The Bodies Left Behind (16 page)

After an eternal five minutes she said, “Let’s try it. I need some thread. Something thin.” They unraveled a strand from Brynn’s ski jacket and used it to tie the needle to a bit of twig.

Brynn dumped out the alcohol from the bottle and refilled it halfway with water, slipped the twig and pin inside and set the bottle on its side. Brynn hit the candle lighter trigger. They stared at the bottle. The bit of wood slowly revolved to the left and stopped.

“It works!” Michelle blurted, giving her first true smile of the night.

Brynn glanced at her and smiled back. Damn, she thought, it does. It surely does.

“But which end’s north and which’s south?”

“Around here the high ground’s generally west. That’d be to the left.” They shut the lighter out and after their eyes were accustomed to the dark Brynn pointed out a distant hilltop. “That’s north. Let’s head for it.”

Brynn screwed the lid on the bottle and slipped it into her pocket, picked up her spear. They started walking again. They’d pause every so often to take another reading. As long as they continued north they would have to cross the Joliet Trail sooner or later.

Curious, she thought, how much reassurance she’d gotten by making this little toy. Kristen Brynn McKenzie was a woman whose worst enemy, worst fear, was the lack of control. She’d begun this night without any—no phone or weapon—crawling cold, drenched and helpless out of a black lake. But now, with a crude spear in hand and a compass in her pocket she felt as confident as that character out of one of Joey’s comic books.

Queen of the Jungle.

THE DANCE.

What Hart called it.

This was a part of the business and Hart was not only used to dancing, he was good at it. Being a craftsman, after all.

A month ago. Sitting in a coffee shop—never a bar; keep your head about you—he’d looked up at the voice.

“So, Hart. How you doing?”

A firm handshake.

“Good. You?”

“I’m okay. Listen, I’m interested in hiring somebody. You interested in some work?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. So how do you know Gordon Potts? You go back a long ways?”

“Not so long.”

“How’d you meet him?” Hart had asked.

“A mutual friend.”

“Who’d that be?”

“Freddy Lancaster.”

“Freddy, sure. How’s his wife doing?”

“That’d be tough to find out, Hart. She died two years ago.”

“Oh, that’s right. Bad memory. How does Freddy like St. Paul?”

“St. Paul? He lives in Milwaukee.”

“This memory of mine.”

The Dance. It went on and on. As it has to.

Then two meetings later, credentials finally established, the risk of entrapment minimal, the dancing was over and they got down to details.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, it is, Hart. So you’re interested?”

“Keep going.”

“Here’s a map of the area. That’s a private road. Lake View Drive. And there? That’s a state park, all of it. Hardly any people around. Here’s a diagram of the house.”

“Okay…This a dirt road or paved?”

“Dirt…Hart, they tell me you’re good. Are you good? I hear you’re a craftsman. That’s what they say.”

“Who’s they?”

“People.”

“Well, yeah, I’m a craftsman.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m curious. Why’re you in this line of work?”

“It suits me,” he’d said simply.

“It looks like it does.”

“Okay. What’s the threat situation?”

“The what?”

“How risky’s the job going to be? How many people up there, weapons, police nearby? It’s a lake house—are the other houses on Lake View occupied?”

“It’ll be a piece of cake, Hart. Hardly any risk at all. The other places’ll be vacant. And only the two of them up there, the Feldmans. And no rangers in the park or cops around for miles.”

“They have weapons?”

“Are you kidding? They’re city people. She’s a lawyer, he’s a social worker.”

“Just the Feldmans, nobody else? It’ll make a big difference.”

“That’s my information. And it’s solid. Just the two of them.”

Now, in the middle of Marquette State Park, Hart and Lewis circled around a dangerous stand of thorny brush. Like a plant out of a science fiction movie.

Hart reflected sourly, Yeah, right, just the two of them. Feeling the ache in his arm.

Angry with himself.

He’d done 95 percent.

It should’ve been 110.

At least they knew they were on the right path. A half mile back they’d found a scrap of tissue with blood on it. The Kleenex couldn’t’ve been there for more than a half hour. Hart now paused and gazed around them, noted some peaks and a small creek. “We’re doing fine. Be a lot tougher without the moonlight. But we’ve caught a break. Somebody’s looking out for us.”

The Trickster…

“Somebody…You believe that?” Lewis said this as if he did.

Hart didn’t. But no time for theology now. “I’d like to move a little faster. When they hit the trail they might start running. We’ll have to too.”

“Run?”

“Right. Smooth ground’ll give us the advantage. We can move faster.”

“Them being women, you mean?”

“Yep. Well, and one of them being hurt. Pain slows people down.” He paused and stared to their right. Then hunched over the map and examined it closely with the flashlight, its lens muted by his undershirt.

He pointed. “That a smoke tower?”

“What’s that?”

“Rangers look for forest fires from them. It’s one of the places I thought she might go for.”

“Where?”

“On that ridge.”

They were looking at a structure about a half mile away. It was a tower of some sort but through the trees they couldn’t tell if it was a radio or microwave antenna or a structure with a small enclosure on top.

“Maybe,” Lewis said.

“You see any sign of them?”

Now that their eyes were used to the dark, the half-moon provided fair illumination but the ravine separating the men from the ranger tower was shadowy, and in the bottom a canopy of trees provided perfect cover.

The women heading for the tower made some sense, rather than the Joliet Trail or the ranger station. The place might have a radio, or even a weapon. He debated for a moment and risked scanning the ground with the flashlight. If the women were near, at least they’d be moving away and might not see the light.

Then they heard a rustle of leaves, and turned fast toward the sound.

Six glowing red eyes were staring at them.

Lewis laughed. “Raccoons.”

Three big ones were pawing at something on the ground. It glistened and crackled.

“What’s that?”

Lewis found a rock and pitched it toward them.

With a mean-sounding hiss, they ran off.

Hart and Lewis approached and found what they’d been doing—fighting over some food. It looked like bits of crackers.

“Theirs?”

Hart picked one up, broke it in half with a snap. Fresh. He studied the ground. The women had stopped here apparently—he could make out prints of knees and feet. And then they had continued north.

“Women. Stopping for a fucking picnic.”

Hart doubted, though, it was to rest. That wasn’t Brynn. Maybe somebody needed first aid; he believed he smelled rubbing alcohol. But, whatever the reason, the important thing to Hart was that they hadn’t made for the fire tower; they were headed right for the trail.

He consulted the GPS and pointed ahead. “That way.”

“Mind that patch there,” Lewis said.

Hart squinted. When the moon was obscured by branches or a wisp of
cloud, the forest around them turned black as a cave. He finally saw what Lewis was pointing at. “What’s that?”

“Poison ivy. Bad stuff. Not everybody’s allergic. Indians aren’t.”

“Doesn’t affect them?”

“Nope. Not a bit. You might not be allergic but you don’t want to take a chance.”

Hart hadn’t known that. “What were you, a Boy Scout?”

Lewis laughed. “Funny, hadn’t thought about that for years. But, yeah, I was. Well, not really
in
them. I went on a couple camping trips then kind of dropped out. But I know that’s poison ivy ’cause my brother threw me in a patch once. And that fucked me up good. I never forgot what it looked like.”

“You were saying you have two? Brothers?”

“He was the older one, what else? I’m in the middle.”

“He know it was poison ivy?”

“I don’t think so. But something I always wondered about.”

“Must’ve sucked, Lewis,” Hart said.

“Yup…Oh, ’bout that. My friends call me Comp. You can use that.”

“Okay, Comp. Where’s that come from?”

“Town where my parents lived when I was born. Compton. Minnesota. My parents thought it sounded, you know, distinguished.” He snickered. “Like
anybody
in our family was ever distinguished. What a joke. But Daddy tried. Give him that. And yours’re both dead? Your folks?”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Was a while ago.”

“Still.”

They continued on through the tangled brush in silence for what seemed like two miles though it was probably a quarter of that. Hart checked his watch. Okay, he decided. It’s time.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone he’d been carrying. He pushed the
ON
button, and it went through that electronic ritual they all did nowadays. He figured out the settings and put the ringer on vibrate. Then scrolled through recent calls. The one on top was “Home.” He noted that the call had lasted eighteen seconds. Long enough for a message was all.

He wondered how long it would take before—

A light flashed and the phone buzzed.

Hart touched Lewis’s arm and motioned for him to wait, then lifted his fingers to his lips.

Lewis nodded.

Hart answered the call.

GRAHAM FELT HIS

It clicked. He heard the rustle of wind and his scalp stopped tensing but his heart took over, thumping hard. “Brynn?”

“This’s Officer Billings,” said the low voice.

Graham frowned and glanced at Anna.

The voice asked, “Hello?”

“Well, this is Graham Boyd, Brynn McKenzie’s husband.”

“Oh, sure, sir. Deputy McKenzie.”

“Is she all right?” Graham asked fast, chest throbbing.

“Yessir. She’s fine. She gave me her phone to hold.”

Relief flooded through him. “I’ve been trying all night.”

“Reception’s terrible up here. Comes and goes. Surprised when it rang just now, to be honest.”

“She was due home a while ago.”

“Oh.” The man sounded confused. “She said she called you.”

“She did. But her message said she was coming right home. It was a false alarm or something.”

“Oh, she was going to call again. Probably couldn’t get through. About the case, turned out it wasn’t a false alarm, after all. Was a domestic dispute, pretty ugly. Husband tried to downplay it. Lot of times that happens. Deputy McKenzie’s talking to the wife right now, getting the facts sorted out.”

The relief was so thick Graham could taste it. He smiled and nodded to Anna.

Billings continued, “She left her phone with me, didn’t want any distractions. She’s calming the situation down. She’s good at that. That’s why the captain wanted her to stay. Oh, hold on a minute, sir…Hey, sergeant?…Where’s Ralph?…Oh, okay…” The trooper came back on the line. “Sorry, sir.”

“Do you know how long she’ll be?”

“We’ve got to get Child Protective Services up here.”

“Lake Mondac?”

“Near there. Could be a few hours. Bad situation with the kid. Husband’s going to spend the night in jail. At
least
the night.”

“Few hours?”

“Yessir. I’ll have her call you when she’s free.”

“Okay. Well, thanks.”

“You bet.”

“’Night.” Graham hung up.

“What?” Anna asked and he explained what was going on.

“Domestic situation?”

“Sounded pretty bad. Husband’s going to jail.” Graham sat on the couch, staring at the TV screen. “Why’d
she
have to handle it, though?”

Not expecting an answer. But he was aware that the knitting needles had stopped and Anna was looking up from the scarf she was knitting. The colors were three shades of blue. It was pretty.

“Graham, you know Brynn had some trouble with her face.”

“Her jaw? Sure, the car accident.”

He had no idea where she was going with this.

The woman’s gray eyes were on his. That was one thing about Anna McKenzie. As demure as she could be, as polite and proper, she always looked you right in the eye.

“Accident,” she repeated slowly. “So you don’t know.”

More yellow jackets, Graham was beginning to sense.

“Go on.”

“I just assumed she’d told you.”

He was alarmed and hurt at the lie, whatever it might be. Yet he wasn’t very surprised. “Go on.”

“Keith hit her, broke her jaw.”

“What?”

“Wired shut for three weeks.”

“God, it was that serious?”

“He was a big man…. Don’t feel too bad she kept it from you, Graham. She was embarrassed, ashamed. She didn’t tell hardly anybody.”

“She said he was moody. I didn’t know he hurt her.”

“Moody? True. But mostly it was his temper problem. Like some people drink and some people gamble. He’d lose control. It was scary. I saw it happen a few times.”

“Rage-aholic. What happened?”

“The night he hit her? I’m sure it wasn’t anything big that set him off. It never was. That was the scariest. It could be the power went out before a game, the store was out of his brand of beer, Brynn telling him she was going back to work part-time when Joey got a little older. Whatever it was, he’d just snap.”

“I never knew.”

“So domestic problems—they mean a lot to her.”