I moved to the body, leaned down, and touched his neck for a pulse, but it was obvious he was dead. “You poor, stupid fool,” I whispered. “Thought you could solve this case on your own. Superman.” My voice shook, and I clamped my teeth shut.
Did he have a gun?
I swiftly checked his pockets, finding only his wallet. Inside the wallet was a challenge coin. I lurched to my feet. The challenge coin Scott gave me was still taped to the foam board. Wes had been the friend looking for the Lone Wolf. And now he was dead.
So where was his car?
And where were the girls?
If the killer went after Wes, and the girls heard the gunfire, then maybe they were hiding. “Girls? Mattie? Aynslee? You can come out.” I tried to make my voice calm, but the words wavered. “It’s okay. I’m home. I’m here now.”
They couldn’t be in the attic. Robert said the access door was broken.
Could they have hidden in the crawl space?
I raced from the room to the kitchen and opened the pantry door. The trapdoor opened easily. “Aynslee? Mattie? If you’re hiding down there, you can come out. It’s safe. I’m home.” A long-legged spider hunkered down on its web and glared at me. I jumped away, dropping the trapdoor with a crash.
There’s no way the girls would hide down there.
Dashing to the outside door, I yanked it open. “Mattie! Aynslee! Where are you?” Only the shhhhh of the pine’s sighing in the evening breeze answered. I ran left, toward the garage. Wes’s Forest Service pickup was parked on the far side, out of casual sight.
Why would he park there?
He didn’t. I could hear the killer’s voice on the phone whispering in my brain. I hid his truck so your house would look normal.
I have the girls.
I clapped my hands over my mouth to keep back the scream. My thoughts jammed together. Call Dave. No. Phones don’t work. Cell? At hospital. Get help. Takes too long. How long has he had them?
Find them.
Spinning, I flew to the house, ending up in the studio. The county map was still taped to the foam core. “You’re a thrill seeker,” I whispered. “You want them to run. Where do you start?”
Wrong. Start where the bodies were found.
I found the tiny, black square of my house, then the crumbling McCandless farmhouse. Leaving my finger to mark the McCandless place, I traced the route Beth and I drove the day before, where we’d found the girl in the cow pasture. The two points were opposite each other, only separated by a long ridge. “He wanted the women to end up at the McCandless place. He gave them a map and compass, probably told them to run downhill and north. But the girl in the cow pasture couldn’t read a compass. She ran south.”
I stared at the map. “You don’t want your victims to make that mistake again. So you’d start at a lower point on the hillside. It’s natural to run downhill, especially if you live in the mountains.”
I tapped the map. “This ridge is the key. There has to be a road he could access. Didn’t the farmer say they’d logged here?”
Dave’s voice answered. Something he’d asked Dre. “See what you can find out about any logging or Forest Service roads north of here.” I could get ahold of Dre. Find out what he’d discovered.
But what if Dre was the killer? He was a lateral transfer from Spokane. Worked around woodpiles so could conceivably smell of wood chips. Saw Aynslee . . .
Stop it. Find them.
A drop of water struck Mattie’s face. She shifted, trying to find space in the crowded compartment.
Aynslee, curled up next to her, sniffed. “Wha . . . what should we do?”
“I don’t know. My head’s all screwed up.” She drifted in a river of blackness until Aynslee poked her. Hard. “Ouch.”
“You gotta stay awake,” Aynslee said. “We need a plan.” The truck rocked and bounced around them, knocking them from side to side. “Where do you think he’s taking us?”
“Back to that . . . place.” Mattie tried hard not to cry.
“No. We’ve been driving too long. And we’re going uphill.”
Mattie tugged at her hands, but the zip ties held tight. Matching ties held her ankles together. “We’re gonna die.”
“No, we’re not.” Aynslee shoved against her.
“Stop it.”
“I’m rolling over. Maybe I can reach your hands.”
Between the bandages and pain medication, Mattie couldn’t tell what Aynslee was doing.
“I can’t . . . I can’t get the zip tie off you without something sharp. Do you have a knife or X-ACTO?”
“What’s an X-ACTO?” Mattie asked.
“Never mind. Okay. Let me think.” Aynslee was silent for a few moments. “Okay. There are two of us and one of him—”
“Why’d you let them in?”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice. That artist guy asked me about Winston. That was my code word with Mom. I didn’t know there was someone else with him. Not at first. The other guy was hiding. He must have been waiting for someone to come. Or maybe he followed the artist guy.”
“You shouldn’t have opened the door.”
“I had the rifle—”
“But he took it away.” Mattie shivered.
“I didn’t think he was a bad man.”
“You knew him?”
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I THINK HE KILLED THE ARTIST,” MATTIE SAID.
“He couldn’t have.” Aynslee’s voice wavered.
“Yeah. Put it together. He hit the artist guy in the face, then held a gun on him and made him put zip ties on us.”
“He looked like he hated the artist.”
“He did. After he left us on the sofa, he took the artist into that room. You heard the gun. And the guy didn’t come out.”
Aynslee sniffed. “Maybe . . . Mattie, listen. We can’t do anything about that. Mom will come for us. But we gotta stick together. We gotta fight him. We have to run—”
“But we’re tied up!” Mattie struggled, kicking the side of the compartment. Something crackled. The tarp, the one that had covered her before, was at her feet. She smelled mold and sweat.
“Shhh. Don’t let him hear you.” Aynslee moved so she was close to Mattie’s ear. “Here’s my plan, but first we need to pray.”
The back of Mattie’s throat burned. “Like for angels to help us?”
“I’m going straight to the top.”
Hot tears cooled on Mattie’s face. “I . . . I don’t know how to pray.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do it. Um, God, please save us. We don’t want to die . . .” Mattie heard her swallow hard. “And zap this guy or whatever You do so he can’t do this again.”
“I agree. Um, vote yes . . .”
“Just say amen.”
“Amen.”
Distant thunder echoed as I jumped into my car and checked the time. Six thirty. I had an hour—maybe hour and a half—to find the road, and the girls, before dark.
At the end of the driveway, I turned left. I’d searched on Google Earth and found the satellite image of my place. A ribbon of tan showed at the ridge’s crest south of me, hinting of an old road, but I couldn’t find where it started. I knew a small road circled behind the McCandless place. It was well below the top of the ridge, but conceivably could be used. And it was close.
Dirt flew from my racing tires as I shot down the county road. I passed the McCandless turnoff and slowed down, watching on my right for a break in the trees. I finally spotted it about a half mile farther down.
A gray metal gate chained shut blocked the access.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I spun around. The car bucked and skidded on the loose gravel before straightening. I stepped on the gas and doubled back, checking my odometer as I passed my home so I’d have some idea of where I was. I just hoped, and prayed, that I could find the turnoff.
Before it was too late.
The truck stopped moving.
Mattie froze and drew short puffs of air, concentrating on sounds.
“Remember,” Aynslee’s voice whispered in her ear. “Mom and Beth talked about it. Mom called him a thrill seeker. He’ll want us to run. No matter what he says, run downhill. That’s where we’ll find roads and people. He’ll untie our ankles. That’s when we’ll make our move.”
A cool wind pushed through the seams of their tiny cubicle.
Mattie shivered. Even with Aynslee’s body next to her, neither one wore thick enough clothing, and they were cold.
Mattie tried to make her brain work. The drugs numbed her hands but also muddied her thinking. “But if all he’s going to do is make us run—”
“We have to make sure he doesn’t hurt us first.”
The top of their compartment opened.
Mattie blinked. Somehow she’d expected it to be nighttime.
The killer’s face appeared above them. “Hello, girls. Are you ready for some fun?”
The county road dead-ended at Copper Creek Lake, and no one lived east between my place and the lake. Numerous wooden bridges spanned the winding Copper Creek, and distances were often measured by how many bridges were crossed. Given the steepness of the ridge, I figured at least two bridges before a road could be a reasonable grade for a logging truck to use.
The mountain crowded the road, offering a sheer, rocky wall.
Another bridge.
The sun just tinted the tops of the trees as it settled for the night. “Come on. Come on. I have to find it. Lord, I have to find that road.”
Yet another bridge.
He reached in and grabbed Mattie by her arms and slung her to the ground in a heap.
She struggled to stand.
He slapped her face.
Tears filled her eyes and she slumped to her side.
Aynslee slammed to the ground next to her. She opened her mouth and seemed to gasp for air.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time,” the man said.
“You . . . you won’t . . . get away with this,” Aynslee said, still trying to breathe. “The police are everywhere.”
The killer cocked his head to one side. “Is that what you think?”
“They’ll be here any minute.” Mattie couldn’t see his reaction from the angle she was lying.
“I wouldn’t count on it. There’s a little matter of a torchlight parade by a bunch of neo-Nazi wannabes. Every law enforcement officer in the county will be tied up with that. One of my little diversionary tactics. I have all the time in the world with you two.”
“Then are you going to go out and shoot up that school tomorrow?” Aynslee asked.
The man gave a sharp intake of breath. “Well now, aren’t you the clever one. But my plans are much bigger—”
“The University of Montana?” Aynslee asked. “Or the Jewish—” A slap. Aynslee grunted.
Mattie felt something sharp on her ankles, a tug, and her legs were suddenly freed. Blood rushed to her feet, and she winced at the sharp, prickly feeling. He shoved her to her stomach and, with another pull, freed her hands. She rolled to her side. Something dropped over her head.
Mattie yelped and swatted at it, pulling it from her face.
A coat.
“You’ll need that,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon. There’s a map and compass in the pocket.”
He bent over Aynslee and cut the zip ties on her ankles. “You are far too clever. You, I’m going to—”
She kicked him.
He stumbled backward.
“Run,” Aynslee screamed.
Mattie got to her knees.
He stepped back to Aynslee and wrapped his hand in her long, red hair.
“Run,” she screamed again.
He smashed her face into the earth.
Mattie was on her feet. She ducked her head and ran. Her head slammed into his side, sending both of them tumbling. Sparks flickered behind Mattie’s eyes. She grunted in pain.
He recovered first. A vein throbbed in his temple as he glared at her, then looked around as if seeking something.
She spotted the gun first. It was lying next to the truck.
He reached for it.
Aynslee, arms still tied behind her, crashed into his back, sending him forward. His head connected with the bumper. Mattie stood, lifted the coat, hooked her arm under Aynslee’s, and yanked her upright. Steaming blood gushed from her nostrils.
“Grab his pistol,” Aynslee whispered.
Mattie used the coat as a basket and scooped up the gun. As one, they turned and ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
MY EYES BLURRED, AND I ANGRILY SWIPED AT them. Not now. I rolled the windows down, ignoring the chilly air, and slowed my car. The road had to be around here somewhere. The sun set and the forest crowded the road, sucking out the last of the light.
I almost missed it.
Coming around a curve, the road widened slightly. I stopped and stared. In the gathering dusk, a few tiny pines were growing crooked on the side of the road. Or a truck drove over them. I backed up and turned left, wincing at the sounds coming from under my car as I crushed the small trees under my wheels.
Noting the odometer reading, I knew I’d need to go about five miles west to put me above my place on the ridge. But since I was also climbing uphill, I’d need to increase that number. I wanted, needed to drive faster, but the track was more an impression than a passageway. The seconds ticked away in my mind. I jammed down the thoughts of what he might do to my daughter. I found myself chanting, “Lord, protect her. Save her.”
I thought I heard something. I stopped the car and shut off the engine.
“Ruff . . . ruf . . . aaaaeeeeeeeeee.”
Coyotes. I started the car and pushed forward. The lane cleared somewhat and climbed toward the top of the ridge. I was now running parallel to the county road far below to my left. This had to be the road suggested by Google Earth.
I had to turn on my headlights to see the bent grass in front of me. The temperature dropped still lower. I turned up the heat to offset the open window.
A mile, two miles, three. The road grew steeper, switched back, and widened. I’d reached a landing, a place where loggers assembled the cut trees waiting to be picked up by the trucks that would haul them. The mountainside had been thinned in the past year, and the remaining seed trees were widely spaced. The ground was rocky and the road split, with no indication as to which direction I should take. I got out of the car and inspected the ground with the illumination from my headlights.
Faint tire marks and a dislodged rock indicated he’d taken the upper road. I got back into my car and shifted into low. The way was steep, and the rocks gave way to dirt and mud, with a raw, bulldozer cut on my right and a sheer drop on my left, bare of trees, indicating a skid trail. Twice my tires spun in the thick muck before finding purchase. I’d only gone a short distance when I spotted the downed tree across the road. Scraped bark on the top showed where tires passed over it.
My little Audi didn’t have the clearance of a truck. If I got high centered, my car would be stuck. I pulled the emergency brake and stopped.
Mattie hauled Aynslee as fast as they dared down the steep slope. With her arms tied behind her back, Aynslee stumbled over hidden roots and downed branches. Pausing under a pine to catch their breath, Mattie draped the coat over Aynslee’s shoulders.
“You put it on,” Aynslee said. “You’re shaking in the cold.”
“So are you.”
“Then we’ll share it. Next time we stop, you put it on.”
They ran. Both of them fell and rolled over a thick bramble of snowberries. The coat flew off Aynslee’s shoulders. The pistol, now tucked under Mattie’s arm, dropped.
“Ouch.” Aynslee sobbed.
“Are you okay?”
“No. My foot’s tangled up.”
“Maybe we can hide here?” Mattie looked around.
“No. We have to keep running.”
&n
bsp; “But I dropped the gun.”
“Leave it. The important thing is he doesn’t have it.”
Mattie’s hands, still wrapped in their filthy, tattered bandages, were starting to ache as the drugs wore off. She used her feet to feel Aynslee’s legs and trace back to the tangle of brush enclosing her ankle. “I’m going to stomp this branch down. See if you can free your foot.” She stepped on the limb, then pushed her weight against it. The snap seemed deafening.
“Shh,” Aynslee whispered. “I’m free. Where’s the coat?”
“Ah . . . here it is.”
“Your turn. Put it on.”
“I can’t. My hands.” Mattie could just make out Aynslee in the darkness.
The other girl rolled to her knees. “I see it. I’m going to grab it with my teeth, then stand. You should be able to slip it on if I hold it, right?”
Mattie nodded, unable to answer past the lump in her throat. The coat was oversized and slipped easily over her hands. She looped her arm through Aynslee’s, and they continued their headlong race through the trees.
Something howled behind them.
Mattie screamed.
I got out of my car.
Excited howls echoed from the road above me. Not coyotes.
My blood ran cold.
A distant scream. I plunged off the muddy track and raced downhill.
Dave’s ear hurt from all the phone calls he’d made. Now he’d have to pray that nothing else went wrong. The torchlight parade officially started at seven thirty with a speech in the grocery-store parking lot. The parade application said the church group would walk down the main street of town. Missoula had loaned him three officers in riot gear, and Dave had assigned them to pace with the marchers.
Both sides of the street held protesters carrying signs. His own men covered the six-block route the best they could, but it was a circus.
Dave glanced at his cell for the hundredth time. He still hadn’t heard from Gwen.
Gwen’s and Beth’s words kept rewinding in his mind. The Phineas Priesthood liked to use bombings, and the vet hospital had been bombed. But why? It wasn’t connected to the government. Could it be a cover-up for the missing Ketamine? Or was it to kill Gwen’s dog? If an entire animal hospital were leveled just to kill an innocent dog, then Gwen was facing a level of destruction, hatred, and revenge beyond imagination.
The Bones Will Speak Page 21