Читать книгу Triple Trouble: A Cassidy Callahan Novel - Kelly Rysten - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTrouble seemed to be taking a break from my life for a little while. Maybe that is what made me feel so restless. Maybe my life had become so hum-drum that trouble got bored and left. That would be a good thing, except I was bored, and when I was bored trouble was usually close on its heels. I just had to ignore the boredom. Don’t go looking for adventures, I’d tell myself. You know what happens when you do that.
Michaels could feel it, too. He knew change was in the wind and I was afraid he would do something about it. I thought it might involve a date and I wasn’t ready for a date. A date would cause guilt and guilt was bad.
A week went by and for some reason Michaels hadn’t called. I thought he had just gotten busy at work and dismissed it wondering how I felt if this stretched on for two weeks. I was in my box-filled garage sawing on a two by four, trying to build another obstacle for my backyard, when the phone rang. I dug the phone out of my pocket.
“Hello?”
No “Hello” or “How are you doing?” this time.
“I’m probably going to hate myself for doing this,” Michaels said, his voice strained, “but can you come down to my office?”
“Sure,” I replied, “just give me a chance to wash up. I’m building something and I’m full of sawdust.”
He paused. It seemed like no matter what I did it surprised him for some reason. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be here.”
I took a shower, blow-dried my hair, and used a curling iron a little bit to flip the ends out. I brushed on mascara and eye shadow, changed into jeans, a little eyelet tailored blouse and moccasins. I switched my daypack contents to a real purse and slung it over my shoulder. I made sure Shadow had water, said good-bye, and jumped in the Jeep. I was curious what was going on with Michaels that made him call me to his office. If it was a social call, he would have stopped by the house.
I pulled up in the police station parking lot, locked the door on the Jeep, and went in. There was a black woman at the reception counter and she eyed me suspiciously. I went to the desk and asked to see Michaels. A white woman’s head appeared from around a doorway. There was a silent conversation between the two that involved lots of finger pointing, head nodding and glares at each other.
“Okay,” she said uneasily, “I just got one question. We have this thing going on in the office and it was agreed on that the person at the front desk next time we saw you would ask you something.”
Uh oh. I smiled waiting for her to go on, “Yes?”
“We want to know what you done to Rusty.”
“What I did? I didn’t do anything to him.”
“You sure enough DID! It’s a well known fact that one minute he was his own self, same ol’, same ol, Rusty. Then he gets involved in that Silva case and he changed. Oh, he changed something awful! The day after the hold-up, he charged in here, went straight to his office and called in Schroeder, his best friend on the force. And he told Schroeder not to let him out of this building for the rest of the day. Then he starts planning like he’s invading a foreign country. Schroeder don’t know what’s up neither. He knew it had something to do with the Silva case, but Rusty’s keepin’ quiet. An’ Rusty won’t budge. Nobody could talk to ‘im. He’s gotten better since Silva got captured but he still acts really weird. All the women in this office have been after Rusty since they started working here and none of ‘em have had any luck. Then you come along. And you say you didn’t do nothin’. Humph.”
Now this was very interesting. But it made me a bit uneasy. Was that why people were watching when I came to the station before?
“I swear I didn’t do anything. But he did ask me to meet him at his office, so can you tell him I’m here?”
“Harumph” she picked up the phone and buzzed Michaels’ office.
“I’ve never even called him Rusty!” I said in self-defense.
“Do you remember where his office is?”
“Yeah.” She opened the door and I walked down the beige hallways to the fake wood door with the little window. I peeked through the glass to make sure it was the right one. Michaels brightened a little, but his expression was worn. He was sunburned and tired. His sports coat was hanging on a chair nearby and he had his shirt sleeves rolled up like he’d been working hard.
He opened the door and stood filling the doorway, just looking.
“It’s good to see you again. You’re looking great.”
“I feel almost human again.” I glanced around him. There was a topo map spread out on his desk. The pile of files had grown. “What’s up?”
“I told you I’m not going to like myself for doing this, but you’re the only person I know who might be able to crack this. We’ve had rangers out, search and rescue.” He resigned himself to his cause and bent over the map.
My curiosity perked. This was a tracking case!
“We’ve got a forest ranger missing.” He glanced at me, still unsure if he wanted to share the information. He knew I’d take it. He knew I’d jump at it. What was holding him back?
“Here, you can see the area. He started out at Piney Point camp and he hiked this trail.” He ran his finger along a 20-mile section of trail. “To Elk Meadows campground. He was supposed to take notes on where the trail needed repairs. He was fixing minor things as he went along but he only had a week to complete the trail. It’s now been a week since he was supposed to be back, and no sign. There are rough spots in the trail up on the ridges and places where the trail needed marking.”
I sighed. It was a rough trail. And it would take longer to track it than hike it.
“You say there have been others over the trail? There may be no tracks left to read. How much of a search have you conducted so far? And why do you have the case? Do they think this is crime related?”
“I don’t have the case. Guy’s name is Kelly Green. We go rock climbing together. I went out with the search and rescue unit. I thought you might be able to see things we missed.”
“Why didn’t you call me in the first place? This would be a lot easier when the trail was fresh. Now we’ve got tracks on top of tracks and wind and weather have deteriorated the trail.”
“Do you think it’s worth a shot?”
“Sure, it’s worth a shot. I’d hike the trail just for the fun of it at the drop of a hat. This will be interesting. I’ll need a day to prepare. Every minute we sit around here valuable information is being lost. And you can’t expect me to get through this trail in a week. I will have to walk slow and read sign. This won’t be like tracking Silva. Silva was a piece of cake. Soft desert sand is ideal for tracking. And that was minutes after he ran. This is a week we’re talking about, and it’ll be another week before I complete the trail. Green might not even be along the trail. He may have left it. There’s a lot to consider.”
“I know. I’ve considered the hell out of it.”
I knew I could hike the trail in a week. That was no problem. I knew I could have found him before any searchers went through and covered his tracks. Now the outlook wasn’t promising. On the other hand, this was a man used to being in the woods. He was in good physical shape and he would have gone out prepared. If anyone could make it after this time, it would be him. Still, I had plenty of questions. I hadn’t worked with the officials here. I’d found a lost boy scout and spent plenty of time in the woods, but I hadn’t tried anything of this magnitude.
“How will I keep in touch? If I find him, I’m going to have to be able to call in my coordinates so help can get in.”
“I can get one more team together. We can set you up with a radio. I’ll check on a GPS system for you. Cell phones work from certain points along the trail. Here, here and here. One of the perks of living close to L.A.”
“You really think I can do this?”
“I’m betting on it.”
“Betting what?”
“Just be careful. I could go with you.”
“You’ve got bad guys to catch.”
“There’s better things to do than catch bad guys.”
“I’d work better alone.”
“I knew you’d say that. I don’t think I can let you do this. Let me get some guys together. Nobody is ready to give up on Kelly. I can have a team ready by morning.”
“I can’t work with people looking over my shoulder. At times when the reading gets tough I have to take my time. It’s like a puzzle. I can’t ask a whole team of people to just sit around while I figure something out. I would feel pushed, and this is one time when I can’t be pushed. It has to be right before I go to the next step.”
“Then what can I do?”
“Nothing. It needs to be done, and I’ll do it. You knew I’d do this when you picked up the phone. You knew I’d jump at it. You can fill me in a little on site. I have to have something to start with. It would be helpful to see a picture, to know Green’s height and weight. If he was wearing work boots, does he have another pair I can take a look at? Or even a pair of his every day shoes. There are wear patterns on the soles that give me lots of clues. Does he walk weird? Does he favor one foot over another? Has he had any injuries that would affect how he travels? How far do you think he got? I need to examine the exact spot where he left his vehicle. Anything like that will really help.”
“I’ll go talk to his wife, pick up a pair or two of shoes, some pictures, and get any information I can from her.”
“A photocopy of a picture would be helpful, too, so I can question other hikers that I meet. I’ll go pack up and buy some gear I’ll need.”
“And I’ll pick you up at eight?”
“The earlier the better. I can be ready at five. It’ll give me more time on the trail before the sun sets. I’m pretty much restricted to daylight hours on a search like this. Too much important information gets skipped over in the dark.”
“Okay, I’ll shoot for five.”
He walked me to the Jeep. Driving home I made a mental list of the things I needed to accomplish before the end of the day. First on the list was to get Shadow to a kennel. I didn’t want to pack a week’s worth of dog food on top of all the things I would need, and I didn’t want him in the way if I had to call in search and rescue.
Dropping Shadow off at the kennel was always heart wrenching. I knew how bored he would be. At least he was used to this and I trusted the kennel to take good care of him. I was always amused at his reaction to their mushy doggie woggie talk. He was used to a firm command and they gushed all over him. I dropped him off along with two weeks worth of food and a couple of toys.
I drove to a sporting goods store and bought ten different packages of backpacker food, some pepper spray, two hundred feet of light climbing rope, and a new topo map of the area. I stopped at Sam’s gun shop and picked up a new box of ammo. Then I stopped at the grocery store and bought a tiny notebook, a box of hot chocolate mix and a box of instant oatmeal. I didn’t really like oatmeal, but it was one of the best breakfast foods to eat on the trail. A hot breakfast on a cool morning always made a good start.
At home I pulled out my backpack. I’d need more gear than the dayback would hold. Hell, I might even need more gear than the backpack would hold. I’d have to pack light, taking only essentials. I started by pulling out the daypack, a box of camping gear, my tent, and a down sleeping bag. I took the bulky fiberfill bag out of the Jeep and then stuffed my down bag into the tiniest stuff sack I owned. I checked the gas in my stove, and made sure I had an extra bottle. The stove came with its own pan and handle. I put a small fork in the pan too. I packed one change of clothes. It was going to be a major decision whether to change halfway through the trip or save the good clothes for when Michaels picked me up. Luckily, I was used to grunge and could live with it. I packed the heavy stuff in my pack against the small of my back and the lighter stuff against the zipper. This would make the load much easier to bear.
I checked everything: tent, sleeping bag, stove, fuel, clothes, first aid kit, rope, food, water, water purifier system, matches, pepper spray, notebook, pencil, tiny hair brush, and a flute. The bamboo flute I had bought at a craft fair years ago. Although it only played in one key, it was light and made lonely nights deep in the woods friendlier. I could play a few tunes in that key and had made up a few others that seemed to fit the mood of the woods.
I made sure my 9mm was loaded, jammed it into the holster and set the webbed gun belt beside my packed gear. I brought along eight bottles of water and would decide at the trailhead how much of it I should pack in. A pint a pound the world around, the saying goes, and I wanted as few pounds as possible.
Holding the pack, I stepped on the scale which showed 151 pounds with no water. Setting the pack down I weighed only 116, which left a thirty-five pound difference. That was the best I could hope for. I could ditch the tent but if it rained I’d appreciate the shelter. I could ditch the water purifier but I didn’t want to risk getting sick on a trip of this magnitude.
I battled over my choice in shoes. I preferred hiking in moccasins, but this trail called for hiking boots. Patches of the trail were littered with shale and other sharp rocks. I’d have to cross a few streams and climb a steep butte. Plus, if I ran into trouble my own trail had to be easy to follow, so the hiking boots won.
I couldn’t put my finger on what I was feeling about this trip. I was excited to be on a mission again, but something didn’t feel right about it. Green was experienced in the woods. He’d hiked these trails. He knew the wildlife and understood the necessary precautions. He was physically fit. I knew a single misstep could land him off a cliff, but I couldn’t believe that’s what happened. Possibly it was something else, and I clung to the hope that he had made it past the tourist point and left the trail occasionally. If he left the trail, it would be very recognizable and I’d have clear signs to follow.
I slept fitfully, and 4:30 came way too early. Scenarios kept flitting through my mind. They all seemed to happen a few days down the trail, but I couldn’t figure out why. Something niggled at the back of my mind, which bothered me and yet, in a way, gave me hope. Eventually it would surface, and I hoped it would surface in time.
I showered and blow-dried my hair. No sense in putting on any make-up. It attracted bugs, looked smudged and awful after half a day on the trail, and went down hill from there.
Until I found Green it was necessary to stand out, so I slipped on blue cargo pants that converted to shorts, and a red long-sleeved t-shirt. If he was out there, I wanted him to see me. I pulled on thick socks and hiking boots. The boots felt stiff on my feet after the moccasins but I’d eventually get used to them. They were well-worn older boots that conformed to my feet.
I was arranging things on my dining room table when Michaels rang my doorbell. Letting him in, I noticed a slight tinge of light on the horizon.
“Looks like you’re ready,” he said.
“Yup. I’ve checked and double checked.”
He hefted the pack estimating its weight, looking at me dubiously.
I’d shopped and tried on a dozen packs before I found one that was just right. It suited me and had been my hiking companion for many years. I took the pack from him.
“Are you sure about this? Twenty miles lugging this thing around for a week? I’ve seen part of this trail on the first search, and that was the easy part.”
“Look, you can start worrying about me after a week. If I were just hiking straight through, I could do it in four days. But I told you I need to take it slow. I need to read the sign and sometimes that means spending a long time figuring out what those signs mean. It’s all very subtle, and subtle clues take some detective work. And, if luck is with us, I won’t find him until the end of the trail because that will mean less time spent in whatever situation kept him from finishing the hike. He’ll have gear, food and water up until very close to the end, and hopefully he will still have it when I find him. The more time he spends with his gear, the more likely he’ll still be alive. I have ten days worth of dinners and twelve days worth of breakfasts. I have jerky, trail mix, a couple of energy bars, and water. I can live off the land for a few days if I need to. Been there, done that. I’d pack more food, but more food means more weight. The less weight, the faster I can go.”
He eyed the gun on the table. “You licensed for this?”
“Of course.”
“Do you expect to use it?”
“No, it’s only for self defense. I am going to be hiking through bear and cougar country. I won’t use the gun unless I have to, but I like to be prepared. Would you rather I left it behind?”
“No, you wouldn’t take it if you weren’t comfortable using it. It’s just that a 9mm won’t do much to a bear.”
“By the time I get scared enough to shoot a bear, it will be pretty close.”
“You sure aren’t making me feel any better about this.”
“What would make you feel better?”
I could hear the gears grinding in his head and see the struggle on his face. It was scarier than facing Silva. He was going to cancel the search.
“Let’s go,” I said, first strapping on the gun then shouldering the pack. We loaded it into the back of his dark blue Explorer. I pulled a small cardboard box from the Jeep and brought it along, too. We climbed in and hit the road. I asked him to stop at a coffee shop near my house. The manager and checker greeted me by name. I ordered a white chocolate caramel macchiato and a big piece of New York cheesecake. Michaels ordered black coffee and a zucchini/walnut muffin. We ate on the road. I poked the cheesecake out if its little envelope and ate it like a candy bar.
“Gotta get my cheesecake fix in. I’m going to be deprived for a week.” Michaels pulled off pieces of his muffin and ate them as he drove. “You’re eating your muffin upside down,” I said. This brought a smile to his face.
“How do you eat a muffin upside down?” he asked.
“The flavor all rises to the top, so you take off the wrapper and eat the bottom first. That saves the best part for last.”
“I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
The drive to Piney Point was quiet and I could sense the tension building as we got closer. Michaels’ driving became tighter, and his grip on the wheel was almost white knuckled. He stared ahead, arguing with himself. This couldn’t go on.
Desert scrub and Joshua trees gave way to pine trees and junipers. We stopped at the ranger station on the way and I was glad for the break. Maybe some conversation with the rangers would calm him down.
I hopped out of the Explorer and climbed the steps up to the ranger station two at a time. I waited at the door for Michaels to catch up, then stepped inside.
“Hey, Cassidy! Are you stopping in for a wilderness pass again? Which direction are you off to this time?”
I smiled. This was good news. It was Paul, and he was always issuing me wilderness passes. If anybody could make Michaels feel better about this hike, he could. Paul was short and potbellied. His hair was thinning on top and sprung out at the sides of his head. Hat hair. He stretched the buttons on his ranger uniform, and he was warm and friendly, always cheerful.
“She’s going after Kelly Green,” Michaels said matter of factly. “We’re stopping in to get fitted with radios and GPS.”
Paul looked at me just like Michaels did. Oh, no.
“Aw, no, Paul, not you too! You know I’ve been all over these mountains. I found Thomas Parker when he wandered away from his Boy Scout troop. I brought you a pinecone from the top of Waterman Mountain just to prove that I’d been there. Look, that’s it on your windowsill. I recognize it. It’s split on top and lopsided but it is from the top of Waterman. You’ll dare me to climb a mountain but you don’t want me to hike from Piney Point to Elk Meadows?”
“It’s not the hike Cass. I don’t want you to be the one to find Green. Something just doesn’t smell right about this whole disappearance.”
I stared down Paul. “Why didn’t you call me in while the trail was still fresh?”
Michaels and Paul looked at each other. Michaels took a deep breath and blew it out with a huff. “I think she’s dead set. We’ll just have to fix her up the best we can.”
Paul nodded. He called another ranger in from the back room to hold the fort and we followed him into the room housing the radio station. Paul took out an orange two-way radio, popped the back off and dumped the batteries in the trash. He then went to the refrigerator, pulled out new batteries and inserted them into the radio.
“I’m not taking any chances. You’re going to stay in touch, right?”
“Right.”
“Cell phone charged?”
“Yup.”
“You know how these things work. I’ll be here days, Larry will be here nights. I’ll inform him that you’re out there and he’ll keep an ear out for you. Test it just to make sure it works and test it just before you hit the trail. Check in every day, rain or shine, preferably on my watch. If you haven’t called in and Larry doesn’t hear from you by midnight, he’s gonna be calling me and you don’t want that to happen. We’ll keep a log of your calls, what time they come in and where you are.”
I pushed the button on the radio. “Test, test,” I said quietly. I hated the sound of my own voice across a radio. It never seemed right to me.
“Here’s the GPS system. This shows your location. The coordinates appear here and here. Keep it on you at all times. We don’t care where your pack is. We want to know where you are.”
“Is this supposed to tell me where I am or you where I am?”
“Both. If something happens we’ll know where to look.”
“Then why the radio?”
“A dot on the screen is not an update. We want to know you’re okay out there. Some of us wimpy guys just gotta hear your voice. And if you find Green, we’ll need instructions.”
I clipped the radio and GPS system to my belt.
When we pulled into Piney Point the campground was nearly empty. A motor home had taken one of the nicer camping spots with a big rock off to one side. It’s funny how a single rock or a stand of trees can make or break a site. A young couple on motorcycles and camping in a pup tent had the spot next to the camp host. We rolled on quietly through the campground. It was still early. The couple was up making coffee. No one stirred at the motor home. At the trailhead we stopped at the first parking spot.
“Do you know where Green’s truck was parked?” I asked.
“Vaguely.” He opened the side door to the Explorer and pulled out a cardboard box. From the box he pulled out a worn pair of work boots and a framed photo of Green and his wife. “This is Kelly and his wife, Rhonda. He’s about six one, a hundred and ninety pounds. Here his hair is short, but by the time you find him it’ll be down over his collar. I asked his wife about any injuries he had, and she only mentioned a climbing accident from five years ago when he bashed up his ankle. He’s got a long, ground eating stride.”
