by Eden Maguire
I crouched down, kept quiet, wished to hell that Jude had stayed with me.
‘Is someone there? Are you OK?’ It was the second voice again.
Seven or eight stocky figures were beginning to emerge through the smoke. I peered round my rock and spotted their bright-yellow jackets. Forest Service firefighters were coming down the mountain carrying heavy chainsaws, shovels and axes. I stepped out of my hiding place to wave both arms above my head and speak with them.
‘There she is!’ The leading firefighter cut across the scrubland towards me. He had broad, Hispanic features, and thick black hair escaped from under his helmet. Black-rimmed goggles protected his eyes from the smoke.
‘I’m OK!’ I yelled. ‘Those horses broke out of the arena at Black Eagle Lodge. I lost a friend of mine when they ran by.’
‘What are you doing up here anyway?’ the crew leader asked me as he drew near. He took off his goggles to get a better look at me. ‘It’s early to be out hiking.’
I didn’t have time to frame an answer before I noticed that two members of the team were carrying what looked like a heavy stretcher covered with a bright-blue tarp. ‘Did someone get hurt?’
‘OK, here’s the deal.’ The leader took my arm and gently but insistently held me back as the rest of the crew stepped clear of the thorn bushes. ‘You tell me your business then I tell you mine.’
‘We’re hiking,’ I insisted.
‘You and your buddy – no third party?’
I nodded. The guys with the stretcher were passing close by just as a strong gust of wind lifted the smoke cloud to give me a clearer view. The tarp was humped over what could only be a human body. ‘Just the two of us,’ I confirmed with a shudder.
‘Then I guess this young guy must be from the lodge.’ Jerking his thumb towards the stretcher, the firefighter loosened his grip on my arm. ‘He hadn’t been up there long when we found him.’
‘Is he dead?’ I whispered, watching the tarp shift and slip to one side. One of the stretcher-bearers roughly pulled it back into place.
The leader nodded.
‘Where did you find him?’
‘Down a sink hole, half covered by earth. You could’ve walked right on by and not spotted him, only we were digging a ditch for our fireline – darned near put a shovel through his skull.’
I shuddered again.
‘You want us to swing by Brancusi’s place on our way down to the truck?’ someone yelled as the wind died and left long curls of smoke drifting at ground level.
‘You do that,’ their team leader agreed. ‘Go ahead and warn them that we need identification.’
So a guy split off to head for the lodge while the others rested. My own mind raced, wondering why anyone from Black Eagle Lodge would be hiking alone and getting himself killed by falling down a sink hole. ‘You really reckon he’s from the lodge?’ I asked.
‘Maybe.’ The chief firefighter came across like someone who’d seen many wildfires, many deaths – not exactly hardened but in no way shocked by the discovery of their latest corpse. ‘He could also be from town – a high school student. He’s a teenager for sure, someone around your own age.’
‘You want me to take a look?’ My question caught me by surprise and I stared uneasily at the long shape under the tarp.
‘No obligation,’ one of the other firefighters reminded me. His lean face was streaked with dirt and he wore a loose red neckerchief around his throat.
‘No, I’ll do it,’ I said, taking a deep breath.
The chief nodded and walked me across to the stretcher. The guy with the neckerchief stood by, ready to fold back one corner of the tarp.
When he eased the blue cover to one side, I saw that the face underneath was pale but not disfigured. The eyes were closed, the mouth half open. He looked unmarked but more than asleep – kind of absent – and it was by his blond hair that I recognized him.
‘You know him?’ the chief firefighter prompted.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, your first guess was good. He’s not a school student, he’s from Black Eagle Lodge.’
Last seen by the side of the pool, gazing into Cristal’s green eyes, leaning forward to be kissed. ‘His name’s Oliver. That’s all I know.’
10
I went straight from identifying the body on the mountain to Black Eagle Lodge with Ricki Suarez, the leader of the Forest Service firefighting team.
The tall pines sighed in the wind, threads of white smoke wound down the hillside towards Bitterroot. And I was seeing ghosts, hearing voices again. Aimee, take care. Mind you don’t fall and hurt yourself. Drifting on the breeze, sighing through the pines.
‘You OK?’ Ricki paused within a hundred metres of Zoran’s place. ‘You’re certain you don’t want one of my guys to drive you home?’
I shook my head, cleared out the whispering spirits. ‘Thanks, but I need to find my hiking buddy. He has asthma – he doesn’t do well at this altitude.’
‘Let’s hope he headed this way.’
We approached the broken fence and stepped over the smashed rails, me leading the way and of course looking out for Daniel, guessing that he was the figure standing helpless in the doorway when the mustangs broke out. ‘Zoran just built this facility,’ I explained. ‘He adopts horses from the Californian desert.’
‘Zoran?’ Ricki echoed. ‘You’re on first-name terms?’
‘I’ve been here a couple of times.’ I felt my face colour up, sensing some disapproval.
‘Your parents know this?’
‘Sure. Why?’
‘I won’t let my daughter near the place,’ he muttered, taking the lead now as we entered the barn. ‘Not after the reports I heard.’
‘My parents don’t lay down those types of boundaries.’ I was only half concentrating and didn’t care if I came over like a spoiled brat. How come the guys from the lodge hadn’t set out to bring the mustangs back? And shouldn’t Daniel be in charge of the search? Daniel … Daniel! The closer I got to the lodge, the more I obsessed. Following Ricki past feed stalls and a grain store, we came out of a smaller door at the far side of the barn. ‘Anyway, what reports?’
‘About the way Brancusi runs this place. I hear he likes to be in control.’
‘No more than you would expect,’ I argued. Oddly, whatever thoughts and suspicions I was personally experiencing, I didn’t appreciate it when outsiders picked up rumours and ran with them. ‘Think about it – a guy in his position, he needs to protect his privacy.’
‘I hear you. But, to be honest, the Forest Service doesn’t like it when a wealthy individual buys up half a mountain. These multimillionaires, they’re not necessarily into land conservation and management. We’d like to bring it all under federal ownership – that’s our ultimate aim. So which is the main house?’ he asked, stopping at the edge of Zoran’s helipad and scanning the various doorways – entrances into the studio, staff living quarters and Zoran’s own house.
‘Can I help?’ Someone had followed us out of the barn. It wasn’t Daniel and I couldn’t place him at first in jeans and T-shirt, but then I recognized that this was Lewis, Holly’s god of youth in the feathered cloak and heavy gold collar.
My companion introduced himself. ‘Ricki Suarez, Carlsbad County Forest Service. We’re currently setting backfires, creating a fireline.’
‘And you’re here because … ?’ Lewis stood in the narrow doorway with arms crossed, viewing us suspiciously and giving no sign that he recognized me.
‘I want to speak with Mr Brancusi,’ Ricki told him.
‘Mr Brancusi is currently busy. I’m Lewis Mullins. You can speak with me.’
‘Mr Mullins, let’s cut to the chase.’ Ricki’s tone conveyed controlled hostility. ‘This is official Forest Service business. We could save some valuable time if you let Mr Brancusi know I’m here.’
‘Let me be equally plain,’ Lewis said without moving an inch. ‘You guys start tearing up the ground with heavy machinery, you set fires that stamp
ede our horses, and you expect us to break off from what we’re doing and welcome you with open arms?’
‘This is important.’ I forced my way in between the two guys’ locked horns. ‘They found a body down a sink hole. I think I identified him.’
‘Hey, Tania.’ Lewis directed his cool gaze towards me and acknowledged me at last. The word ‘body’ seemed to have no impact whatsoever. ‘Are you looking for Jude?’
‘We got separated. He was in trouble. Have you seen him?’
‘I haven’t. But Callum has and he told me he was in bad shape. Don’t worry, he took care of him.’
‘Thank God! Do you know where Jude is now? Can I see him?’
‘Hold it!’ Ricki Suarez refused to waste another second. ‘First things first. Does the name Oliver mean anything?’
Lewis tilted his head to one side. ‘Sure. Oliver Knight. What about him?’
‘Does he live here in the complex?’
‘Not any more.’ Lewis had moved out of the doorway and joined us in the centre of the helipad. ‘Oliver arrived here a couple of weeks back, hung around a while then decided to bale out.’
‘He left?’ Ricki checked. ‘When, exactly?’
‘Let me see – it was last night after supper. These kids come and go. Oliver came to the Heavenly Bodies party with a couple of guys from Bitterroot and decided to stay on. He was from out of town, here on vacation. I guess it became time for him to go home.’
Ricki’s hostile frown didn’t lift. ‘Well, he didn’t make it,’ he grunted. And he filled Lewis in on the location of the sink hole where they’d found Oliver’s body. ‘It would help us, Mr Mullins, if you would confirm Tania’s identification of the body so that we can go ahead and contact the boy’s family.’
Lewis nodded. ‘Last time I saw Callum, he was in the studio,’ he informed me as he turned to follow Ricki back through the barn. ‘He can tell you more about Jude.’
I thanked him and gave the team leader my number. ‘If you need to contact me again,’ I explained. Then I turned and ran to find Jude.
At first I thought the studio was empty, though the main door was open and the lights were on. I looked around at the complicated sound boards and cubicles, trod carefully over coils of cable and past heavy metal stands until I saw the man himself – Zoran in headphones, his back turned, hunched over a desk and listening intently.
I had a moment to study him – that tall, wiry figure, the grey stubble covering his scalp – before he said without turning around, ‘Tania, go back and press the button to close the door then come and listen to this.’
As always, I did as he told me and when I reached the desk he handed me a pair of headphones. ‘Something new,’ he explained. ‘What’s your opinion?’
It was a song not about love this time but about the price of fame, how it tempts you and draws you in though you know that beneath the bright, glittering surface it’s worthless. Zoran’s voice was echoey and slow, backed only by an acoustic guitar. The chorus used the image of a precarious tower that topples and ends up as rubble, taking a host of famous names with it.
‘I think I like it,’ I said hesitantly. I loved the voice, the melody, but the lyrics had unsettled me.
‘You’re not sure?’
‘It’s too sad. It makes me feel that life may not be worth anything.’
‘Don’t worry – your opinion is in line with Cristal, Daniel and Lewis; they say it’s not commercial.’
‘Maybe you know what sells better than we do.’ I handed back the headphones with a shrug. ‘I thought Cristal would approve. Didn’t she want new songs from you?’
‘Just not this one,’ he smiled. ‘But you agree with the sentiment – that these days it’s easy to get famous but hard to live with the consequences?’
‘I don’t know.’ Again, he lived in that world and I didn’t.
‘Believe me,’ he insisted. ‘People who chase fame and then have to live with it are often disillusioned. They start to find they can’t walk down the street without a bodyguard, they can’t eat in a restaurant, go to see a show without a dozen cameramen popping flashlights in their faces. Maybe that doesn’t seem to you like a very high price to pay for a million-dollar pay cheque, I don’t know.’
‘Honestly, I can’t judge.’
‘Come with me,’ Zoran told me, making an unexpected move out of the studio and down a corridor that seemed to tunnel underground until it finally connected with the main house. We came out in the large room where he’d hosted his private gathering on the night of the Heavenly Bodies party. He reached under a big glass coffee table to pull out a portfolio of colourful prints. ‘You know Andy Warhol’s work? What do you think of these?’
I leafed through the prints – multiple Marilyns, Elizabeth Taylors, Jackie Os, plus one of mop-haired, owlish Warhol himself. Iconic. Brilliant. Amazing. ‘Are they genuine?’ I gasped.
Zoran laughed in my face then apologized. ‘No, you’re right – with Warhol it’s difficult to be sure, even if the signature appears real. But the dealer I bought them from had them authenticated by The Studio in New York and I paid top dollar, so let’s hope they’re the real deal. Which ones do you like the best?’
‘The Marilyns,’ I replied instantly. ‘Warhol gets everything about her, the fact that she was on every billboard and magazine cover all over the world, that she was glossy and beautiful …’
‘Yeah, beautiful,’ he repeated, passing his fingertips over Marilyn’s face then glancing up at me. ‘And so vulnerable.’ Closing the portfolio, he started to ask me about my own artistic ambitions. ‘Did you use the photographs you took of the mountain?’
‘Not yet. Actually, I lost the images from my camera. I need to take some more.’
He gave a nod of what appeared to be satisfaction. ‘And you have a studio to work in?’
‘I’m lucky – my dad converted part of the garage. I’d like to spend more time in there.’
‘But life keeps getting in the way. Believe me, I know how that is. Classes to attend, friends who need you, lovers …’
‘I came to find Jude,’ I said, before the conversation got too personal. ‘Lewis said Callum took care of his asthma attack.’
‘Yeah, I get the reason you were on the mountain,’ he said casually. ‘Jude wanted to check on Grace. I don’t blame him for that, considering their history, though I think you might have used the front entrance!’
‘I – we didn’t think we’d get through security.’
Zoran faked hurt feelings then smiled. ‘Look at me, Tania. Do you see me objecting to your visit? No, I’m always pleased to see you. And any friend of yours is a friend of mine.’
As ever, he threw me completely off balance. Here was the rock god shaking his head at me and grinning, acting like the whole world misunderstood him. He, Zoran Brancusi, who wanted only to open his home and share his gifts and treasures with anyone who was genuinely interested. And yet …
‘Actually, I’m sad for your friend Jude,’ he went on, scooping up my doubts into an invisible box and putting a lid on them. ‘Love hurts, we all know that. Like the words of my song – you open up and make yourself vulnerable, and when it ends it feels like your whole world has come crashing down. I do understand what Jude’s going through.’
… And yet Zoran’s security guards fired a pistol at Mike Montrose’s car tyres, there are secret cameras covering every inch of the property, and a kid has just walked out of here to a lonely death on Black Rock.
‘Look at Oliver,’ he went on, catching my thought in another of those uncanny mind-reading moments. ‘One glance at Cristal and the kid was transfixed. I mean, seriously, the second he saw her, he was smitten.’
I said I wasn’t surprised. Girls didn’t come more gorgeous than Cristal. ‘How about her? Did she feel the same way?’
‘What do you think?’ he countered.
I remembered watching Cristal and Oliver at the pool party – how he was drawn like a moth to a flame, how she sa
t without reacting when he went to the edge of the pool and made as if to dive over the edge. ‘I think, no way.’
‘Give me reasons,’ Zoran invited. ‘Apart from the obvious ones that she is so beautiful she can have the pick of any man she meets.’
Including Holly’s Aaron, whom she also dropped without a second thought. ‘Yeah, right,’ I murmured. ‘Why choose Oliver?’
‘Before Oliver there was a boy named Aaron,’ Zoran recollected breezily, forcing me into yet another double-take. ‘Before that there was a boy she met in the airport, and before that too many even to recall.’
‘So she wasn’t in love with Oliver and she won’t be too sad about what happened to him?’ I checked.
For once it seemed that the main man wasn’t up to speed. ‘Why, what did happen?’ he quizzed.
‘You seriously don’t know?’
‘Cristal told me he was going through a personal crisis and last night he decided to go back home. Did you hear something different?’
‘He didn’t go home,’ I reported, deliberately delaying and playing with my solitary moment of information-supremacy over Zoran Brancusi.
‘Where did he go?’ A wariness had come into his expression; those dark eyes were searching my face.
‘Whatever crisis he was going through, Oliver didn’t head for town. He did the exact opposite – he went up the mountain and got lost out there. The firefighters found him early this morning.’
‘Dead?’ Zoran asked, still wary, holding his breath and waiting for my answer.
I nodded. ‘No one knows exactly what happened. He was buried down a sink hole when they found him. There wasn’t a mark on him to show how he died.’
‘Poor boy,’ he said after a long, piercing stare. ‘He was a good kid. I’ll miss him.’
They were formulaic words, without any emotional content – no shock, no curiosity. Even when Zoran promised me that he would help the family any way he could, there was nothing I could identify, except perhaps a silent satisfaction that it had all worked out the way he’d planned.
Zoran’s next move was to contact Lewis, who had been quick to confirm with Ricki Suarez that the dead kid was Oliver Knight and had come straight back to the barn.