US Marshall 01 - Cold Ridge (20 page)

Carine had dozed on the couch in front of the fire, but she doubted Ty had slept at all. They kept expecting Hank or Val to call or roll in the driveway. It'd been hours since they'd set off-they had to be getting close to Cold Ridge. But their cell phones and phone lines remained quiet.

And not a word from Manny Carrera.

They walked back to his house, where Ty made coffee and they tried to eat a couple of pieces of toast. But Carine could see the waiting was getting to him as much as it was to her. She stared out the window at the bleak morning, fog and mist settling on everything. "If Val wants to see Eric, she'll probably go straight to the school-"

"Grab your coat."

The campus of the Mount Chester School for Boys was quiet so early on a Sunday morning, just a couple of intrepid boys out on the track. Ty parked in front of Eric's dorm, another ivy-covered brick building. He and Carine were greeted at the front door by the young couple who served as house parents. Brendan and Penny O'Neill-Carine had met them before.

Brendan, a bearded man in his late twenties, led them down a carpeted hall to Eric's first-floor room, his door covered in posters. "We saw him last night," Brendan said. "He seemed preoccupied but otherwise all right. Is there any news about his father?"

Ty shook his head and rapped on Eric's door, but he spotted a note folded and tacked to a
Lord of the Rings
poster. He pulled it off, opening it as Carine and Brendan O'Neill read over his shoulder.

To whom it may concern:

I have gone on a hike in the mountains. Don't worry about me. I have everything I need. My dad taught me to climb. I have to do this on my own.

Sincerely,

Eric Carrera

Brendan swore under his breath, but Ty was tight-lipped, rigid in his control. The note oozed all the angst of an unappreciated fourteen-year-old boy with too much on his mind, but it was short on specifics, which, given Eric's reaction to the seniors who'd had to be rescued the other day, surprised Carine. He'd printed the note, obviously hastily, but had signed his name in cursive.

Using his passkey, Brendan unlocked Eric's door and pushed it open. It was a typical dormroom, with a neatly made bed, a chest of drawers, a desk, a chair and a closet-and more posters, the emphasis on
Lord of the Rings.
The room wasn't tidy, but it wasn't a pigsty, either.

"We didn't see him leave," Brendan said, his distress evident. "I can't even imagine where he's gone, what he did for transportation. Damn it! At least it's good weather today, but it's windy up high, and the temperature must be below freezing. If he's not prepared…" He didn't finish.

Ty quickly checked Eric's desk, stacked with binders and textbooks. "Does he keep his meds here?" he asked.

O'Neill shook his head. "The infirmary dispenses all medications. Eric only carries his EpiPen and rescue inhaler. He
must
have those with him-he wouldn't go anywhere without them. He knows that."

"Where's the infirmary?" Ty asked. "Eric takes four different medications on a daily basis. We need to know when he had his last doses."

"It's down the hall, but I can call." Brendan went back out into the hall and grabbed a wall phone, dialing numbers, his hand visibly shaking. He spoke to someone on the other end-obviously a nurse-then hung up. "He was in after dinner yesterday for his second dose of Serevent, a long-acting inhaler, and his dose of Singulair-it's an anti-inflammatory. He's supposed to take an allergy medication and a nasal steroid spray in the morning, but he hasn't been in. I don't- honestly I don't know what he could be thinking."

Ty opened Eric's closet, squatting down. "His hiking boots are here. I don't know if he had a second pair, but I doubt it." He looked up as he stood up straight. "We need to find this boy."

"I'm calling the headmaster," Brendan said shakily, dialing more numbers.

Carine touched Ty's arm as he joined her out in the hall. "We should call Gus and get the ball rolling on a rescue, start checking trails, get the word out-notify the park ranger, the shelters. If Eric shows up in the meantime, great."

"You see what it's like out there. It'll take all his strength to manage the climb in this cold and wind. If he gets above three thousand feet without hiking boots, good clothing, food, he could be in real trouble, fast. Cold and anxiety aren't a good mix for anyone, never mind an asthmatic kid hiking solo."

"Maybe he went with a friend. He must be more upset about his father than any one of us realized." Carine sighed. "Let's hope the wind and cold are to his advantage and they at least deter him from hiking alone."

Penny O'Neill drifted down the hall, obviously sensing there was a problem, but she maintained her composure while Carine quickly explained what was going on. Penny shook her head, firm in her conviction. "I can't believe-it's just not like Eric to go off on his own this way."

"Call the police," Ty said, handing the stricken couple the boy's note. "I don't think Eric did go off on his own."

They found Gus in his backyard hollering for Stump. "I heard," he said. "The school's not wasting any time. The New Hampshire Department of Fish and Game and the National Park Service are coordinating with the police on an organized search. I'll check the local trails."

But as he opened the passenger door on his truck and Stump roared in, Carine noticed something different in her uncle's manner. "Gus? What is it?"

"I shouldn't tell you-" He slammed the door shut and raked a hand through his brittle hair. He had on his hiking clothes, thoroughly ratty but with years of wear left in them. "I was going to wait and tell Nate when he gets here. It's just a crazy theory. Like you and the San-born Dairy."

Ty settled back against the hood of his own truck, but nothing in his manner was easy or calm. "Spit it out, Gus."

"You know that old bastard, Bobby Poulet?"

"Yeah." Ty nodded. "Bobby Chicken, we used to call him."

"Christ, no wonder he's a crank. He's a survivalist these days. He has a place up past the woods where Carine got shot at last fall. I warned her to stay away from him when she went up there."

"I remember," she said. "The police interviewed him."

"Within a day or two after the shooting, right. He's got guns out the yin-yang, but he's harmless. He heard the shots-he said he figured it was some guy exercising his God-given right to bear arms." Gus spoke without inflection, just saying what he had to say. "He didn't see anything. That was the end of it, as far as the police were concerned. But this past spring, he showed up at the shop on his annual trip to town. Gave me shit about the merchandise."

Ty shifted, restless. "Gus, come on-"

"I'm getting to the point. While he was bitching and moaning, Bobby told me about a guy he'd helped out back in late January, early February. He was lost in the woods. He was frostbitten, and he had this skin infection, like it was rotting off. Bobby gave him first aid supplies and something hot to drink and offered to take him to a doctor, which tells you how bad a shape this guy was in. Bobby doesn't offer anybody anything. The guy's lucky he wasn't run off with a shotgun."

Carine grabbed her uncle's arm in shock. "Did Bobby think this man was going to lose a couple of fingers?"

"He was sure of it. He said they practically fell off in his soup bowl."

"Jesus Christ," Ty breathed.

"I tried to get him to talk to the police," Gus went on, "but he didn't want to. He doesn't trust the police. He's pretty much a paranoid old fart."

"Did you tell the police yourself?" Carine asked.

He nodded. "By then, there wasn't much to be done. The guy was long gone. I hadn't thought about the story in ages, until I saw that guy at your cabin last night. I didn't get a good look at him-" He shook off whatever he planned to say next. "Oh, screw it. A lot of people have missing fingers."

Carine turned up the collar of her coat, the cold wind penetrating her light layers of clothing. "You never mentioned Bobby's story to me."

His eyes held hers for a moment. "It was March. You'd just had your heart broken. I didn't want to remind you of the shooting. That's when you went haywire and fell for North." Gus looked tired all of a sudden, as if he'd missed something important and now everyone was paying the consequences. "I talked to the police this morning and reminded them about Bobby's guy, told them about Turner. They went up to the Ran-courts. I guess they're leaving for Boston-they're probably gone by now. Turner'd already left. The cop I talked to figured they'd get in touch with the Boston police. I don't know. It could all be bullshit."

Ty ripped open his truck door. "I'm going back to the house. I'll check the ridge trail for any signs of Eric and try Manny again. Carine-maybe you should go with Gus."

"Sure," she said quietly. "But, Gus, if I'm going with you, the dog stays. There's just not enough room."

"All right, all right." He seemed relieved to be back in action, not talking about a crazy survivalist with a tale of a freezing man with rotting fingers. He opened up his truck door. "Come on, Stump. Back inside."

Carine stood next to Ty, could almost feel his concentration. She realized she was an unnecessary distraction for him, and that was why he was sending her off with her uncle. "We can check the trail up by the Rancourt house," she told him. "The Rancourts used it when they got into trouble last year and you and Manny rescued them-Eric'll know that."

"And Hank." Ty said, climbing in the behind wheel. "He was here that weekend. Now he's missing in action, too. So's Val Carrera."

"Everyone in the whole goddamn state'll be on it before too long," Gus said, taking Stump back up the walk to the house. But he sighed, giving North an encouraging look. "We'll find them."

Carine glanced up at the blue, cloudless sky and could almost feel the high winds and cold of past hikes. "We don't have a lot of time."

Sterling stood in the doorway of the warming hut and let his eyes adjust to the poor light inside, in case he was wrong. The tension and stress of the past few days could have affected his vision-or his mind, making him see what wasn't there. A fire in the potbellied stove. A boy tied up in the far corner by the back door. Gary Turner standing in the middle of the hut, his white hair stark against the dark wood walls.

"The local police were just here," Sterling said, his voice sounding almost disembodied. "I told them you'd left."

Turner shrugged, matter-of-fact. "I parked my car out of sight."

Sterling squinted at the back of the hut. The boy wasn't gagged, but he was pale, his breathing labored- the Carrera boy?
Dear God.
"What's going on here? Turner? Who are you?"

"Have you ever wanted something so much you'd do anything?" He withdrew his nine-millimeter pistol from his belt holster, without any obvious change in his calm manner. "Kidnap an innocent boy? Kill your best friend? Risk everything?"

The bite off ear Sterling felt was unlike anything he'd everexperienced. It made him cold. It made him pretend he couldn't see the boy suffering, terrified, in the corner. "Jodie and I are leaving as soon as we get the car packed. I told the police we were on our way. They-" He hesitated, but didn't stop himself from finishing his thought. "They have no reason to come back up here."

But Turner didn't seem to hear him. He fingered the tip of his gun, but his attention was squarely on Sterling. "You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.What would you know? You've had money and good health all your life. A beautiful wife, even if she does fuck around."

"I should get back to the house-"

"You've never wanted or needed anything, except to prove yourself to a few air force guys who don't think twice about you."

Sterling backed up a step. "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Turner lifted his colorless eyes. "You pretend it's your wife who doesn't connect with other people, but it's you, Rancourt. It's all about you. Always. What if someone killed her? What would you do?" He continued to speak in that rational, detached manner. "Would you hunt whoever did it to the ends of the earth? Would you make them pay?"

"Revenge-" Sterling coughed, his throat was so tight that his voice sounded strangled. "Revenge is a complicated thing."

"No, it's not. It's simple. You put it all on the table. You go against the odds. You accept that you'll probably have to die. You accept that you might even have to sacrifice your own moral code."

"I'm not-Gary, I'm not a part of this."

Turner jumped forward, his nine-millimeter pistol at Sterling's throat before he could draw his next breath. "One word and the kid dies for sure. Do you understand? One fucking word to anyone."

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

"Right now it's not my intention to hurt him. He's just a kid. But I will if you talk. Just so you'll have to live with what you caused."

"Nothing. Not a word. Promise."

"Go back to the house. Get your slut wife. It wasn't just the one time in the library with Louis. Ask her. Ask her on the way out of here who he really was." He tucked the gun back into his holster and smiled cockily. "She knows."

Sterling wasn't breathing. Through the dim light, he could see the boy, obviously weak and in pain, staggering to his feet. He was stooped over, but he managed to run for the back door. If he could just incapacitate Turner, Sterling thought-but how? The man had a pistol.

He did nothing, and Turner swooped across the small hut and grabbed the boy around the middle, dumping him onto the blanket on the floor. "You little fuck. I told you to stay put."

The boy erupted into a spasm of coughing, a wet, sloppy sound that turned Sterling's stomach. He'd watched the scene unfold in horror. But there was nothing he could do to help the boy-he had to keep his mouth shut and get himself and Jodie out of there.

Sterling ran down the dirt track to the house, the wind swooping up the hills and blowing hard. Jodie had the back of the SUV open, loading in one of her endless bags. Sterling pushed her aside and shut the tailgate. "Whatever you have packed will have to do. We're leaving. Now."

"What's going on? Who were you talking to up-"

"Don't speak to me. Not now."

He grabbed her by one shoulder and opened the passenger door, pushing her. She stumbled, then quickly got the message and climbed up into the seat. Her lower lip trembled in fear.

Sterling got into the driver's seat, surprising himself that he wasn't shaking. "Be glad I'm even taking you with me," he said. "Just keep your lying mouth shut and come with me."

A car-not Turner's car but an old Audi they kept in New Hampshire-lurched down from the hut. Sterling didn't look to see if the boy was in there with him. How would he know, anyway? Turner could have him stuffed in the trunk.

It was so clear and perfect, it was as if they were in the middle of a postcard, the mountains cascading all around them, a darker blue against the sky.

The Audi quickly disappeared.

"Gary," Jodie said hoarsely. "He's apart of it, isn't he?"

Sterling glared at her. "A part of
what,
Jodie? Hmm? What?"

"Nothing." She was ashen, her voice small. "I don't know what I'm saying. You're right-let's get out of here."