Primal Obsession

by Susan Vaughan

  “What the hell.” Carl’s ruddy features darkened to an angry burgundy. “Dead? Murdered? I don’t believe it. There must be a mistake.”

  Before Sam could stop him, the man pushed past and into the house.

  Captain started after him, but Sam grabbed his collar. “No, boy. Stay.” Seeing his butchered master wouldn’t make the animal feel better.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Annie shouted at Carl. She wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist. “The fool.”

  He enfolded her, accepting the solace of her soft body against him.

  A moment later, Carl popped back out, slamming the door behind him as if to shut in the horror of what he’d seen. He stumbled down the porch steps to hurl in the same bush where Sam had lost it.

  No one said a word.

  After they set up camp in the yard, Sam showed Nora and her son how to find wild onions for stew. Annie cut up carrots and potatoes. Carl started a fire in the brick barbecue.

  “No fish dinner,” Sam announced as he set the stew pot on the building heat. He lifted the lid. “Tonight we have meat. Rabbit stew.”

  Frank examined the pot’s contents. “Holy crap! Looks like body parts from a midget slasher movie.”

  The kid didn’t realize how close his comment came to reality. But Sam chuckled. Good to have something to laugh about. “Some people say rabbit tastes like chicken. I raided the freezer earlier.” He tipped his head toward the house.

  “Oh. I guess Mr. Wolfe wouldn’t care,” Frank said, subdued as he remembered. Fear and grief swirled in his eyes before he turned away.

  The evening crept along on tortoise feet. No one seemed to know what to say. In spite of his earlier puppy energy, after supper, Frank collapsed like an exhausted old hound. After he disappeared into his tent, Carl excused himself. Nora kept the fire going and star-gazed with the sky chart.

  When Sam could stand it no longer, he invited Annie to walk along the riverbank with him.

  One eyebrow arched in question, but she agreed. “Sure, a walk will get the kinks out.”

  When they’d strolled out of earshot, she placed a warm hand on his forearm. In the semidarkness of pale moonlight, her eyes looked black and intense. “Finding your friend’s body must have been awful for you. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Let’s sit over there.”

  Annie’s mind reeled. Sam must feel as if he’d been punched in the gut. She let him lead her to a log beside the rippling water.

  A splash came from their right, and somewhere a bullfrog croaked his displeasure at their intrusion. The cool night air was tinged with the scents of algae and blooming grasses. Black against the night sky, the sight of fir-tops on the far shore, like sharp spearheads, gave her goose bumps. The half moon hung beside a cloud.

  Sam straddled the log and clasped her hand, lacing their fingers together. His jaw was tight, his mouth a thin line. “I saw something today I never thought to see. When my granddad died, Ben and I arrived to visit only moments after it happened. He was laid out in a hospital bed, all clean and peaceful. But this... was violent death. Ted was a friend. I...” He swallowed, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “If I’d listened to your suspicions earlier, I might have prevented this.”

  “Who knows what might have happened? No one would’ve believed my suspicions sooner. Even I thought I was nuts.” Annie squeezed his hand, his left hand, his good hand, long-fingered and broad, an athlete’s hand. That such a strong man would let her see into his soul this way brought tears to her eyes. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He squared his shoulders, nodded. Even in the dark, Annie could see his face grow paler at the conjured memory.

  “I didn’t get too close, only near enough to make sure he was beyond help. I know not to disturb a crime scene. His throat was cut.” He shuddered. His eyes grew hard, like river stones. “That kind old man never hurt anyone. All he ever did was help people.”

  The Hunter. The knowledge clawed at her. She should’ve stayed away from the woods. The monster had killed that poor man because of her. “Do you still think it was Ray?”

  “There’s more.” He ran a hand over his face before continuing. He described the scene around the body. “The blood had dried and darkened. The murder might have happened early this morning, or even yesterday.”

  “Soon after we left?”

  He nodded. The radio had been smashed beyond repair, along with three of the guns from the case. His quick survey suggested that some ammo and one gun were missing—the rifle Carl and Frank had admired. He found the ATV shut in its shed with a full tank of gas.

  “Wolfe kept his equipment in mint condition, washed and polished, just like his guns. I’ve seen him clean grass and mud off tires. That four-wheeler was spotless—except for a fine layer of dust.”

  “So it’s been sitting there awhile.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Her throat tightened. “Sam, the outboard. He’s probably out there now watching us.” She looked around, staring into the darkness.

  “He’d have to stop the boat far enough away we wouldn’t hear the motor. I kept an eye out. If he’s out there in the trees, he didn’t follow us to this part of the river. Vegetation’s too low growing. No cover.”

  Annie peered at the wild roses on the bank as if they had answers. The upstream paddle wore her out. She couldn’t fathom this mystery. “Ray—the Hunter— did this. But what do you think happened here? Why?”

  Sam scratched at his scars. “I’ve had the afternoon and some of the evening to puzzle this out. I’m as much of a detective as you are a Maine guide, but one reason springs to mind. The radio.”

  “He killed Wolfe so he couldn’t call out on the radio?”

  “So no one could summon help. So he could steal the guns and the outboard and who knows what the hell else. I couldn’t do a damn inventory.”

  “The dog. Captain would have protected his master. Ray feigned allergies so Captain was locked away.”

  “Exactly. Fortunate Ted put his pet in the bedroom, which has a dog door to the outside pen. He had access to water in the bathroom, but no food. If we hadn’t returned, he’d have died of starvation.”

  “Oh, God, what can we do? I brought this all on us. All of it is my fault—the Hunter following me, the tricks he played to frighten us, Wolfe’s murder. If only I’d stayed in Portland.” She couldn’t halt the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Dammit, Annie, don’t talk like that. The fault lies with the damn killer, whoever he really is. He targeted you. You didn’t invite him along. You didn’t ask him to gaslight you and the rest of us.”

  “But somehow he found out about my trip. Sam, you said both those men arrived in the state by airplane. So the Hunter must’ve killed the real Ray after he landed.”

  “And took his place.”

  Yet another death because of her. She shivered as if the temperature dropped twenty degrees. She didn’t resist when Sam pulled her into his arms. Nausea crept up her throat, but she swallowed it down, along with her sobs. His warmth and strength lent her a much-needed bulwark in her storm of emotion.

  “The question is, sweetheart, what do we do now?”

  His chin rested on her head, and the rumble of his voice soothed her frayed nerves.

  Until the rest of his words sank in.

  “We have no radio, no way to contact Ben or anyone else on the outside. No way to report the murder. Except for knives and a small hatchet, we have no weapons. And we’re three days from the take-out point.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Annie's fear was a sharp stick in her midsection, but she had to ignore it. She knew what she had to do. “It’s me he wants, Sam. I’m endangering all of you. I should leave. I—”

  He pulled back so fast she nearly fell off the log. “Leave? On your own? Are you out of your freaking mind? That monster would snare you before you could trek half a mile.”

  “He
might, but the others... it’s my fault.”

  “We’ve been through the blame discussion. No way I’m letting you leave.” He held her arms as if to prevent her fleeing into the night.

  “It’s not fair to the others to put them in harm’s way.” She flattened her palms on his chest. “He has a rifle and ammunition. Who knows what else? He could walk into camp anytime and kill us all. But it’s me he wants.”

  “You keep saying that. Let me think.”

  They remained silent on the log for a long time, Annie sheltered in Sam’s loose embrace. She knew what she had to do but maybe he’d think of an alternative. She was drifting into exhausted sleep when he finally spoke.

  “Here’s the deal. You and I leave together tomorrow. Make it look like we’re paddling a canoe with the others, then strike out on foot through the woods east toward the Eagle River. We can make it to the lake ahead of the others. Ahead of the Hunter. By the time he discovers we’ve split, we’ll be long gone. We can signal Ben from the shore.”

  “Sam, it’s a good idea, but you don’t have to go with me. I’m not your responsibility.”

  “The hell you’re not.” He held her shoulders and gave a little shake. His gaze lasered into her. “You want to spread around a little guilt? I’m responsible for not checking out Ray’s ID, to see if he was really a damn computer geek from Boston. So who’s more responsible for the Hunter being here? You or me? Besides, I’m responsible for every last one of you on my expedition.”

  “That’s why you can’t abandon the rest of the party.” She lifted her chin. How could she let anyone else be at further risk?

  “You have an on-going feud with Mother Nature when you’re surrounded by people. What do you think would happen to you alone? Not to mention with a crazed killer chasing you. A killer who’s skilled in the woods.”

  Her stomach was the consistency of jelly, but she held firm. “I haven’t been hurt much. I can manage. You’ve taught me how to find my way. Give me some supplies and a map. I’ll slip away like you suggested. Alone.”

  “How do you think Nora and Carl will feel, not to mention young Frank, when they learn of your death? When the cops, maybe your brother, inform them the Hunter captured their friend Annie, hunted you, and then raped you? Gutted you like the rabbit we had for dinner?”

  At the image he conjured, her stomach churned faster. She slumped, defeated. What choices did she have? Sam was right. If she set off alone, she’d be dead. Was she brave enough to try? She shuddered.

  An insane plan, giving the Hunter exactly what he wanted.

  He’d be free to kill again. To capture and murder more innocent women like Emma.

  Although Sam and her leaving together on foot would fool the Hunter for a while, he was bound to catch on and follow. Once he ditched the outboard, he could track them through the forest. Sam’s plan was to evade him, escape, but that wasn’t good enough.

  She had a better idea.

  ***

  Portland

  Late Saturday night, Justin trooped downstairs with the Ruger rifle and a red shoebox. Mouth tight, he showed the rifle to Lieutenant Watson.

  The task-force leader’s brow quirked. “This can go to the lab along with what crime scene vacuums up in the SUV. Large dog cage in the back of the vehicle looks like where Smith might have kept his captives.”

  Still rocked by what he’d discovered behind the upstairs closet, Justin scanned Smith’s living room. He didn’t know what sort of crib he expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t a neat-as-a-pin duplex his grandma could’ve lived in.

  Except that half the room was dominated by a bank of electronics—three computer monitors, CPU’s, and other high-tech equipment rigged of components.

  Except that an upstairs room was crammed with fitness equipment and camouflage and blaze-orange tents, backpacks and outdoor clothing.

  Except that compulsive neatness fit what they knew of Smith—and the killer. A meticulous pervert, the Hunter.

  Smith had earned the affection of at least one person. His white-haired landlady tearily reported that when he was in town, the geek drove her to the supermarket and did computer tutoring at her senior center. “Such a gentle, kind man,” she said.

  A gentle, kind man with a wall case full of guns—two shotguns, three rifles, an assortment of hand guns, and a drawer full of knives.

  Peters glanced up from one of Smith’s computer monitors but continued clicking the mouse. She frowned and returned her gaze to her task.

  “What do you have?” Watson indicated the shoebox.

  “The smoking gun,” Justin said. “Found a hidden storage area behind a large closet.” He and another detective had removed the closet’s contents and found a detachable panel. His stomach rebelled at what he’d discovered, but his cop’s mentality celebrated. “Inside was a stack of small boxes.”

  “Trophies,” the lieutenant said somberly.

  “Trophies.” Justin removed the lid of the shoebox. Still wearing latex gloves, he held up a pair of earrings and a white lace bra. “A label on the cover is dated April of last year and has the initials L.M.”

  “Linda Mills,” Peters said, joining them. “The cocktail waitress who disappeared from the North Conway parking lot. One of the two in New Hampshire.” She reached a tentative hand to the angels dangling from the earrings, but drew back her hand without touching them.

  “Do I dare ask how many boxes you found?” Tavani lowered himself onto an upholstered beige chair.

  “Fourteen. Each containing a woman’s possessions. Some have jewelry and an article or two of clothing. Some just clothing, mostly underwear. Lacey DePalma’s box has one of her paintbrushes.” Justin paced. He had to be distant, impersonal to do his job. But the scope of this, the gruesome perversion, had his neck and shoulders cramping.

  “More than we knew about,” Peters said. “All dated?”

  When Justin nodded, Tavani leaned forward in his seat. “How far back do the dates go?”

  “It looks like he brought some with him from Virginia. We may’ve solved those Appalachian Trail murders.”

  Uttering oaths that could have been prayers, Peters returned to the computer.

  “You found what we needed, Detective Wylde,” Watson said. “This is our fugitive, an unidentified subject no longer.”

  “Except we don’t have him. Where the hell is he? Where’d he go? I found no shaving paraphernalia but suitcases are still in the closet. Impossible to tell if any clothing is missing.”

  His attention veered to Peters. “Did you get in?”

  “He wasn’t too subtle about his password,” she replied. “Hunter. No firewall or protection of any kind. Either he’s as cocky as the winner of Survivor, or he wants us to know where he’s gone. Or both.”

  The three men crossed to Detective Peters.

  “So you know where he is?” Justin demanded.

  She turned, her face grim. “I believe I do. But you’re not going to like it one damn bit.”

  ***

  Sunday

  The next morning Sam and Annie separated from their companions.

  “Like it or not, sweetheart, you’re moving beyond the Moosewoods Wilderness Immersion Expedition and into—”

  “The Wilderness Survival Expedition. No kidding.” From where she stood on the mossy bank, Annie waved to the departing canoes. The party had left the cabin and moved beyond Upper Otter Pond to the stream that connected the chain of ponds. At an obscuring bend in the stream, Annie and Sam hopped out with their gear. The rest continued paddling south to Lower Otter Pond. “Do you really think they’ll be okay?”

  “Sure. They have plenty of supplies, and they can’t get lost as long as they go downstream.” Sam managed to sound confident, but his guts churned with the idea of sending the three off on their own.

  After some argument, they’d understood Annie’s insistence that she leave the group and Sam’s insistence that he accompany her. Except for Carl, who uttered the word lawsuit. Fra
nk insisted they stick together, but subsided at the adults’ grave refusal.

  Sam intended to leave the dog in his kennel enclosure with food and water to last until rescue could arrive. There wasn’t room in the canoes, he insisted.

  Again Frank objected, fiercely hugging Captain to him. “You can’t leave him. With... what’s inside.” His eyes pleaded his case to his mom. “He can sit in the bow with me. He’s used to being in a boat. I’ll take care of him. I’ll feed him. You won’t have to do thing.”

  “A dog might be protection,” Nora said, her tender gaze on her son.

  The boy’s plea and the memory of the Lab’s mournful howls melted Sam’s resolve. What went unsaid was that having an animal to care for might help Frank deal with whatever the next few days had in store for them.

  So this morning, Nora gave each of them a maternal hug twice—once when they pushed off from shore together, again when Sam and Annie left them.

  When they abandoned them. Sam’s gut churned. Did they know enough about using the compasses and the maps? Did they know what to do if a canoe dumped them? Did they have enough canned food from Wolfe's cabin?

  What if the killer went after them first, out of anger or for revenge? But Annie’d insisted that didn’t fit what she knew of him. He was too cowardly to attack a group, even with a firearm. He’d come along because of her, and he would follow her.

  So Sam had no choice.

  He hoisted his duffel, rigged as a backpack. “Let’s get moving. I want to be well away from Otter Stream and to the ridge by noon.” He glanced at the morning sky, swirling with clouds. They had to make tracks if they hoped to find cover before it rained. At best, it wouldn’t be much of a shelter.

  He waited while Annie adjusted her smaller waterproof backpack, courtesy of Nora. She managed to pare her fancy gear down to essentials. No hiking boots, only sturdy sneakers and wind pants that would prevent more scrapes and cuts if they had to traipse through thickets. In spite of her penchant for injuries, she surprised him by proving herself brave and resourceful. If he could keep them ahead of the Hunter, she would do all right.