“That’s her, isn’t it? Where was your jump kit yesterday that she had the chance to put a tape in it without you knowing?” Claire said. She got up, walked around the coffee table and popped the tape out. “More important, why did she slip you that tape? What did she want you to see?”
She tossed the video on the coffee table as she came around to sit next to Rye.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
Rye was staring at the tape from the jump kit. “I don’t know, but this woman came to me for help. I feel like I have to do something.”
“Why don’t you talk to Paul Casey, as a PI he’s probably seen a lot of this kind of thing.”
“Good idea. Paul must deal with this stuff all the time. Did you watch the whole tape?”
“No. It started grossing me out. Women aren’t into watching like men are,” Claire said.
“Casey investigations, Paul Casey speaking.”
“Paul, it’s Rye. How you doing?
“Fair to middlin’. What can I do for you good buddy?”
“I’ve got a need for your expertise.”
At the mention of business, Paul changed gears. “Tell you what, I never do business over the phone, just bad policy. But I do have a long lunch, day after tomorrow. Let’s meet then.”
“Great, Paul. Spencer’s OK?”
“Yeah, fine. You buying? Say, I won’t be facing an attorney will I?”
“No it’s nothing like that. So, twelve o’clock? And yeah, I’m buying.”
“Twelve, and if I’m a couple minutes late just cool your heels. See you then, bye,” Paul said.
“Bye, Paul.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Raven reservoir sits nestled in the Cascade Mountain range. From the town of Medford, Oregon, you can take Reader Road, the more meandering route, or Hillsboro Drive, about five miles shorter at a distance of seventeen miles. Either will take you through beautiful forested mountains to the man-made lake. Some days they drove Rye’s ‘71 VW bus carrying the kayaks, and spent the day paddling around the lake. But no stop today, so they decided to take Claire’s 1963 Austin-Healey convertible.
She tapped the brakes then downshifted as the Healey headed into a curve. “So you have a noon appointment with Paul? What did he say, will he take on the case and find the girl?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t talk business over the phone. Said policy didn’t allow.”
Rye pitched a little to the right as they entered the next curve. He liked Claire’s driving, she was aggressive and self-assured, plus she had the reflexes of a cat. Generally, when they went anywhere together Claire drove, but Rye usually drove the ambulance.
“Hey you see that?” Rye said.
“What?”
“That blue spot on the embankment. Pull up at the next turnout.”
They’d driven Hillsboro Drive hundreds of times in the years they’d been together. She knew every turnout by heart and they’d stopped at all of them at one time or another. The road cut into a mountainside so there was mountain on one side and a deep ravine that turned into a canyon on the other.
“It’ll be just a bit to the next one,” she said.
Rye had unbuckled his seatbelt and was bending in half, rummaging around under his seat for the binoculars. By the time Claire turned out and stopped, Rye had located the blue dot again and identified it as a car.
He handed the binoculars to Claire. “Look there, just to the left of the group of pines, what do you see?” She scanned the embankment until she found the trees then panned to the left and down just a little.
“It’s a little sports car.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t look rusted or old does it?”
Claire brought the binoculars down so she could look without their aid then brought them back up to her eyes.
“I’m sure we would have noticed that bright blue last week when we came this way,” she said “This is as close as I can get, the next shoulder isn’t for about another mile,”
“This’ll work,” Rye said, hopping over the door rather than opening it. He walked to the edge of the shoulder where the embankment started. By the time Claire reached his side he was peering at the car through the binoculars again.
“You better have a look,” he said, handing them to her. “I think somebody’s still in it.”
“Oh shit, you’re right. And I don’t see any movement.”
They kept a jump kit, rope, gloves and flares in the trunk. Rye looped one end of the rope around the front bumper and threw the rest over the embankment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Rye said.
“Not a chance. I’ll repel down to that row of trees, and work my way over to the car. If I need you to bring the jump kit, I’ll whistle. No whistle, no kit.”
Rye watched her progress then used the binoculars when she disappeared behind the row of pines and reappeared next to the car. Claire had barely looked in the window when she started waving and shouting for Rye to come down. She didn’t whistle.
The repel was easy and so was moving along the line of trees, as long as he maintained a grip on either a tree or its branches. When he reached the car, Rye was out of breath.
One look and he knew why they didn’t need the jump kit. Claire was braced against the angle of the slope using just one hand on the car to keep from slipping.
The car didn’t look like it had rolled. It was as though it had been driven to the spot next to the pines and parked. “Watch your step, the rock is crumbly and I’m not sure how stable the car is,” Claire said. She reached in the driver-side window and pulled the body off the steering wheel by its shirt collar. “Better take a look at this.”
Rye stepped and slid a few inches, then stepped again until he was just behind Claire, looking over her shoulder. The man behind the wheel looked like he’d just arrived: no bugs and just a few flies.
“What is it?” Rye said, looking through the window.
“Brace me up so I can use both hands,” she said.
Rye slid his feet around, clearing away the rocks in one spot until he stood on solid ground, then grabbed onto one of Claire’s belt loops with one hand and put the other against her lower back.
“Take a look.” Claire said, reaching into the car with her newly freed hand and lifting up the drivers’ shirtfront. “Far right side.”
After a moment of silence, she looked back at Rye. “Stomach not face,” she said.
“Oh yeah, shit, he’s been eviscerated. I’ve seen enough, let’s get back to the car and call the cops.”
Claire coiled up the rope and placed it back in the trunk while Rye called on his cell.
“Fifteen minutes,” Rye said, as he tossed the phone into the car.
The police arrived first, with a fire engine close behind. They grilled Rye and Claire about how they found the car—and the body. Any other time they would have stayed in order to fill out a report, but it was their day off and both were eager to get back home.
Claire left the winding turns of Hillsboro Drive behind, accelerating onto I-5 for the six-mile stretch that would take them to Medford, exit 29. They drove along in silence, both caught in their own thoughts about the little blue sports car and its driver.