by Lisa Gardner
Luciana flinches, reaches for Daisy reflexively.
“Bob. You murdered one of the nicest guys on the planet. Who’d worked alongside you to keep our party safe. Then Neil, Scott, Miguel, myself. You’re no wild predator. You’re a snake.”
Nemeth blinks his eyes. I see no remorse. I see no emotion at all. He did what he did. What happened, happened.
It breaks something inside me. That he could do so much damage and feel nothing at all.
I don’t stop to think. I recognized the morphine pump next to his bed immediately. Now it gives me great pleasure to rip the drug-delivering IV port right out of his arm.
Blood sprays. IV fluid pours out of the severed line. Marge bolts upright as a machine starts blaring.
“Hey now,” the sheriff says, but doesn’t wave in a nurse or take a step forward.
I keep staring at Nemeth. I want to see it. The moment the tidal wave of pain slams into him. I want him to cry and beg. I want him to know I did this to him. The pathetic woman who could barely hike and had zero wilderness experience.
Survival of the fittest, my ass.
It’s adaptability that’s key.
Outside in the corridor, medical personnel have started gathering and demanding entrance. Luciana doesn’t move aside any more than the sheriff does. While before me, Nemeth twitches. Writhes. His teeth peel back with the effort not to scream.
“Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!”
I ignore Marge, leaning over close. “Miguel and I beat you. Scott, Neil, Bob, Luciana. We all beat you. And Martin. In the clash of the titans, he took you out. You’re no legend anymore. You’re just a gutless, pathetic loser who had to shoot at his targets from far away to get the job done.”
Nemeth groans. It’s a deep, rumbling sound torn from his chest. I don’t think it’s pain. I think it’s rage. It still makes me happy.
“I did it!” Marge, desperate now. “Blame me, arrest me. I shot everyone, did everything. My sister and I had a fight. I just couldn’t take her whining anymore so I pulled the trigger. And yes, at first I was horrified; I called Nemeth for help. He knew about the underground chambers in Devil’s Canyon and suggested we hide her body there, given its remoteness. But then the location became more popular, hikers not just passing through, but starting to hang out. The second woman, she was a geologist, curious about the rock piles and how they were formed. Nemeth had no choice. And then a few years after that, and eight years after that . . .” Marge’s voice drifts off.
“When Tim was first reported missing, his starting location was far enough away, we weren’t worried. But once it became clear he’d made it beyond that area and Nemeth started theorizing other routes the man might’ve taken . . . We waited two weeks, then hiked into Devil’s Canyon overnight, when no one would know. Sure enough. The kid was camping out in one of the caves. And come morning, he started exploring the rock piles, checking out some of the underground chambers. We made our decision. What had to happen, had to happen.”
My stomach roils. Nemeth moans in distress.
“Please. I confessed. Now help him!”
“Oh, I think there’s plenty of confessing still to come,” the sheriff says, taking Marge by the arm and snapping on handcuffs.
Luciana finally moves to the side, Daisy tucked beside her. The first nurse rushes in, two other staff members right behind her. They take inventory of the blood-spattered wall and fluid-soaked sheets, then shove me back.
“What did you do?” the nurse demands.
“Just sent him a little love from Timothy O’Day.”
“Get the hell out!” the nurse orders.
“But Bob has some love to deliver, too.”
I am forcefully pushed out of the room, where I join Luciana and Daisy in the corridor. The sheriff is holding Marge by one shackled arm, already on his radio issuing orders. Her gaze remains fixed on the viewing window, staring at her lover, who is now thrashing wildly as more alarms begin to shriek.
I recognize the look on her face. She is willing him to live. I know, because I did the same thing just a few days ago with Bob. I should say I want her to suffer the same result, but I’m actually crueler than that. I want Nemeth to make it. I want the wilderness legend to spend the rest of his life locked in a tiny cell with only one hour of fresh air a day.
The nights my restless brain takes over, I plan on picturing him there, then sleeping like a baby.
“I can’t believe it,” Luciana murmurs beside me. “I liked Nemeth, respected him. I thought we were friends.” She is stroking the top of Daisy’s head. The subdued Lab leans into her.
“We both need a new hobby,” I agree.
Luciana regards me earnestly. “Remain in Ramsey for a bit. Stay with me and Daisy, my treat. We could use the company.”
I don’t answer as we follow Sheriff Kelley and his new prisoner out of the ICU. Marge doesn’t turn around, but walks with her head held high, gaze straight ahead. I’m tempted to go to prison just to watch the other inmates break her.
“The feds are going to want to grill both of us,” I acknowledge finally. “And I would like to see Miguel and Scott released from the hospital. Not to mention we should meet Latisha. Have you seen her? I’m expecting full-on goddess to have captured so many hearts.”
“Exactly. And afterwards we can eat our way through Ramsey and take naps three times a day and use up all the hot water.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“That’s it. I’m booking a room for a week, and someplace way swankier than a budget motel. We deserve room service, a soaking tub, and a big-ass TV. I’ll even insist on extra dog treats for Daisy. She’s worth it.”
Luciana’s enthusiasm makes me smile. She paints such a pretty picture, everything I fantasized about just two days ago.
She’s only missing one thing: a certain detective I once knew in Boston and have never spoken to since.
If I dialed his number right now, would he answer? If he did, would I stay on the phone?
Luciana is happy. She already has her cell out, looking up hotels. I lag behind till I come to a small alcove where I can duck out of sight.
I tell myself I’m not exhausted or heartsick or world-weary.
I instruct myself that there’s still a missing eight-year-old boy waiting for me to take up his case.
I remind myself I need to track down Bob’s husband. I have to tell him how Bob died saving the rest of us. I must deliver Bob’s dying words of love.
I feel a break then. Something deep inside, tearing away. I don’t think I’ll get it back again.
I push away from the wall. I resume shuffling forward.
Miguel ordered me to run.
But I’m not sure I have many more steps left in me after all.
EPILOGUE
Luciana finds a top-floor suite of a gorgeous B&B where the owners love dogs and are so appreciative of her and Daisy’s work that they comp the room half price. The bathroom features a claw-foot tub. We fill it to the brim multiple times a day. And eat every crumb of food they graciously send up to the room. The wife is a baker, allowing for a steady stream of muffins, scones, and fancy breads. Even Daisy exists in a state of bliss.
Neil is discharged two days later. We join him and Anna for their first meal together out of the hospital. Halfway through our enchiladas, Neil gets down on one knee, pulls out a makeshift ring he fashioned from his hospital bracelet, and pops the question. She squeals yes. They both jump to their feet. The entire restaurant applauds and another table sends over a pitcher of margaritas to celebrate the happy event. I drink my ice water and dab moisture from the corner of my eye.
Miguel gets to leave the hospital next. It’s a regular festival in the parking lot. I meet his parents and tell his father how hard he fought to save his friends’ lives. Then we hug and we cry and when they’re finally ready to
depart, they beg me to visit. Mi casa, su casa, and all that.
I smile and nod. Miguel leans over long enough to whisper in my ear, “I know you won’t, but just remember, someone in Oregon loves you.”
Which makes me cry a little more, though I’m terribly weepy these days.
Luciana and I meet Latisha. And she is gorgeous, a six-foot-tall former college volleyball player who radiates energy and health even seven months pregnant. From her curly black hair to her sculpted cheekbones, she rivals Luciana for jaw-dropping beauty. Latisha starts by clutching our hands in gratitude, then gives up and pulls us both in for a tight, teary embrace.
Scott, still pale and weak, but doing better each day, smiles in near embarrassment. Later, out in the hall, Latisha grows more somber. She thanks us for finding Tim as well. She blesses us for finally bringing her first love home.
Scott and Latisha don’t go with the big exit, but instead, one week later, quietly slip away. I don’t blame them. I imagine they need time together as a family to heal, reconnect, and relish their new life, about to begin.
I get to talk to the feds a lot. And Sheriff Kelley. Plus even more stern-looking people in suits. They mostly seem suspicious as to how I became part of the expedition. I think that’s beside the point. It’s not the beginning that mattered. It was the end.
It will take months to identify all eight mummified corpses, but the ME’s department releases Bob’s remains by the end of the week. Luciana and I drive out to meet his husband, Rob, who turns out to be an elegantly garbed Italian with neatly trimmed dark hair and striking wire-rim glasses. He is both smaller than I would’ve thought and very serious. His hand shakes so badly while trying to sign the paperwork accepting his husband’s body, I have to steady his arm. Together, we escort the plain pine casket to a local mortuary, where Rob has arranged for the body to be cremated. Later, Rob will scatter Bob’s ashes somewhere on the Olympic Peninsula, a fitting resting place for a man who spent his life chasing Bigfoot.
I deliver as best I can the story of Bob. How in his final moments, he took on a man carrying a rifle with nothing more than bear spray, so that the rest of us might have a chance. I tell him Bob died thinking of his husband and how much he loved him. Rob doesn’t cry. His deep brown eyes are wells of sorrow that just go on and on.
When Rob finally accepts the plain urn containing the ashes of the largest, bravest man I’ve ever met, I can barely stand up. Luciana has to help me back to the car. We drive to our B&B in silence. There I wrap my arms around Daisy and bury my face in her fur while Luciana goes to fill the tub.
I think too much of Bob and his final moments. Not just his words for his husband, but his advice to me. To go find what I’m really looking for.
Is it a shot at a different sort of life?
Is it a chance at a real relationship with a cop I can’t get out of my head?
Or is it me that I have lost along the way?
I have no idea.
The police raid Marge’s hunting cabin. They find the various colored backpacks, hung up in two rows of four in the back room. Nothing too conspicuous, given her and Nemeth’s outdoor hobbies. Except the packs don’t belong to them, of course.
Most of the contents have been removed, probably pillaged as supplies. But in a separate lockbox, the investigators recover personal mementos belonging to the eight victims. Pieces of jewelry. Driver’s licenses.
And in the case of Timothy O’Day, a note. The one he’d been working on that night, sitting by the fire. It’s not a draft of his wedding vows, as his friends suspected. It’s a letter to them. Telling them how much he valued their friendship. And how he could not have become the man he was today, the man his future bride deserved, without their help along the way.
There are additional scratchings that must’ve been made later. Stating he got lost. Referring to arriving in a canyon and having taken shelter in a cave.
Telling his parents he loved them.
Telling Latisha not to worry, he’d be home shortly.
Telling his friends he was sorry, nothing had gone the way he planned and he hoped to make it up to them.
Second to the last line: Tomorrow I’m going to try to climb out of here.
Final line: I love you all. Hope to see you soon.
The police can’t release the letter, as the original will be used at trial. But I convince Sheriff Kelley to make six copies. One for each of the college friends, plus one for Latisha, and then a final one, which Neil promises to hand deliver to Patrice.
Martin’s body is eventually recovered from the ravine. The number of bullet wounds he sustained . . . How the man ever stalked Nemeth through the woods, let alone found the strength for that final attack, defies imagination.
Upon receiving the news, Luciana and I somberly tend to our final and most difficult chore. We call Patrice via FaceTime and in between bouts of tears we tell her how Martin never gave up. That despite increasingly difficult circumstances, he forged on, determined to bring their son home to her. That he told us she was the great love of his life while remembering Tim with such pride and devotion. That Martin considered himself a lucky man for having such an amazing family.
Martin died honoring the memory of their son, but he also died knowing they would all be together soon.
On the screen, Patrice’s face is impossibly pale, her bald head wrapped in a flowered scarf. She dabs at her blue eyes, thanks us for our report. Then she smiles, so bittersweet, I feel my heart break in my chest all over again.
She says she knew Martin wouldn’t fail. He promised her he’d find Tim, and Martin never lied. She thanks us for delivering these final memories of her husband and her son. She apologizes that we came to harm, as that’s the last thing she and Martin ever wanted or expected.
I tell her Martin saved my life.
She smiles and says that makes perfect sense, as Martin saved her life, too. And made all of it worth living.
She means it, I realize. And despite the awfulness of the conversation, she appears at peace in a way that’s difficult to explain. She’s a woman nearing the end and knows it. But she’s also a woman with no more unfinished business. Her son and her husband are coming home to her. And soon enough, they will be a family again.
Searchers recover more evidence as they scour the mountains. Bolt-holes previously established by Marge and Nemeth containing duffel bags filled with everything from hunting gear to boxes of ammo to additional MREs. No wonder they always seemed one step ahead. They had planned for their strategy well, two lifelong outdoorspeople, putting their knowledge and experience to a much darker use.
The police were able to examine the clothing Nemeth had been wearing when he was first brought to the hospital. Sure enough, the military pants bore Kevlar patches bearing nick marks from my blade, while the shirtsleeve had a bullet hole from Miggy’s wild shooting.
Nemeth doesn’t leave the hospital. He ends up going into cardiac arrest and that’s that. Martin’s final victory is complete, though I feel robbed on the subject. At least I can still picture Marge locked up in a cinder-block cell for the rest of her life. She hasn’t spoken again since her morning of true confession in Nemeth’s room. There are rumors she’s on suicide watch. There are more rumors she’ll never make it to trial. Plenty of ways to get to someone in prison, and plenty of locals who’d like to see that done.
Luciana and I end up reserving the suite for two weeks. There are that many questions we must answer. Or maybe that many bubble baths and naps that must be taken, as both Luciana and I work our way back to feeling human.
She and Daisy start going for longer and longer walks.
I find myself roaming the streets of Ramsey, getting closer and closer to the edge of town. One day I spy Lisa Rowell driving by and wave at her as she waves back. It feels weird to have been in a place long enough to be recognized by the locals.
&n
bsp; It feels disorienting.
When I return that afternoon, I find Luciana sitting quietly at the end of her bed, Daisy sprawled beside her. She looks so serious, I feel my chest tighten with dread.
“We have a gift for you,” she says abruptly.
“ ‘We’?”
“Myself, Miguel, Scott, Neil, Josh, and Rob.”
“Bob’s husband?” Now I’m very confused.
“In the beginning, we all doubted you. Most didn’t even want you to come. But none of us would’ve survived without your perseverance and quick thinking.”
Luciana sticks out her hand. It contains a fat envelope. I eye it warily.
“What is it?”
“We respect your lifestyle. This is what you do, and how you choose to live. We also know the pay really sucks.”
Now I’m totally flummoxed. “You’re . . . you’re paying me?”
“Frankie, you’ve been wearing the same pair of jeans for over a week.”
“They’re all I have left.”
“I know. We know. We’re not trying to change you. We’re just trying to lighten your load. Maybe this makes it easier for you to take up your next case or maybe this enables you to do something else entirely, something you haven’t considered before. The future is a gift. You gave it to us. We want to give a piece back to you.”
I accept the envelope. No one’s ever offered me a wad of money before. And not because some of the other families weren’t grateful, but because you can’t give what you don’t have.
The envelope is very thick. It takes me a few minutes to work it all out. “Oh my God, this is like five thousand bucks.”
Luciana smiles. “And yet surviving the three most terrifying days of our lives . . . priceless.”
I don’t know what to say. My hands are shaking. “Can I at least buy you dinner?”
“You really don’t understand this gift thing, do you?”
“It hasn’t come up before.”
