“We’re out of food.”
“We are?”
Ramsey rubbed that leg again, face all winced up like a twisted rag. “It’s not that far now. If it comes to it I’ll give you the gun and the money. You’ll go on ahead. Get help.”
Adam didn’t want the gun. Never had occasion to shoot it. Wasn’t trained like a real man. There was something deep down in his gut that bothered him, a whisper of sadness that wouldn’t go away. His chest hurt and so did his throat and he wanted to sob. “They’ll catch me.”
“Nah, you’re too quick for that.” Ramsey must have heard the hitch in his voice because he pulled Adam closer. “You know a thing or two. Got the dog and all.”
Adam began to sob. Couldn’t help himself. Laid his head on Ramsey’s shoulder, heard him say shhh like a dad. When the sob was all run out, he wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and said, “You won’t die will you?”
“Of course I won’t die. What do you take me for?”
It was one thing to be with someone else. It was quite another to be in a cold, dark world all alone. They hadn’t been able to have a campfire, watch the flames twist and curl and then die to a pile of ash. Hadn’t smelled a good roasted meal that stubbornly played hide-and-go-seek with his senses. And they hadn’t laughed much or told any jokes in these last few hours. Something had changed.
The heat from Ramsey’s body would need a fire hydrant to put out and the smell of him was woody and stale. Those pills weren’t helping. Maybe they were making him sick.
In less than a minute they heard the snapping of a twig, a droning sound like a dragonfly and a dull thud. Another low hum about ten feet to the right of them, nasal like a druid’s chant.
“Slings,” Ramsey whispered. “Over there.”
Face covered in a mask and one hand resting on the log siding, a man swung around the front deck. Each leg crossing in front of the other as he moved sideways, gun leveled at the cabin door. Adam couldn’t hear much over the shrieking wind and that infernal hissing the grasses made. All he wanted to do was run.
“Riflescope,” Ramsey murmured, looking out at the man. “Probably see a hundred yards or more.”
Adam felt the back of his throat go dry. He had no idea what Ramsey meant but he knew it was bad. If that scope could see that far, it could probably find them under the trees and then they’d be dragged out, stripped naked and tied to the front of the house. Left for the animals. Chewed right down to the bone.
Two other rangers broke out of the trees behind the first, one dangling a sling from his hand and a dead rabbit he’d shot. The other had a wooden frame on his back, the type hunters carry to transport game. They wore masks with slits for eyes, drifting like ghosts through the brush.
The first man crouched, eyes level with the bottom of the first window. He laid the rifle down on the deck, unsheathed a knife and played it between his fingers. He must have stayed there for over a minute and all the while the men behind stood like statues, breath misting through their lips.
The leader made a gesture to move forward. He made his way into the house, two others following close behind.
Adam began to shiver as Ramsey crawled out from under the tree, clutching the backpack and urging Adam on with a flapping hand.
It was twenty minutes of stalking on the balls of their feet, twenty long calf-aching minutes before they stopped beneath a stand of pines to catch their breath. Branches groaned overhead and leaves scampered along the path in front of them, drowning out any sound they could have made. Ramsey said there was a mood in the air like they were two souls adrift under a cold moon.
“What do you mean?” Adam said.
“Feels like we’re the only ones out here, running like prisoners of war.” He blew on his hands, trembled a little and coughed. “Feels all empty and dark.”
Adam knew when Ramsey got all sad he was missing his special smokes and the black stuff. He’d get all moody, start quoting poetry before he fell asleep. Or he’d get plain mean.
Sometimes he’d tell stories of a girl he once loved. The one with the nut brown hair. Then he’d pause every now and then beside a tree trunk, push the hood off his head and wait one full minute like he always did. He was sweating and he could hardly breath. Ramsey was losing it and that’s what made Adam scared.
And then he started singing something about spades and swords of a soldier and clubs are weapons of war. It was a sad song that made your heart feel all twisty and sore and Adam half wished Ramsey would stop it.
Murphy padded out in front like a scout, sniffing scents in the wind. Every so often he stopped and waited for them to catch up, mouth open one minute and closed the next.
Ramsey stopped and looked around. He cupped his ear to a rumble in the distance and pointed at a gray procession of boulders. You could see them between the trees. “Nearly there,” he said.
“Nearly where?”
“Where we need to be.”
Where the trees ended, there was a rocky ledge with nothing beyond it but a dark gray sky and a mountain range in the distance. They sat on a boulder with their backs to the forest staring into the valley below. It was a town all right; a haze of car lights like a string of red and white beads. Adam wiped the wet hair from his brow and smiled. It was beautiful to see.
A few spits of rain, a boom of thunder and light shuddered on the horizon. They watched that too for a time until Adam twisted his head to the trees, ear bent to the wind. “Can you hear that?”
Ramsey was too far gone to notice, leaning against Adam, eyes twisted and wet. “Take this,” he said, laying the gun on Adam’s knee. “Keep it for me.”
Adam took the gun and put it in the backpack. He didn’t want to hold it, didn’t want it going off in his hand.
He turned his back to the lights and looked into the forest where a white mist hovered above the ground as if there were hot springs deep in the earth. Six black flames trembled behind it, getting bigger and bigger as their guns ripped through the hoary shroud.
“Get down!” It was Ramsey’s voice, deep and rasping.
Adam felt a tug on his sleeve as he was pushed behind the boulder, heard the shouts, heard the command to come out and raise his hands.
“Ramsey…” Adam tugged at Ramsey’s jacket.
Ramsey wiped the sweat from his face and shook his head. “They won’t hurt you, son. But they’ll hurt me.”
“Why?”
“Because I killed a man.”
Adam felt the finger against his lips, felt that tight warm hug. Ramsey’s eyes were wet and he was trying to smile. He was trying to stand too, bracing himself against that boulder.
He turned his head towards the men, put his shaking hands inside his jacket like he was cold or embarrassed or something. “You’re a great kid, son. I couldn’t have done it without you… without your eyes. I’ll always carry a piece of you in me. And a piece of the big guy.”
Ramsey stood there shaking like he’d fall over. He stumbled forward three steps towards the men and then he stood still. Lifted his head, straightened his back and slowly took his hands out of his pockets.
It was the loud bangs that made Adam scream and the smell of firecrackers in the air. He covered his ears, closed his eyes and swore he’d never open them again.
FORTY-SIX
The helicopter landed in Glenwood at eleven forty-five on Tuesday night. No sign of the Shadow Wolf officers and no sign of an ambulance. But there was a coroner’s van in the parking lot and a hunter’s frame smeared with blood. It all confirmed the radio report they had just heard.
The gravel driveway of the Santo Nino church wasn’t exactly a helipad, but it was brightly lit and the closest thing in a town where the population was less than two hundred. Temeke climbed out on shaky feet, clutched his stomach and wanted to throw up. Not a park bench in sight.
Christopher Ramsey was dead, zipped up in a body bag they were now loading into the van. The report said the Shadow Wolf officers knew he had a gun
in his jacket, they tried to detain and arrest him and decided as a last resort to open fire. He would have shot them, they said. He posed a serious threat to Adam. And to themselves.
Temeke wound a scarf tightly around his neck as he made his way to the church steps, three simple concrete slabs leading to nothing more than a portable cabin. He struck a match and drew smoke and fresh air into his lungs. He wasn’t fond of heights and flying around in a thunderstorm only added to the thrill.
Malin wasn’t happy either. You could tell by the look on her face. The coldness was gone and a white rage shone in her eyes. And then she tried to squint it away by looking up at the sky like she could see a face up there. There was something on her mind no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. “Where is everyone?”
“Buggered if I know.” Temeke flicked some ash on his shoe. “Too damn quiet out here.”
“How long have you known?” she said, one foot on the step he was sitting on.
“Mrs. Oliver never asked the kidnapper if Adam was still alive. If you were his mother, you’d be begging with all you’d got. Begging to hold the son you’ve given birth to… for his body… something to bury. They all beg. And where was the bloody dog bowl, the dog bed? All gone, like she’d closed the chapter on something. Do you know what I hate?” Temeke watched the coroner’s van as it pulled out into the road. “Not knowing Christopher Ramsey. I might have actually liked him.”
“He killed a man and kidnapped a child.”
“He killed a serial killer. One the police couldn’t track. Did us a favor. Did himself one too.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, rocking back and forth slightly.
“I wish I could have talked to the Mayor. But she was there… struggling with her ghosts.”
“What ghosts?”
“Her past, her parents. What they’d done.”
“It’s not their fault she got pregnant.”
“It was their fault she married the wrong man.”
“Chris Ramsey was threatening her. Doesn’t sound like love. Sounds like a lost cause. An old fling gone bad.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’m telling you.”
“Those aren’t your words. Too insightful. Deep.”
“Oh, you think I don’t go deep?”
“Not that deep.”
“You can be such a pig sometimes.”
“If I was anything less, you wouldn’t recognize me.”
“I won’t be intimidated.”
“Not by me, that’s for sure.”
“What’s up with you?”
“All this talk of intimidation makes me wonder if your confidence has taken a beating. You talking to a psychic?”
“Easy Tonto,” she said, smile lurking behind those eyes. “A man of your age could end up in hospital. That could be lonely without family.”
“You’d come and visit me.”
She started laughing then. Turned a full circle, swinging one of her gloves with one hand.
“Chris Ramsey knew he was dying,” Temeke said. “Wanted to see his son. It was his last chance.”
“And Raine?”
“She was expecting Ramsey to call. So she could take Adam to the park, let him meet his dad. Then she got cold feet. Knew she was being followed and didn’t want Ramsey hurt. But he came anyway because he had an old score to settle. It must have been a shock for her to come home and find Bill on the floor and Adam gone. That wasn’t part of the plan.” Temeke took another drag of his cigarette and felt that unmistakable sense of relief. “When I showed her the burnt letter we found in the grate, she knew what it was. I could see it in her eyes. Bill Oliver never knew. But I wonder if he ever suspected.”
“You’re a genius, sir.”
“And you’ve got a generous heart, Marl. Got a good head. With any luck you’ll have Raine packed in a U-Haul to San Diego before the mayor’s discharged from hospital. Course it’ll be in the bloody papers. Mayor on fundraising trail to get wife back.”
“It’s better this way, sir. Better Raine gets out before those bruises start migrating to her face. You know what they say? Hate can easily turn to love.”
“Then hate’s a good starting point.”
Temeke felt a presence behind him and saw a swarthy man in a black hat, hand clutching a Browning rifle sling embroidered with a southwestern weave. Temeke hadn’t heard him coming, hadn’t heard his footsteps over the gravel. It was Running Hawk.
Temeke introduced Malin, noticed a smile that played on Running Hawk’s lips when he took her hand.
“Where’s Adam,” he asked.
“In the trees.” Running Hawk jutted his chin towards a porta-potty which appeared to be surrounded with sandbags.
“What’s he doing in the bloody trees?”
“Reading a book.”
Temeke was astounded. The poor kid had been left all on his own and given a book to read.
“Wanted to be alone,” Running Hawk said in that slow drawl of his.
Temeke had no idea what Running Hawk was blabbering on about, but it sounded deeply spiritual. He flicked the last of his cigarette in a nearby puddle and stood to shake his hand.
“Better take this. Fell out of the deceased’s jacket pocket.” Running Hawk handed Temeke the photograph of a young woman in a swimsuit. “Boy was scared of us. We could have found him sooner if they hadn’t kept running. Thought we were rogue rangers. We carried his pa down the mountain. Most of the money was there. Just finished counting it in the church. Had a knife wound in his thigh. Sceptic by the look of it. He was alive most of the way.”
“And Adam?”
“He held his pa’s hand. Watched him die. He’s a man now.”
Temeke didn’t doubt it. He had a vision of a boy clutching a dead man’s hand and what that must have felt like. “So Ramsey didn’t hurt the boy?”
Running Hawk just shook his head. “Boy’s good. Cried when they took his pa away. Told me he taught him to shoot. Hunt rabbit. Told me he could survive in the wilderness on his own if he had to. He’s waiting for you.”
It was dark in the woods, the type of dark where you couldn’t see a bear in the shadows and the scenery all looked the same. A boy could get disoriented out here. And so could a detective.
Temeke went alone into the trees behind the church, listening to the hiss of a cold biting breeze. It was Murphy that bounded towards him, tail wagging, foam dripping off black lips. He led the way, eyes expectant and urging Temeke onward with a snort.
A thick layer of gray clouds gathered overhead and Temeke’s head was beginning to throb with all that fresh air. He walked on with Murphy at his side, stopping every now and then to listen. A gash of lightening lit up the sky behind the mountains and he was aware of the sweet scent of rain. Crossing a small stream, the surface of the water was suddenly dimpled with the first drops and then a deluge that rattled along the surface of the leaves.
Snapping twigs alerted him to movement in a thicket. It was a large elk walking silently between the trees, nostrils sniffing the wind, ears twitching on the side of its head. A few seconds and the great bull detected Temeke’s scent and flew through the underbrush, hurdling over a log with the grace of a horse. Murphy took chase as far as the log and then thought better of it. He stood in a clearing, ears pricked and panting. He was tracking a scent with that twitching nose of his.
Temeke hunched along a narrow path to the clearing some twenty feet to his left. It was the flashlight he saw, diffracting through a gap in the trees. It was a good cover from the rain and he allowed himself to listen to the constant patter. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear a boy sobbing.
Adam was wrapped in a large black ski jacket, wooly hat drawn over his ears. A few strands of brown hair fluttered over his collar, cheeks red and glistening.
“You OK, son?” Temeke showed Adam his badge.
“I’m OK.” Adam wiped his eyes on his wrist, breaths hitching as he spoke. He hugged a book and the flashl
ight to his chest. “Have they taken him away?”
“Yes.” Temeke heard a wail of sirens and sat down beside Adam on the log. He handed him the photograph. “Might want to ask your mom about that.”
Adam gave the photo a cursory glance and slipped it inside the book. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at the ground.
“I don’t know if the police told you,” Temeke said, “but your dad’s much better now. Sitting up in hospital eating ice cream. He asked us to come and find you. So here we are.”
“Thank you.”
Temeke heard the relief in Adam’s voice, saw him flinch and blink at a sudden downpour of sleet.
“Tell me what happened.” Temeke shouldered the backpack and hooked his arm through Adam’s. “So I can understand.”
“They shouted at him… he was going to put his hands up… but they shot him. All of them.”
“He could have shot them, son. He had a gun.”
“No, Ramsey gave me the gun. It’s in the backpack.”
Temeke felt that unmistakable churning in his stomach, felt the back of his throat go dry. It would have been dark on that ridge, too dark to take any risks. And the very men Adam was afraid of were the very men who could have saved him. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.
“I called my mom. She said I had to wait for you.” Adam just stared ahead and after a minute or two, he said, “His heart was cracked down the middle. He said it hurt sometimes… I didn’t understand what he meant. But I do now.”
FORTY-SEVEN
The book felt good in his hands. A wedge of pages all tart from wood smoke and still carrying a fresh memory. Wrapped in Ramsey’s coat, Adam could still feel those big arms around him, still hear those throaty mutterings. It was like Ramsey had just walked into the next room. Except Adam had seen him fall asleep, sensed he was gone.
The detective handed him a steaming cup of hot chocolate. It didn’t have a marshmallow bobbing on the surface, didn’t taste of chocolate much either.
The walls were gray and so was the trim around the door. It made Adam feel like he was in a dream, made him feel in the halfway place between happy and sad. Sometimes his eyes just timed out and they just stared at a sheet of glass. Even the dog was somewhere else.
Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) Page 26
