The Glacier Gallows (32 page)

Midafternoon, they rode back toward the ranch, riding two abreast on the old dirt road, and Cole felt almost certain that he would find once more the fragile peace that had temporarily eluded him during the whole Brian Marriott affair.

“WE ARE HAVING
pumpkin pie, aren't we?” asked Sarah.

Dorothy Blackwater looked at Cole.

“We didn't grow any pumpkins this year, pumpkin,” he said.

“But it's Thanksgiving! We always have pumpkin pie.”

“I'll run into Claresholm and see what I can find.”

“It's okay, Daddy. It's a long drive.”

“Nothing is too long for you, darling.”

COLE LEFT NANCY,
Walter, and Sarah to set the table and finish the turkey. He took Walter's truck and drove the thirty minutes into Claresholm. Shop Easy Foods was still open. He dashed into the bakery section and found the last sad-looking pumpkin pie. He bought an extra-large container of whipping cream to compensate for the dejected-looking dessert. He paid at the till and jumped back into the truck.

“Should fill this baby up before I drive back,” Cole said aloud. He found a station and pumped the gas, and when he was done he went around to the driver's side to get back in. He caught a glimpse of an
SUV
with dark windows pulling up at the stop sign at the turnoff for Highway 520. The front windows were rolled down. Cole squinted. “No fucking way,” he said, getting into Walter's truck. He pulled away from the pump. Cole caught a glimpse of the
SUV
's plate. It was a rental vehicle. One of the men who had beaten him in the bar and hotel in Casper, Wyoming, was driving, and another man was in the passenger seat. They were in Claresholm, Alberta, and were heading toward the Blackwater Ranch.

PORCUPINE HILLS, ALBERTA. OCTOBER 8.

“I CAN'T REACH ANYONE THERE.”
Cole had his cell phone on speaker mode, and it sat on his lap while he drove, staying a mile back from the
SUV
. He felt a panic in his chest that made him feel as though he were having a heart attack.

“You're certain about this, Cole?” asked Inspector Reimer.

“Yeah, I recognized one of them from Casper.”

“We're going to ignore for the time being the fact that you left this out of your statement. Where are you now?”

“I'm ten minutes outside of Claresholm. I'm following the truck.” Cole looked at his speedometer. He was speeding on the gravel road, and he was just keeping sight of the
SUV
.

“Have they seen you?”

“I don't know.”

“Alright, here's what I want you to do. Follow them and keep this line open. Do not engage these men. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” said Cole. “But they're going to get to the ranch before you can get cops on the scene.”

“Hold on,” Reimer said. She was back in a minute. “Alright. I've got two units on their way from Claresholm. They will only be five minutes behind you when you reach the ranch.”

“A lot of bad things can happen in five minutes, Inspector.”

“Cole, we're going to get there as fast as we can. I'm mobilizing our tactical team from Calgary. They will be at your family's place in forty minutes. They are on their way.”

Cole felt his foot pressing down harder on the accelerator. “I'm going to hang up and call Walter again. See if I can get him.”

“Stay on with me, Cole. We have a 911 operator working to contact your family. I need you to keep your eyes on that truck.”

“Maybe I should overtake them.” The F-150 accelerated. He felt the heavy vehicle swaying on the gravel road.

“Do not engage these men, Cole. If they are who you say they are, no good will come from that.”

Fuck it, thought Cole. He wasn't going to let that truck reach the ranch. He pressed his foot to the floor, and the Ford leapt forward, fishtailing a little on the gravel, but racing to close the distance.

“TELL COLE THAT
he should get another bottle of wine or two, if he can find an open liquor store,” Nancy called from the kitchen.

“It's Claresholm on Thanksgiving Day, but I'll tell him.” Walter picked up the phone in the living room, started to dial, and discovered that the line was dead. He flicked the switch hook a few times and listened. Still nothing. He checked the connection between the phone and the jack. Odd, he thought.

Walter went through the kitchen, and Nancy asked, “Did he complain?”

“I haven't reached him. The phone is dead. I'm going to check the box.” Walter pulled on his boots and went out to the side of the house where the phone line came in from the highway. He opened the box and examined the connections. Things seemed to be intact. He looked at the line where it connected with a telephone pole next to the driveway. All appeared normal. Walter started to walk along the long gravel road that led from Highway 520 to the Blackwater Ranch. His eye caught a reflection of light high on the hill above the ranch. He kept walking but watched the spot from the corner of his eye. The light glimmered again. Walter knew there was nothing metallic on that hill that could cause such a reflection. He reached a third telephone pole, pretended to inspect it where the line attached, but he was really watching for movement high on the eastern hill. The reflection glinted once more. Walter walked back to the house. He didn't take his boots off when he came in the door.

“Shoes!” called Sarah from where she was helping Nancy in the kitchen.

Walter went to his bedroom and found his binoculars on the shelf. Without opening the curtains more than a few inches, he studied the eastern hillside where he had seen the sunlight reflecting off something. He saw movement. Nothing distinctive, but there was something there, and it was man-made.

He returned the binoculars to the shelf and went downstairs. “I don't want to sound alarmist,” Walter said calmly, “but I think that you ladies might want to head to the basement.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Nancy, looking out the sink window. The sky was dark blue at the end of the afternoon. “Is there a storm coming?”

“I don't know. I think I saw someone up on the hill. The phones are dead. I need you to take Sarah and Dorothy to the basement, please.”

Nancy crossed her arms. “Do you really think I'm going to cower in the basement?”

Walter smiled thinly and shook his head. “Cole sure was right about you.”

COLE CAME UP
on the
SUV
very fast. At the last minute, the truck's brake lights blinked and the vehicle veered to the left, so that Cole only clipped its back bumper. For a moment it fishtailed, its rear bumper grinding against the side of the F-150. The big
SUV
straightened out and accelerated away at a reckless speed. Cole pressed his foot to the floor and rammed its bumper.

“What's happening, Cole?” said Reimer over the phone.

“Can't talk now!”

“Cole!”

Cole grabbed his phone and disconnected it. The
SUV
hit its brakes again, and Cole collided with the back of it. This time it held its ground, and Cole steered to the right to avoid ending up in the ditch on his left. In a second the
SUV
was behind him, and Cole saw the man on the passenger side rolling down his window and aiming a handgun at him.

ONCE DOROTHY AND
Sarah were in the basement, Walter went back to his bedroom and opened his closet door. His Park Service uniform hung in the closet. On the floor was a keypad-operated safe. He entered the code, opened the door, and took out his HK P2000 and two magazines. He slipped one magazine into the pistol and chambered a round and made sure the safety was set. He then strapped on his Park Service belt and holstered the pistol, slipping the second magazine into the utility belt.

Walter retrieved his shotgun from the closet, unlocked the trigger guard, and loaded six shells into the breech. He went and stood in the kitchen, the shotgun on the counter, and looked out the sink window. Nancy came up beside him, and the two of them watched the golden hillside.

COLE SURE AS
hell wasn't going to lead these two thugs back to the Blackwater Ranch, so when the turn appeared, he kept going straight on Highway 520. His plan was to lead them into the forest reserve, high above the ranch. And then what? Drive all the way to Longview? If he had to, he would. He looked in his mirror and saw the
SUV
brake hard. In a plume of dust, it made the turn.

“Fuck,” he shouted and hit the brakes hard, almost losing control in the soft gravel. He did a quick three-point turn and drove hard back toward the ranch. The vehicle had disappeared on the other side of a rise in the rolling country, but Cole could see the telltale rooster tail of dust. Cole crested the rise and slammed on the brake. There was carnage in the road. The
SUV
had rear-ended a much smaller car, which was now on its side, its end in pieces. Next to the smaller car, the
SUV
was upside down, its tires spinning, glass and metal strewn across the gravel.

The car was Perry Gilbert's.

WALTER AND NANCY
heard the accident. He looked over his shoulder at the door to the basement.

“Do you think Cole is in trouble?” asked Nancy, her face gray.

“If he is, he's on his own. He can handle it. We're not leaving the ranch.”

COLE HIT THE
brake hard. The truck started to tip. He quickly took his foot off the pedal and the Ford leveled out but was still careening toward the wreckage in the road. Without touching the brake again, Cole steered the truck toward the ditch. He hit it hard, the airbag exploding in his face, a spray of gravel, mud, and turf cascading over the windshield as he plowed through the gully. He heard gravel hit the roof. He felt the front and then the rear tires clang over something metal, and then he was driving around the wreck next to the stock fence that bordered the road. He punched the airbag down and steered back toward the gravel, stopping before he hit the ditch again. Once was enough. He looked toward the accident scene and couldn't see anybody in the car.

The window of the
SUV
was still open, and he watched as the big man who had given him a beating in Casper started to climb out. Round two?

WALTER HELD THE
shotgun in his hands. He waited. He didn't flinch when he heard glass breaking in the front veranda and then the door quietly opening. He slipped the safety off on the shotgun. He pulled the pistol from his holster, slipped the safety off, and wordlessly handed the gun to Nancy. He motioned for her to hide behind the center island in the big country kitchen. He moved toward the veranda.

COLE STEPPED OUT
of the pickup and watched the big man stumble onto the road. He was bent over, spitting blood onto the gravel. Cole wouldn't have the advantage for long, so he ran as fast as his body would permit, and when he closed on the man, he kicked him as hard as he could in the face. The man's head snapped back, an arc of blood following him backward as he collapsed on the ground.

That's when the second man started to climb out of the driver's-side window.

WALTER SLOWLY WALKED
toward the living room. He held the shotgun pointed toward the floor, in the ready stance, and waited by the door to the basement. He heard the floorboards in the front hall creak. He drew in a deep breath.

The sound of the back door opening behind him was barely audible over the blood coursing in his ears. He risked a glance toward Nancy in the kitchen. She was crouched, the compact pistol in her hands, waiting.

COLE CHARGED AT
the man climbing out of the truck. He had a pistol in his hand as he pulled himself out of the broken window, but Cole was on him quickly. The man fired, the shot veering wide. Cole grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him the rest of the way out of the
SUV
. He wrapped both of his hands around the man's gun hand and smashed it against the undercarriage of the vehicle. The pistol fell into the dirt at their feet.

Cole flipped the man over his shoulder, but doing so sent a spasm of pain through his body. He dropped to one knee, his head spinning with the agony. His attacker composed himself and threw a series of neat jabs into Cole's face, connecting with his eyes, nose, and chin. Cole lunged forward and tackled the man around the waist, and they both ended up on the ground. They rolled twice, both men punching at each other but neither landing a knockout blow. The man ended up on top of Cole. He put his hands around Cole's throat and started to squeeze. Cole felt himself panic; his face grew dark red, and he grabbed frantically at his attacker.

It wouldn't take much to break the hyoid bone, and strangulation would happen quickly after that. Cole tried to calm himself. He crossed his right arm over his attacker's arms and with his strong legs pushed up and twisted. He and Denman had practiced this very move with Sarah at Trout Lake in Vancouver many times. The force of Cole's body threw the attacker to the side, and Cole landed a heavy blow with his elbow to the man's face, breaking his nose. When the man continued to struggle to his feet, Cole hit him again, harder and with his fist. The attacker collapsed into the dirt.

Breathing hard and in pain, Cole ran to Perry Gilbert's car and peered inside. Perry's head slumped forward against his chest. There was a lot of blood on his face and down his chest. Cole looked at Perry's passenger; the woman was also unconscious. A child cried loudly in the back seat, the five-point harness of her child seat having saved her from serious harm. Cole felt for a pulse, first Perry's and then his girlfriend's. He was panicked, and his heart was racing. He couldn't tell if either of them was alive.

And then he heard the shotgun blast from the Blackwater Ranch.

WALTER WAITED. HE
heard the floor creak again, and he watched out of the corner of his eye for the shape of a man at the back door. None appeared there. Then he saw movement in the hall mirror. Walter crouched down very slowly.