Vasques, size nine. Had George been with Jacob? If he had, then why? And why would he be at the scene of his brother’s death and then go fishing? Maybe Cody Pritchard did know his killer. My head was starting to swim with all the options, but one thing was starting to come clear: Just because you were a victim didn’t mean you couldn’t be a perpetrator.
I thought about Jim Keller. Mrs. Keller had come into the jail to check on her baby boy and had been somewhat disarmed at finding him in my office with his feet propped up on my desk. He was drinking a ginger ale and leafing through a stack of police supply catalogs. I guess she figured we’d have him chained up in the basement. I asked her about Jim, and she said that he was hunting down in Nebraska with some friends; geese, she said. There was a hesitancy in the way she said it that led me to believe there was something more there. So I used one of my age-old cop tricks and asked her if there was anything else she wanted to tell me. She used one of the age-old mother tricks and just said no. Cop tricks pale in comparison with mother tricks.
I looked back around the crescent ring of mountains and thought about what I would do if I wanted to kill someone here. I thought about how I might lure him into a remote area and then splatter him like a ripe pumpkin. It was about then that I decided to concentrate on taking in more of the scenery. Lost Twin is a lot like the other hundreds of pristine, alpine lakes in the Bighorns that seem to be sitting and waiting for calendar photographers. It lies in one of the mountain’s few hanging valleys, and you could easily envision the tributary glacier that had gently cut this hidden one. With their beds of stone, the Lost Twins had given up little to the forces of erosion. It was as if their hearts had been broken by the retreating glacier, and they were not likely to allow such liberties again. These glaciers formed steps and benches, each successive one at a higher altitude. I had seen pictures of the Coliseum in Rome, and the similarity did nothing to ease my mind. I felt the wind and automatically looked back down the valley. The clouds were starting to move at a surreal pace; evidently, they had caught their breath. Maybe it was the altitude, but the weather always seemed to change more quickly on the mountains.
My attention was brought back to the trees, where I had seen movement. It wasn’t a singular movement, but rather a collection of movements that I quickly dismissed as the wind.
Omar was still fiddling with the helicopter when I reached the hill leading up to the ridge. I stood there, and the air tasted good. I took a little bit of time to breathe in the smells of the pines, the rocks, and the water. There was a large patch of delicate, freeze-dried yellow flowers that lined the south side of the small ridge. Henry would know what they were. He was making his way around the scree-lined bank of the other lake, probably doing a much more thorough job than I had done with mine. I watched as he crouched down and studied a shallow area between the rocks. The acrylic fur wreathed his neck, and the scattergun was resting lightly on his shoulder as he held the pistol grip. He stayed that way, and I had the feeling I was getting a select view of the Athapascan race that had braved the Bering Strait in search of two bigger and better mastodons in each garage. Sometimes I didn’t think his DNA thought things had worked out so well. I wasn’t quite sure why I had decided on the shotgun, other than it balanced out the. 308’s long-range capacities; and, like a good scout, I was always attempting to be prepared, or reverent, or something like that. I continued to watch him as he studied a shallow area between the rocks and peered across the lake toward the area of the tent. As Henry made it to the top of the ridge, I asked, “Anything?”
He shook his head and looked back in the direction from which he had come, as if whatever he might have missed would be more visible from half a mile away. The wind was picking up, and the gusts were becoming more consistent. “Boot prints, same as before, but nothing fresh.”
“What do you think?”
He stretched his legs and tucked the shotgun under one arm; I noticed the safety was on. “Difficult to say with all the scree; he could have gone off anywhere.”
“Alien abduction?”
“Possible, but unlikely. They are usually looking for intelligent life.”
I exhaled a lung full of the good smells, and we both looked down the valley to the trail out. “He’s fishing.”
“Yes, that, or a lyin’ and a molderin’ in the grave.”
I looked back at him. “Let’s concentrate on the fishing, okay?”
“Yes.” He continued looking down the trail. “You need water for that.” He finally looked back at me. “You thinking what I am thinking?”
“Three hours in good weather?”
His eyes watched the clouds; they were even closer than before. “I do not think that is going to be the case. Anyway, four, with the packs.”
I tried not to put too much bass in my voice, “I wasn’t planning on taking them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind jumping up and down so I can hear your big brass balls clank?”
“It’s only three hours…”
“In good weather, which we are not going to have.” He looked at his wristwatch as a particularly strong gust caused both of us to shift our shoulders. “Even then, it will be after dark.” I continued to look at him. “We get caught in here without any supplies, we are the honored dead.”
“Yep, but what a blaze of glory.” I was enjoying being the tough guy for a change.
“I am more concerned with the freeze of agony.”
“I have to find that kid, dead or alive.”
I watched as he stretched his back and looked toward Omar, who stood at the nose of the helicopter with his arms folded. My forty-five minute window of opportunity already had the storm shutters closed and was prepared to depart at roughly twice the national speed limit. I briefly thought about telling Henry to go on back without me, but it would have been an insult. So I just stood there, waiting. “We find him dead, we leave him.”
I lied. “Agreed.”
“I will get some supplies from the packs. I refuse to leave here without water and some food.”
“We could always eat George, if we find him.” I watched after Henry as he crossed the ridge toward the tent where we had left the packs. His step seemed to have lost some of its natural spring. I called after him, “How long till snow?”
He called back without turning, “How the hell should I know?”
Maybe we were going to die. I trudged up the hill toward the helicopter and Omar. “You need to get out of here.”
He pushed the Ray-Bans further up on his nose. “What’re you gonna do?”
“We’re going to trail out back to West Tensleep. That kid’s here, somewhere, and I figure the only thing to do is follow the water out.”
“You and the Indian?”
I looked at my reflection in his polarized sunglasses. “Yep.” I didn’t mean for it to have as much warning as it did, but that’s the way it shook out. He didn’t say anything, just opened the cockpit door and reached in to retrieve a handheld that he gave to me. The rotors pitched slightly as another gust rushed up the valley.
“It’s already set at your frequency, so if you need to talk to anybody you should get through, as long as you’ve got reception.”
“Thanks.”
He looked at me for a moment as if memorizing me, and I can’t say it was comfortable. “I notice you’re carrying the. 308.”
“We traded.”
He considered it for a moment. “Make sure he stays ahead of you.” His face was stiff. “I’m not joking.”
I looked at him and thought about saying a number of things. “We’ll be all right.” I waited a moment. “Get in touch with Ferg and Vic and tell them to meet us at West Tensleep parking lot, if you would?” We both looked back at the weather. “Tell them to bring hot coffee.”