“So you really don’t think it’s Donnie?” Ellory said.
“Whether it’s Donnie or not, we need to vigorously pursue all leads as they arise. And I’m going to get a look at that helmet.”
Finally, they extended the ladder to its furthest position and laid it on the ice. I knelt and then crept out on it while the team held the end that lay farthest from the water. The section in front of me poked out slightly over the waves.
It’ll adequately disperse your weight. It will.
But still, I could feel my heart racing.
The wind stung my face.
Two meters to the end of the ladder.
All those childhood fears of going under the ice came rushing back, and I took a breath to try to calm myself. I paused. Regrouped. Crawled forward again, slower this time.
I watched the waves take the helmet toward, then away from the broken lip of ice.
“Pat, this is stupid,” Jake said.
“It’ll hold,” I replied.
Just a meter farther.
I heard no hint of the ice cracking beneath me.
Edging forward, I stared at the short stretch of ladder hovering in front of me, the black water rippling just inches beneath it.
Thankfully, the wind had shifted slightly and was now coming toward me, so the helmet was being washed against the ice rather than drawn into the open water.
The rhythm of the waves made me think of a heartbeat pulsing blood through a body, mocking my attempts to reach the helmet’s strap.
Backward. Forward.
Backward.
I came to the end of the ladder, lay down so I could extend my arm farther, and then reached for the helmet, but it was too far to my left.
Behind me, silence from the men. Unsettling in its depth.
The water splashed toward me, then receded, easing the helmet forward and backward with each throb of wind-driven water. But it didn’t appear that the helmet was going to come close enough for me to grab it.
I inched closer.
“Easy,” Ellory whispered behind me.
Nope. Still too far.
“You need to swing me out.” I spoke softly, as if louder words would land too heavily on the ice and shatter it.
I heard Jake say, “No, Pat.”
“Just do it,” I told him.
After a moment, I felt the ladder rotate to the left, and I moved farther out over the waves.
The beating heart of the lake.
Forward. Backward.
Careful, Pat. Easy.
Still lying down, I hooked my feet around a rung and gripped the edge of the runner with my right hand, then outstretched my left, but still couldn’t get to the helmet. A few rampant waves rushed forward and soaked through my sleeve, my glove, while others licked up at me and splashed against my chest. With the wet clothing came a shock of cold, and I knew I needed to hurry. Steadying myself, I eased out farther.
Faintly, I heard Ellory say, “Careful,” but I was concentrating on keeping my balance. I told myself that my grip, earned from years of rock climbing, would be enough to hold me in place.
The wind carried the helmet toward me.
The water, black and terrifyingly cold.
I timed the waves, and as they swelled toward me I dipped my hand into the water and managed to snag the strap of the helmet, still buckled in a half circle.
“Got it.”
And then.
The sound was subtle, not sharp like I would have thought it would be. Over the years I’ve heard some people describe the sound of cracking ice to be similar to that of a gunshot-distinct, explosive, ricocheting through the air. But this was different. It was more like a deep groan stretching to both sides of me across the frozen lake.
“Pull him back!” one of the officers yelled.
As the ice along the edge of the water splintered apart beneath me it must have caught the men holding the ladder off guard, because my end dipped into the waves. I clung to the sides of the ladder, tried to scramble backward, and managed to keep from sliding in, but the surging water drenched my face and jacket and made my grip on the ladder more slippery, more tenuous.
Hurry!
Thankfully they’d managed to catch hold of the ladder and now quickly pulled me backward.
But from my waist up, the front of my jacket was soaked.
As they drew me back, my heart hammering in my chest, I watched the cracks finger out beneath my weight.
And then, at last, I was past the fractured ice and safely away from the water.
I dropped the helmet onto the ice and rolled off the ladder. Juiced on adrenaline and caught in the grip of the cold, I found myself shivering fiercely. I didn’t realize how tense I was until I heard Ellory saying to me, “Nice job.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then tried to quiet my frayed nerves.
You made it. You’re good. It’s all good.
Opening my eyes again, I pushed myself to my feet, then borrowed Ellory’s jacket sleeve to dry my face and tried to shake some of the water from my clothes.
Softly, but not so softly that I couldn’t pick up the words, one of the officers muttered to his partner, “I don’t know how long he would’ve…” He must have noticed me glance his way because he let his voice trail off into silence. Looked away.
Jake stared at me. “You better get changed.”
He was right. In these clothes, in this weather, hypothermia could set in within minutes. I’d gotten what I came here for-a spatial understanding of the scene, and a clue I hadn’t expected. At the moment there wasn’t anything more for me to do here at the lake. However, before I swung by the motel to get into some dry clothes, I wanted to have a look at that helmet.
At the moment, Ellory was inspecting it. “It’s got Donnie’s name on it,” he said quietly.
“Let me see it.”
He handed it to me. “He’s down there.” Ellory was staring at the water.
Curious.
Would a person about to crash, at any speed, take off his helmet?
Black, with a gray cushioned interior, the helmet had a slight crack in the faceplate. On the rear of the interior was Donnie’s name, printed in black permanent marker.
“We’ll compare the handwriting”-a wave of uncontrolled shivering chopped up my sentence-“to Ardis’s and Donnie’s to confirm that one of them wrote the name.”
No one said anything, and I had the feeling the discovery of the helmet had closed the case for them.
“You don’t think it’s his?” Ellory remarked.
I pointed to the strap. “Whether it’s his or not, how could a helmet strap that’s designed to sustain a snowmobile crash pop off someone’s head in the water-and then rebuckle itself together?”
That seemed to get their attention.
It certainly had mine.
Man, I was cold.
On the way to the car I called Amber to cancel lunch, refraining from mentioning my near-miss with the open water. “It’s just that this case is taking a few turns I hadn’t expected,” I explained, doing my best to keep the shiver out of my voice.
“I see.”
“Anyway, maybe we could connect later on sometime.”
“Have you eaten yet?”
The lack of a substantial supper last night and my missed breakfast this morning wasn’t helping anything, and discussing lunch only reminded me of how hungry I really was. “Not yet.”
“Well, you need to.” It wasn’t a mothering tone, but that of a friend. “You don’t know how long you’ll be in the area, so let’s get together while we can. Besides, you sound tense. Are you okay?”
“I’m not used to the cold.”
We got into the car, Jake started the engine, I cranked up the heat.
Honestly, stepping away from the case for a few minutes would give me a good chance to decompress and mentally shift gears before my trip to the sawmill. And Amber was right, I did need to eat.