The Bodies Left Behind: A Novel

by Jeffery Deaver

  Michelle held on to a fragment of hope for a moment longer. Then let it go. She nodded and lowered her head.

  Brynn asked, “You have any idea what they want? Ow!” She flinched. She’d bit her tongue. “Was it robbery?” Eyes lensing with tears.

  “I don’t know.”

  The shivering grew worse, consuming Brynn. Michelle’s perfect fingernails, she had noticed, were dark from plum-colored polish; Brynn’s, unpolished, were the same shade.

  “I understand you and Emma worked together. Are you a lawyer too?”

  A shake of her pretty head. “No, I was a paralegal in Milwaukee for a while before I moved to Chicago. That’s how we met. It was just a way to make some money. I’m really an actress.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about her cases?”

  “Not too much, no.”

  “Could be—a case at her law firm. She might’ve found out about a scam or crime of some kind.”

  Michelle gasped. “You mean they came up here to kill her on purpose?”

  Brynn shrugged.

  A snap nearby. Brynn gasped and turned fast. About twenty feet away a badger, elegant in its round, clumsy way, nosed past warily.

  Wisconsin, the Badger State.

  Brynn asked Michelle, “Will somebody start to wonder if they don’t hear from you?”

  “My husband. Except he’s traveling. We said we’d talk in the morning. That’s why I came up here with Steve and Emma. I had the weekend free.”

  “Look.” Brynn was pointing toward the Feldman house. Two flashlight beams were scanning the side yard, a quarter mile away. “They’re back there. Hurry. The other house. Let’s go.” Brynn rose to a crouch, both of them staggering forward.

  SO THE COP

  had gone into the water. Hart and Lewis had found debris and an oil slick.

  “Dead, gotta be,” Lewis’d said, looking distastefully at the lake, as if he were expecting monsters to slither out. “I’m outa here. Come on, Hart. Jake’s. I need a fucking beer. First round’s on you, my friend.”

  They’d returned to the Feldman house. The fire in the hearth had burned itself out and Hart had shut off all the lights. He’d put into his pocket all the used medical supplies stained with his blood. He didn’t bother with the spent shells that littered the house and front yard; he’d worn gloves when loading the Glocks and had watched to make sure Lewis had too.

  Then he sprayed and wiped everything Lewis had come near with his bare hands.

  Lewis couldn’t resist a snicker at this.

  “Keep that,” an irritated Hart said, pointing to Michelle’s purse.

  Lewis slipped it into his combat jacket pocket and took a bottle of vodka from the bar. Chopin. “Shit. This is good stuff.” He uncorked it and took a drink. He lifted the bottle to Hart, who shook his head because he didn’t want any booze just now, though Lewis took it as a criticism about drinking on the job, which was true too. At least he wore gloves when handling the bottle.

  “You worry too much, Hart,” Lewis said, laughing. “I know the score, my friend. I know how they operate in places like this. I wouldn’t do that in Milwaukee or St. Paul. But here…these cops’re like Andy in Mayberry. Not CSI. They don’t have all that fancy equipment. I know how to play it and how not to.”

  Still, Hart noted that he wiped the lip of the bottle with his shirtsleeve before replacing it.

  And he saw in that tiny gesture—so fast you’d miss it easily—a clue. A telling clue about Mr. Compton Lewis. He recognized the careless, aggressive attitude that he’d seen in other men—in his brother, for instance. The source was simple insecurity, which can control you the way a pinch collar controls a dog.

  They returned outside. Lewis went to work on the Ford once more, getting the spare on the front, in place of one of those that’d been shot out—so they could drag the other flat on the rear, like he’d suggested.

  Hart reflected on how much the disaster at the house was eating at him.

  Blindsided…

  Looking for clues he should’ve seen but hadn’t. He hated incompetence but hated it most when he was the guilty party. Hart had once canceled a hit in St. Louis, when it turned out that the “park” his victim used to walk home from work—a perfect shooting zone—was a neighborhood playground, filled with dozens of energetic little witnesses. Angrily, he’d realized that the two times he’d surveyed the place in preparation for the kill had been in midmorning, while the kids were still in school.

  He now looked around the house and yard. There was a possibility that somewhere he’d left damning trace evidence. But probably Lewis was right; the cops here weren’t out of that famous show CSI—Crime Scene International or whatever it was called. Hart didn’t watch TV, though he knew the idea: all that expensive scientific equipment.

  No, something more fundamental was bothering him. He was thinking back to the paw print and the creature who’d left it, its disregard for the men who’d invaded its territory. Any challenges here weren’t about microscopes and computers. They were more primitive.

  He felt that tickle of fear again.

  Lewis was moving along with the jack and the lug wrench, swapping the wheels on the Ford. He looked at his watch. “We’ll be back to civilization by ten-thirty. Man, I can taste that beer and burger now.”

  And returned to the task, working fast with his small but clever fingers.

  “NO ALARM,” BRYNN

  whispered, grimacing. “What?” Michelle asked, not understanding the mumpy voice.

  She repeated slowly, “No. Alarm.” Brynn was looking over the spacious mountain house, 2 Lake View. The owners clearly had money; why no security?

  She broke a window in the back door with her elbow, unlatched the lock. The women hurried into the kitchen. Brynn walked immediately to the stove and turned on a burner to warm herself, risking the light. Nothing. The propane was shut off outside. No time to find the valve and turn it on. Please, she thought, just have some dry clothes. It was cold inside but at least they were protected from the wind, and the bones of the house retained a bit of heat from the day’s sun.

  She touched her face—not the bullet wound but her jaw. When the weather was cold or she was tired the reconstructed spot throbbed, though she often wondered if the sensation was imaginary.

  “We’ve gotta move fast. First, look for a phone or a computer. We could e-mail or instant-message.” Joey was always online. She was sure she could get a message to him but she’d have to phrase it so that he’d get the urgency but not be upset.

  There’d be no vehicular escape; they’d already peered into the garage and found it empty. Brynn continued, “And look for weapons. Not much hunting here, with the state park and most of the land posted. But they still might have a gun. Maybe a bow.”

  “And arrow?” Michelle asked, her eyes panicked at the thought of shooting one at a human being. “I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know how.”

  Brynn had played with one of the weapons at summer camp, once or twice, years ago. But she’d learn to handle it fast if she had to.

  She was considering this fantasy when she noted that Michelle had walked away. She heard a click and a rumble.

  The sound of a furnace!

  Brynn ran into the living room and found the young woman at the thermostat.

  “No,” Brynn said, her teeth chattering.

  “I’m freezing,” Michelle said. “Why not?”

  Brynn shut the unit off.

  Michelle protested, “I’m so cold, it hurts.”

  Tell me about it, Brynn thought. But she said, “There’ll be smoke. The men could see it.”

  “It’s dark out. They won’t see anything.”

  “We can’t take the chance.”

  The woman shrugged resentfully.

  The furnace hadn’t been on for more than a few seconds and from the distance the men wouldn’t’ve been able to see anything.

  “We don’t have much time.” Brynn glanced at a clock radio, which glowed bl
ue: 8:21. “They might decide to come here. Let’s look fast. Phone, computer, weapons.”

  The darkness outside was now almost complete and the frustration intense: maybe their salvation was two feet away, a phone or gun. But it was impossible to tell. They had to search mostly by touch. Michelle was cautious, moving slowly.

  “Faster,” Brynn urged.

  “They have black widow spiders up here. I found one in my room when I came to visit Steve and Emma last year.”

  The least of our worries.

  They continued to search frantically for ten minutes, through drawers, closets, baskets of papers and personal junk. Brynn smiled as she found a Nokia, but it was an old one, no battery and a broken antenna. She dumped out all the contents on the rug and felt for a charger.

  Nothing.

  “Damn,” Brynn muttered, standing stiffly, her face throbbing. “I’ll check upstairs. Keep on looking down here.”

  Michelle nodded uncertainly, not happy about being left alone.

  Spiders…

  Brynn climbed the stairs. Her search of the second floor revealed no weapons or phones or computers. She didn’t bother with the attic. A glance out the window revealed flashlights in the yard around the Feldman house but the men couldn’t be counted on to stay there much longer.

  She longed to turn on a light but didn’t dare and continued feeling her way through the bedrooms, concentrating on the largest. She began ripping open drawers and closet doors and finally found some clothing. She stripped off her jacket and the leathery, wet uniform and dressed in the darkest clothing she could find: two pairs of navy blue sweat pants, two men’s T-shirts and a thick sweatshirt. She pulled on dry socks—her heels were already blistering from the waterlogged footgear—but had to put on her Sheriff’s Department Oxfords again; there were no spare shoes. She found a thick black ski parka and pulled it on, and finally began to feel warmer. She wanted to cry, the sensation was so comforting.

  In the bathroom she opened the medicine cabinet and felt her way through the bottles until she found a rectangular one. She sniffed the contents to make sure it was rubbing alcohol, then soaked a wad of toilet paper with it and bathed her wounded cheek. She gasped at the pain and her legs buckled. Swabbed the inside of her mouth too, which hurt ten times more. She dropped her head before she fainted. Inhaled deeply. “Okay,” she whispered as the pain dissolved. Then pocketed the alcohol, ran downstairs.

  “Any phones or guns, anything?” Michelle asked.

  “No.”

  “I looked…but it’s so spooky. I couldn’t go into the basement. I was afraid.”

  Brynn herself took a fast look down there. She risked the light but since she’d seen no windows she figured it was safe. She found nothing helpful, though, either for communications or defense in what seemed like an endless series of small rooms and passages. Several small doorways led to what would probably be pretty good hiding places.

  As Brynn returned to the kitchen Michelle whispered, “I found those.” She nodded at a block of kitchen knives. Chicago Cutlery. Brynn took one, about eight inches long. She tested the factory-honed blade with her thumb.

  The deputy looked back at the Feldmans’, saw the flashlight beams still scanning the yard. She had a thought, gazed around the house. “Didn’t we see a pool table somewhere down here?”

  Michelle gestured toward the dining room. “Through there, I think.”

  As they walked quickly in that direction Brynn said, “The way I drove up, Six Eighty-two, was from the east. After Clausen, I didn’t see anything but some trailers and a few shacks in the distance. Nothing for miles. If I’d kept going west, would I have come to some stores or a gas station? A place with a phone?”

  “I don’t know. I never went that way.”

  The women entered the recreation room, a spacious place with a bar, pool table and thousands of books on built-in shelves. Beneath the big-screen TV the cable box showed the time: 8:42.

  Brynn was now warm again; curious, she reflected, she had no direct memory of the cold. She recalled how terrible she’d felt but couldn’t summon up the sensation, as intense as it had been.

  She studied the room, the sports memorabilia, the liquor bottles, the family pictures, the rack of pool cues, the balls aligned in their triangular nest on the table, then began rummaging through drawers at the bottom of the bookshelves.

  No weapons, no phones.

  “Let’s see if we can find a map.”

  They began to scour the shelves and stacks of papers. Brynn was looking through a bookcase when Michelle gave a cry.

  Brynn gasped and spun around.

  “Look! Somebody’s coming!”

  The women dropped to their knees by the window. Brynn could see, several hundred yards away, headlights moving slowly down Lake View Drive toward the county highway.

  “Are there any other houses past the Feldmans’?” Brynn asked. She seemed to recall that there were only three residences here.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a neighbor. Or the police! Maybe a police car came to look for you and we missed them. If we run we can stop them! Let’s go!” Michelle rose and in a frantic, limping rush started for the door.

  “Wait,” Brynn said in a harsh whisper.

  “But they’ll be gone in a few minutes!” Her voice was angry. “We can’t wait! Don’t be crazy!”

  Brynn held up a hand. “Michelle, no. Look.”

  The moon was higher now, bright enough for them to make out the car. It was the killers’ Ford.

  “Oh, no,” the young woman said through set teeth. “How can they drive it with the flat tires?”

  “You shot out two, they put the spare on the front and they’ll let the other one rim. It’s front-wheel drive; they’ll just drag the rear. Look, see the dust.”

  “Can they get very far?”

  “Miles, yeah, if they don’t go fast.”

  The taillights cast a ghostly red aura in the dust kicked up by the dragging wheel. The Ford eased around the snaky road and toward the county highway. The lights were soon obscured by a tangle of jack pine, yew and elegant willow. The car vanished.

  Michelle hugged herself. She sighed with relief. “So they’re gone…. It’ll be okay, right? We can just wait here. We can put the heat on now, can’t we? Please.”

  “Sure,” Brynn said, staring after the car. “Let’s put the heat on.”

  LEWIS PILOTED THE

  limping Ford along Lake View Drive, past the house at Number 2 and then turned and continued along the winding road toward the county highway. Hart said, “Was a good shot you made with that scattergun, hitting her car all that distance.”

  Lewis offered a dismissive sneer but Hart saw that the words hit home; the punk was pleased. “I wanted to take her out. That’s why I was aiming high. Compensated for the wind too. Didn’t want to hit the tires. I didn’t hit ’em, you see?”

  “I did.”

  “But I led her just right, didn’t I? About four feet. And high. Didn’t think she’d go out of control.”

  “Who’d guess that?”

  A moment or two passed. Lewis said, “Hey, Hart?”

  Looking at the woods around him. “Yeah?”

  “Okay, what it is…I shouldn’t’ve said anything. About the keys.”

  “Keys?”

  “In the house. With the woman cop. I gave it away…you were right. I got excited. My brother always said I do things or say something before I think. I gotta watch that.”

  “Who’d’ve thought, a cop?” Hart nodded at him. “Can’t stay on top of everything. But you did some fine shooting.”

  The car was filled with the smell of hot rubber and metal from the self-destructing tire.

  It was then that Hart glanced back. “Shit!” he whispered.

  “What? Whatta you see?”

  “I think it’s her. Yeah, it is! The cop.”

  “What? She got out of the water? Fuck. Where is she?”

  “In that other house. The one we
just passed. Number Two. The cop.”

  “No shit. You’re sure?”

  “In the window. Yeah. I saw her plain as day.”

  “I can’t even see the house.”

  “Was a break in the trees. She probably saw us go past and stood up. Thinking we were gone. Man, that was stupid of her.”

  “They both there?”

  “I don’t know. All I saw was the cop.” Hart was silent a moment. Lewis kept driving. Hart continued, “I don’t know what to do. We’re doing pretty good with the tire.”

  “She’s holding up,” Lewis agreed.

  “And we’ll be at the highway in ten minutes. I’d love to get the fuck out of here.”

  “Amen.”

  “’Course, then we miss the chance for some payback. Jesus, that woman’s slugs came six inches away from my head. I don’t dodge lead the way you do.”

  “True too,” Lewis said, thinking things over and laughing about the bullet dodging.

  “And wouldn’t be a bad idea to get things finished up now so we don’t have to worry. Especially since she knows my name.” Hart shrugged. “But I don’t know. Whatever you’re up for. Get her or not.”

  A pause. Then Lewis lifted his foot off the accelerator, considering this. “Sure. And Michelle, maybe she’s there too…. Fuck her up bad is what I really want, my friend.”

  “Okay, I say let’s do it,” Hart said. He looked around again and then pointed ahead to the driveway at 1 Lake View. “Shut the lights off and head up there. We’ll move around behind. She’ll never guess.”

  Lewis grinned. “Payback. You son of a bitch, Hart. I knew you’d be up for it.”

  Hart gave a short laugh and pulled his pistol from his belt.

  In fact, Hart hadn’t seen anything in the window at Number 2. Like Lewis, he couldn’t even see the place. But instinct had told him that the cop was there. He knew she’d survived the crash; he’d seen footprints leading from the lake. She’d have gone toward the closest shelter she could find: the second house on Lake View, he’d concluded. None of this he’d shared with Lewis, though. Hart had been taking soundings for the past couple of hours and knew his partner definitely didn’t want to stay here. He wanted to head back to Milwaukee. He talked big about tracking down the two women and taking care of them. But Hart knew it was just that: talk. The man’d get lazy and forget about it—until somebody came for him in the middle of the night. But if Hart had insisted they remain here to hunt the women down, Lewis’d dig his heels in and there’d be a fight.