We tore north on 79, up through the greenery of the hills, then into the black expanse left by the fire. I glanced out at the skeletons of the trees and the rocks burned black. It looked like a charred moonscape. There were shoots of green grasses, though, and the beginnings of regrowth down low in the center of the burned trees, so you could see that life was going to win. It would just take time. I wondered if Stella’s life would win out, too. We charged past Cuyamaca Reservoir and the little lake cabins that had been so mercilessly razed, climbing in elevation as we neared Julian.
The MDT screen jumped to life with a message from one of the ABLE choppers:
“Delta Eight, white four-door has stopped in Clear Creek. Looks like the old hotel. We’ve got him in our glasses. He just exited the car and he’s looking up at us.”
“We’re less than five miles out,” I said to McKenzie. She tapped the message onto the keyboard.
We slowed through the quaint mountain town of Julian. Gray clouds hung low over the mountains, snagging on the jagged pines. We picked up Julian Road east and I gunned it for Clear Creek.
Again we entered a world blackened by the 2003 fire. Although there was green grass and some regrowth, most of the tree trunks were just lifeless spires reaching for the gray sky. The verdant grass and brush had burned back to reveal rocks and boulders, and I wondered how long it must have taken all this life to flourish, only to be scorched to death in a few short minutes of fire.
The MDT screen blipped to life again:
“Delta Eight, he’s got the trunk open now and he’s lifting out a body. Confirm, a woman’s body. He’s got it up over his shoulders now and he’s going toward the hotel.”
“Is she alive, you dumb-ass?” asked McKenzie, as she typed.
A moment later the answer was on our screen:
“Dead or unconscious. SWAT is still twenty minutes out. Paramedics are about two miles behind you right now.”
A smoke-blackened sign for the Clear Creek Hotel flashed by on my right. I swung the Chevy into the turn and started down the narrow asphalt road toward the hotel. The forest was dark and close, and the soft gray sky hung down like the belly of a cat.
“Why did he bring her here?” asked McKenzie.
“He must have run out of ideas,” I said.
“Or gas. There’s the building.”
I pulled off the road and stopped.
“We can wait for SWAT,” she said. “This is what they do best.”
“Stella’s up there.”
“She could be dead, Robbie.”
“I’m going in.”
“Then I’m going in with you.”
“Follow me. Stay in the trees.”
We got out and began picking our way through the forest of black trunks. Sometimes I could see the three-story adobe hotel ahead of us, sometimes it was blotted out by the scorched trees. The world smelled of ash, and the branches left sooty streaks on our clothes and hands and faces.
Ahead I could see a clearing on one side of the hotel. Beyond the hotel was the remains of a vineyard. The vines were just stumps, and the uprights formed diminishing rows of black crosses all the way up a gentle hillside.
“Stay here and watch me,” I said. “If I wave you off, use the MDT to get ABLE out of here. Then work your way back the way we came, cross the road past the car, and go into the hotel from the front. I’m going to try to talk him out of there. If he starts shooting or something, just call in the troops and stay down.”
“Got it. Robbie, goddamn, be careful.”
I moved through the trees toward the hotel. Above me a jay squawked and jeered, jumping from one charred branch to another. I made no attempt to be quiet, but I did try to keep at least one large tree trunk between me and the hotel windows. I stopped just short of the clearing. From behind a tree I looked up at the burned-out windows while I drew my grandfather’s old Colt.
“John!” I called. “Robbie Brownlaw here!”
Nothing. So I yelled again.
A moment later Van Flyke’s face appeared in the lower-right corner of a tall third-floor window. It looked small and white within the black cavern of the building. He was about a hundred feet away. It would be hard to hit him with my .45, and easy to miss.
“You’re worse than a tick, Brownlaw.”
His voice carried well in the silence, as if the great ashen aftermath were starved for sound.
“Is Stella alive?”
“Where’s your partner?”
“Jackson, Wyoming. Is Stella alive?”
“Doing what?”
“Skiing with Hollis Harris. Is Stella alive or did you kill her?”
“Oh, of course she’s alive. Very relaxed. Filled with morphine, breathing nice and deep.”
“We’ve got SWAT and paramedics and backup on the way. Come on down and make things easy on yourself.”
“No. I’ll hang on to her as long as I can.”
“Damn, John, don’t you think you’ve put her through enough?”
“After Cramer called I knew I only had a few hours.”
“Whose blood is that on the bed at Garrett’s?”
“Stella stabbed me with a nail file.”
I pulled back behind the tree and waved off McKenzie. I watched her turn and begin picking her way through the stinking remains of the burned forest. Then I leaned back around to see Van Flyke, my weapon still in hand.
“What’s the deal, John?” I asked. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”
“I didn’t get to plan this part. I ran out of time.”
“What happened to you? What made you do all of this?”
His face disappeared from the window. I tried to see McKenzie through the forest but couldn’t. Then Van Flyke was back in the lower-right corner of the window again.
“The first time I saw Stella,” he said, “it changed me, instantly. Everything went upside down and backward. It got worse and worse. I never should have come to the Fourth of July party. I never should have interviewed for the Ethics job. If I’d just stayed in Miami, I might have been all right.”
“What really happened to Samantha?”
Van Flyke’s face remained in the window but he didn’t say anything. It was hard to see his expressions clearly but I thought I saw a kind of puzzlement on his face. Beyond the old hotel the black vineyard crosses marched up the hill amid the scorched vines.
“I didn’t think it could happen.”
“What could happen?”
“I tossed the doll into the middle of the deep end when everybody was watching fireworks,” he said. “It was one of those moments we talked about in my office, where everything changes in an instant. It was an impulse. A speculation. I didn’t think that what I had imagined would actually happen. Then, a few minutes later I walked past the pool and saw that it really was happening. I only had a few seconds to decide. I decided to do the most terrifying thing I’d ever done — nothing. The sounds were quiet but awful, and nobody could hear except me. I knew that I’d sold my soul to the devil for Stella. It was worth it.”
I looked back for McKenzie and saw nothing but dead trees. “Can Stella talk now? Can she say something?”
Van Flyke’s face vanished from the window. A moment later he was back.
“She’s still knocked out.”
“Is she alive?”
“I told you she’s alive,” said Van Flyke. “I never wanted to hurt her. When you came up with the recording of the conversation between Garrett and her, I knew it was only a matter of time before you realized I’d heard half of that conversation while it happened. I knew what bridge he meant. I just needed a good vehicle to take me in and out of there, so I wouldn’t be seen in my own car.”
“You drove the Hummer down to the bridge and parked next to him and... what? Did you knock on the passenger-side window?”
“Sure. I waved through the glass. I smiled. He frowned at me like ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ but he hit the door-unlock button just the same. I swung open the door and put the gun in his face. Took all of about four seconds from the time I rapped on the window.”