Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2)

by Claire Stibbe

  The man pointed his ear to the ground and shook his head as if something rattled around in there. “I’ll give you fifty for ‘m.”

  “He’s not worth it. This one has fits.”

  Adam couldn’t make head or tail of the conversation and he felt a might queasy at being the object of a sale.

  “Tie ‘m up with yer belt.” The old man’s voice was cold and crisp, like skates on ice. “Won’t bite yer then.”

  Adam sensed Ramsey’s fury mounting, saw the twitch in his jaw and neck. The old man had no chance against a man all muscles and murder. He’d be dead if he came any closer.

  But the old man’s eyes were squinty and strange, and he took a few steps forward. “Won’t shoot me. Got no balls, have yer?”

  Ramsey raised one eyebrow, muzzle moving in now and aimed the man’s shoulder. He said nothing. Just stared and stood straight as a statue.

  “Robbin’ me blind at fifty. An’ I got cold cash back there. Venison too.”

  “Back where?”

  The man opened his eyes and in them was the mania of a rabid dog. He sprang for the gun, dug that knife good and deep into Ramsey’s thigh. But Ramsey was too quick for him. A sudden crack and the man was thrown backwards onto the ground, one hand clutching a bloody shoulder.

  Adam saw the tip of Ramsey’s hunting knife as it sawed through the twine at his shoulder, each strand popping from his arms and legs.

  “Run!” Ramsey yelled.

  Adam didn’t need to be told twice. Bolting down the slope, he came to a stop at the edge of a wide stream with flat rocks to walk on. He closed his ears to the screams. Left there with his own thoughts.

  Ramsey was probably using that serrated hunting knife in his belt now, slashing, biting, ripping. Probably sawing the man’s head off with a few hard tugs.

  Hands pressed tighter against his ears, Adam watched bubbles as they rose to the surface from an underground spring, skating along the current and vanishing altogether. He began to cry, began to whimper. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. He could run back the way he had come, he could even find the lodge. But the ginger man would only get him, pull his heart out of his rib cage with his bare hands. Adam wondered if he should run north towards the cliffs. It was in those precious moments that he hesitated.

  Ramsey shuffled out through the leaves behind him, dark stains on his cheeks and forehead, gun in his belt.

  “Here, take this” he said, handing Adam a rolled up raincoat. “Meat and money,” was all he said.

  Ramsey merely rubbed those stains off with the back of his hand, took out his binoculars to scan the country that lay to the north and a big moon that tracked the cliffs. His leg was bloody and so where his jeans.

  “What happened?” Adam said.

  Ramsey wouldn’t say. Just kept repeating how sorry he was. How he thought the bastard lived in Albuquerque, not over here. How he should have known the madman would return to his old hunting ground just to gloat over his trophies.

  Ramsey staggered and Adam walked along the edge of that stream until they found a boat. Ramsey put their pack in the stern and told Adam to jump in at the bow. He paddled out to the middle where the current was strong.

  It was wide enough to be a river now with cliffs on either side. Sometimes curling north, sometimes curling west. Adam heard the chuckle of water under the bow, felt the breeze in his face. It was warmer in that boat and a whole lot comfier too and he let his face rest against the pack.

  It was long into the night before Adam felt a hand on his shoulder and awoke to Ramsey’s voice. They tied up the boat and made for a sandy bank, navigating across flat stones and boulders to the other side. Ramsey filled up the gallon jug and he gave that leg a good old rinsing. They were met by a north-facing cliff painted with hunchbacked figures playing flutes with a crown of feathers on their heads.

  Adam stared at them for a time, heart soaring in his chest. They were ancient rock paintings.

  “It’s still a ways,” Ramsey said. He pointed to where the cliff ended abruptly and curled down to a well-worn path. He handed Adam the gallon jug, gave him the first sip of water.

  Adam followed Ramsey along a narrow strip of mud and wet grass, hugging the cliffs until the path turned gently into a small canyon. Above them was a steep mesa which reminded Adam of a stadium where the roof was no more than a jutting lip. It was blue and silver in the moonlight, wind rushing through the piñon and kicking up a moan here and there. He wasn’t as scared as he was before, not with wilderness-man leading the way on that hobbling leg.

  Ramsey paused at a fork in the path, taking the higher route, hand reaching down to haul Adam up the slopes. It was hard going in the dark with the packs on their backs and the climb was steeper than Adam realized, shoes tapping against loose rock for what seemed like hours.

  Ramsey paused before a wooden ladder leading to a smooth ledge, finger jabbing the air in an upward motion.

  “Get up there,” he said, sweat dripping off his lip, “before the lightning comes.”

  TWENTY

  Ramsey picked his way between two dwellings near the mouth of the cave, unhooked his backpack and let it slip to the ground. There was a circular pit with bricks to sit on and he took the rabbit from his belt and set it down beside him.

  Adam’s heart was fluttering worse than the night before Christmas. He wanted to thank Ramsey for saving him. Wanted to thank him for bringing him here. There were no words in his muddled head, even when he’d dropped the raincoat on the ground, shrugged off the duffel bag and fell into a deep sleep. He must have slept until the following afternoon because now the light was fading to a deep gray and rain was tapping on rock.

  The last of the evening sun turned the cliffs a rosy red. There were white ribbons in the granite and black sooty stains that curled upwards as if the rock had once been scorched by an ancient fire.

  Adam stood at the mouth of the cave, looking over at a stand of trees gripping to a sheer rock. He could hear the whispers of the Mogollon people in the stirring pines and he could see row-upon-row of stone ruins below, carved into the sides of the rock and open to the sky. He couldn’t believe he was finally here.

  It must have been Friday afternoon. The sun was already plunging towards the western horizon, barely a small dot though a gap in the clouds. As he stood there, a thought came over him. Ramsey wasn’t about to kill him, because if he was he would have done it by now. Wouldn’t have saved him from the rogue ranger, wouldn’t have brought him here to the caves.

  Ramsey said something, voice hollow and distant. Pointed to one side of the cave mouth which curved around a little, forming a short lookout ledge. “You can see the river and the pass from here.”

  Adam wasn’t looking at the river or the pass. “These houses… they’re old aren’t they?”

  “They quarried the stone, used mud and brought timber from the forest. You can see beam holes in the rock, volcanic tuft I think it is.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Adam flapped his fingers in an upturned hand.

  Ramsey grinned and took out his compass. “Remembered my promise, didn’t you? Well, here it is.”

  Adam caught it in both hands, a military compass, khaki colored. The best he’d ever seen.

  Ramsey pulled down his jeans. “I need to clean the wound.” Blood trickled from a hole in his thigh and he poured water on it. It didn’t make Adam sick like he thought it would, like the time when a scout leader got a rusty old nail in his foot. Looked like raw meat when he took that shoe off.

  “First aid kit,” Ramsey said, thumb pointing at the backpack. “Hand me the peroxide and keep the flashlight on it.”

  Adam found a white box and in it was a sixteen ounce bottle of peroxide and a hooked needle and thread. He watched Ramsey unscrew the lid with his teeth and let a few drops fall on his thigh. He sutured that wound like he’d done it a thousand times and then rummaged around for a tube of antiseptic cream and a bandage. He muttered a cuss word as he pul
led his jeans back on.

  “What does that word mean?” Adam asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” Ramsey said. And then, “I’m sorry.”

  Better hope you’re sorry, Adam thought. It sounded like a bad one and if he didn’t like it then God certainly wouldn’t.

  “Know how to skin a rabbit?” Ramsey unsheathed the hunting knife and held it out hilt first.

  Adam nodded. He wasn’t sure he remembered all the steps but he wanted to give it a go. He stared at the tang of the blade and saw his face in the reflection. A small face, gray with dirt.

  “We’ll eat the venison first. Nice bit of backstrap,” Ramsey said, unrolling the raincoat. He pocketed what money was in it and separated two portions of the cooked meat on the surface of a nearby brick. “Then we’ll build a fire.”

  “Fires aren’t allowed,” Adam said. He turned off the flashlight and bit into his meat.

  “A man’s got to keep warm and so has a boy. It’s darker than a man’s armpit in here.”

  “I can see.”

  “Bet you couldn’t thread a needle without a flashlight.” Ramsey paused for a second or two. “I take that back. You probably could.”

  Adam tore at that venison in a few bites. It wasn’t much. Just a few slices about half an inch thick and nicely browned. It got him thinking about that old man in the woods, eyes wide and pasty like he was already dead.

  “Did you see any other rogue rangers back there?” Adam asked.

  “Saw a dog. Heard it growling too.”

  “Coyote?”

  “Maybe.” Ramsey took the flashlight and trained it on the rabbit. “Slice a ring above the foot joint. Whatever you do, don’t cut the flesh.”

  Adam took the rabbit, sliced a ring just where Ramsey pointed. He made another incision towards the backside cutting through the tail bone before peeling the hide off easy as a banana. He held it up for Ramsey to see and all he got was a tight nod.

  He laid the rabbit on a rock and reached into the pit, letting the ash sift through his fingers. “Is this old?”

  “The ash? Nah, someone’s been here before us.” Ramsey beckoned for the knife, wiped it on his jeans and then played it between his fingers. “There may be more of them. And if there are, they’ll have heard the shot. Better get that rabbit cooked. We need kindling.” Ramsey grabbed his axe and peered through the mouth of the cave at a lead-gray cloud as he zipped up his jacket. “I’ll bring up the ladders when I’m done. Stay here. And don’t follow me.”

  He was already bolting down that ladder like a wraith, gun in his belt. How he did it with a deep gash in his thigh, Adam would never know. But the man was fast, he’d give him that. He would be off for a while cutting tree branches and gathering twigs, and since there was nothing dry on the forest floor it was likely he’d be gone for some time.

  When the wind sighed through the empty houses, Adam could almost hear the chatter of voices and the shrill laughter of children. He sensed the spirits of another time, heard what they heard and saw what they saw. When it was silent he was filled with an overwhelming sense of loss.

  It was a national monument, visitors center not far away and a warden to watch over the ruins. Unless there was a thunderstorm alert, there would be visitors along tomorrow. Or so he hoped.

  He reached for the metal pot and brushed it against the ash in the fire pit to flatten out the surface. There was a musky scent in the air as the rain pattered against the rock and he tensed suddenly and listened to the rhythm. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear a keening sound where a thousand eyes watched him from the slopes, reducing him to the jumpy reactions of a child―and he didn’t like it.

  Eager to see what it was, he made his way towards the ledge and squinted up at a dark sky where swollen clouds were twined with gray. He crept towards the ladder and looked down. There was no sign of Ramsey, not even in the long grass or behind the boulders at the base of the cliff.

  The fine hairs on the back of his neck began to stir and he was rattled by the sense that something moved behind a wet veil of rain. At first, he backed away from that ledge and studied the wood and the trees beyond from a shadowy corner of the cave.

  He could just make out the path that had led them to the canyon and the glint of sodden rock. It must be rogue rangers with pale faces and red beards, searching for boys to skin and roast over a fire. There was nowhere to hide in the cave and they would soon find him cowering behind a rock. Adam’s heart continued to race at the thought of finding Ramsey. To warn him.

  One . . . two . . . three.

  His head was pounding as he turned around on that ledge and he found his feet on the rungs without recalling how they got there.

  Now!

  He inched down a little further this time, feet wet and slipping against the rungs. The sand and pebbles were soft underfoot from the rain and he scrabbled against a boulder, falling backwards on his butt. It hurt like hell, but he had to get up.

  To his left and about a mile away was the river, the only escape from the horseshoe of cliffs. He had no idea of its name or even if it had one. Near the narrow opening there were boulders big enough to hide behind and if he was quick he could track out into the open without being seen.

  He listened to the wind as it shrieked through the canyon knowing the very sound would mask his footsteps. Edging forward, there was nothing but stalks of grass and sandy pathways between the trees and he could smell the faint trace of sweat.

  He wanted to conjure Tarahuma with his mighty spear, war cries rising out of the ancient stones. He was in the thunder and in the rain, he was in the oshach and the tahwach, the sun and the moon. He was in the thundering skies… everywhere and nowhere in the darkening land.

  The rains came harder now, teaming down at a slant, large as pellets and hurting too. His hair was slick against his face and he was already soaked to the skin. He heard snapping twigs, heard pounding like someone was coming. Couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see much beyond the gray, except a shape shifting about like an uncertain dream, coming closer, faster.

  “What the heck!” Ramsey shouted, reaching through a curtain of hail. His coat was wrapped around the kindling, one arm locked around that coat. “Get up there! Before the lightning comes.”

  They were back in the cave when the sky lit up, bright like a gash across the horizon. First white and then blue and then a ripple of thunder overhead. Adam knew it wouldn’t last. Rain never did in New Mexico.

  Ramsey was wet through and mad, and shouting over the pelting rain. He dropped the kindling beside the fire pit, a loud clack against stone. It made Adam flinch, teeth clattering in his mouth.

  “You think you could just run away?”

  “I wasn’t―”

  “Probably should have. Save me all this running around! So where’s your God now? See, when you screw up your eyes and take a good look, he’s nowhere to be found. Trust me, I’ve already tried.”

  “I didn’t―

  “When I was your age, I thought I could conquer the world. But the world conquered me. That’s how it is, son. Can’t be too smart. Can’t be too sure. It takes courage to be sure when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun. If there are rangers out there, they’ll smoke you in their boots.”

  “I wasn’t running away!”

  Ramsey’s forehead puckered for a moment, head aslant, every muscle taut. He seemed to be in a trance, unable to shake off what Adam had just said.

  “I was trying to warn you,” Adam said. “There’s someone out there. In the trees.”

  “You’ve got a wild imagination. There’s no one out there… only me.”

  Adam could smell mud and sweat on Ramsey’s skin. He was a great bulk of a man who probably couldn’t move quite as fast as a twelve-year-old boy.

  “I’m telling you. I saw something,” Adam said. “Over there.”

  Ramsey went dead quiet then, clutched at his chest again. It was his breathing Adam could hear, short sharp bursts of it. M
aybe he was having second thoughts. Maybe he was just plain scared.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was two days later when they got the call. Officer Running Hawk had found tracks out by West Fork Gila River―one set larger than the other―and both had petered out at the water’s edge. It was good news and another notch on Hackett’s command.

  They had also found a body, throat slashed and a gunshot wound to the left shoulder. The coroner took its time to get to Albuquerque. Six long hours, Temeke estimated, as he looked at his wrist watch.

  If there was anything he hated more it was the office of the medical investigator. Aluminum everywhere and the unforgettable reek of decaying flesh and formaldehyde. It was lucky the extractor fan was working overtime.

  Dr. Vasillion bent over an autopsy table, hand grasping a set of tweezers. He seemed to be mining something from inside the nose of the dead man whose head was blackened and blistered by fire. There were only a few strands of red hair on his chin and some on his chest.

  “Morning doc,” Temeke said, giving a terse nod to the assistant, a plucky girl in a white coat wearing a roar of fruity perfume. She was tapping furiously on a laptop, fingernails a grisly shade of black.

  “Morning Temeke,” Dr. Vasillion said, looking up suddenly and warming Malin with a come-hither smile. “Nice to see you again, Malin.”

  “And you, Dr. Vasillion,” Malin said.

  “Call me Joe.”

  “Joe,” she said, clearly trying on the name for size. She began biting her bottom lip, eyes grazing over the tiled floor.

  Blimey, Temeke thought. He never knew Malin was into watery blue eyes and tightly cinched aprons. The man had a certain sophisticated charm in that jaunty smile. He also had a soon-to-be ex-wife and a mistress on the boil.

  “We’ve just had breakfast,” Temeke confirmed. All he got was two tired eyes and a droopy smile. “Eggs Benedict wasn’t it Marl?’

  “It was a sausage patty and it was gross.”

  “Well you won’t mind losing it then,” Temeke said, giving a tight smile. She already looked grayer than the aluminum sink she was leaning against. “And talking of losing things, I got your invitation, doc, only I lost it again under a pile of other rubbish you keep sending me. Remind me what it said.”