“Well, there’s definitely no sign of poisoned wheat in the vomit - you can’t miss the bright pink dye they use these days - so it’s not rat poison like last time.”
Sylvie pointed out the scrunched up snow. “See all that. It’s a terrible way to die - vomiting is the least of it: epileptic seizures and lack of co-ordination and then coma and death.”
She shook her head at what lay before her. “It looks as if these poor animals ran round in circles and then as they collapsed, they tried to pull themselves along on two legs. Their pain and distress hang heavy in the air. I can hardly bear to stay here.”
Her personal feelings broke through her professional façade. The muscles in her legs quivered and the sudden weakness dropped her into a crouch in the snow. Seeing Sylvie lose control, Jean-Luc broke off from his examination and ran across to her. He bent down and wrapped her in his newfound strength. Her own bravery was exhausted. Jean-Luc’s comforting gave her permission to let go and cry. He held her tightly until her breathing slowed. He wiped her tears from her eyes and the snot from her nose.
“God, you look a sight,” he said. “Come now, we have to finish this job and we have to hurry. I don’t like the look of the weather. The wind has risen since we arrived and it keeps changing direction.”
He pulled her to her feet, tipped her chin up and stared deep into her eyes, infusing her with the will to carry on. “You start collecting samples while I scout around and see if I can find any other evidence. We may just get lucky, you never know.”
He climbed up the slope to begin a circuit round the site.
Sylvie watched him go; glad they were both strong enough once more to put their personal anguish aside and concentrate on the job in hand. She opened her kit, took out her specimen bags and jars, and began to collect vomit and ears for chemical identification and DNA analysis.
“Hey, Sylvie, look what I’ve found,” Jean-Luc shouted from above the frozen waterfall. He was holding up a large polythene bag. As she had feared, it had ‘Xylitol’ stamped across it in bright green letters and it was empty; all ten pounds of it had been used.
“They must have mixed it into ground beef or something like that,” she said. “Be careful with it. Put it in a specimen bag - it might have fingerprints on it or even DNA, but that’s a faint hope with the weather being this cold, any normal person would have been wearing gloves.”
“We might be able to trace the purchase though,” said Jean-Luc following her instructions, putting it into a specimen bag and stowing it away in his pack.
Sylvie had almost finished when he returned. He told her he had found human footprints on top of the den. He said he had followed them for a while but they led away over the hill and he couldn’t track them any further because it was getting late.
He used some of the material they had for paw prints to make casts of the footprints. They wouldn’t help find the culprit but they would help the case against him if they could identify him by other means.
Daylight was fading fast now and they had been working for several hours. Sylvie excused herself from the work saying she was desperate for a pee. She made her way slowly downstream to where a clump of scrubby bushes provided some privacy about fifty yards away. As she neared the spot, she noticed a sudden flurry of color and movement from behind the bushes, perhaps a lone mouflon. She crouched down to watch and pulled out her phone, ready to take a photo of the creature.
21 : Snowbound again
To Sylvie’s surprise the bulky shape of a man appeared round the side of the bushes. As he broke cover, she snapped off several shots. He looked back over his shoulder towards the den and he started when he saw Sylvie so close to his hiding place. Sylvie called out but he turned and made off on his skis leaving her, with only her snowshoes on, far behind. Realizing she couldn’t hope to catch him, she turned back after about fifty yards and returned to examine his hiding place: no footprints, no cigarette ends, but she did find out why he had not noticed her approach. He had been taking a pee, against a bush facing away from the wolves’ den.
She ran back to the den as quickly as she could, calling out to Jean-Luc as she ran, “You’ll never guess what I’ve found.”
Jean-Luc met her halfway and she filled him in on her discovery.
“You do realize that we have him now?” she said. “I took his photo.”
“Not conclusive proof,” said Jean-Luc, “but it would be hard for an innocent man to explain what he was doing out here in the middle of nowhere, watching us record this scene. Check the photos!”
Sylvie clicked through the photos on her camera and her spirits tumbled right back down to where they had been before she saw the man.
“They’re hopeless – he’s just a dim shape. There wasn’t much light and he was some distance away.”
“Any footprints?”
“No, he was on skis.”
Jean-Luc turned to walk back to the den. Sylvie snapped her phone shut and put it away in her pocket. It had been too good to be true after all and she still hadn’t managed to have a pee. Pee?
“Hey, Jean-Luc,” Sylvie called out after him. “We’ve got him! He didn’t see me because he was having a pee.”
Jean-Luc looked back at her and waved her on towards him. “So, just as well he might have attacked you, too.”
“But don’t you see? He peed into the snow. His urine is frozen. We just have to collect some and we’ve got his DNA.”
Jean-Luc ran back and picked her up, swung her around and then gave her a giant kiss on both cheeks. “You’re a genius. Grab a specimen jar and let’s go get us some frozen pee. Shines a new light on frozen popsicles, doesn’t it? But we must be quick, it’ll be dark in about half an hour and the wind is worsening.”
They hastened back to the spot where Sylvie had found the evidence and she scooped up a couple of specimens. As they hurried back to the den, they noticed that the wind was picking up the loose snow on the top of the drifts and billowing it about in swirling circles. By the time they reached the den, gusts blew backwards and forwards, obliterating the traces of the wolves’ struggle with death.
“It’s good that we took so many photos of the scene earlier on,” said Jean-Luc. “Now, we must get out of here and back to our camp before we get cut off. I do not want to spend the night here in the den with dead wolves all around me.”
“What about the wolves? What shall we do with their bodies?”
“I’ve thought about that. Tomorrow morning I’ll call in and have a helicopter sent to pick up the cadavers. The terrain is accessible here, and if the weather conditions are suitable, it will be easy for the air crew to let down a hoist even if they can’t land.”
He scanned the darkening sky. The winter sun had already sunk below the mountaintops.
“It looks as if there is more snow on the way tonight. We’ll have to put the bodies in the den for now if we don’t want to spend hours digging them out tomorrow.”
It didn’t take them long to stow the wolves away behind the frozen waterfall. It was a long cold walk back to their campsite in the dark. Part way along their journey the wind began to howl and bluster, blowing loose snow into their faces and covering over the trail they had left on their way in. As before, Jean-Luc tied Sylvie to a cord and she struggled to keep up with his longer legs as he drove a new trail by the aid of his GPS.
New snow drifted down and the wind caught it up and buffeted it about. Sylvie lost her footing several times and yanked Jean-Luc backwards as her fall took up the slack on the cord. Each time he stopped and waited for her to find her feet again and then he plodded on.
At last, Sylvie saw the stand of tall pines looming up out of the darkness. Just in time; the difficult conditions had sapped her of all energy; another hundred yards would have been too far.
Jean-Luc set up a windbreak between two trees and they flicked their tents open in its shelter. A couple of emergency army rations later and they were ready to curl up in their military sleeping bags, h
oping that the storm would die down before morning.
Overwhelmed by the fatigue and distress of all that had happened, Sylvie fell asleep immediately but she didn’t sleep for long. The tumbling temperature woke her in the early hours of the morning. She had never been so cold. She unzipped her sleeping bag, crawled to the tent opening and looked out. A full moon had risen and its light shone down on vast banks of snow piled up behind the windbreak and around its sides. If Jean-Luc hadn’t erected the break, the heavy snowfall would have buried them.
She needed warmth and there was only one place she was going to get it – in Jean-Luc’s tent - with him. Their cold war was still ongoing in spite of some mild thawing when they gave each other mutual comfort after discovering the fate of the wolves, but that didn’t mean either of them was ready for a full peace treaty. What would he say if she crept across and snuggled down in his tent next to him? Would he even notice?
It wasn’t much of a choice: lose face or freeze to death. She put on her boots and picked up her sleeping bag. She would have to be the first one to extend a conciliatory gesture if she was not to turn into an ice sculpture.
She put her hand out to unzip the tent opening but Jean-Luc beat her to it from the outside. He stuck his head in, saw that she was on the point of leaving and said, “Looks as if we both have the same idea. You must be frozen; women always feel the cold more than men and I’m cold, cold, cold.” He looked at her solemn face and grinned. “Come on over to my place and we’ll keep each other warm – purely in the interests of survival, of course.”
“What else?” said Sylvie, refusing to answer his grin and picking up her sleeping bag to join him outside in the snow.
They both squeezed into Jean-Luc’s one-man tent. While he fumbled with the zips on the bags and re-zipped them to make one large bag, Sylvie kept an exaggerated imaginary space between them and was conscious of Jean-Luc doing the same. When they both climbed into the sleeping bag, Jean-Luc collapsed back down into a deep sleep but not before putting his arms around her and drawing her in close so that he could warm her. Sylvie relaxed as the borrowed warmth flooded through her body. She closed her eyes and was soon asleep herself.
She woke up early the next morning. Jean-Luc was still fast asleep beside her and so it wasn’t him she had heard. Something had disturbed her sleep. A noise? A sensation? She wasn’t sure but she felt uneasy. There it was again. A loud rustling. It sounded as if it was coming from her abandoned tent. Maybe a wolf or a mountain lion looking for food. But they would never come so close while there was an abundance of prey in the Park, or would they?
She put her boots back on. Then she leaned over, cupped Jean-Luc’s mouth with one hand and shook his shoulder with the other. She signaled him to silence as he woke up and pointed to the tent next door. He listened for a moment and as soon as he heard the noise for himself, he put his boots on and crept to the door of the tent, picking up his rifle on the way.
“Stay here,” he whispered, waving her back.
She crowded up behind him as he unzipped the door of the tent. Pale early morning sunshine glistened off the newly fallen snow. She peered over his shoulder. There was a line of footprints leading to her tent. The sides were bulging as someone searched about inside.
As Jean-Luc stepped out of his tent, the intruder pushed through the opening of Sylvie’s tent, saw him and took off on skis before Jean-Luc had a chance to reach him. Jean-Luc ran after him for a few steps but soon turned and came back to her.
“Couldn’t shoot, Sylvie. Insufficient cause. Why don’t you see what he was doing? Must’ve been the same man, the one you saw down by the stream. Can’t imagine why anyone else would be up here so soon after a powerful storm like last night’s.”
Sylvie checked her kit; everything seemed to be there although he had emptied her backpack onto the floor of the tent. If it was the same man, there was only one thing he could have been looking for – her phone – but she had had her phone in her coat pocket and she had slept in her clothes. She felt her pocket. It was empty and she remembered she had put the phone in her emergency pack after they had checked the photos.
Jean-Luc had been watching her while she worked. “Well?” he said.
“He’s got my phone. He must have been worried the photos would identify him.”
“At least we now know that the man we saw down by the stream was the wolf-killer. No one else would have been bothered about a few photos.”
“What do we do now?”
“While you make us some coffee, I’ll use the sat-phone to arrange for a helicopter.”
Sylvie found the little Camping Gaz ring and filled the pan with snow. By the time the coffee was ready Jean-Luc had fixed the pick-up for midday.
“What shall we do till then?” asked Sylvie as she handed Jean-Luc a mug of hot coffee laced with cognac.
Jean-Luc stamped his feet and blew on his hands before accepting the mug. “I don’t know about you, but I’m cold and I’m still tired. I’m going back to bed for a couple of hours’ more sleep.”
“Good idea. At least it’s warm in the tent. We can’t stand out here for hours.”
They drank their coffee slowly savoring the heat of the drink and the warmth of the mugs on their hands. Sylvie checked her watch; four hours to go before the helicopter was due.
They spooned together for warmth in their doubled-up sleeping bag, closed their eyes and settled down to sleep for a couple of hours.
22 : Jean-Luc makes a Discovery
Jean-Luc was dog-tired from the events of the day before but he was blowed if he could sleep. He didn’t dare move in case he woke Sylvie. She was breathing slowly and evenly and he guessed she had been lucky enough to drop off straight away. The tendrils of hair escaping from her woolly hat tickled his nose but he stayed still for minutes listening to her quietly inhale and exhale, feeling her body pulse beside his.
She had been the perfect teammate: professional, calm, compassionate, and she hadn’t balked at the endurance test of the Siberian trek back to their camp. And she was pretty; so feminine. It amazed him that such fragility could house so steely a determination not to give in when things got tough. Of course, she was as sexy as all get-out. His cock gave a twitch at the memory of their escapade at the New Year’s Eve party – pounding into her soft wet depths – up against the door. God, she was hot. And funny with it. He had better watch himself; she was beginning to tick all the boxes, but she hadn’t forgiven him for that bitch Morisette. How was he ever going to get her to believe his story or even listen to it?
Merde! His right leg began to cramp. He had to straighten it out and flex the toes backwards or he would be in screaming agony. He let go of Sylvie and tipped over onto his back so that he could raise his leg and pull his toes towards his shin. It was touch and go whether he could forestall the attack. He massaged his calf muscle, trying to stop it from tightening.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Sylvie sitting up. “Can’t you sleep?”
“Aïe! I’ve got cramp. It was all that walking yesterday and no chance to cool down properly.”
Sylvie pushed back the sleeping bag and moved to kneel beside him. She knocked his hands out of the way. “Here, let me,” she said “Lift your backside and help me ease down your pants.” She rubbed and pummeled the muscle until it began to soften.
“C’est magique! It’s working. Let me try and point my toes.”
Sylvie sat back on her heels while Jean-Luc tested his leg.
“Hey, it’s gone. You’re a miracle worker.”
He grabbed hold of her, pulling her down on top of him. “I’m cold now you’ve taken my pants off me.”
“Let go of me, Jean-Luc. You promised this was business only.”
Jean-Luc blew her hair off her face and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “That’s a thank-you for freeing me from that excruciating pain.”
Sylvie raised her head and stared down at him. “Jean-Luc, I’m warning you!”
So, s
he had seen he was aroused. Mind you, she couldn’t really have missed it and now that she was lying on top of him, she must be able to feel his cock between them.
“Oh, yes? You’re warning me? What’re you going to do to me, mmm, Doctor Latour…? Sort out my other inconvenient muscle?”
Hesitation flickered across her face and he saw her weigh up the recent past. “Tell me about Morisette first,” she said.
“There isn’t anything to tell. She came to my room that morning on some stupid pretext – can’t even remember what it was now – and I let her in. She then stripped off and climbed onto my bed and invited me to do my worst.”
Jean-Luck gave a chuckle at the memory. “She had no idea how close she was to provoking me to do just that and hit her. Then you knocked on the door and saved her life!”
He shot a quick glance at Sylvie and saw that she was mulling over what he had said. He held his breath while he waited for her decision. She looked down at him and then away, and then down at him again and he grew apprehensive but then she smiled and her pupils darkened.
She flirted back. “Is that your gauntlet lying between us, Sire?”
“Had you any doubt?” he said smiling as he tightened his hold round her waist.
“Let go of me then and let me divest myself of this unwieldy apparel.”
“Not too fast, Milady. A knight wants a look at the goods.”
As Sylvie sat up, Jean-Luc drew the cover up over himself and put his arms behind his head to enjoy the view.
“Oh you!” she said, stripping off her heavy winter clothes down to her underwear. She knelt back down and tried to take off her bra. “Dammit, my fingers are too cold. Look at me; I’m covered in goose bumps.”
“Here, let me” said Jean-Luc, sitting up quickly and putting his hands on hers. “This is my favorite bit.”
Waking the Wolf (Coup de Foudre) Page 16