“Thanks, Peterson. Out.”
Zack stared at the truck slammed against a redwood tree, one tire in a deep gully so the back tire didn’t even rest on the ground. In the middle of the road, a deer lay dead. It had barely been alive when the first sheriff deputies arrived on the scene; a park ranger had been summoned and he put the animal down just before Zack, Miranda, and Olivia arrived. Zack didn’t even have to look at the skid marks to surmise what had happened.
Deer crossed road, truck hit deer, and the impact forced the truck off the road, into a gully, and up against the tree.
“Why couldn’t the bastard be dead behind the wheel?” Zack muttered under his breath.
The deputy gave him a half-smile. “That’d be too easy.”
Zack didn’t want to disturb any evidence, but he needed as much information as he could get to figure out what had happened. Why Nina was not in the truck and where Driscoll had gone. Did he still have Nina? Was she alive? The sheriff’s department was bringing in additional lighting, but all they had now were a few heavy-duty flashlights.
The air bag had deployed and there was blood on it, as if Driscoll had hurt himself or perhaps got a bloody nose on impact. When Doug Cohn arrived, he would process the entire vehicle.
With gloved hands to avoid contaminating evidence, Zack went through the cab. He found maps, registration for Karl Burgess, some books on tape, a pair of movie ticket stubs. All appeared to be old, and likely left by the owners of the truck.
In the camper shell, Zack found ropes. Loops were still in them, and he held them, wondering what had happened.
Had Driscoll untied her? Had Nina freed herself? Had he heard the news reports and dumped her in the mountains-dead or alive-in order to escape?
Where had he gone?
Zack walked around to the front of the truck and put his hand on the hood. A hint of warmth. The accident probably happened an hour to ninety minutes ago.
He slowly circled the truck, sweeping his light back and forth. The third time around, something caught his eye.
He squatted, knees cracking, and picked up a shell casing. Was it new? There was no hunting allowed in this area of the Cascades, but that didn’t mean hunters hadn’t crossed the unmarked boundary.
He put it back where he’d found it, marking the spot with an evidence flag he’d taken from the deputy’s kit.
Standing, he looked around with his light. He saw it. Disturbed earth, footprints.
Driscoll’s flight path.
“Hey, Deputy.” Zack waited for the young cop to reach him. “This looks like a path of some sort. Where does it go?”
The deputy consulted a detailed map of the area. “Okay-the Boy Scouts use this area a lot, but primarily in the summer. The weather is too unpredictable in the fall. The main camp was where you landed… here. Two miles away. The Scouts mark off trails every year as part of their program. This path looks like one of theirs-it’s not on the map.”
“You don’t know where it goes?”
“Their program has the kids making paths with the goal to reach the main camp. There’re a lot of requirements; it’s been a long time since I was in the Scouts. But… less than half a mile from here is a fork of the Anchor River. He’d be able to follow the river all the way down the mountain. There’s enough foliage to hide. The spruce is pretty thick all through this region.”
“Okay, let’s assume he’s uninjured. On foot, it’s still going to take him hours to get down the mountain. We need a team of trackers to head to a lower part of the river and start working their way up; another set starting from here and trying to track him. We might be able to intercept him. He can only follow the river or come back up to this trail. From what I remember of the map, there are some sheer drop-offs west of the river.”
“Correct. How far down?”
Zack called, “Miranda? Miranda!” Quinn’s wife seemed to have an intuitive grasp of the terrain, though apparently she’d lived in Seattle only for a few months. She might have a good idea of how far Driscoll could get down the mountain with his lead time.
She didn’t answer, and he pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Travis here. I’m trying to locate Miranda Peterson and Olivia St. Martin.”
Crackle. “Travis? Miranda here. Liv and I are checking out something up the road. It looks like there was a scuffle. Hold.”
Hold? Dammit, he didn’t like the idea of two women-no matter how well trained-off tracking in the middle of the night when a killer was on the loose.
“Where are you?”
“About point-six miles up the trail from your location.”
“I’ll meet you there. Stay visible.”
“Got it.”
Zack turned to the deputy. “Keep the area secure. I’m heading up the trail to see what they discovered. Keep the channel open-if there’s any trouble, let me know.”
With all the men in the woods, Zack didn’t think Driscoll was around. He was probably hoofing it down the mountain as quickly as possible, hoping he could get to the main road and disappear before they caught up with him.
His cell phone didn’t work up here, so he used his radio on the secure channel to call into the sheriff’s substation and relay the information he’d picked up from the crime scene. Before he hung up, twelve rangers and deputies were on their way to the base of the mountain to follow the middle north fork of the Anchor River up in the hopes of apprehending Driscoll as he made his way down. Another six were on their way to the Boy Scout camp, where a makeshift checkpoint had already been established.
Zack hoped he wasn’t wrong about Driscoll’s flight, but he had a bad feeling it wasn’t close to being over.
Please, God, if you’re listening, please make her okay.
Careful not to trample the evidence, Olivia ran through the scenario in her head.
A small camp had been set up. No fire, but a sleeping bag, backpack with rations and water, and a slick plastic tarp.
Olivia suspected that Driscoll used the tarp to transport the bodies back to town to dump. She wondered why he didn’t leave them in the wilderness. It would take much longer to find them. That was a question for the psychology experts in the Bureau. If she had to hazard a guess, either he wanted their bodies to be found for burial or closure, or he had a subconscious wish to get caught.
Or maybe something less profound: maybe he simply wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone, that he could get away with the “perfect” crime.
The ground was moist up here, littered with pine needles and pebbles and lots of wet dirt. The foot impressions were excellent-she and Miranda had flagged several she thought would make good casts.
The smaller set of footprints led down the mountain, but with the fog growing thicker and her flashlight not providing enough illumination, she wasn’t sure if they belonged to Nina.
“Miranda, come over here,” she called, wanting her friend’s expert advice.
“I just got off the radio with your detective. He’s on his way up.”
“He’s not my detective,” Olivia said.
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Olivia shook her head. “Save it. Look at these.” She shined her light on obvious footprints that headed down the mountain.
“Someone was running, but the ground is moist and they slid here… and down here,” Miranda said.
“They look small.”
“Small for a man.”
“I’m thinking Nina escaped,” Olivia said, hope bubbling. “What if she got away somehow? What if she ran and ran and got away from him? We need to go after her.”
“I agree, but you need to prepare yourself that she might already be dead.”
“No. Why? Why do I have to? She could just as easily be alive. I can’t be too late.”
“This isn’t all on your shoulders, Liv.”