Nate frowned, puzzled by my question. “No one was there. Just you and me.”
I hoped he was right.
“Did you expect your sister to be there?”
Logically, the answer was no. But logic seemed to be taking a back seat in my head. “She wants to watch sometime. I don’t know why I thought she might be there.”
“You looked … you looked like you were having an anxiety attack,” he said softly.
Luke came and laid down near my feet. I teared up.
“It’s okay,” Nate said. “I been through those many times. Look.” He pulled up his sleeve. Thick burn scars covered his arm.
I tried to keep the shock off my face. I know I failed. Those scars represented weeks and weeks of pain. Tears ran down my face, tears for my friend’s anguish, tears for sorrow and fear and suffering.
Nate slipped his sleeve back down. “You don’t go through that without aftereffects. I been through many panic attacks.” Then he looked deeply into my eyes. “And I’m thinking you’ve had your own trauma.”
It was an open invitation for me to share, but my throat closed up. I groped for words and found a half-answer. “I had a bad accident once.”
That was like calling the soup course a full banquet. Why was I so reluctant to tell the truth? I automatically touched my own, scarred arm.
Nate waited a moment to see if I’d go further. I didn’t, and he accepted my response. “The brain retains a memory of those things,” he said. “Brings ‘em up at odd times. Feels like it’s happening all over again, right now. Feels like you’re about to die.”
I felt my head nod, just a little. And I don’t know if I was curious, or if I was trying to redirect Nate, but I asked him, “Do you still have those? Panic attacks?”
“No. Used to get triggered a lot. I’d hear a loud boom—even smell smoke—and afore I knew it, I’d be shaking, scared to death. Then I’d get angry. Coped with it by drinking, I did. Didn’t want anyone to get inside my head, didn’t want nobody close.”
“But you got over them, right?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Peter came along. Things changed.”
I sighed. “I know…God.” I rolled my eyes.
“What Peter said gave me hope. Once I had a little bit of hope, I had the strength to … to let go of my pride and get some help. I entered counseling, kicked the booze, started reading the Bible, found more hope.”
Sprite had been sleeping next to the wall. As Nate talked, she woke and curled up next to him, lying half on him. He began stroking her coat.
He looked straight at me. At first, I met his gaze, but I couldn’t hold it. “I wish,” he said softly, “I could give you that hope, that anchor. I wish I could make you see, and feel, how much God loves you.”
I started shaking again, trembling at first, then shivering. It was like his God talk was making me more anxious.
I stood to my feet. “I’m glad it works for you, but I don’t get it.” I crossed my arms, trying to stop the trembling.
Nate stood. “I know.” His eyes shone like two mountain pools in sunlight. “And I’m praying for you.”
A lightning-like heat flashed through me. My hands balled into fists and dropped to my side. “Don’t bother. It won’t work.” I turned on my heels and went to my bedroom.
I knew he wouldn’t follow. He was too much of a gentleman.
I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up. Luke came in and flopped down next to me. After a while, I heard Nate leave and a car start up. I realized he must have had somebody drop off his Tahoe.
There were good people in that SAR group. I didn’t think I was one of them.
16
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel regret the next day. Nate was unfailingly kind. I could have been more polite.
Oh, stress. What you do to me.
There wasn’t much I could do on a Sunday to advance my cases, so I decided to escape to the mountains. I packed water for Luke and me and set off for the Shenandoah National Park, about a half-hour drive. I parked at my favorite trailhead, and we ran for an hour.
Spring came a little later in the park because of the elevation. The trees were shorter too. But the dogwoods still laced the woods, and the birds still sang. The rain had ended, the sky was clear, and the run was therapeutic for both of us.
Still, while driving home, I had to work to keep the sound of screeching tires and the images of those vehicles tumbling toward us out of my mind. When I walked into my apartment, I discovered Nate had left me two things the night before—a small, pocket New Testament that looked like it had been to war and back, and the business card of a female psychologist.
Irritation rose in me. I opened the drawer of the end table and threw them in.
On Monday I launched into my cases, traveling to Richmond and poking into the corners of my subjects’ worlds. There were always secrets to discover, and once in a while a juicy crime to report. But mostly, I followed two things—money and sex. Greed and lust provided me with a solid living.
As I was about to leave Richmond, I got a text; Battlefield had called a special meeting for Thursday night. Curious.
That day, I made it a point to exercise Luke well. By the time I put Luke in his crate so I could go to the meeting, he was tired.
I drove to the bank building where the meeting would be held. On the way my mother called me. I was just finishing up with her when I parked and got out of the car. Emily stepped out of her car next to me. I waved and continued my conversation with my mother.
“Sure, sure. I know. It just wasn’t convenient, Mom. It’s not a tourist attraction. I know. I’m sorry it came across that way. Right. Right.” Then I ended the call.
Emily smiled at me.
“My mother. Complaining about how I treated my nineteen-year-old half sister,” I explained, irritation prickling like cactus.
“Nineteen? She’s a lot younger,” Emily said.
“Yes. And she’s their baby, and I’d better never forget it.” I relished my sarcasm.
Thankfully, Emily changed the subject. “How’d Luke do the other night?”
“We had an off night. Totally my fault. I was preoccupied.” Had Emily heard about my meltdown?
“We all have off nights.” Her words carried little comfort.
The location was in the bank’s meeting room, so I had assumed, correctly, that dogs weren’t part of it. We ended up sitting far away from Nate. I was glad of that.
A representative from the Virginia Department of Emergency Management was the presenter. He talked about how important volunteers were to VDEM, and how much our contributions were valued by the citizens of the commonwealth, yada, yada, yada. He mentioned several recent productive searches, including the one for Joey Washburn. A streak of pride ran through me.
Then he brought up the accident on Saturday. He talked about post-traumatic stress and some signs to watch for. I glanced at Nate, since he’d been the one to deal with the deceased trucker. His face looked impassive. Then I saw Kevin, another handler, looking straight at me, his eyes practically burning into me. Suddenly, I felt undressed. I looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed my face redden.
The VDEM guy sat down, and Susan, the leader of our group, brought up a few more issues, most of which were encouraging. Then Nate took the podium. He thanked everyone for their support for Beth over the last year. He gave an update on her cancer, then said, “Her time is coming to an end. If you want to see her, you can come by for a short visit. I’m headed there now. Probably will be there all night.”
As I said, Nate was a glutton for punishment.
I opted out of the visit to Beth, since I didn’t know her. I’d seen enough death.
Back at home, while I changed my clothes, I fumed. From some of the things Emily said, I thought Nate must have shared about my anxiety attack. Plus that guy, Kevin, stared at me all night. I’d seen Nate talking to him before the meeting started. Had he told h
im too? I thought personal stuff like that should be confidential.
I woke up several times that night, anxious and afraid. I tried to figure out how to confront Nate, rehearsing what I would say to him. Predictably, the next day I felt like I’d been battling for my life all night. Completely exhausted.
But I had work to do. And so I soldiered on. I’d call Nate that afternoon.
17
Scott Cooper shuffled papers, trying to work up some interest in the cases he had on his desk. Mondays at the office were a drag.
His thoughts ran back to Sunday. There’d been a hellacious storm the night before, but he’d carried out his plan anyway, going back to the woods where Faith’s body had been found.
Officially, that case was low priority. Unofficially, it was the first thing he thought about in the morning and the last thing he thought about at night. There was more to it than one young woman being snatched from a coffee shop. He was sure of that.
So he’d returned to the now-cleared crime scene. He was looking for wood shavings, something that would link Faith’s murder to Julie’s. But after scuffing around in the leaves for an hour, searching the little clearing where Faith’s body had been found, checking every fallen log within fifty feet, he’d come up with nothing.
Maybe he should have asked the dog man to come with him.
He sighed. Maybe he was getting a little obsessive.
His conversation Sunday afternoon with his daughter hadn’t helped. Mandy was developing that know-it-all teenager attitude. He hardly knew how to talk to her anymore. Staring at the calendar on his desk, he realized in less than two months she’d be coming for a week-long visit. Part of his visitation rights.
What in the world was he going to do with her?
He made a note to put in for leave. It bugged him that his ex-wife had already given Mandy a cell phone. “All her friends have them!” That was Suzanne’s justification.
Did she have any idea what kids were doing with phones these days? The apps that led them straight into the dens of predators? Sexting? Nude pictures that would live on the web forever and get sold to whatever basement-dwellers wanted to leer at their young bodies?
Scott’s stomach roiled.
One thing for sure, if there was some pervert targeting young blonde women in Virginia, he sure couldn’t give Mandy the kind of freedom he knew she’d demand. He could see endless rounds of arguments in his future. Maybe he should cancel her visit. Maybe he should fly out there instead. Maybe—
His boss interrupted his thoughts, shouting from across the room. “Cooper! Brian’s got a tip on his Good Ol’ Boy bank robber. Can you help?”
“Yep!” Scott jumped up and grabbed his raid jacket. Great! A knucklehead to pound on. Just what he needed.
Nate Tanner shifted his weight in his chair in the coffee shop just off the community college campus where he worked. Across from him, Battlefield SAR Director Susan Lewis sat, her head turned to her left where Kevin Holder outlined his case.
Nate had told them he’d give them twenty minutes. Sprite was outside on the dog tether. Right now she was in the shade, but the sun would soon shine directly on her, and he wasn’t about to leave her there for long.
He didn’t want to be part of this meeting anyway. When he heard what Kevin Holder wanted, his anger had surged.
Why’d they have to address this now anyway? Why after what happened last night? Beth was dead. The group was grieving. And Kevin was focused on this? His petty jealousy?
“Look, the rules say you have to be comfortable finding people dead or alive. I say, if Jessica can’t handle HRD, if she’s that unstable, she shouldn’t be operational, even if she is on the live-search team.” Kevin sat back and crossed his arms.
“The rules don’t say that. Just the introduction to SAR on the website. Look, give her a break,” Nate said, fighting to stay calm. “None of us expected to find a body on that first practice run. It was a shock.”
“And she almost quit over it, right? Didn’t come to practices for a month or more.”
“How do you know that was why?”
“Carol saw her reaction. She told me. And then last Saturday night? What happened? Why was Jessica hiding behind the culverts? I saw her there. She was shaking like a leaf. Crying.”
“And did you see her before that?” Nate tapped his finger on the table. “Did you see her taking those babies out of the car? Did you see her calming that mother down? Did you see her taking action while others stood around?”
Kevin didn’t budge.
Nate pressed him. “Or maybe, maybe you were there when Jess went on a three-hour night search in the pouring rain two days before Christmas. Did you see her save a little boy’s life?” Nate leaned forward. “Did you see any of that, Kevin? Or do you just have eyes for puttin’ folks down who are doin’ better’n you?” His face felt hot. He turned to Susan, who looked flustered. “That girl,” he hesitated, groping for words, “she’s got grit, she does. Her dog is superb. And we’d be fools to discourage her.”
Susan swallowed, then looked back at Kevin. “I, uh … I see your point, Kevin, but really, isn’t this a little premature? I mean, she’s just barely gotten started with us.”
“You’ve got to take command, Susan. Deal with it now. Or no one will respect your leadership.” His words were like a whipcrack.
Nate’s eyes flared. He bit the inside of his lip to force himself to calm down. When he thought he could control his temper, he spoke. “Kevin,” he said in a voice that was almost friendly, “Jess is new, and she needs a little grace from us. You want to know what grace is? Grace is overlooking an error. It’s what Max gives you when you mess up as a handler and he still wags his tail when he sees you.” Max was Kevin’s Malinois, and his success rate was one of the lowest in the group.
Nate didn’t wait for Kevin to respond. “You want to know why Max doesn’t work as well as Sprite, or Luke? It’s because he doesn’t trust you.” He paused to let that sink in. “I’ve seen you using an ear pinch on go-outs when he was slow to respond. I’ve seen you bully him when you’re frustrated, pushing him with your knee and chucking him under his chin. Max will never work for you like Luke works for Jess. You’re a force trainer. And that dog, he gives you grace and loves you anyway. I say Jess deserves that same grace.”
Nate stood up. “One more thing, Kevin. You will never, ever head up any SAR organization I’m a part of.” With that, he turned and left.
18
Pavement pounding on my cases in Richmond and Charlottesville kept me busy most of the day. My methodology was simple. I interviewed former boyfriends, girlfriends, employers, coworkers … anybody, really, who knew my subject and would talk to me.
Most people move through life leaving a trail of little grudges, petty jealousies, and small hurts behind, like the scent cone left by the skin cells we humans shed whenever we move. I saw myself as the search dog moving back and forth through my subject’s past until the scent intensified, and I found someone who would give up the information I needed to nail down something my lawyer could use.
It was a lot like being a cop, only usually the offense I was investigating wasn’t criminal, it was personal. Today, by the time I was ready to head home, I had a notebook full of new information and a ton of guilt for leaving Luke in his crate all day. In the winter I could bring him with me, but summers were too hot for him to wait in the car while I interviewed people.
As I left Charlottesville, I worked on a script for my unfinished business—confronting Nate. If I hit a clean stretch of road, I could call him while I drove. I had to make sure he knew my boundaries. I had allowed him to see my anxiety. I didn’t want him talking about it.
An accident on Rt. 29 made me divert onto smaller roads. I was surprised when I came upon a sign for the college where Nate worked. Curious, I took a detour and had circled halfway around the campus when I saw a familiar figure, sitting on a freshly mown hill next to a large lake, a springer next to him. Nate
.
I pulled over and up onto the lawn, hoping I’d finish this before a campus cop came along to ticket me. Striding toward him, I inhaled the scent of the cut grass. He had his back to me and didn’t move, even when Sprite turned toward me.
I moved around so I could face him. “Nate?”
He looked up, and I saw the fatigue in his face. A sweat stain darkened his shirt from his neck halfway down to his waist. He’d probably been cutting grass all day. “Hey,” he said.
I was surprised he didn’t stand. “Nate who did you tell about … about Saturday night?” My voice had a serrated edge.
His face fell into a frown. I could tell he was searching his memory.
“About, you know, after the accident, when you drove me home?” I could not bring myself to use the terms “panic attack” or “anxiety attack.” I also was totally deviating from my script.
Still, I pressed him. “I don’t like people talking behind my back. I don’t like you breaking confidentiality…”
“No.” His voice was soft.
“… even with Emily. Last night I spoke with her and from what she said, I believe you talked to her. About me.”
He frowned.
“My issues are mine to deal with! Got it? They’re private!”
He took a deep breath and averted his eyes, staring out over the lake until I turned to see what he was looking at.
There was nothing there, nothing.
“Do you understand?” I felt like I was talking to a five-year-old.
“Sure.”
“All right. Thank you.” Then, as a gesture, I bent down and patted Sprite. “I’ll see you sometime.” But Nate just sat there.
I didn’t get an apology, I thought as I strode back to my car, but I did get my point across. That was clear.
I was feeling pretty good about confronting Nate until I got home. I let Luke out and while he was relieving himself, I checked my email. There was a message from the Battlefield director saying Beth had died last night, and arrangements would be forthcoming. Nate, she wrote, had stayed with her all night and was with her when she died.
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