In Harm's Way

by Ridley Pearson

  “That’s what he thinks. This time of year-summer-people move into the national forest. Vagrants. Outlaws. People who can’t afford to have, or don’t want, an address. The sheriff’s office puts the number into the hundreds.”

  “Hundreds?”

  “Totally off the radar. Just out there camping somewhere.”

  “And stealing food from people’s houses.”

  “Cheaper than buying.”

  “Every summer?”

  Fiona nodded sadly.

  “You don’t scare that easily.” Kira wore her suspicion openly. They were sisters now. Fiona wasn’t supposed to hide anything.

  Fiona averted her eyes. “Don’t go there.”

  “Where?”

  “Please.”

  “We’ll bear-proof it,” Kira said. “Maybe the handgun course comes in handy now.”

  “You know how I felt about that.”

  “Once my father gets a bug up his butt…”

  “So you said.”

  “The whole purpose of the course was to teach you to know what you’re shooting at before you so much as finger the trigger.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “I sleep better knowing it’s there.”

  “But I don’t. And think about it. It’s not right,” Fiona said. “A gun shouldn’t have that kind of power.”

  “But it does, and if there’s a prowler…”

  “You… me… both of us… We don’t need this. Not ever again. Why would we elect to stay here? Come with me. We kill some time while Walt-the sheriff-sweeps the woods. It’s safe again, and we return.”

  “I won’t give him that power. Some faceless dude who’s stealing pancake batter? We talked about this. You convinced me: ‘Once a victim, never again a victim.’ I’m not giving some phantom the power to make me leave.”

  “And if it’s not a phantom?” Fiona asked.

  The two exchanged looks. For a moment it appeared Kira was about to ask a question, but she censored herself.

  “He hit a house a half mile from here,” she said. “Who would be dumb enough to hit the next-door neighbor?”

  “These guys are not rocket scientists.”

  “You’re not telling me something. I can see it, and don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

  “If you stay, I stay,” Fiona said.

  “That’s bullshit. I’ll be fine.”

  “What about moving back in with your par-”

  “No way. Not even for a week. I’m done there. You know how I feel about that.”

  “But one week?”

  “I love them, but I’m not living with them. My father’s look is… tragic. He can’t help himself. It’s like it happened to him. It’s like secondhand smoke or something.”

  Fiona reached for the DVD’s remote control. Kira leaned forward and placed her hand onto Fiona’s.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I know you’re trying to protect me. I know how awful you’d feel if anything happened. But nothing’s going to happen. I’m in charge of my life now. I have a life now. You made that happen. You, the Advocates, my parents, this whole valley. But I’m not running from some dude stealing soup cans. ‘Once a victim, never again a victim,’” she repeated.

  “But there’s also, BS is BS. ‘Being smart is being safe.’”

  “I’m staying,” Kira said. “Unless you’re kicking me out?”

  “Yeah, right,” Fiona said. She touched the remote and the movie continued.

  Kira settled back into the couch and pulled the bowl of popcorn into her lap. “I love it when they go to Paris,” she said.

  But not Yellowstone, Fiona was about to say. She didn’t.

  6

  With Beatrice leading the way, Walt, Fiona, Tommy Brandon, and Guillermo Menquez followed a game path through a dark forest of fir, white pine, and aspen on a north-facing slope. Beatrice was not actually leading, but following a scent from a can of evaporated milk found by Fish and Game Deputy Ranger Menquez a hundred yards from the Berkholders’ stucco home. That the can carried a scent, and that that scent led them deeper into the woods, encouraged Walt that they were onto something.

  “No bear tracks that I’ve seen,” Menquez said. He was a stocky man with a thick mustache and an oily face.

  “No scat,” Walt said, agreeing. “No fur caught in the shrubs or on the stumps of old branches-”

  “Show-off,” Fiona said.

  Walt ignored it. “No evidence that any of the food in the kitchen had been consumed.” He expected Beatrice to lead them to a camper, a squatter, and Menquez, a bear expert, was along in case they encountered one-or, if Walt’s theory proved right, the “bear” required a translator. The Hispanic population had exploded in the valley over the past decade. Increasingly, his office and Fish and Game dealt with Mexicans squatting in the national forest while moving from one menial job to another. With the collapse of the economy had come whole settlements of twenty, forty, sixty day laborers in illegal campsites. Fiona was along to record whatever was found, and because for the past several days she’d come out of her cocoon to repeatedly badger Walt about finding and removing whatever-whoever-was living in the woods near the Engletons’.

  Walt extended his arm, stopping the others, and dropped to one knee, focusing on the brown pine straw that covered the barely discernible trail.

  “Brandon! A stick,” he said, reaching back with an open palm.

  Tommy Brandon found a fallen limb, cracked off a dry branch, and delivered it to Walt like a nurse to a surgeon. Walt reduced it further.

  “Photo, please.”

  Fiona sneaked forward and made several pictures of the area in front of Walt. “It might help,” she said, “if I knew what I was photographing.”

  “Right here,” he said, using the tip of the stick to gently lift the edge of a fallen leaf. He pushed the leaf away, pinched it, and tossed it behind him. “Another photo,” he said.

  “What is that?” she asked. She zoomed in on the pine straw and for the first time saw through the lens that half a dozen of the brown needles were cracked and broken. “You couldn’t have seen that,” she mumbled.

  “Here,” he said, using the stick to point out a small frown of discoloration. “It’s a toe impression,” he said. “A boot or Vibram sole-something stiff and inflexible. Not a running shoe.” He looked down at his own boot. “Size ten or eleven. We’re lucky it hasn’t rained in the past couple of weeks.” He looked up the trail and whistled for Beatrice to stop. Once the dog was looking at him, Walt made a hand gesture and she sat on the side of the trail. “We don’t want her disturbing things. It’s a man.” He looked behind him. Then he took hold of Fiona’s hiking boot and lifted it up and moved it. “He’s over a hundred and…” He sized up Fiona, “twenty pounds, and less than one-eighty.”

  “Jesus,” she gasped, amazed he nailed her weight.

  “Six feet or a little more.”

  Fiona glanced back at Brandon, who nodded as if to reassure her that the sheriff was for real.

  “Beatrice,” Fiona stated. “You saw a change in Beatrice as she passed by here.”

  “Very good, Ms. Kenshaw,” Walt said.

  “Her nose? Her tail? What?”

  “Both,” Walt answered. “She’s my Geiger counter. She’s the one in charge at the moment, and she knows it. Look at her up there.”

  The dog sat proudly on the side of the trail, with an expression that seemed to ask what was keeping them.

  “You ever seen anything cuter than that?” Walt said. “She’s impatient with us!”

  “Truthfully, I’m a little freaked out,” Fiona said.

  “It’s what I do,” Walt said. “What Bea and I do. No big deal.”

  “Unless you happen to see it in action,” Fiona said. “The height? How do you get that?”

  Brandon answered. “Shoe size combined with weight. Big feet, not very heavy. Tall and thin.”

  “Not Hispanic,” Menquez said. “Not very likely if he’s o
ver six feet.”

  “No, Gilly,” Walt said. “How do you feel about going off trail?”

  “Point the way,” Menquez said.

  Brandon, reading a topo map, said, “There’s a half-acre bench ahead, maybe two hundred yards.”

  “Water source?” Walt said.

  “An intermittent stream, spring fed on the backside of the bench.”

  Walt looked up into the trees. “Running northwest to southeast,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Brandon answered.

  “You are showing off, aren’t you?” Fiona said to Walt. “You’ve been here before.”

  “Doubtful,” said Brandon before Walt could answer.

  Walt silenced her with a look. “We go in silent,” he said, addressing them all. “Brandon, you’ll go upstream from this side.” He pointed. “Gilly, we’ll give you a headstart. You’re to the north and I want you to come up over the lip and onto the bench the same time as I do. We’ll use channel six. I’ll give you two clicks. If you’re in position, you’ll return with two; if you need another minute, three clicks; two minutes, four.”

  Menquez nodded and took off into the woods without anything more said. He moved as silently as a cat.

  “You,” Walt said to Fiona, “will stop when I motion for you to stop. I want you behind a tree in case any shots are fired. You’re not to move until I call for you. The best way you can help me right now is not to think; just follow orders. I know that runs against your grain-against your brain-but…”

  “No problem. I get it.”

  “Okay. Good.” He addressed Brandon. “Let’s go.”

  Walt received three clicks from Menquez, kept an eye on his watch, and sent the two-click signal a minute later. As two clicks were returned, Walt pushed up the final incline and popped out through the forest into the gleaming sunshine. The effect on his eyes was as if he’d left twilight and stepped into the glare of spotlights. He slipped on his aviators, picking up Menquez in his peripheral vision.

  Brandon, who’d beaten them both to the site, stepped out from behind a tree near the trickling stream fifty yards to Walt’s left.

  At the back side of the small clearing, near the stream and against the hill in a copse of aspens, was a fire ring of stones producing steam, some litter, a lean-to, and a small stack of sticks and firewood. The men came at it from three sides, an adrenaline-charged spring to their steps.

  Walt dropped to a knee, placed his hand first on the firestones, then into the steam and charred wood at its center. He held up five fingers on his right hand: five minutes. He silently signaled Brandon, directing him up the hill. Brandon took off.

  Walt turned around and motioned at the woods, and Beatrice came running toward him at full speed. He dropped her into a sit with a second hand signal, recharged her nose with the can of evaporated milk, and pointed into the woods.

  “Find it!” he whispered.

  The dog hurried off in the same direction as Brandon had gone.

  Walt stirred the litter with a stick, looking for an expiration date, but found nothing.

  “Our boy?” Menquez asked, studying the inside of the open lean-to.

  “Someone… two people… bedded down here. Recent enough that the wind hasn’t disturbed it.”

  Walt joined him. “Like last night,” he said.

  “Be my guess.”

  “Two? That doesn’t fit.”

  He was reaching for the handheld radio as Brandon spoke. “I see two individuals,” he said harshly, keeping his voice low. “Bea had a dead reckoning. It’s a couple. They’re on a trail maybe a half mile ahead, traversing to the south. Up and over into Greenhorn. You want me to pursue?”

  “Stop them if you can,” Walt said. “We’re on our way.”

  He called to Fiona, and a moment later they were off at a run.

  The couple were in their late twenties. The granola set. He wore a red bandana over his hair; she carried a CamelBak and backpack. They had a bitch Labrador that got along well with Beatrice. The dogs chased each other around the woods, throwing pine straw and growling.

  “Just the one night,” he answered.

  “We got off late this morning,” she said. “We’re going to circle around the end of Greenhorn and head out that trail.”

  “And in what condition did you find the campsite?”

  “The litter wasn’t ours,” the man said. “We burned what we could-”

  “And I packed out some,” the girl added.

  “But there was just too much of it,” the young man complained.

  “Can I see the trash you packed out?” the sheriff asked.

  The woman surrendered a plastic bag and Walt dumped it and rummaged through it. She stared long and hard at Fiona.

  Brandon said, “Have you seen anyone in the last day or so? Single male?”

  “No,” the man answered.

  “Wildlife?” Menquez asked.

  “Nothing bigger than a squirrel,” the woman said. “What’s this about?”

  “When you arrived to the campsite,” Brandon said, “what condition did you find it in? Did you get any sense for how long it had been abandoned?”

  “Not long,” Walt said, holding up a single-serve soy milk box on the end of a stick.

  “I packed that out because it’s lined with some kind of foil and doesn’t burn well,” she said. “We found a bunch of that melted stuff in the fire ring.”

  Fiona ran off a series of photographs at Walt’s request. Walt had pushed the melted globs into their own pile.

  “Very conscientious of you,” Menquez said. “Wish more campers had your sense of responsibility.”

  “Expiration date,” Walt said, “is November.”

  “Juice is usually six months,” Fiona said. No one questioned her. “It would have sold in late May or June.”

  “But not July?”

  “Iffy,” she said. “It’s possible, but that’s a popular brand. I doubt it stays on the shelves that long. You could check.”

  “The Berkholders,” Walt said, speculating.

  “Soy milk’s irradiated. Could be a pantry item,” Fiona said. “Why not?”

  “What’s going on?” the woman camper repeated. “Are you looking for someone?” She met eyes with her partner, who appeared anxious.

  “We could use some help,” Brandon said.

  “Hey,” the woman said, addressing Fiona, “I know where I know you. Aren’t you…? Didn’t you save that kid, that drowning kid?”

  “Anything you can tell us,” Fiona said-Walt making note of her choice of pronouns-“will be kept strictly confidential, and could really help us. This is important. This is the county sheriff. He’s out here personally, just to give you some idea. Think about that.”

  The woman checked with the man again. He shook his head nearly imperceptibly, but Fiona caught it.

  “What?” Fiona asked. “Please. Help us.”

  “I was,” the woman said. The man shook his head more vehemently, cutting her off. “We’re all grownups here,” she clarified. “I was sun-bathing. No shirt. You know,” she said to Fiona. “It was a glorious afternoon. One thing led to another. Jimmy and I… we enjoyed the fresh air together. Out there in the middle of the clearing. On a Therm-a-Rest. I may have gotten a little vocal, I think.” She blushed. “The point being that both of us… we both thought we heard something. Up the hill. We were still… and I… you know… I didn’t want to…”

  “Stop,” said Jimmy.

  The woman laughed nervously and shrugged.

  “But we both heard him,” Jimmy said.

  “It was probably just a deer,” she said.

  “Was not!” said Jimmy. “And you know it.”

  “This is yesterday afternoon?” Walt said, clarifying.

  “Four o’clock maybe,” the woman said. “The sun was still very hot.”

  “He was returning to the campsite?” Walt proposed to his team.

  “Maybe he’s rotating between two or three,” Menque
z said. “We see a lot of that. With the five-day limit, they stay clear of us by moving every five days. Not much we can do about it.”

  “Him?” Walt asked the man.

  “She won’t admit it now,” Jimmy said, “but she was the one who said it felt like someone was watching.”

  The woman looked a little sheepish. She looked at Fiona. “Sometimes you just get this sixth sense, you know, that someone has their eye on you. You know what I’m talking about. And it always gives me the creeps. Or nearly always. I felt it yesterday, and to be honest, I don’t know, maybe it’s just where we were, the setting and all, but it kind of turned me on.”

  “Jesus,” Jimmy groaned, “Kind of? Why don’t you just describe every detail?”

  “That’s why we didn’t stop,” she said. “I didn’t exactly feel like stopping.”

  “Can we stop now?” Jimmy asked. “Please?”

  “My deputy will take down your statement.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Fiona said. “I know that’s not easy.”

  “Is there some creep out here?” Jimmy asked. “Is that what you’re telling us?”

  “Honestly, if I were you,” Walt said, “I might try the Pioneers or the Boulders. Someplace north.”

  “You see?” he said to the woman, blaming her for all their trouble. He called for their dog and started off down the trail.

  The woman stayed behind and gave Brandon their names and phone numbers.

  “Sorry about that,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, well,” she said. “He’ll get over it.”

  “I can sit on this campsite,” Menquez offered. “Maybe we get lucky and he comes back.”

  “Observation only,” Walt said. “No action. These guys… A guy like this, Gilly…”

  “Yes, I understand, Sheriff. If he’s the one breaking into people’s houses, I would want backup. Don’t worry.”

  “Couldn’t you sweep the area?” Fiona asked. “The other campsites?”

  “Could, I suppose, but there’s just too many,” Walt said. “It would take too much manpower, too many resources for just petty theft and vandalism.”

  “But what if he knows that?” she complained. “What if he’s counting on that?”

  “Then he’s right,” Walt said. He whistled for Bea. The dog arrived with a deer bone in her mouth.