Nevada Barr - Anna Pigeon 13 - Hard Truth

by Hard Truth(lit)

  Ray smiled enigmatically. Rita said, "I didn't hear anything. I turned in half an hour after you did and slept like a log."

  Anna's crusty old soul was gratified to find the young woman was not as averse to lying as she would have people believe.

  Coffee, instant oatmeal with cinnamon and raisins, and moving her muscles restored Anna to civility. She thanked Ray for his hospitality and left the two of them to linger over breakfast. Because the hike out was rel-atively easy and because it was her duty, Anna inspected the campground before heading down the mountain.

  Like most sites in national parks, the Fern Lake camps were a ways from the lake. With increased visitation and increased awareness of the impacts on water systems, the days of campsites at the lake's edge had gone the way of cutting evergreen boughs to make a bed and digging trenches around tents to keep the rainwater out.

  Campers were, for the most part, good custodians of the park, but in Rocky Mountain, an easy Friday afternoon's drive from the major urban center of Denver, visitation was relentless. It was a weekend recreation area with all that entailed: beer parties, half-assed adventures, sports people who liked to run, bike or fish in the park. The mix made campground patrol and maintenance as never-ending and important as housework.

  Raymond had not been doing a damn thing. Fern Lake camp was a mess. Fire rings had been built, used and rebuilt. Tree trunks were dragged around to create benches. Each of the sites was provided with a bear-proof canister chained to a tree to provide safe food storage for visitors. One was vandalized. One was gone. Why anyone would bother packing chain-cutting tools in for the pleasure of packing out a cheap, heavy, ugly metal box was beyond Anna's comprehension. But then so was a lot of what passed for entertainment among her fellow human beings.

  Bleeker had five years as a backcountry ranger. The dereliction couldn't be written off to inexperience. Laziness. Indifference. "Disrespect for the land," Anna hissed. The prolonged search gave him some small excuse but not much. Anna guessed that the search had taken up his district ranger's time and attention and, when the cat was away...

  Mice.

  At Rocky everything seemed to come back to mice.

  It crossed her mind to hike back to the cabin and discuss campground responsibilities but she decided against it. Bleeker needed to be called down and addressed in the confines of the ranger station on Anna's turf and Anna's schedule.

  Ray Bleeker's season ended September seventeenth. Two weeks-less, she realized as she reached into her brain to retrieve the day's date. There wasn't much point in firing him but neither would he be working at Rocky Mountain next summer, not if Anna had any say in the matter. He would be reprimanded. It was to be hoped that would be sufficient to motivate him to do his work. Destroying and rehabilitating the fire rings would take him at least three days.

  About thirty minutes down the trail she found the bear-proof food storage box. It had been tossed into a pile of broken granite when the thief realized he wasn't having as much fun with a chunk of metal alloy as he'd thought he was going to. Having retrieved it, she tied it to her dav-pack. Though the metal was nothing special, the construction simple and the design slightly older than that of the wheel, she was glad to have recovered it. The box might be cheap but it was not inexpensive. Nothing the federal government bought ever went on sale.

  Anna radioed ahead and Emily was waiting at the trailhead to give her a ride. Knowing that once she got home a hot bath would beckon and the odds against her getting anything constructive accomplished would be significantly increased, she asked to be taken straight to the district ranger station off Bear Lake Road.

  Rocky had a glitzy new Visitors' Center with administrative offices at the east entrance of the park. The offices there were carpeted, well lighted, and the Visitors' Center had all the bells and whistles, including a beautiful four-hundred-seat theater and a gift shop. The Thompson River District station was more traditional-and more to her liking. Small, old, it had been built with other purposes in mind and converted to a ranger station later in life. The place smelled of stale wood smoke and pine and, of course, mice. It reassured her that she was indeed in a national park and not a cubicle in a city somewhere.

  Her office was a delight. It had been added on to the original struc-ture, probably for use as a sunroom. Many-paned windows enclosed three sides of the small rectangular room, and pine-filtered light gave a sense of being out-of-doors. In winter it would probably be impossible to keep warm. In late summer it was a pleasure to serve there.

  Her first order of business was to call the chief ranger and report on her misadventure at Picnic Rock. Lorraine would take it from there, informing Colorado law enforcement that the search for Robert Proffit was no longer a matter of mere courtesy but one of law.

  Anna's next task confirmed the urgency of the appeal. A message had been left on her desk to call Heath Jarrod. Jarrod told her of Robert's visit to the girls, his attempt to lure them away from New Canaan, and Alexis purported pregnancy. As Anna dutifully relayed this new information to Lorraine, she roundly cursed the New Canaanites for refusing to allow rape kits to be taken when the girls first reappeared. Given that the children were all they had of the crime scene-wherever the hell that was-the DNA and trace evidence on their persons might have meant the difference between solving the case and not.

  After spending several hours of what was deemed by the bureaucracy to be necessary paperwork, Anna felt it was legal, moral and ethical to go home though it was only four-thirty.

  Hours in a chair had undone any good gleaned from her hike down the mountain. Muscles and sinews in her back had grown stiff and ached like the dickens. As she pulled the Crown Vie under the carport of her rental house, she realized she needed emotional heat more than physical. Paul's voice, or words of love transmitted via cyberspace, loomed even larger in her vision of heaven than a long, exceedingly hot bath and a bed without rocks and manzanita as its main structural components.

  Anna had reason to regret her priorities.

  There were several e-mails from Paul. Witty, kind and beginning with the salutation that always made her go weak at the knees and fall in love all over again: "My darling wife." But before she was done reveling in the knowledge that she missed him, truly deeply missed him, missed him even more than she was enjoying her solitude, she noticed an unfamiliar address: goodnews@slipstream.com.

  Anna had never heard of Slipstream but that didn't concern her. The net evolved exponentially. In moments of weakness she could almost believe the takeover of earth by The Machines was in the not-so-distant nature. What gave her a creepy feeling was the "goodnews." Some repressed memory of early Sunday school trauma suggested, though the news might be good, it sure as hell wasn't going to be good for her. For the briefest of moments she considered deleting it unread. For a slightly longer period of time she toyed with the idea of putting off reading it till she'd had her bath. Dismissing both thoughts as cowardly, she opened it.

  Dear Mrs. Pigeon: I wanted you to know it was an accident. I hiked out as fast as I could and told Rita to go get you. I hope your few hours in the gorge weren't too uncomfortable. Yours in Christ, R.

  Robert Proffit. Anna was getting right royally sick of that boy.

  Chances were he was a kidnapper, murderer and pervert. That made him of professional interest. Pushing her over a cliff made him of personal interest. Those wishing to evade the law should never make themselves personally interesting. Proffit was not only responsible for the ache in her back, but now condemned her to postponing the longed-for panacea of a hot bath.

  She re-read the short message, forwarded a copy to Chief Ranger Knight and took her creaky body back out to her patrol vehicle.

  It was only as she revved the engine to scare away any cats as was her habit since Piedmont had come to keep her company nearly a decade before, that she realized Hector-Hecuba-the little scaredy cat Beth and she had rescued from the vile boys, hadn't come to the door to greet her as Piedmont always did, ha
dn't made an appearance at all.

  Feeling snubbed, she promised herself a pleasant evening of buying the kitten's love with bits of tuna. The way to a cat's heart is long and torturous but through the stomach was a good place to start.

  The e-mail said Proffit hiked out as fast as he could and referred to Anna's sojourn in the bottom of Tourmaline Gorge as a "few hours"- about the amount of time it would take for a round trip on foot from Picnic Rock to Bear Lake and back. He said he'd told Rita. A lot of things didn't match up with Rita Perry's version of the events: told, not left a note; specificity-Rita had insisted she hadn't known precisely where Anna was or what had happened; the time frame.

  If Rita Perry had left her lying in Tourmaline Gorge twenty hours longer than she had to, Anna would know the reason why. The obvious was that she waited in hopes that Anna would die. Then why come at all? Curiosity Remorse? Or had she become frightened Robert would tell

  someone and it would come out that she'd known and not responded?

  Any of those explanations would work except for one glaring fact. Anna was not dead. Had Rita wanted her dead, instead of levering the rock off

  her legs she could simply have bashed her head in. As she had not availed

  herself of the opportunity to crush Anna's skull, it had to be assumed Rita : anted to keep her alive. Or didn't want her dead yet. It was possible Rita had left her there overnight because she wanted Anna out of the way for twenty-four hours.

  No. Rita was too sane to rely on the fact that the person she wanted out of the way was going to accidentally get knocked off a big rock and trapped under a boulder at precisely the right moment in time. The other possibility was that Robert Proffit was lying. But then so was Rita, even if only by omission.

  Rita's quarters were next door to the district ranger station on Bear Lake Road. She shared a snug little two-bedroom house with one of the female research seasonals, a woman in her fifties or sixties whom Anna had met but hadn't had a chance to get to know.

  The rules of search and seizure forbade Anna from breaking into Rita's quarters, but if Rita's roommate invited her in, which she was sure to do, Anna could check out the shared portions of the house where Rita could not be said to have an expectation of privacy. Sort of like a vampire, Anna thought. Once invited in by one dwelling there...

  The turn into the ranger station always came as a surprise: a narrow break in the trees, a hairpin drive dropping steeply down to the left. Rita's car was parked in the gravel pull-out, but then it would be. Parking at Rocky was at a premium, particularly at Bear Lake. Rita would have bummed a ride from another ranger.

  Anna knocked on the door and her half-baked theory was blasted. Rita Perry answered. She must have hiked out a few hours after Anna. Remembering the revels of the previous night, it was surprising she'd not opted to remain at Fern till her lieu days were over.

  The merest flicker of joy warmed the planes of Rita's handsome face when she saw who stood on her doorstep. Immediately it was quenched as if by a sudden memory of past wrongs or planned betrayals. "You haven't even showered," she blurted out.

  "Can you smell me?" Anna asked amiably.

  "Not from here. I mean no. It's just I know how good it feels. You must have been busy."

  "I have," Anna said. "May I come in?"

  "Oh gosh, the place is a mess..."

  From their brief acquaintance Anna knew this was an exceedingly un-Rita-like thing to say. Downright unranger-like. In her years in the parks Anna couldn't recall a single person in the green and gray uttering that phrase regardless of the domestic disaster behind them.

  Before the social interaction could deteriorate further, a cheery round face appeared at Rita's elbow. Donna, her housemate, was a foot shorter than the law enforcement ranger and at least two decades older. From the ocean of new information Anna had jumped into on coming to Rocky; she miraculously fished out the woman's name and specialty. "How's the bighorn sheep census going, Donna?"

  "Today we had a regular sheep jam-come in, come in. It gets cold at night. At least it keeps the mosquitoes down."

  Rita stepped aside to let Anna pass. Anna smiled sweetly. Or what she hoped was sweetly and not that happy grin dogs get when they're about to catch a particularly noisome cat.

  The place wasn't a candidate for a Good Housekeeping award but it was no more messy than shared and temporary quarters tended to be. The clutter was of the usual park variety: backpacks, boots, tents, water bottles and sleeping bags.

  One cache of goods was of particular interest to Anna. A bag, pillow and a stuff sack of clothes were neatly pushed against the brick hearth. Beside them were a battered shaving kit, a pair of flip-flops and a Bible.

  The flip-flops were too big for Rita, substantial though her feet were.

  Anna crossed to the hearth and picked up the well-thumbed Bible. It was small, the cover black leather or leatherette, the kind routinely given out at confirmation.

  "Nice Bible. May I?" she said, looking at Rita.

  Rita nodded, defeat or acceptance hard around her mouth.

  Anna flipped open the Bible and read the inscription: "For Robert. Love, Aunt Connie."

  "It's Robert Proffit's."

  Rita got no points for frankness. Too little and way too late.

  Anna looked pointedly at the oversized flip-flops and the shaving kit.

  "Oh dear," Donna muttered.

  "Robert was staving with me for a few days," Rita said, her customary fire and defiance back.

  "We didn't say anything because seasonals aren't allowed to have guests," Donna said all in a rush. "But he was such a nice young man-"

  "Seasonals can have guests if they want," Anna interrupted, keep-ing her eyes on Rita. "Just not guests who are suspected of kidnap and murder."

  "Oh Lord!" Donna gasped.

  "Do you want to come up to the office so we can have a talk?" Anna asked Rita.

  The young woman preceded her out of the house without another word. Walking behind her, Anna couldn't help but admire her strong straight back-a back which probably was not aching like a son-of-a-bitch-and wide shoulders. At six-foot, she was a head taller than Anna and considerably younger. In a fair fight, there was no doubt she would prevail. Anna never fought fair. On the rare occasions she had resorted to the crude imperative of physical force, she'd fought to win, or at least survive. Tonight she wasn't much concerned with self-defense. Rita had had her chance.

  With Rita Perry, Anna faced an obstacle significantly greater than mere brute power. The look of the martyr about to die for the faith had returned. Surely Proffit wasn't whom she was metaphorically willing to burn at the stake for, not after the hijinks Anna had been an aural witness to the previous night, but one never knew. Religion often found justifi-cation for appetite.

  Rita unlocked the ranger station and went inside. Anna switched on the overhead light. The sun had gone behind the mountains and twilight in the trees came early. "Have a seat." She nodded to the Formica-topped folding table in front of a stone fireplace that looked as if it had not been used-or cleaned-since JFK was president.

  Rita did as she was asked. Anna sat across from her, wincing as she lowered herself into the chair.

  "Oooh, ouch! Are you hurting bad?" Rita asked sympathetically. "I can probably get you some Valium. We've got an excellent working relation-ship with our On Call. You're gonna seize up tonight's my bet. Second night's the worst."

  The sympathy annoyed Anna. Not because she thought it was feigned; Rita-like Robert Proffit, Anna reminded herself-was ultimately quite believable. Anna believed her but she'd learned the hard way that simply because one believes they see little green men, pink elephants, gray-skinned aliens or angels does not mean these creatures are really there. Personal truth is a subjective thing and Anna had yet to discover any uni-versal truths.

  The reason the sympathy grated was because she wanted it, wanted another human being to say, "There, there, you poor dear. Here's a Val-ium. Let me draw you a hot bath an
d rub your back." Rita hadn't gone quite that far but she did offer the emotional warmth and the muscle relaxant.

  Using irritation to stiffen her aching spine, Anna brushed off both sympathy and the offer of drugs. "I'm fine," she said curtly. "I'd have been better had I not lain on a rock and pointy sticks for twenty-four hours. We're going to need to go over how you came to rescue me, but first, Robert Proffit. How long has he been living with you?"

  Rita looked offended. "He wasn't living with me. He was staying with me."

  Anna hadn't made the distinction. It was clear Rita wanted the record set straight; she was not having sexual intercourse with Robert. If she worried about her reputation as a good Christian girl, she should keep in mind how thin the cabin walls are, Anna thought sourly. Maybe Rita only needed to clarify that she was not having sex with Proffit to distance her-self from him now that he was a fugitive or because she didn't want that rumor reaching Ray Bleeker. Like all small, isolated communities, national parks were hotbeds of gossip.