Instead of getting back to the matters at hand, Noel watched the Expedition slowly climb up the icy rise, its tyres sometimes skidding and slipping. He felt his heart skidding and slipping along with it. The idea of Darby alone inside Karen’s house had filled him with a sense of dread that was now bleeding over into what would become, if he weren’t careful, a bone-rattling panic.
His fear for Darby’s safety was irrational – the Red Ryder wasn’t hiding inside the house or lurking in the neighbourhood, lying in wait, watching – but the underlying fears were solid. Karen had been missing for over a month, and Cooper was dead, his body either buried somewhere underneath all the snow out in those woods or swallowed by the river. And a John Doe had been found strapped inside the driver’s seat of Cooper’s rental. The only common thread linking everything together was the Red Ryder.
He’s alive, and he’s here, Noel thought, as he turned and moved back down the icy road. But where was the son of a bitch? Karen hadn’t specified in her letter, leaving Noel to assume she had encountered the Red Ryder somewhere during her travels in Fort Jefferson – most likely at the diner where she worked. The piece of paper containing the grocery list was stained with grease and mustard and coffee. Had to be the diner, because she sure as hell wouldn’t have invited him over to her place for breakfast or lunch.
The Red Ryder had written that list. Vivian could dismiss handwriting analysis as quack science, but the man who had compared the handwriting samples, Roland Bauer, was the head of the Bureau’s ‘Questioned Documents’ section – a man who had worked several high-profile cases that had resulted in convictions. The person who had written the grocery list was the same person who had penned the thirteen Halloween cards mailed to the San Francisco Chronicle. I’d stake my reputation on it, Roland had told him. Vivian had been in Roland’s office when he said those exact words, and she had nodded in agreement.
Noel’s thoughts and his mounting panic returned to Darby. He found comfort in an unlikely source: Vivian.
Darby McCormick is a killing machine, Vivian had told him. She has the highest body count of any law enforcement officer in the country.
The panic abated, but the dread was still there, like an unreachable itch, as he made his way to Sheriff Powers, who was telling his people what he needed from them and what would happen tonight at the hangar and tomorrow morning, when the Bureau brought up the cadaver dogs from Missoula. The SUV was loaded on the flatbed, ready to go. Bradley, bundled in a coat with a hood and wearing gloves and busy making notes on a clipboard, saw him approaching and broke away from the herd.
Bradley stepped up to him and said, ‘We’re wrapping this up, thank God. My nuts feel like a pair of ice cubes.’
‘You have any luck getting a signal on your phone?’
Bradley shook his head.
‘What about your personal phone?’ Noel asked.
‘Barely a single bar.’
A single bar is all I need, Noel thought. ‘I saw you talking to someone earlier.’
Bradley nodded. ‘That was Keefe who called.’
‘Keefe?’
‘Guy arranging the cadaver dogs. I could barely hear him. I told him I’d call him back when I got to the hangar.’
‘I need to borrow your Samsung.’
‘Hotel’s less than ten minutes away. They’ll have a hardwired phone. You won’t get any static or interference.’
‘I need to make a call right now.’
‘You feeling okay?’ Bradley asked as he dipped a hand into his jacket pocket.
‘Never better. Why?’
‘Your left eye keeps twitching.’
Noel said nothing.
‘It’s been twitching since the moment we stepped on the copter. You sure you’re okay?’
‘No,’ Noel replied, and paused for effect.
Bradley came closer.
‘I haven’t had enough water,’ Noel said, ‘and I’ve got one pisser of a headache.’
Bradley’s face beamed with a conspiratorial grin, like the two of them were in on a secret. ‘I warned you about the altitude,’ he said, and handed over his Samsung.
Sheriff Powers offered Noel the use of his truck to make the call, to get out of the cold and wind. As Powers handed over his keys, Noel caught the unmistakable look in the man’s eyes, one he recognized from all his dealings with just about every law enforcement officer outside of the Bureau: Bullshit me all you want, but you and I both know you have a hidden agenda. And it’s only a matter of time until I uncover what it is.
Noel was strictly an Apple guy; he didn’t know anything about Samsung Galaxy phones and the Android OS. After he started the sheriff’s truck, he took a few minutes to familiarize himself with Bradley’s phone. Then he dialled Vivian’s direct number. She would be in her office, even at this late hour, because she spent Monday through Sunday holed up there – in what she jokingly referred to as her pied-à-terre. Four years ago, when she turned fifty-two, she started taking Sundays off, which simply meant she spent a good chunk of the day at home on her laptop going through her emails and making notes in her planner, a three-ring leather binder the size of a phone book, so she could start off her week with some semblance of control. Control was the operative word when it came to everything Vivian said and did in her life, in and outside the office.
A single ring and Vivian picked up.
‘Tell me everything, Mr Bradley. How’s Noel?’
‘You’re talking to Noel.’
‘I understand McCormick is with you.’
‘Who told you that? Bradley?’
‘Now don’t get testy,’ Vivian said, not sounding the least bit upset or embarrassed at being found out. ‘I asked Mr Bradley to keep an eye on you – and I’m glad I did, as he told me the good doctor accompanied you to Fort Jefferson.’
‘She offered to identify Cooper’s body for us.’
‘How wonderfully thoughtful of her.’
‘I wanted to move things along. I’m surprised your new BFF didn’t tell you.’
‘Petulance isn’t an attractive quality in a man, even if that man is as handsome and charming as you,’ Vivian said pleasantly.
Noel heard the rattle of ice inside a glass on the other end of the line. Scotch time. Vivian allowed herself one and only one drink during the last hour of work: an exact four fluid ounces of either Glenfiddich or Macallan, whatever she had on hand, poured over two and only two ice cubes. He pictured her sitting behind the grotesquely large desk everyone referred to as ‘the moat’, her slender five-foot-five frame reclining back in the big leather chair she’d had specially made to relieve the pain from two degenerative spinal discs. She had grey, almost white hair that was cut short and styled like the British actress she eerily resembled, Judi Dench. Spoke like her too, in that same crisp and castrating tone.
The itching sensation Noel had felt was now creeping along the back of his skull, like an army of ants. ‘Did Bradley tell you about the man we found behind the wheel of Cooper’s SUV?’
‘He did.’
‘Is this John Doe one of yours?’ Noel asked. In highly sensitive operations, Vivian liked to secretly employ the services of her retired ‘friends’, to make sure she was being told the full picture by the people working for her. The moment he had seen the waterlogged body, Noel was sure she had followed this exact same procedure with Cooper, to make sure he was feeding her and only her the latest information.
‘Given the course of events,’ Vivian said, ‘I wish I had sent someone to watch over him. Back to the John Doe. Where is he being taken?’
‘The ME’s office in Missoula.’
‘Good.’
‘You’ve dealt with them before?’
‘A long time ago. They weren’t good then. Fortunately, they had a major shakeup last year – some ethical controversies that I can’t recall off the top of my head, plus the usual bitching and moaning about backlogs – and the woman who took over, Dr Baker, came in and cleaned house. She’s excellent.’ Vivian knew the MEs in almost every major city. ‘I’ll make some calls, see if I can get John Doe bumped up to the top of the list. Still, it will be a few days.’
‘I’m planning on attending the autopsy.’
‘There’s no need. Dr Baker is –’
‘I want to be there, make sure no stone is left unturned.’
Vivian paused. When she spoke, her voice sounded strained. ‘If that’s what you want. But you can’t bring along your new BFF. The good doctor has a flight to catch.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. No need to concern yourself with the details. Mr Bradley is taking care of everything.’
Noel was looking out the window, watching the flatbed driving away with Cooper’s crushed SUV. ‘Darby knows,’ Noel lied. ‘Melissa French and Karen Decker, the Red Ryder and the handwriting, all of it.’
A throbbing silence greeted him on the other end of the line. Noel smiled, imagining Vivian sitting erect in her chair, as though a piece of rebar or a two-by-four had been shoved up her ass – the way she always reacted when she received bad news. He saw her grinding her teeth, her face flushed with anger and her tiny lips pressed together into a small button. He wished he were in her office right now, standing on the opposite side of the moat to see it, savouring the expression on her face.
‘Push her away now,’ he said, ‘she might go public with what she knows.’
‘She’s brash but not stupid. She knows the trouble we can make for her.’
‘You ready to call her bluff?’
‘I’m ready for you to come home.’ Noel heard a new and rare tone in her voice: compassion. ‘I’m worried about your –’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Bradley tells me your left eye is twitching. Constantly.’
Noel said nothing.
‘You know it’s only going to get worse, which is why you need to –’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Noel said, and hung up. His hand was steady and he felt a stillness come over him, followed, absurdly, by an intense wave of heat, as though he were standing in one of the Army-constructed command bunkers, the dry air boiling with heat as he stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring, to bring him more news of death.