It was a clear alert, even if I could sense nothing.

Joe stayed silent, understanding that he should do nothing that would distract Spot. I caught up to Spot and put my hand on his back. I squatted down, knees bent. I didn’t want to advertise our presence, and in a bent position we weren’t so noticeable.

We watched. I still couldn’t see any movement. But Spot’s eyes and ears never wavered. The silence seemed complete, but only for Joe and me. For a moment, Spot panted hard, four quick breaths to help blow off some excess heat, then he stopped and held his breath to listen. It was obvious that he heard a person or persons coming.

I felt Spot tense. Holding very still and looking slightly to the side, I had the vaguest sense of movement in the distance down below us, a dark speck crawling across the dark, white, frozen landscape. Maybe it was my imagination, but gradually, the movement of the speck seemed to grow more pronounced. It seemed that a distant person was coming toward me, but I had no perception about the person’s size. As the speck got a little closer, I sensed that it vibrated. The speck was making frenetic movement as it traveled at an angle toward us.

Then came another movement down below, a second, small, dot on the landscape behind the first. Chasing the first. The second dot was gray like what one would see if the person wore white ski clothes. If it was Dwight, I could scent Spot on the pillowcase and send him after the suspect. If it wasn’t Dwight, Spot would probably leave both people alone. But I wasn’t certain. While I’ve put Spot through some police dog training, he’s not a professional. He could make a mistake. Like most dogs, Spot is naturally friendly. And like most police dogs, he also has a great deal of enthusiasm for doing his job. The potential problem is if he has too much enthusiasm, and if the likely suspect should act or even smell in a way that would confuse him, then the potential danger to an innocent person could be significant. I was reluctant to give Spot the command until I was certain.

I had an idea. I got out my cell. I expected no reception, but I had one bar. I dialed Dwight’s cell number.

It rang one, two, three, four times. Just as I expected it to roll over to voicemail, it was answered.

“Hello?” It was Dwight’s polite voice.

“Dwight, it’s Owen McKenna.”

“Oh hi, Mr. McKenna. What brings you calling?”

I thought I heard noise in the background. He was probably covering the phone, but the wind still howled. His breathing was obvious as well. It still didn’t prove that he was the figure following Simone across the frozen lake, if, in fact, the figure in the lead was Simone, and if the two weren’t simply a pair of late-night back-country skiers out enjoying the moonlight. But if I could keep him talking, maybe there’d be an indication. I decided to be direct and challenge him.

“I’m on to you, Dwight. The whole meek geek thing was a good disguise. I especially liked the bit about being afraid of climbing on the step ladder.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“No point in keeping up the charade, Dwight. I’ve been in your lair. I’ve seen your pics and your notes. What’s your plan, Dwight? Or should I call you Cameron? Or just your given name Peter?”

I heard nothing but wind noise over the silence. Then came a raging shout.

“Ned was my brother, McKenna! He practically raised me! He was my only friend as a child. But no one ever gave him a fair chance! Not mom, not the cops, not the teachers. He was hung out to dry. And you know what those jerks always said? They said, ‘Oh, Ned is so handsome, life is easy for him. Everybody wants to be with a good looking guy like Ned.’ Well, you know what, McKenna? Life wasn’t easy for Ned. Life was hell! Ned tried, but he never got credit for trying. If he did something well, people said he got ahead because of his looks. But if he did something badly, they said, ‘Imagine Neddy Teddy screwing up his life in spite of looking like a movie star.’ I can’t tell you how many times I heard that, McKenna.”

Dwight stopped to breathe. I hoped that his talking would slow him down and let Simone open the distance between them.

“Ned made bad choices, Dwight. His problems weren’t your responsibility.” I didn’t want Dwight to realize that I was watching him. “Where are you?” I said. “We could meet and talk. I can make this easier for you.” I covered my phone, turned to Joe and whispered. “Try to stay low. I’m going to head down there and see if I can surprise them.”

Joe nodded at me in the dark.

“Ned tried to do right,” Dwight continued, no longer trying to cover up his panting. “But everyone else prevented him from achieving anything. I was lucky and was born ugly. Every achievement for me was credited to my merit, my skill. Not Ned.”

“People didn’t single him out, Dwight.” I was trudging down the slope through the deep snow. I kept my other hand on Spot’s back. I wanted to get as close as possible before Dwight saw us.

“Yes, they did single him out. Even the No Judgment group. Talk about hypocrisy. They said they didn’t want to judge, but they sure judged Ned.”

“They were just supporting Simone,” I said.

“Liar! You weren’t there. I was! They demonized Ned. They believed every little lie she told them.”

In the distance, the speck that was Simone was getting bigger as she skied toward me. Her strides were fast, her arm motion smooth and coordinated. She was skiing like a cross-country racer, her training manifest. But her terror showed in her shakiness. Her strides weren’t the smooth movements of a professional. They were the terrified, jerky strides of someone skiing for her life. Behind her, gaining slowly, was a larger figure in white, striding like a pro, the man I assumed – but wasn’t certain – was Dwight.

I marched down through the deep powder, lifting my boots high, but moving like I was in molasses.

“I saw Ned abuse Simone,” I said. “I saw him grab her, drag her, push her, hurt her. And that was his public, careful behavior. I can’t imagine what he did when the door shut. You’re defending an evil man, Dwight. But you can stop. Ned is gone, crushed by your origami-design scaffolding collapse. You caused the ultimate judgment to fall on Ned. So let Simone go.”

“The scaffolding plan was for you. I hold you responsible for his death! You were taunting him. He was only responding. When I’m through with Simone, I’m coming for you. You’ll join the No Judgment group. Manuel, that self-righteous stuffed shirt, and Jillian, the snotty skier who thought she was better than us trailer kids all because she went to college in Incline. Even Rell. Sanctimonious Rell. She’s the one who treasured her victim status. She used it to entice the rest of us into the group, got us to tell our secrets. Well, they’re all going to stay secret now, McKenna. Simone is the last one before you. Then Ned will be free. His accusers will be gone. Visualize this, McKenna. I’m going to hang up and put an end to that miserable French girl. She’s out on the snow, trying very hard. I admire that about her. But her time is done.” He hung up.

Now I knew for sure. I fumbled at my pocket, trying to find his pillowcase.

As Simone came closer, she seemed to go even faster. I saw her make a fast glimpse behind her. It was as if she sensed Dwight gaining on her. Her speed and stamina were impressive. But trapped in the snow without skis, I could never even get close before Dwight would catch her. She’d kept her distance from him for hours. But now, newly enraged by me, he was reinvigorated. His speed was way up. I could see him gaining.

Simone was maybe a hundred yards out when I first heard her sounds, terrified, high-pitched whimpers that came in percussive bursts with each stride of her skis. She raced forward, running for her life.

But it wasn’t fast enough to outrun the athletic skier over-taking her.

I finally got my frozen fingers on the plastic bag that contained Dwight’s pillow case. I tore open the bag and removed the fabric.

“Spot!” I said, excitement in my voice. I grabbed Spot’s chest and gave him a shake, vibrating him, transmitting excitement.

“Spot, smell this pillowcase.” I balled it up and pressed it against Spot’s nose. “Do you have the scent, Spot?! Do you?!”

I got him to smell the pillowcase again. Then I pointed his head toward Simone and Dwight just beyond her. I gave him another shake.

“Find the suspect, Spot! Find the suspect and take him down!”

I made the hand signal in front of Spot’s head, then gave him a smack on his rear.

He lunged forward, but his paws sunk into the deep snow. He made impressive leaps, but the powder slowed his forward motion. He still moved five times as fast as me, but he wasn’t going to get to Dwight before Dwight got to Simone.

Simone must have sensed us up on the rise to the side of Lake Aloha. She veered toward us. Her whimpers had turned to percussive, desperate shrieks. She came closer, her pace even faster, skis flying forward and back, compressing the snow, propelling herself toward me.

I was marching fast down the slope, but I was still a long way from Simone.

Dwight was striding with fury, his legs reaching, his arms and poles pumping. His pursuit of Simone was ten times easier because she was breaking trail, doing all the hard work of compressing the snow. By contrast, all he had to do was follow in her tracks. And it had been going on for miles.

Dwight stopped poling with his right arm. He was still fifty yards out in the dark. I couldn’t tell what was happening, Then he stopped skiing, his arm came up, and he held it out steady.

There was a flash of light and a pop as a flare shot across the frozen lake toward Simone. It went a few feet above her head and landed in the snow in front of her, making a brilliant white glow under the snow. Simone screamed.

Another flare shot out. It caught the side of Simone’s jacket, jerking the fabric forward and knocking Simone off balance. The flare stuck to the fabric of her jacket, a brilliant, eye-scorching welder’s light that lit up the landscape.

Simone screamed again and clawed at her jacket, jumping and dancing frantic steps of terror as a three thousand-degree flare was stuck to her side. She dropped her poles, got the jacket off, and flung it to the snow. Her scream got louder.