Disturbance

by Jan Burke

  “I don’t understand why you trusted him!” Kai called from behind me, as if he had been fretting over this since Donovan drove away.

  Parrish laughed and called back, “Who said I trusted him?”

  I kept my head down, watching my footing. I thought of the message Donovan had tapped out:

  Have faith.

  Faith. But then, who said I trusted him?

  FORTY-FIVE

  Donovan drove until he reached a point where he felt sure that if Parrish decided to hike down the road instead of going up his makeshift trail, he wouldn’t discover that the SUV hadn’t been moved very far. Donovan’s next requirement for a stopping place was not as easily met as he had hoped, but it was important that the vehicle could be seen from the sky.

  He had studied Irene Kelly. He had read as many of her articles and columns in the Express as he could find online, then searched out others in the local public library. He had learned as much as he could about her previous experiences with Nicholas Parrish and, perhaps as important, her thoughts about those experiences. He had learned about her husband’s and friends’ roles in her rescue.

  That was also how he had come across a column published last April, on the birthday of the inventor and artist Samuel Morse, which talked of how his invention of the telegraph—considered by many to be the birth of electronic communication—had changed the world.

  She had written about the code itself as a creation that had an impact beyond its use by telegraphers, how—although it was in danger of becoming a lost art—in this day when cell phones and GPS needed signal strength, Morse code could be sent with a mirror, a flashlight, by tapping against almost any surface, and a dozen other ways. The column included a story about her having learned the code as a girl. She used it to communicate secretly with her best friend in school. Years later she was delighted to discover that her husband knew Morse code, too. Although she claimed the slowest ham radio operators were more proficient, Frank and Irene kept in practice by sending messages to each other.

  Donovan had thought of the ways this information might be useful and had brushed up on his Morse code.

  He had learned everything he could about Irene Kelly, and had also studied Frank Harriman. He knew that their friend and neighbor, Jack Fremont, had sold half his interest in his helicopter service to Irene’s cousin Travis Maguire. Both Fremont and Maguire were devoted to Frank and Irene. They had used their helicopters for search and rescue operations in the past, including a mountain search for Irene Kelly.

  Which was why Donovan looked for a place that would allow the SUV to be visible from the sky.

  Weather changes were frequent and unpredictable in the autumn in the southern Sierra Nevada and obscured visibility or other conditions would keep a helicopter on the ground. There was rain—possibly snow—in the forecast, but it wasn’t due for another twelve to twenty-four hours, and so far, it looked as if this would be a clear day. Although snow could be found at the higher elevations of this range even in the summer, Donovan thought that it was unlikely Parrish would hike that far.

  Parrish was not at exactly the same location he had once used as his burial ground—that location, at a higher elevation, was undoubtedly covered in snow right now. But he had used another meadow as a makeshift airfield when he brought victims to these mountains, and that meadow was not far from where they were now. Frank Harriman was by no means stupid, and even if he didn’t get the text message, or didn’t talk to Violet, Donovan hoped he would eventually recall that airfield and make his way there as a starting point.

  Donovan knew that all plans rely on likelihood, so no matter how good the odds are for something happening, there are always odds against. He would do what he could to make it easier for Frank to find Irene if he came here. Ideally, she would be safe by then. He wanted events to go that way, but unexpected things could happen in wilderness areas, and worse things could be expected to happen around Nick Parrish, so in this situation only a fool would let everything depend on his own guess-work—or even his own abilities—to effect a rescue.

  Although he could not have brought them in until now, at this point there were many advantages in calling on the resources of the police and other agencies, and the sooner the better.

  Donovan told himself to stop hoping about this or that and get back to work. He could do nothing about Frank Harriman or Nick Parrish or anyone else. He had control only of his own actions, and if he and Irene were to remain alive, he must concentrate on his own next move.

  He opened the back of the Forester and removed his backpack. It was not quite as full as he’d led Parrish to believe. He opened the covers over the interior sides in the SUV’s rear cargo area. He used the screwdriver tool in his pocketknife to loosen the false covers over the bottoms of those spaces. He had considered building these spaces out a bit, but then he would have been betting against the possibility of a flat tire. Given the state of the roads he had been on, that was too high a risk.

  From the compartments, he quickly removed two small nylon packs and his field kit. He consolidated most of this gear in his backpack, left behind what he had planned to leave—one item, stolen from Parrish while fitting his pack on his back, he parted from with extreme reluctance—and locked the car. He remained only long enough to make a slight change to the roof of the vehicle.

  As he hiked back up to the place where he had left the others, Donovan reached into a concealed inner pocket of his parka, one he had sewn into it weeks ago. He took out a device about the size of his hand, turned it on, and waited. As he watched, a signal showed up on a GPS map display. This check completed, he turned it off and tucked it back into place. He wanted to conserve its battery’s life.

  He knew where Parrish, Kai, and Irene were going without the help of the small signaling device so carefully sewn into the lining of Irene’s parka because he had hiked to that place many times before. Parrish’s cave. There were caverns in these mountains—some running miles underground—and abandoned mines, but what Parrish had found barely qualified as a cave.

  That was probably for the best, since they weren’t outfitted for spelunking.

  The cave was shallow, only about ten feet deep and ten feet wide in its widest places, just big enough to keep two or three persons hidden from view. It was reached by way of a climb up a steep rock face, so it was not easily accessible for animals. Although there was no sign of any use of it by anything larger than a rodent, Quinn had set some barriers just out of view of the opening to ensure that the space wasn’t taken over by a larger mammal. He had wanted to set traps, but Donovan had convinced him that a dying animal would only draw other animals, if not the notice of rangers, and that the barriers would probably be enough, especially since the space was not all that easy to reach. He wondered, in fact, if Kai would be able to manage getting up to it, even using the ladder that could be lowered once the first climber was in.

  He knew Irene was claustrophobic and worried that being in the cave would induce panic, but if so, her fear of enclosed spaces would have to compete with other terrors. Perhaps Parrish had chosen the cave with her phobia in mind.

  Still, she had been active in the outdoors, and he suspected that, all told, their surroundings would be more threatening to Kai. Donovan wondered if Parrish had visions of being Kai’s wilderness guide and teacher. That should be interesting. Then again, perhaps that was supposed to be Quinn’s job.

  Unlike Kai, Quinn had spent time outdoors—hiking, backpacking, climbing, rafting, hunting, fishing, and camping. This was true of Parrish as well, until he had been injured and imprisoned.

  As part of the endless amount of planning Parrish required, Quinn had been told to prepare certain supplies and leave them in the cave. He had brought Donovan with him. Initially Donovan had thought Quinn had included him in his plans unbeknownst to Parrish, risking an argument because he didn’t want to haul all the required gear on his own, especially when it came to getting it up that rock face. As it turned out, Parr
ish had no objection to Donovan knowing where the cave was, which told Donovan that Parrish did not intend to stay there for long. The small amount of food packed for this trip only verified that the cave was not a permanent hideout. Donovan did not see the permission Parrish had given for him to know this location as a sign of trust—on the contrary, it suggested that he was not slated to survive this trip.

  Plans to kill him could have changed, Donovan thought, now that Quinn and Kai had staged their half-baked version of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.

  Parrish wanted a human pack mule at this point—Donovan had already seen his frustration over the fact that Quinn was missing and Kai was injured. Donovan found it difficult to judge Parrish’s physical condition. Each time Donovan had seen him, Parrish had avoided exertion, but Donovan knew better than to judge Parrish by what he chose to reveal about himself.

  Whatever Parrish might be hiding about his physical status, there was no doubt he was convinced of his own intellectual superiority. That conviction was, ironically, a weakness—a weakness Donovan intended to exploit as often as possible. Parrish imagined himself to be the ultimate planner. Donovan could plan, too.

  So when he was given access to the place where supplies were being laid, he kept in mind that one difference among all the members of his “family” was build. What fit Parrish would not fit Kai, who was more slender. None of Donovan’s siblings were as tall or broad in the shoulders as he was, nor was his father. As the person who was sent to buy the parkas, boots, and backpacks, he knew this and had used the information to do what little he could to try to derail Parrish’s plans.

  Donovan reached the place where the trio had entered the forest from the road. He could have tracked them quite easily—no attempt was being made to hide shoeprints in the muddy ground along the stream. He followed them without disturbing their trail.

  Aside from other reasons to be concerned about Irene, he hoped she would not fall. He had seen no way to loosen her hands without raising Parrish’s suspicions. She was only in running shoes, and boots would have been safer and warmer. So far, though, Parrish and Kai seemed to be having greater trouble. Kai was favoring one side, probably because of his arm. Parrish seemed to have fashioned a walking stick for himself, probably from a fallen branch. Depressions in the ground showed he was leaning heavily on it.

  At the place where it looked as if they had crossed the stream, Donovan realized he was catching up to them. He picked up a few rounded stones, each a little smaller than a golf ball, and pocketed them, then put on some waders and began to make his way across. It was not, he thought, where he would have chosen to cross—a little farther up a fallen tree bridged the stream. Perhaps it had fallen during the time Parrish was in prison so that Parrish didn’t know of it.

  Donovan stepped out of the stream and hurriedly removed the waders. Once Parrish had brought Kai and Irene to the cave, anything might happen to her. He stood, about to be on his way again—then he saw the bloodstains.

  FORTY-SIX

  Streams fed by snowmelt are usually calmer in the morning, but that didn’t mean the stream we followed was sluggish. In several places, it narrowed and flowed in pounding rapids. At one of these points, almost all of the rocks were wet and mossy, making progress so difficult I expected at any moment to be seriously injured in a fall.

  I heard Kai swearing and turned just in time to see him slip on a wet stone. He moved from rounded slick rock to rounded slick rock, higher, lower, left, then right, swaying and trying to counterbalance with his uninjured arm before he finally recovered his balance. In a different situation, I might have found it comedic, but either because I thought my pride would soon “goeth before” a similar loss of balance of my own or because I could see the experience had truly left him shaken, I didn’t even crack a smile.

  Parrish looked back at us, but he had missed the acrobatics. “Hurry up!” he said and moved on.

  I nearly advised Kai to take his arm out of the sling to aid in his balance, then asked myself why I wanted to do anything to help him out. I turned back toward Parrish and kept moving. I forced myself to recall the manner in which Kai had awakened me that morning, to think of the young women he had killed. If he dashed his brains out on a rock, it would be to my advantage, right? I could hardly claim that I had his best interests in mind. If I got my way, he’d be captured and imprisoned for life at best—disabled or dead if the cavalry never showed up. Whoever the cavalry was going to be at this point. I had a nasty feeling I wasn’t going to be able to wait to find out.

  I decided to take a risk. “We could move faster if my hands were untied,” I called to Parrish.

  He looked back at me. “Nice try.” He kept moving.

  I tore at the tape with my teeth every time Kai became too distracted with keeping his balance to watch me.

  I hadn’t made much progress when we reached a point where Parrish wanted to cross the stream. It wasn’t a bad choice, all in all—the stream had widened and slowed, but judging by the movement of leaves and twigs going by, the current was still strong. It was also deeper and rockier than I wanted to try with my hands bound together. The depth was a little more than knee-high, every inch of it undoubtedly icy cold.

  If we had been friends doing some hiking together, things might have gone differently. There are strategies for fording streams as a team—such as crossing with arms linked or crabbing parallel to the flow—but Parrish wasn’t used to playing well with others.

  Nor did he advise his son to get a branch to use as a walking stick, as he himself had done some way back. The stick would aid him in crossing—it would help with keeping balance, with testing depth, and testing how solidly placed any stepping-stones in the streambed were. And it could make it easier to move in the pressure of the stream’s current by parting its flow as he stepped behind it.

  He did take his socks off and put his boots back on, and Kai, watching him, did the same. No one gave a damn if I was going to get blisters, so my hands stayed tied and my socks on.

  Parrish unsnapped the sternum support and hip belt on his pack and said to Kai, “Be sure to keep her covered. This is where she’s most likely to try something.”

  He began crossing.

  If Parrish had looked closely, he would have seen that Kai, who had removed his arm from the sling by then and retied his boots, had been so involved in those processes that he hadn’t seen his father unstrap his pack.

  I hesitated, then said, “Kai—”

  “Fuck you,” he said. “I’m not going to cut your hands free.”

  That nearly settled it for me, but I kept my temper and said, “Fine. But you’re more likely to drown if you fall into the stream with a belted pack on. Think about it.”

  He eyed me suspiciously, then said, “It’s not deep. Get going.”

  So I rucked my parka up as best as I could and waded in. The shock of the cold water took my breath away, and I felt the hard push of the current, but it wasn’t too strong to stand up in. I was worried that if my feet and legs grew numb I’d make a misstep, but I didn’t want to move so fast I’d lose my balance.

  Kai stepped in and swore, something he did continuously and violently as we made our way, but he stayed as close as he could to me.

  We were over halfway across when he suddenly lost his balance. He rocked forward and back and forward again, and made a grab for me with his right hand. That was the injured arm, or he might have succeeded in pulling both of us in. Instead, he missed, toppled over, and went in face-first.

  The stream wasn’t all that deep there, but depth is far from the only danger in water that is moving. His two biggest pieces of luck were that he wasn’t hit by debris and that the current wasn’t strong enough to easily sweep him away—although it definitely made it hard for someone with weight on his back to stand up again. Kai was young and muscular, and under other circumstances, with some effort he probably could have struggled back to his feet, even on the rocky streambed. But the pack, with the shovel ins
ide, made that much harder. The injury to his right arm, the coldness of the water, even the loose sling—all combined to make the task even more difficult.

  He rolled and flailed and eventually got his nose and mouth out of the water. His face was covered in blood. He coughed and spluttered and flailed some more without regaining his feet.

  Parrish hurried back, but I was nearer. I thought of leaving Kai there, of making a run for it. For that matter, it probably wouldn’t have been all that hard to drown him while he struggled half-stunned in that turtle-on-its-back position. He was close to doing that without any assistance. He saw me, though, and reached a hand out. I told myself, as I took hold of that hand, that it was my only real choice. Parrish had a clear shot and would have killed me without hesitation if I had tried to run for it or harmed his child. I knew, even at the time, that wasn’t why I chose not to just stand there and let someone drown in front of me.

  I grabbed onto him and pulled back, keeping his face out of the water as I tried to reach the releases on the pack’s straps—all the while struggling to maintain my own balance.

  Parrish reached us and helped Kai regain his feet, then shepherded him to the other bank, leaving me to fend for myself. I joined them there, cold and far more wet than I wanted to be, although at least the water-repellent parka had stayed dry.

  Again, I thought of bolting, but Parrish was watching me now, aiming his gun at me. If I got closer, I could probably disarm him, but then what?

  I made a show of stretching and looked around. No real cover.

  Kai lay on his side, coughing, vomiting up water. Given the bacteria count in many mountain streams, he might not need to have drowned.

  And what if you have allowed him to live so that he can go out and torture and kill another dozen women?

  I felt my stomach churn.