River of No Return : A Jake Trent Novel (9781451698053)

by Bertsch, David Riley

“You guys go and have fun.”

  Jake sipped the black coffee from an old yellow mug with a faded message on it. Noelle had given it to him. Do what you love. Love what you do.

  A wet snow fell on J.P. and Esma as they hurried back to the truck. Jake smiled, feeling comforted that things were at least normal on that front.

  “These mug folks really make it sound easy, Chayote.”

  The dog barked.

  “Breakfast. How could I forget?”

  After feeding time, Jake pulled on some Muck Boots and an old Orvis raincoat that hung near the back door. He walked out through a quarter-inch of slush to look for the King Cutty.

  A few modest-sized fish sipped blue-winged olives in the middle of the current, but the castle was vacant. The fish had moved elsewhere, as Jake suspected.

  Throwing sopping snowballs to Chayote occupied Jake for another ten minutes, until his hands froze. He heard the grumble of gravel that meant they had a visitor. Chayote was two steps ahead, already running full speed toward the front.

  Walk-ins were rare at the bed-and-breakfast, but not totally unheard of. Jake hoped the guard dog wouldn’t deter the guests.

  “C’mere! Leave it!”

  The snow came harder. Firm little spheres, not friendly flakes. It blew up from the ground and around, irritating Jake’s eyes.

  In the driveway, there was a park ranger’s Yukon.

  Jake called Chayote over and stood near the front door, waiting. The heeler could barely contain his excitement.

  “It’s not her, buddy. Relax.”

  The engine turned off and the driver’s-side door opened, which was facing away from the house. A figure came around the back of the SUV, but Jake couldn’t make out who it was through the veil of snow. He tried to shield his eyes from the precipitation, but it was no use.

  He stood there, frozen for half a second, wondering if Chayote was right. The snow had covered his short hair, and he realized he was freezing. He wiped the snow off his head and shoulders with his hand and walked toward the ranger.

  “Hello?” he shouted. The figure, which he could now deduce was female, stood about twenty-five yards out.

  “Jake? J.P.?”

  That voice. Goddammit, that voice. About sixteen hundred emotions welled up inside him. It is her, Chayote.

  “Yeah, it’s Jake. Come in.”

  Jake held the door for Noelle as he had a hundred times before. When she walked by him into the entryway, he sensed her presence in the personal way that he used to—the smell and the warmth.

  But she didn’t take off her coat.

  Jake was almost afraid to make eye contact with her, feeling that he would immediately be able to tell what she was thinking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “We’re fine here. Thanks. Just wanted to get out of the snow.”

  “Coffee?”

  “No.”

  He made the eye contact he’d dreaded, but it didn’t give him a hint either way. Her normal warmth wasn’t hiding, but neither was that sad, distant look she sometimes had in the mornings after they’d fought.

  “I was just driving by. Doing a loop down Moose-Wilson and back up to the highway.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got a strange call as I made the turn there at 22.”

  Paris. Divya had done as she promised.

  Jake looked down, ashamed.

  “A woman who says she knows you called and told me an unbelievable story. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  Noelle started to resist. “Please,” Jake added.

  She followed him into the kitchen, where she opted to sit on one of the high bar stools at the counter.

  “We can sit at the table.”

  “This is perfect.”

  Jake remained standing.

  “Do you know where Chief Terrell is?” Noelle was looking around as if to make sure no one was listening.

  “Only by chance. He’s on vacation.”

  “That’s what I heard.” She blinked too long. She was struggling with something. She pulled her dark hair back behind her ears, as if what she had to say would’ve been diluted by the wisps. “But the call I got from your anonymous friend . . . they . . . she said Terrell has been killed.”

  “What?” Jake’s mind reeled.

  “That’s not all. She said if I didn’t get you to help, his wife would die, too.”

  “Noelle, that doesn’t . . .”

  “She said you knew what you had to do.”

  “I don’t . . . she didn’t say anything else?”

  “Jake. Stop. Why would she say that?” Back in Noelle’s eyes was the uncertainty, the fear from last summer. “What’s going on?”

  “Lemme get you a coffee.” He was buying time to think.

  She protested. “This isn’t a social meeting.”

  He ignored that. “Sugar only, if I remember.”

  “Very funny.”

  Jake dumped in the generous pour of half-and-half that he knew she preferred. No sugar. Sweet ’N Low only. He put the mug in front of her on the granite. Now she was the one avoiding eye contact. “Thanks,” she mumbled to the counter.

  “Can I be honest?”

  Noelle nodded and finished her sip. “If it’s about the chief, yes.”

  “I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

  She leaned in, expecting more—a hypothesis, something. But Jake wasn’t quick to reveal his recent interactions with Divya; there was no way it could make things better.

  “You know someone was killed last night? There was an APB for a connected vehicle going north in the evening. I think I may have seen it.”

  “That I do know. The deputy needed my help. I was at the scene.”

  She didn’t let this distract her. “And now your friend says the chief is dead.”

  “Now I know that, yes.” Why hadn’t Divya shared this with him? And why hadn’t she gone through with her blackmail? “What kind of proof did she offer?”

  “She said to ask Layle about the chief.”

  “I just saw him last night. He was the one who told me the chief was on vacation.” Damn. This explains Layle’s comments about Terrell. “Something was wrong, though. The way Layle acted.”

  “Maybe something’s changed.” Noelle stood up and headed toward the door. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this. I’ll meet you at the police station?”

  “I’ve gotta get dressed.”

  Noelle gave Chayote a quick pat on the head and took off. Jake jogged upstairs to take a shower and put on some respectable clothes. As the water heated up, he called Divya, who didn’t answer her phone. Shit.

  One more cup of coffee in a to-go mug and he grabbed the keys to the 4Runner and went after Noelle, Chayote following him. The snow was still coming hard with the wind, and visibility was just a few hundred yards. A guide Jake didn’t know was launching with his clients at Wilson boat ramp. Poor guy.

  Jake pumped the heat and thought of Noelle, Divya, Layle, Terrell, and the murder—or was it murders? What in the world is Divya wrapped up in? Why hadn’t she followed through with her threat? Was Roger Terrell dead? If so, why?

  The police station was just past the town square and one block south. Noelle parked in the Law Enforcement Only lot. Jake cruised Willow and King Streets looking for a parallel spot. Near Shade’s Café a minivan was leaving. Jake slid the SUV in.

  There was nobody at the front desk when Jake walked in. He grabbed the white phone and pressed “0” according to the instructions. Before there was an answer, Noelle came strolling back out past him, putting her hat on and thanking the receptionist for checking.

  “He’s out,” Noelle said. “Let’s go.”

  “Still?”

  Jake acknowledged the
receptionist with a nod and followed Ranger Klimpton.

  “Where is he?” Jake shouted through the blustery snow.

  “Don’t know for sure, but I think we both have a pretty good idea. On scene at Game and Fish. Or up north, wherever that car was going.”

  They got in the Yukon together, leaving the 4Runner behind. Noelle took off her ranger hat and set it in the backseat. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, as per park rules. Her tan uniform shirt was buttoned up tight against the cold.

  “Did you ask where Terrell is?”

  “Of course.” The question irked her. “Vacation.”

  “You didn’t tell them what you . . .”

  “No. We’ll talk to Layle first.”

  That was it for conversation until they arrived at the Game and Fish warehouse. Two cop cars were parked on either side of the tall garage doors, which were wide open.

  Police tape was strung across the opening and around the parking spots in the area where Jake assumed the murderer must have parked, based on the webcam footage.

  A detective Jake didn’t recognize was outside in the lot. Layle was inside. Noelle dipped down to go under the tape, but Jake stopped her.

  “Not your crime scene.”

  Jake hollered over the tape. “Deputy Layle, can we have a minute?”

  He looked up from the lab cart, where the missing wolf once rested.

  “Meet you around the side.” He didn’t look surprised to see them.

  At the side door, Layle pulled off his evidence gloves and tossed them. “Tons of prints on that thing. We’ll take it to the lab for sure.”

  “Can we talk to you out back? Somewhere private?” Noelle asked him. He looked wary.

  “Give me one minute.” Layle walked back around the front near the garage doors and shouted to another officer to watch the door.

  In the back of the building, there were a few benches facing Flat Creek and the National Elk Refuge. The geese from the night before were still there, unmoving in the water with their heads tucked in, trying to stay warm.

  “What’s going on?” His wariness still evident.

  Noelle got to the point. “Where is Terrell?”

  The question caught Layle off guard. “What? He’s on vacation—”

  “Where, exactly?” Jake interrupted.

  “China. They were invited by some billionaire to represent Jackson Hole at a resort opening. That’s all I know.” He started back toward the warehouse, which raised Jake’s hackles.

  “Hey!” Noelle called after him. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Layle turned and hurried back over. His tone was hushed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “A woman called me today. She said the chief is dead. She said you know something about it.”

  Layle took a seat on one of the benches and brought his hands to his head. “A woman?”

  “An anonymous woman, yes.”

  Layle immediately took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number of the FBI agent he’d spoken to the day before.

  When he hung up, he looked straight across the refuge with cloudy eyes. He didn’t say a word.

  “Deputy Statler?” Noelle asked.

  “We all need to go somewhere and talk,” he said.

  36

  TRAM VILLAGE, CHINA. OCTOBER 26. MIDNIGHT.

  “No more injection,” Xiao told the giants. “We all must face music eventually.”

  Charlotte was in a drugged slumber in the Wapiti Suite. Copious amounts of chlordiazepoxide had been injected into her system at regular intervals for the last thirty-six hours.

  When the door slammed shut behind Xiao, Charlotte awoke. She was still foggy, but the light from the lamp seemed unfairly harsh. Too bright for a dream. She stirred a little and closed her eyes again but couldn’t fall back asleep. She took a glass of water from the bed stand and downed it.

  Objects in the distance came into focus for the first time in what seemed like forever. A man was in the corner, sitting on a leather ottoman and playing on his phone. She tried to ask where she was, but only a grunt came out. The man stood up as if to stop her from doing something, so she laid her head back down and closed her eyes.

  Memories came filtering back—she remembered a flight, an airport, and a big truck with a valet. But where am I? She felt tired and sad in a way she’d never experienced before. As if her will to live had been gutted out. There was still some sense of sleepy-numb tranquility in her mind, but it faded with each passing thought.

  She felt the urge to get up, to go somewhere. She tried to sit up, but she felt nauseated. Take a little rest.

  1 . . . 2 . . . 3. She was sitting up now. The man in the corner was looking at her in a peculiar way. She looked right back at him.

  Charlotte took a minute to get steady on her feet, then walked to the bathroom. All the while the man watched. Who was he? Her clothes smelled old and sweaty, so she shed them and turned the shower on. The warm water rejuvenated her.

  She was in China, she remembered. Vacation? She shampooed her greasy hair. She looked around. Too nice for a hospital. Definitely a hotel. But wasn’t she sick? She didn’t know.

  She recalled his face, the man in the corner, and she knew he wasn’t a friend. The way he looked at her when she woke up. He’s not going to let me leave.

  She washed her body with a sage-and-ginger body bar. The smell reminded her of home. Where is home? Somewhere beautiful. Sunny and clear and clean.

  Was she dead? That didn’t make sense. Who dies and goes to a hotel? She laughed at the idea. The noise startled her. Her lips and tongue felt numb. She thought hard for a minute, then said aloud, “I can speak.”

  A sense of identity came back as she dried herself off. Charlotte. She heard a kind man’s voice say it. Sweet and loving.

  She put on the robe hanging on the rack and walked back to the main room.

  “This will help.” The man was enormous. A giant. She took the cup from him. Coffee. She knew the smell.

  She sat on the bed for a while, sipping the coffee and letting details come back. Mountains, weddings, family: panoramas of exquisite countryside and close-ups of heartfelt smiles. She just lacked the big picture. How did it all connect? After the coffee was gone, she got up for another walk. The giant stood again.

  She eased along the perimeter of the room, observing the paintings, looking for clues. She walked by the giant, who didn’t move as she inspected him. Past the giant was the window. It was dark outside, but there was a pale light emanating from the streetlamps. She looked far-off first, hoping to see the landscapes from her visions. Nothing. Then to the surrounding buildings, where something seemed oddly familiar, but not quite right.

  Finally she looked at the ground. The dust. It was where she’d gone to sleep. A familiar place.

  “No!” she shouted. The giant walked toward her. “Stay back! Oh my god!” Reality came flooding in.

  37

  JACKSON, WYOMING. OCTOBER 25.

  1:15 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.

  Jake, Noelle, and Layle were stuffed into a little corner booth at the Bunnery. They had ordered lunch, but no one was eating much.

  “What did the feds tell you?” Jake asked when the waitress was out of earshot.

  “Nothing, really,” Layle explained. “They said they were on it. That they would turn it over to their international department, jump through the hoops, and get back to me. It was a short call. They told me to keep quiet.”

  “How short?”

  “I don’t know—a few minutes.”

  “Doesn’t that seem strange?” Noelle piped up. “You report an international kidnapping and they don’t have much to say?”

  “She said she’d be back in touch.”

  “But she didn’t call back?”

  “We
didn’t talk until just now, no.”

  “What did she say now?”

  “That . . . she said that Terrell had been shot and killed by his captors. That a team was on the way, and that since this may be an issue of national security, we have to stay quiet.”

  “How did this happen?” Jake was asking rhetorically.

  “I should have tried harder to find her,” Layle mumbled.

  “What?” Jake asked, intrigued now. “Find who?”

  “To hell with it, I figure I’m getting canned after this anyway. The kidnapper called me—made the chief call me—and told me I had to find out where some woman’s house was in Jackson.”

  “An Asian woman?” Jake asked.

  Layle nodded. “The daughter.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What is it?” Noelle was playing catch-up.

  “The woman who called you. She wants me to look for the same person.”

  “So put out an APB.” Noelle had turned to the deputy.

  “Hold on. Did the FBI contact mention any daughter? Any woman?” Jake asked.

  “No.”

  “I need to make a call.” Jake stood up. “Your FBI agent, the woman who called Noelle, my . . . acquaintance. They’re all the same person.”

  Jake headed out the swinging doors, took a quick look around, and headed to the back alley. Voice mail again. “Jesus Christ, Divya. If you don’t call me and let me know what’s going on . . . someone is dead, for God’s sake.” He hung up.

  Check that. Two people are dead. Jake hurried back into the café. Layle was gone, on the phone.

  “Noelle. The car. Did you find the car from last night?”

  “The Tercel? No trace of it.”

  “We need to find that car.”

  Jake left a fifty-dollar bill on the table, and they rushed out.

  Noelle motioned to Layle that they were leaving; he was leaning against the bannister of a wooden boardwalk. He hung up, put his cell in his pocket, and followed them back toward the Game and Fish warehouse, just two hundred yards north.

  “What is it?”

  Jake turned. “Until we hear something, the only thing we can do is try to find that Tercel.”