by C. J. Box
“Want some jerky?”
“No,” Cody said. “I want a cigarette.”
“Sorry.”
“I wonder what he did to deserve this,” Cody said. “Knifing a sixty-one-year-old man. His wife’s on the trip, it looks like. I wonder if she’s involved or if we’ll find her body up ahead. I can’t see her just going along after her husband’s been killed. And how many in the group saw it happen? And what kind of hell are they going through now?”
Mitchell shrugged.
“Do you have a GPS?” Cody asked. “Mine got burned up in the fire. I’d like to get the exact coordinates here so we can let the rangers know to come get the body.”
Mitchell said, “I know the exact location of Camp One. I’ll tell ’em.”
“There may be more forensic evidence around here,” Cody said, looking up toward where the tents were pitched on the grassy shelf. “A crime-scene crew could find something if they got here before too long. Maybe where the killing took place, or footprints, or pieces of parachute cord. Or blood. It’s not unusual to find the blood of the killer at the scene of a knifing. It’s amazing how often the assailant cuts himself with his own knife during a struggle. Lots of times they don’t even know it until later.”
“Yeah,” Mitchell said with a slow smile building, “I watch them shows on television. The CSI folks would get here and we’d know the whole story and catch the bad guy in forty-eight minutes flat.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Cody said.
“And it sure as hell wouldn’t work here,” Mitchell said. “I promise you that. It’ll likely rain this afternoon and wash evidence away, or the wolves will come back and clean things up. Nothing works here like normal, like I told you earlier.”
Cody sat down heavily on a rock next to Mitchell.
He said, “I’ve never been on a crime scene before when it was just me. Usually we’ve got evidence techs and forensic guys on the way, not to mention all my own equipment. I can’t even communicate with anyone except you. I feel so goddamned helpless.”
“So maybe we better get on our horses and find the rest of ’em,” Mitchell said. “That’s the only way we’re going to know what’s happened here.”
“Yeah. So you said earlier we have to leave the body?”
Mitchell nodded. “We ain’t takin’ it with us, that’s for sure.”
“Then what do we do with it? Sink it back into the lake? Bury it?”
“Wolves’ll come back,” Mitchell said, shaking his head. “There won’t be nothin’ left. There’s only one thing we can do.”
Cody said, “Hang it up?”
“I know where the food pole is,” Mitchell said, struggling to his feet, his back popping. “A hundred yards up the mountain away from the camp. Unless Jed moved it. We can run the body up the pole until the rangers get here.”
“Man.”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“I wish I did.”
* * *
It wasn’t easy. Cody got kicked in the face with Glode’s boots as the body was pulled up into the air. Mitchell had dallied the rope around his saddle horn and walked his horse toward the north until the body was raised twenty feet into the air. Cody looked up. Glode’s arms were splayed straight out to the sides from the rope looped under his arms. His head was cocked to the side and his legs hung straight down. The body turned slowly as they tied the rope off after wrapping it around the sap-heavy trunk of a lodgepole pine.
“Birds’ll get at it,” Mitchell said, “but there isn’t much we can do about that. This is about as dignified as we can get for now.”
Mitchell tied the rope off. “Things have changed around here in more ways than one,” he said, as much to himself as to Cody. “If anything, they’ve gotten a hell of a lot wilder and more dangerous than they used to be. The grizzly bear population is way up, and there’s nothing going to keep it down. And the reintroduction of wolves has changed the whole ecosystem. I’ve heard old-timers compare this wolf deal to introducing street gangs back into inner cities where the gangs had long since been wiped out. I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Mitchell said, “but it sure has changed things. There are a hell of a lot more critters around that can eat us than there used to be.”
“Great,” Cody said.
* * *
As they rode away from Camp One the trail was instantly recognizable. It was churned up by the hooves of multiple horses and mules.
“One thing I’m sure you noticed, being the detective and all,” Mitchell said over his shoulder as he rode, “was that rock holding the body underwater.”
Puzzled, Cody said, “What about the rock?”
“I guess I mean the knots on it.”
“What about the knots?” Cody asked, annoyed.
“You didn’t recognize the style of knots used to secure that rock to the line?”
Cody sighed. “I’m getting tired of being strung along here.”
“Diamond hitches,” Mitchell said. “Damned near perfect ones. Not the easiest thing to tie in the world, but probably the best damned knot in an outfitter’s arsenal.”
Cody felt his face go slack.
“Think about it,” Mitchell said again.
* * *
Cody reached back into his saddlebag as he rode and found the satellite phone. After staring at it in his hand for a few minutes, he powered it on.
It took two minutes to boot up, find the satellite, and come back with full reception.
He had five messages. All from Larry.
27
As Gracie and Dakota topped the hill they found the others. Jed had ridden ahead and gathered everyone off to the side of the trail and they sat their horses and looked back at the stragglers.
Dakota said, “Oops, looks like we let them get too far ahead of us.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Naw, I can handle it.”
Gracie saw where Jed had tied a red bandana on a sapling to indicate to D’Amato and Russell—and possibly Tristan Glode and Wilson—where to turn off.
Jed said to Dakota, “You need to keep the hell up.”
Dakota lied, “Gracie was having a little trouble with Strawberry. We got it all worked out.”
Jed narrowed his eyes and looked from Dakota to Gracie and back. Gracie could tell he wasn’t sure he was buying the explanation.
Her dad rode over to her. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Fine,” Gracie said.
He rode close alongside and reached out and touched her cheek. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Me too,” she said.
She could see the relief in his face. He said, “We still do need to talk.”
“I know.”
“Danielle, too. We all need to talk. I thought it would be easier on this trip but we’re constantly with everyone else.”
Gracie nodded, and he touched her again and walked his horse back to his place in line.
She said, “Dad?”
When he turned, his face filled with concern, she said, “Danielle and I talked with her. She seems nice.”
He beamed, and said, “She is.”
* * *
“Okay,” Jed barked, gesturing toward a thick copse of trees at the edge of the meadow, “this is where the trail breaks off. And if everyone will keep in line and follow me and not wander too far behind,” he glared at Dakota, “we should all be okay.”
And with that he turned his horse and gathered his mules and set off across the meadow. To Gracie, it didn’t even look like a trail.
Where are we going?
She turned and looked over her shoulder at Dakota. Dakota shrugged and extended her arms palms up in a who knows? gesture.
28
Cody wanted to hurt someone, break something, unleash holy hell. He’d chewed up two packages of Stride gum and drained his Nalgene bottle, pretending the warm plastic-tasting water was 100-proof alcohol, but it wasn’t. His cravings for nicotine and booze pulled
at him from the inside like talons and he thought, One cold beer, one cigarette, that’s all I fucking ask. That, and my son.
The single cigarette he had remaining was in his breast pocket, but he’d sworn to himself to save it for when everything was over and Justin was safe. As he rode past pine trees he wondered what their bark would taste like if he stripped it, crumbled it into powder, and inhaled. When he rode Gipper over small streams of water he looked down and wished it came from a brewery.
His head swam and he couldn’t concentrate, but there was one thing he knew and he finally said it to Bull Mitchell.
“You need to turn around and go home.”
Mitchell acted as if he hadn’t heard him. He rode ahead, comfortable in his saddle, his shoulders wide as if telling him to shut up and go away.
They were an hour from Camp One, an hour from where they’d found the body. They hadn’t talked, but Cody recognized that Mitchell had picked up the pace and made his horse and the packhorse work harder than before.
“I said, you need to turn around now and go home,” Cody said again.
Mitchell didn’t turn his head. He drawled, “And why is that?”
“Because I promised your daughter I wouldn’t put you into a bad situation. But we’re in one. We’ve got a dead body and who knows what we’re riding into. The deal was you’d guide me. I figured we’d find them and you could hang back and let me do my job. But we’ve got a dead man hanging from a tree and this isn’t what the deal was.”
Mitchell rode along.
Cody said, “This trail we’re on is all churned up by Jed’s horses. An idiot could follow this, it’s like a highway. I don’t need you anymore and your daughter does. Your wife does. I’ll return the horses when I’m through.”
Mitchell chuckled drily, and said, “Will you now?”
“Yes. Go back to the truck and trailer and I’ll meet you there when this is through.”
Mitchell rode along.
“I’m not kidding. It’s not a negotiation. I’ll pay you what I promised because you delivered. You got me here and pointed me where I need to go. Like I said, any idiot could follow their trail now that we’re on it.”
“And you’re the idiot?”
Cody said, “Pretty much, goddamn it. I’ve got it covered. Go back to the truck, relax, and I’ll see you tomorrow or whenever.”
“You’re sure?”
He said it in a way that led Cody to believe he might have been thinking the same thing.
“I’m absolutely sure.”
Mitchell conceded, “There is a pretty obvious trail.”
“Yes, there is.”
“An idiot could follow it.”
“Yes.”
“If I get back to the truck, you want me to call the Park Service? Tell them about the dead man?”
Cody hesitated a moment, thinking about the ramifications. He knew the Park Service would respond but probably not quickly. The logistics of ordering up rangers or a helicopter would take hours, and maybe more time than that. He should be on Justin by then. He said, “Yes, call ’em.”
Mitchell seemed to be thinking about it. He said, “You think I’m too old and feeble to finish this job?”
Cody said, “Jesus, no. But I made a promise to your daughter. I want to keep it.”
“Damn her.”
“She’s just looking out for her dad. I’d like to think Justin would someday do the same for me,” he said, wondering if that would ever happen.
Mitchell clicked his tongue and turned his horse around. Cody saw disappointment in his face. As he rode by headed the opposite direction he handed Cody the reins to the packhorse.
“Dally the rope around your saddle horn once and keep it loose,” Mitchell said. “That way, if she gets spooked she won’t take you with her or take you down. But don’t forget she’s there.”
“Okay,” Cody said, taking the rope.
“There’s four days’ worth of food in the panniers and some oats for the horses tonight. Feed them before you feed yourself and hobble them up. Make sure they get to water and brush ’em good. They haven’t been out much.”
“All right.”
“Take care of yourself,” Mitchell said, looking into Cody’s eyes. “And take this,” he said, pulling his .44 Magnum from his holster and handing it over butt first. “For bears.”
“I don’t need—”
“The hell you don’t,” Mitchell said. And rode away.
* * *
Cody was sad to see him go, and more than a little scared being completely and totally alone. Not that he didn’t do his best work by himself, but Bull Mitchell had a sense of confidence and purpose in the wilderness Cody could never match, or try to. It was as if the last of his confidence was riding away. He kept glancing back at the packhorse, willing her to behave. Willing her to pretend he knew what he was doing.
He slid the long barrel of the .44 Magnum beneath his belt on the left side of his body so he could pull it—if necessary—with a sidearm draw. It was heavy and ungainly. But if the wolves came back or a grizzly blocked him on the trail he wouldn’t hesitate to fire. Mitchell’s observation about the many animals who could eat him had resonated.
29
Jed McCarthy led his clients west through dark and close stands of timber broken up by lush mountain meadows humming with insects. The alternate trail they had taken was faint, no more than an unpopular game trail at times, but he was sure he was on the right one and he didn’t dare stop and check his materials because he didn’t want anyone behind him to doubt he knew where he was taking them. Leaders, if they were true leaders, led. They didn’t dither, they didn’t doubt themselves. They led. He’d made that point to Dakota numerous times, back when she chose to listen to him. He didn’t know what her deal was now, which was her loss, not his. And he really didn’t care.
His stomach growled with tension and his hands were cold. He didn’t slow his pace or turn around, but he raised his right hand to his face and used his teeth, one finger at a time, to loosen his leather glove. Then he tucked it between the saddle and his Wranglers. Still looking ahead, he let his bare right hand creep back to the right nylon saddlebag, where his briefcase was. He worked his fingers inside and probed for the handgrip of his weapon, found it, and squeezed. The weight and texture of it reassured him. He was glad it was in easy reach.
They emerged into another grassy meadow and he clucked his tongue and led the mules off the trail over to the side against the wall of trees to make room for the rest of the riders.
When they were gathered he smiled at them because they looked apprehensive and they didn’t know why he’d stopped or what kind of news he might have for them. Dakota squinted at him, trying to guess the reason for the pause, as she rode past the group and over to the side. Everyone dismounted.
* * *
“I’m gettin’ a little concerned about Tony and Drey,” Jed said. “I thought they would have caught back up with us by now. Least I hoped they would.”
Knox, their friend, said, “Me, too.” He seemed alone and uncomfortable without his buddies to bounce his comments off.
Jed shot a glance over at Donna. She looked back with no reaction at all even though he’d not mentioned her husband.
Jed said, “I’m thinking it’s possible they might have ridden past my red bandana back there and not gotten on the right trail. That’s the only place I think they could have gotten confused, even though these horses leave sign like we’re an army on the march or something.”
He let the implications of that settle in, before he said, “So I’m thinkin’ I might ride back there and find those guys before they get too far down the wrong trail.”
He could tell by the dark looks on three faces in particular—Ted Sullivan, Rachel Mina, and Walt Franck—they didn’t like his idea at all. He didn’t even look over at Dakota because he could feel her eyes burning twin holes in his neck.
Walt said, “You’re gonna leave us?”
“Just for an hour or so,” Jed said, keeping it light. “I’ll ride hard down where we were, find those guys, and ride hard to get back. We should meet back up with you about the time you folks get close to Camp Two.”
He nodded toward Dakota and said, “Dakota knows our camps as good as I do or better. You don’t need to worry about her guiding you at all.”
Dakota’s voice was tight. “What about your mules?”
“I’ll leave them with you,” Jed said, looking over at her and showing his teeth. She glared at him but said nothing back. He knew she’d hold her fire until later, when the clients couldn’t hear her. Which is why he’d set up the whole scene to take place in the open.
Ted Sullivan cleared his throat. He said, “I’m not worried about Dakota leading us to the next camp, not at all. But I’m kind of wondering if it’s the best idea for you to go back for them and leave the group.”
Jed laughed drily. “Hell,” he said, “I always leave the group when I need to on any given trip. It ain’t unusual. Sometimes I need to go back for something—like a camera—that somebody left in camp, or sometimes I have to ride ahead and check trail conditions. Luckily,” he said, again tipping his hat toward Dakota, “we have this fine hand here to take over the outfit when that happens.”
Sullivan nodded conspicuously, as if to convince Jed and the others he had no further objection.
But Rachel Mina had fire in her eyes. She said, “We started this trip with fourteen people. Then last night we lost two. Today we lost two more. And now you’re leaving?”
Jed said, “Think of it as more food at dinnertime for everybody else.”
Walt chuckled, but that was it.
“Sorry,” Jed said. “I shouldn’t joke. But really, wouldn’t you rather get two and possibly three of the group back before dinner? That may not happen unless I go after them.”
“Still,” she said, “what if something happens to you? What if you get injured? This is your trip. How are we going to know what to do or where to go? We’re in the middle of nowhere and you gave your maps away to Tony and Drey, so we won’t even have those to go by.”
