“Har-har. I will take that to be an acceptance of my apology.”
“So what about Roderick?”
“Still looking. He ditched the bike in the mountains, must have had a car nearby, because it doesn’t sound as if he was in the kind of shape that would let him go long distances on foot. We went to the address the DMV has on file, and no one was home. People in the neighborhood say they rarely see him anymore. But he does have a motorcycle. We’ll find him.” He paused. “I talked Jake into running DNA on the guy.”
“You have a sample?”
“Oh, yeah. We got a warrant and looked around the place.”
“Thanks-glad you did. What about Quinn?”
Pete sighed.
Frank waited.
“He’s in the wind.”
“Fuck me. You have got to be shitting me. You let that son of a bitch out of your sight?”
“I can’t be everywhere at once. You’re the one playing God, not me.”
“You know I meant the PD, not you personally.”
“Oh, well, in that case, yes. You wouldn’t think we could lose track of a guy in a hospital, but we did. As you know, patients have the right to leave a hospital and refuse care-even against the docs’ advice-so they couldn’t hold him against his will. He checked himself out before we even decided to send the detail. Apparently he never went home, because whenever we stop by, one of his attorneys answers the door and tells us Mr. Moore isn’t in and unless we want to get a warrant or press charges… you can guess the rest.”
He broke off to have an argument with Rachel, then said, “Rachel sends her love, and says not to pay any attention to me, but I told her you don’t anyway, so there you have it.”
“Thanks for the update, Pete. I’ll let you know if-Well, I’ll let you know.”
Pete was atypically silent, then he said, in a much different tone of voice, “You are going to find her. I know you will.” He cleared his throat, then said, “That lunatic you married is nowhere near finished making my life miserable, let alone yours.”
There was indecipherable shouting in the background, then Pete said, “No need to schedule an ass kicking for that remark, my wife’s gonna take care of that for you before you get home. Keep me updated.”
The call ended. Travis and Jack sat up in the pilot’s and copilot’s seats, so he couldn’t see their faces, but he could see Ben’s. His friend was studying him. After a moment, Ben said, “You think your text messenger is Donovan, right?”
“Right, unless Kai wanted me to check on his mom. That’s a possibility.”
“Possible Violet’s in on it?”
“Possible, not probable. Not probable for Kai to have sent the text, either-he was in the mountains while the car was being parked near my house, so he would have needed to use someone else to leave a message taped to the beach stairs and so on. He couldn’t do it without Donovan’s cooperation.”
“So if it’s Donovan, why didn’t he give you the info on the vehicle Parrish is using now? Why not just text the plate number and let you put out an APB?”
“I’ve thought about that. Several possibilities. One is that he didn’t have that information at a time he was free to send a text. Another is that he can’t-perhaps as far as Parrish is concerned, he’s served his purpose. In that case, chances are he’s already dead.”
“Another possibility is that this is a trap.”
“Yes. Another is that Violet was telling the truth, and Parrish has some kind of hold over Donovan.”
“It must be one hell of a hold. I mean, beyond Parrish being his father. What would it take to get you to do what he’s done so far?”
Frank had no answer for that. He was spared trying to come up with one when Jack said, “There! Up ahead!”
They all saw it then. A green Subaru Forester. On the roof, someone had placed a set of dots and dashes that seemed to have been cut from a roll of white duct tape:
…– -…
SOS.
FIFTY-THREE
I rolled Parrish’s body off me, retrieved the garrote, and came to my feet.
I felt shaky, but I made my way to Donovan, who was lying very still.
I turned him over. He groaned. Under the circumstances, it was a welcome sound. I didn’t feel so good about all the blood soaking his left arm. I bent to put pressure on the wound, which was near his collarbone.
His eyes fluttered open. “In my backpack, there’s a field kit with Celox in it. Hurry.”
I ran to the pack, pulled out the field kit, and following his gritted out instructions, went to work.
I was just finishing up with the bandaging when I heard the helicopter again. It seemed closer, but maybe that was wishful thinking. I looked up in the sky, but all I saw was fast-moving clouds.
“Did you kill Kai?” he asked.
“No. He ran off. I didn’t want to leave you here bleeding.”
“Thanks.” He pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Hand me Nick’s gun, would you please? Just in case Kai comes back.”
“Is that smart? I mean, your shoulder-”
“He’s probably not going to come back, but he might also be lost out there, and there’s a chance he’ll circle back. I’d rather be ready for him.”
So I gave him the rifle and picked up the gun I had been using. “You have any ammo for this one?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, sorry. There will be lots of it in the cave, but Parrish only brought extra rounds for the rifle. Look in his right breast pocket.”
I forced myself to reach into the bloody pocket and found the ammo. I gave it to Donovan. His face was looking pale and drawn.
“Do you have anything for pain in your field kit?”
“Yes, but I need to try to keep my head clear.”
A gust of wind reminded me of my next priority. I searched for a nearby spot to pitch the tent. I didn’t have to go far, fortunately-I was within sight of Donovan and Parrish’s body. I noticed that Donovan had pulled his knife back out of Parrish’s chest.
I went to work on getting the tent set up. The wind was blowing harder, something I seem to be able to make wind do just by putting a tent stake in the ground. But I got it assembled-including the rain fly-without letting it blow away and soon had the bedroll laid out inside.
I went back and helped Donovan to his feet, then got him settled inside the tent-an awkward and painful process for him, given the nature of his injury, but a loud crack of thunder made us hurry it along.
The rain began to fall. In torrents.
I set up a rain catcher. Donovan had a canteen we shared while the catcher did its work.
After we had both been sitting there a few minutes, Donovan said, “They’ll be big on you, but I have some extra clothes in my pack.”
I looked down at myself. I was wet, dirty, bloody, and stinky with God knows what. I didn’t want to think about it.
“Thanks.”
He closed his eyes.
At that point, I would have stripped in the middle of Times Square for the chance to be out of those clothes, but he allowed me as much privacy as you can get in a tent without stringing a blanket down the middle of it.
He had a pair of soft workout pants with a string tie, and I changed into those, then stuck my pants outside the tent, hoping the rain would make a start on washing the stench and stains out of them. I took off the parka, which made me cold, and slipped a big flannel shirt over the shirt and long underwear I had been wearing since we left the lodge. His clothes were so big, I was swimming in them, but they were soft, dry, warm, and clean, which made them more valuable to me at that moment than designer wear.
I kept the wet shoes off, hoping they would dry, and did my best to clean the parka before putting it back on.
“You can open your eyes now,” I said. There wasn’t much light in the tent by then anyway, and we both thought we should keep the use of the flashlight in his pack to a minimum.
He accepted the offer of an energy bar.