by Todd Borg
“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.
The jacket burst into flame, a huge torch throwing yellow light back at Dwight who was reloading his flare gun.
Simone seemed paralyzed.
“RUN, SIMONE! SKI TOWARD ME!” I kept trudging down the slope toward her as fast as I could, high-stepping my legs in the deep powder. Spot was leaping through the deep powder, getting closer to Dwight, but still many seconds away.
Simone reached down and grabbed her poles. She planted one, made a single stride, and fell over in the snow.
Dwight skied toward Simone. He stopped above her, held the flare gun out, and pointed it down at her.
“DWIGHT!” I yelled, my voice impotent in the huge landscape that was filled with sound-muffling snowflakes.
Dwight didn’t respond. He brought his other hand up for support, as if making certain that his aim at the writhing woman was perfect.
As I watched, horrified, I sensed a dark movement at my side. I turned.
Joe flew by me, racing down the slope on my skis. His knees were bent, his upper body straight. His boots didn’t fit into my ski bindings. He was merely perching on the skis, held on by nothing more than amazing balance. He held his arms out to the side for balance like when he did the earthquake walk.
Joe shot past me and then past Spot in the dark. When he came to the bottom of the slope, he had a lot of speed to keep him planing on the powder. He aimed straight for Dwight.
Dwight didn’t see him, so focused was he on aiming the flare gun.
Joe was still several yards away, silently racing up behind Dwight when he let forth with a booming yell.
It was a deep alien sound, a resonant, thrusting presence as physical as it was audible. It shook my chest even though I was far away and behind Joe.
Joe’s yell rose in volume, a sound like a lion’s roar but more powerful for its surprise.
Joe had told me that it was a yell of fear. But its effect on Dwight was as if someone had taken a ship’s foghorn and blasted it behind Dwight’s head.
He jerked up into the air. The hand holding the flare gun flew sideways. The gun arced through the air as it went off, its little pop inaudible against the bellowing thunder from the old man. The flare traced a shallow arc into the snow.
Spot finally got to Dwight and leaped toward him. But his legs sunk in, and his rise was slow. Dwight saw him and twisted away with athletic speed.
Spot turned his head but was unable to grab Dwight. Spot’s shoulder hit Dwight a glancing blow. Dwight went down and crawled for the flare gun. He reached his hand down into the snow, feeling, searching. Spot jumped over, opened his giant mouth, and, like a mountain lion, put his jaws around the back of Dwight’s neck.
Dwight froze.
Spot held Dwight immobile.
Simone’s jacket was still burning a bright yellow, its light illuminating her face as I reached out for her hand and pulled her up.
She clutched at my jacket, and I hugged her. She cried hard for a few minutes, but then slowed, her violent jerking shivers calming from the effects of exhaustion more than anything else.
Eventually, she pushed her face away from my chest. Her cheeks were red and wet and reflected the yellow light of her burning jacket.
“He held the gun up,” she said in a tiny voice, her French accent more pronounced. “He was aiming right at my face. I could see into the gun barrel. But something happened. Like an earthquake. What was that?” Simone’s eyes searched mine. Confusion mixed with the shock of almost being murdered.
I turned and pointed through the dark toward Joe, who was bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“That was the Rorvik Roar,” I said.
EPILOGUE
Late in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve, we sat on Street’s deck as the sun dropped behind the West Shore mountains and the temperature started to plunge.
“I wonder,” Diamond said as he sipped his coffee, “were Ned and Dwight in contact?”
“Dwight hasn’t said a word since they put him in jail, but I doubt it,” I said. “I think he’s been observing Ned from a distance.”
Street said, “If Ned had known that his brother Peter had moved to town and was living as Dwight Frankman, he wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about it. Simone would have known.”
“Dwight was conflicted about Ned,” I said. “On one hand, he worshiped his stepbrother, and he killed his mother in retribution for beating on Ned. He probably wanted to be near Ned. He helped Ned enter Joe’s origami contest. But Dwight also knew that Ned was a loser, always in trouble, always broke. If Ned had known of his brother’s proximity and success, he would’ve hounded Dwight for money. He might have even preyed on Dwight to get money. Ned must have been as overbearing on his brother as he was on everyone else.”
“Dwight probably changed his name from Peter just to help ensure that Ned couldn’t track him down,” Street said.
I nodded. “In his closet shrine, the photos showed that when he was still Peter, he was an athlete. When he became Dwight, he adopted a geeky look. When I first met him at Joe’s, he wouldn’t face the street and he acted furtive. I think that was because he’d spotted Ned in the neighborhood, and he didn’t want Ned to recognize him. Later, h
e told me about how he was careful about keeping his blinds drawn.”
Diamond said, “Dwight probably suspected that Ned followed Simone when she went hiking. If Ned saw his brother in the Cameron disguise with the wig, he probably wouldn’t recognize him.”
Street’s phone rang. She answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up.
“They’re ready,” she said.
Diamond finished his coffee. “I’ll meet you there,” he said.
An hour later, we drove the Jeep toward El Dorado Beach in the center of South Lake Tahoe. I had a small box in my lap. Joe sat in the front passenger seat. He held a large box that filled the space between his chest and the dashboard.
Street and Simone sat in back, Street behind Joe and Simone behind me. We squeezed Spot into the little space behind the back seat. Spot sat sideways, his chest jammed between the rear door and the back of the back seat. He cranked his head sideways and hung it over Simone’s shoulder. He put on his sad eyes and immediately got continuous pets from her.
We all listened as Joe explained what we mostly already knew, that he’d been to the hospital and had his talk with Rell, and then he’d told the doctors that they could pull the plug. But before they could take her off the life support machines, Rell’s heart beat once more and went still.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Street lean forward from the back seat and rub Joe’s shoulders.
There was a steady flow of traffic in town, rolling softly through the fresh snow, a hundred thousand ski and snowboard tourists heading to condos and hotels and restaurants after a day on the various mountains.
After a long silence, Joe spoke again. “Simone hasn’t been able to find a good place to live. So I said she could live with me if she wanted. It’s not like I don’t have extra rooms. Of course, sharing a fridge with an old man is not an easy sell. But I think she was eventually swayed by having her own bathroom for the first time in her life. So she’s decided to grace this old man’s house with her youthful energy. She moved in yesterday. It was a big project, of course, because of all her possessions. You’ll be interested to learn that in addition to her small suitcase, Simone also owns a tiny purse.”
