Authors: Ridley Pearson
Killer Summer (3 page)
An
L
... for
Loser.
L
... for
Loser.
4
M
atch the hatch.
Walt, closer to the bridge now and still knee-deep in the river’s chilly current, tried to fix his eye on any one of the few million swirling insects long enough to snatch it. He swiped his stubby fingers at one and managed to grab it but squeezed too hard and crushed it.
Unidentifiable.
atch the hatch.
Walt, closer to the bridge now and still knee-deep in the river’s chilly current, tried to fix his eye on any one of the few million swirling insects long enough to snatch it. He swiped his stubby fingers at one and managed to grab it but squeezed too hard and crushed it.
Unidentifiable.
The idea was to match a live insect to a fly in his kit. He considered using the ubiquitous caddis fly but was afraid Kevin would criticize him for being lazy. The cycle of most flying insects included four stages: an emerging stage, where it rose to the water surface as an embryo; the parachute stage, where it opened its delicate wings to dry; the reproduction stage; and then the spinning stage, where it fell, propellerlike, to its death. Not only was Walt matching the fly to the insect species, but was matching it to the correct life-cycle stage. He found the whole process slightly depressing since it served only to remind him of his own life cycle: he’d risen through the water of his youth, lost his mate, stopped reproducing, ending up with two young bugs—twins, no less—to raise on his own. How far was he from the final spinning stage, he wondered, a thought that didn’t preoccupy him but did rear its ugly head occasionally. Like now.
Beatrice, his two-year-old Irish water spaniel, sat patiently on shore, eyeing the river mischievously, wanting to join Walt if for no other reason than out of obstinate loyalty. Walt told her to stay, and she obediently lay down and crossed her paws. With her moon eyes and forlorn expression, she could, and did, play him.
Still studying the swirling insects overhead, Walt was suddenly distracted by the rattling of a tow truck crossing the bridge. It had a Taurus on its hook. But what business did a loaded tow truck have heading west out Croy Creek Road? More to the point, the truck wasn’t local—Walt knew both towing services in the valley—which incited his curiosity. There was nothing west of this bridge but a few dozen McRanches and the valley’s animal shelter. What could possibly be the point of towing a vehicle
out
of town?
out
of town?
All these thoughts flashed through Walt’s mind as he swiped at another insect. Instead of looking into his hand to see if he succeeded, he eyed the tow truck and its catch.
He briefly saw into the Taurus.
It might have been a trick of the evening light, or maybe a reflection in the glass, but the disturbing image lingered: the driver slumped behind the wheel. It was not only illegal but downright dangerous to ride inside a towed vehicle.
Walt grabbed for the radio and checked in with dispatch. “Have we got anybody in the vicinity of Croy Creek?”
He had to wait for a response from the dispatcher, the mountains wreaking havoc with radio reception. He headed for the river’s edge hoping to improve communication.
“Hey!” Kevin complained. “You’ll put the fish down!”
“Sorry . . . Got to run.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“You’re leaving me?”
Just then, the radio spit static.
“Negative, Sheriff. No patrols in town at the moment.”
“I’ll be right back,” Walt called out to Kevin.
Kevin moved to the opposite shore. “Forget that,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”
Walt broadcast over the radio that he was pursuing the wrecker, requesting backup.
“You stay,” he told Kevin. “Maybe with me gone, you’ll actually catch something.”
Walt scrambled up to the bridge, the waders bulky and awkward. Beatrice, seeing this, sat up, electric with anticipation, her eyes pleading for Walt to call for her.
Kevin, moving faster in waders than Walt, reached the Cherokee first.
“No way you’re ditching me,” Kevin said.
Beatrice trembled at the water’s edge.
“Suit yourself,” said Walt, grabbing for the driver’s door, “but it’s only a traffic violation, some yahoo from out of town. You’re going to wish you’d stayed here.”
Pointing back down toward the river, Kevin said, “You can’t just leave the gear.”
“I can and I will,” Walt answered, stripping off his waders and dancing out of them. He climbed behind the wheel in stocking feet. “We don’t have all day.”
Kevin stuffed his rod into the back, and climbed in front, still in his waders.
Walt whistled for Beatrice, who raced to the vehicle, throwing dirt in her wake. She jumped into Kevin’s lap, pressing up against him.
“That’s her spot,” Walt said.
“You think?”
T
he road ran nearly perfectly straight, due west. Walt worked the Cherokee up to seventy miles per hour, the wrecker now nowhere in sight.
he road ran nearly perfectly straight, due west. Walt worked the Cherokee up to seventy miles per hour, the wrecker now nowhere in sight.
“We can’t catch a tow truck? You want me to drive?”
“I’m dying of laughter over here. How ’bout you use your eyes instead of your wit?”
Kevin kept his attention on Walt.
“Did you happen to see those pronghorns back at Democrat?”
Walt glanced at his nephew.
“They were moving along real good,” Kevin said. “They were up and going before we came along.”
“What would a wrecker be doing up Democrat Gulch?” Walt asked. “That makes no sense.”
“Chop shop, maybe? Tow it out there and cut it up?”
“A Taurus? Nah . . .”
But a moment later, Walt slowed and threw the Cherokee in a U-turn. He drove off the road and navigated through the scrub.
“We should have seen lots of dust if they went out there,” he said, “that’s a dirt road.”
“Not if they stopped somewhere,” Kevin said.
The ride turned loud and shaky as the Cherokee’s four-wheel drive bit into the dirt road rising up Democrat Gulch. When Walt took the first rise a little hotly, the fishing rod slapped the window frame, and Kevin’s sunglasses flew off his face.
Walt sensed trouble. The pieces of the puzzle just didn’t fit together: the wrecker coming out Croy Canyon, the person behind the wheel of the Taurus, the wrecker heading up Democrat Gulch.
Kevin was right: it felt more like auto theft than anything else. But a Taurus? The economy really was tough.
“You’re going to stay here in the Jeep,” Walt announced, his plan already forming.
“You keep driving like this, there won’t be a Jeep,” Kevin said, gripping the panic bar.
Walt slowed it down some for the next hill, not for Kevin’s sake but because the clear Idaho air was faintly clouded by a shimmer of dust. As the Cherokee crested the hill, Walt cut the wheel sharply, skidding to a stop a few feet short of the back of the Taurus.
The road narrowed here, and though the wrecker and Taurus were pulled to the side of the road they still blocked it.
Walt spotted two men, one working the wrecker’s hoist to lower the Taurus, the other on foot already fleeing, heading for an aspen grove. Seeing the Cherokee and its rooftop light rack, the other took off.
The man behind the wheel of the Taurus was either dead or unconscious.
Walt calmly reported the situation to dispatch, then dropped the mic on the seat.
“Stay!” he called to Beatrice. “You too,” he added for Kevin’s sake. Then he threw open the Cherokee’s door and hit the ground in his stocking feet.
He ducked when he mistook a sputter of an engine starting for small weapons fire. Two camo-painted ATVs raced out from the aspen grove and headed away from him. Walt snapped a mental picture, trying to grab any identifying characteristics he could. But the two men had their backs to him, and the ATVs were commonplace.
He hurried back to the Cherokee, climbing behind the wheel before realizing Kevin’s door was ajar. The boy was curled in the dirt in front of the Taurus’s open door.
Beatrice was pacing nearby, refusing to go closer.
She smells something,
Walt thought.
Walt thought.
For a fraction of a second—only a fraction—Walt considered pursuing the ATVs. He then held his breath and approached Kevin, the boy’s condition matching the driver’s.
A lump in his throat, he dragged his nephew away from the scene. He checked Kevin’s pulse and found it steady
.
He elevated the boy’s feet, wondering what he was going to tell Myra.
.
He elevated the boy’s feet, wondering what he was going to tell Myra.
He called for an ambulance and his ad hoc crime-scene crew, including local news photographer and part-time deputy Fiona Kenshaw.
Far in the distance, a spiral of dust rose like smoke, marking the path of the two ATVs headed north toward Deer Creek Road. He issued a BOLO—be on the lookout—for the ATVs or for a pickup truck carrying ATVs. But, given the few hundred thousand acres of uninhabited wilderness facing him, he understood the ATVs were likely long gone.
He turned his attention to the Taurus and the wrecker, quickly spotting the gas canister, the tubing, and, climbing under and shutting it off, wondering what could possibly justify such elaborate planning. An attempted kidnapping? Breath held, he pulled the driver from the vehicle and searched for his wallet.
Randall Everest Malone carried a corporate AmEx, issued to Branson Risk, LLC. He knew about the private security company, it being one of many repeatedly mentioned by Walt’s father as an employment possibility.
A search of the Taurus revealed a black attaché case handcuffed to the frame of the passenger’s seat. Larger and thicker than a standard briefcase, it featured a thin slot underneath the handle next to which glowed a red LED.
Government work?
he wondered.
Corporate securities?
In all likelihood a delivery to one of the many financial moguls living a few miles north in Sun Valley.
he wondered.
Corporate securities?
In all likelihood a delivery to one of the many financial moguls living a few miles north in Sun Valley.
He heard the ambulance sirens approaching. He returned to Kevin’s side. The boy’s eyes were open. He was coming around.
“What the hell?” Kevin said.
“I told you to stay in the truck.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help me right now.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I was trying to help the guy,” Kevin said, now sitting up and leaning on his elbows, pleading his case. “I couldn’t believe you just abandoned him.”
“I—” Walt cut himself off. He wasn’t going to explain himself. “You okay?” he asked.
“Head hurts. My stomach feels weird.” Kevin rose higher, from his elbows to his hands, and looked over at the car and tow truck. “What the hell, Uncle Walt?”
“I think we interrupted an attempted robbery,” Walt said. “Maybe a kidnapping.”
“Seriously? Like
Ocean’s Eleven
?”
Ocean’s Eleven
?”
Walt didn’t answer. He hurried to the top of the rise to slow down the ambulance, all the while wondering about the contents of the attaché, how much, if anything, Branson Risk would tell him about it, and when, if ever, he’d apprehend the two who had fled.
5
B
efore disturbing it, Walt photographed the scene—including the wrecker and the Taurus. He then lowered the Taurus, hoping Fiona would arrive before the paramedics left. He wanted as much of a record of this as possible, and she was five times the photographer he was.
efore disturbing it, Walt photographed the scene—including the wrecker and the Taurus. He then lowered the Taurus, hoping Fiona would arrive before the paramedics left. He wanted as much of a record of this as possible, and she was five times the photographer he was.
Malone was coughing while being attended to.
“Respiratory occlusion,” the male paramedic said. “We can’t seem to stabilize him. We’re going to move him.”
Malone’s eyelids fluttered, revealing only the whites of his eyes. Even with his mouth covered by the oxygen mask, he was caught in a downward spiral of suffocation.
Kevin was now on his feet and next to Walt.
“Can’t they do something?” Kevin pleaded. Tears sprang from his frightened eyes. “Help him! Someone fucking help him!”
The paramedics moved the man to a gurney. Puffs of fine brown dirt swirled out from under him like smoke.
Ashes to ashes,
Walt thought.
Walt thought.
When the convulsions began, the two stopped the gurney and tended to him. But death was upon him, in its unforgiving way. A series of violent, guttural gasps were followed by an oppressive silence, and he had passed.
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