CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Realm of Gods

The young couple who had backpacked to the top of Sphinx Mountain had planned the trip to coincide with the woman’s peak hours of fertility. If they conceived a boy in this realm of gods, they would name him Arden, which in Greek means “to lift up high.” If they conceived a girl, they would call her Skye.

The man had packed a double-wide sleeping bag and they were zipped snug together at sunset, their tongues tasting each other’s freeze-dried dinners—Mountain House Turkey Tetrazzini for him, Chicken Saigon Noodles from Backpacker’s Pantry for her—when the shot rang out. Because they were from California, the echoing kerrawang that rang back and forth between the walls of the mountains came as a shock. At least to the young woman. She broke off the kiss and jerked her head up.

“What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” said the man. “It’s Montana. People hunt here.” He’d already had to calm her down once, when they heard what they thought was a wolf howling. He put his hand on her neck to pull her down on top of him.

At the second shot, the woman sat bolt upright.

“I’m calling 911,” she said.

“The echoes make it sound closer than it really is.” After climbing some forty-four hundred vertical feet, class three difficulty at that, he was seeing the mood slip away.

“I don’t care. I’m calling.” She reached for her backpack and fumbled for the cell in the top pocket.

“You’ll never get reception.”

“Hello. This is Mandy Clark . . .”

The young man sighed.

•   •   •

Martha was in bed with Sheba, the brittle-whiskered Siamese, on one side of her and Goldie, her Australian shepherd, on the other side, when the phone rang. Sheba stretched her claws out and kneaded them into Martha’s side.

“Ouch, goddammit.”

She reached for the phone, heard the voice.

“Walt, what the hell are you doing in the office? I thought you were flying to Chicago tomorrow morning.”

“Well, this is morning, if you want to be technical about it. It turned into today about, ah”—she heard him fumbling with something—“an hour ago. Now Chicago time, that’s central—”

“Walt!”

“Yeah, okay. Here’s the thing. I’m not in the office, but Judy, she worked evening shift and got a call about nine forty-five. Some woman who was camping in the Madison Range 911’ed to report rifle shots.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“That’s exactly what I told myself, but then Judy said where and I thought I oughtta call. This woman, she was backpacking up on Sphinx Mountain. She and her fella, they’re spending the night on the peak. Could be anything, but, you know, that’s no more’n a half mile or so from the bench where we found those bodies. As the bullet flies, that is.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t Judy call me right away?”

“She’s off last week, remember? Out of the loop. A shot in the mountains, it’s just a notation in the log. I wouldn’t be too hard on her if I was you.”

Martha was thinking, why would Judy be telling Walt about a shot in the mountains after he left the office? It dawned on her.

“Are you sleeping with Judy? For Chrissakes, Walt. You’re her boss.”

There was a silence. She could hear Walt breathing.

“It just sort of snuck up on us.”

Martha told herself to focus. “What exactly did this backpacker say?”

“Just what I told you. She heard a couple shots before dark and got worried.” His voice rose an octave. “Was there anything else, Judes?”

Martha heard a female voice. She couldn’t imagine anyone in bed with Walt. It was simply unimaginable.

“She said they’d heard a wolf howling earlier. You want, I could call in to Dispatch and get that number for you. The woman told Judy they’d be up there all night.”

Martha thought, He’s still there, too. Whoever put those bodies in the ground, if he’s killed again, then he’s got the shovel out. He’s digging the grave. He’s got the blood on his hands right now.