Last Track, The (4 page)

“Fantastic! Free publicity,” Erich said. “My business partner will appreciate that. I’ll definitely find Jessica.” He paused. “Excuse me, but I have to go. Stop by the front desk any time after breakfast for your key. And let me know about the plane ride. The seats fill up fast.”

“Absolutely,” Mike said. From the decanters on the tray, a most welcome scent wafted through the air. “That smells like the good stuff.” For emphasis, Mike gestured toward the tray.

“Fresh-ground Jamaica Blue Mountain,” Erich said with pride. “The water is triple-filtered and stored at room temperature. The whole beans are packed in airtight containers, then refrigerated. We grind seconds before brewing.”

Mike nodded his approval. He would fill his cup as soon as the drip finished. While there were many preparation techniques for coffee, to Mike this was the best he had ever heard. Especially the bit about refrigerating the beans. Coffee lovers often froze whole beans to make them last longer—an unfortunate decision. Subzero temperatures degraded the natural oils, tainting the flavor.

Alone, Mike enjoyed the serenity of the early morning. The quiet offered a chance to appreciate the landscape, and take a moment for himself. In the background, a set of twin mountain caps, peaks frosted with snow, thrust high above the horizon. Last night, lost in the check-in process, he had overlooked them. Now he appreciated their magnificence.

Barely a sip into Mike’s third cup, a man stormed through the living area in the lodge. A woman chased behind, pleading for him to wait. Muttering, the man ignored her, ramming the door back into the frame.

The woman stopped on the porch, watching her husband thunder across the parking lot. He stormed the main gate.

She hesitated on the porch as if unsure whether to pursue, wait, or break down. She looked like a substitute teacher—very nice, very accommodating, yet forever in transition.

Mike witnessed the exchange from a bench on the front porch. An unsettling contrast against such a peaceful backdrop. With a well-practiced pivot, the woman faced the bench. Hours of sobbing had puffed up the skin under her eyes. That was Mike’s guess.

“Oh, just great,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone was up to see us like this.”

Mike Brody wasn’t sure if she was talking to him. “I didn’t see anything,” Mike said.

“You’re a terrible liar.” A spot-on assessment Mike concurred with silently. She added, “I apologize for my husband. We have a family emergency.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You remind me of someone.” She brushed off a tear.

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Mike said.

“Let’s go!” yelled the burly man.

She tore off as if any further conversation was forbidden.

08:12:22 AM

Orientation began inside a building next to the main lodge. A narrow red carpet separated rows of padded seats, the same number of chairs on each side. A state-of-the-art sound system pumped loud rock music with a driving beat. Behind an empty stage, a digital video projector mounted to the ceiling ran a montage of action-based shots. Pictures of families riding horseback, pictures of guests eating meals, pictures of people gathered around campfires at the Pine Woods Ranch. Images advanced, changing in time with the songs.

Forty guests watched from their chairs, enthralled.

The screen went black. Massive red and white letters scrolled in from the sides, one line at a time.

Pine Woods Ranch

Here for YOU

Because that’s what we do!

The music reached a crescendo, and then faded. Digits replaced the text on the screen. A countdown, complete with the sound effects of a rocket launch.
10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . .
metal rumbled . . .
6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . .
a tone beeped
. . . 3 . . . 2
. . . images flashed . . .
1.
At liftoff the rockets fired and a husky female voice said: “Ladies and gentlemen, the owner of the Pine Woods Ranch, Mr. Erich Reynard.”

Erich raced up the carpet from the back of the room, waving at the guests with one hand.

The music hit one final apex.

Mike rolled his eyes at the grand production of it all. He gave Erich credit. The man knew how to put on a show. Despite his caffeine rush, several times Mike fought back a yawn. If he broke down, Andy would follow, then his ex-wife. And Jessica had an infectious style about her, a peculiar ability that drew others into her physical state. If she yawned, a tidal wave would roll through the room.

Erich Reynard took the podium. He spoke with authority. Within seconds, the crowd jerked awake.

“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!” he said, each welcome more exuberant than the last. “I’m Erich, the owner of the Pine Woods Ranch. Everyone is going to have a great time this week. Why? Because the staff is here for you—and that is WHAT WE DO!” He shook his fist for punctuation. This was a man who could fill a cavern with a solitary gesture, Mike bet.

Jessica straightened up, and pushed her shoulders back. Mike grinned as Andy rolled his eyes, modeling his father. Jessica glared at Mike as if he had interrupted a religious ceremony.

Erich continued. “Now before I introduce the best staff in the world . . .” He paused. The attendant who had helped Mike at check-in was there holding a sheet of light blue paper folded in quarters.

She walked to the edge of the stage and whispered something to Erich, who nodded. From there she walked to the front row, where Jessica and Mike sat, Andy between them. She handed Mike a folded note:

Mike,

Nice work last night. I have a more interesting proposal.

Det. Lisbeth McCarthy

Mike pocketed the message before Jessica could read it.

Erich paused at the podium. The two men’s eyes met for a moment. Mike gave Erich the all-clear sign. Erich smiled and continued the presentation. As soon as the orientation wrapped and everyone went to the dining hall for breakfast, Mike broke away from the crowd and called Lisbeth.

“All right,” Mike said. “What’s this about?”

“Bottom line, I don’t know how you did what you did last night. You not only figured out where the body was in the clearing, but you had the arrangement right. And the hair color. I triple-checked against the pictures. Never seen anything like it. And you were dead-on about the ammonia. Our blood samples are worthless.”

“What is it you’re asking me? Do you want help finding the body?”

“Forget the body for now,” Lisbeth said. “I’ve got a bigger problem. The boy is still missing.”

“You know where to start,” Mike said. “That’s the most important thing.”

Lisbeth disagreed. “This is a quiet town with a shortage of resources. Finding someone missing in this terrain takes people and equipment. I have neither.”

“Did you call up the chain and get some help?”

“Same old story,” Lisbeth said. “Oh, the missing kid is over eleven? Call us back in another day. But we don’t have a day. Sean’s mom thinks he carried enough meds for thirty-six to forty-eight hours. After that . . .” He imagined her raising her palms as she spoke, shrugging with her hands.

“What about search volunteers? There’s a whole ranch full of people.”

“Sure, forty people who don’t know the first thing about this terrain. Tourists. Last week there was a mountain lion a mile outside this very building. Plus I’ve got a murderer and some co-conspirators at large. Losing more people to exhaustion and inexperience and who knows what else is not an acceptable risk. Every spare officer is on this. The local search and rescue squad is en route, and they’re trying to round up a helicopter.” She paused. “Are you everything they say you are?”

“Lisbeth, what are you asking me?” Mike asked.

She relented. “I’d like it if you took another look at what we have. See if there’s any possibility someone is involved with Sean’s disappearance. If there is foul play, show it to us, and I can get whatever help we need.”

“Do you want me to track Sean?” he asked.

“Not at this time,” Lisbeth said.

Second time she’s said that,
thought Mike. A tough decision confronted him. On the one hand, he sensed there was more about Sean and the business of the missing body than had been disclosed. He understood. During a crisis, people often left out details more from stress than by design. Intentional or not, the net effect was the same. He couldn’t know everything beforehand. There were always gaps and he allowed for them.

On the side of helping, there was one issue that bothered him: the hours wasted on bureaucracy and procedures. Mike now understood the police had bet Sean had wandered off and would return. More than nine times out of ten with teenagers, reasoning like that panned out. Kids his age came back, exhausted but unharmed.

To Mike, Lisbeth seemed an honest person with the best of intentions, as tough as she was fair. He decided he trusted her enough. “I’ll help you,” he said. “But I have to take care of something first.”

09:23:35 AM

Andy took the news much better than Mike expected. His son had been a force behind the dude-ranch trip from the start, so Mike had anticipated lots of resistance. Instead Andy turned to the television. “We have a week, Dad. Hurry back.”

Relieved, Mike tousled Andy’s hair. At times, Andy was patient and logical far beyond his years, superior to either parent. Mike believed Andy inherited this disposition from Jessica’s father, though he had never dared voice that sentiment.

“I will, champ,” Mike said. “Before I leave, we should pick a new code phrase.”

Years ago, Mike had developed a code-phrase system with Andy. If an adult approached Andy and claimed he was sent by Andy’s parents, and he should come with them, Andy simply asked for the code phrase and waited.

If the person did not provide the proper phrase, Andy was to run, scream “child molester,” and never look back. Both parents drilled this habit into Andy as soon as he could speak in complete sentences, and they role-played scenarios with him until the routine became a reflex. They recruited trusted associates to test Andy, friends who drove near the sidewalk as the boy played in the yard and invited him into their car. After the thorough battery of tests Andy passed, Mike was confident Andy could handle a real-world situation.

Neither Mike nor Jessica ever revealed the actual phrase outside of their home.

“That’s a good idea.” Jessica already had her planner open to record Lisbeth’s cell number. “You want to pick it this time, Andy?”

The boy thought for a moment, scrunching his face in contemplation. “The Velveteen Rabbit wears a brown skirt.”

“Got it,” Mike said. “I’ll see you soon.”

Both parents knew the routine when Mike left on a case. Jessica recorded the phrase for safekeeping in her planner. Mike programmed additional contact numbers for the ranch into his cell phone: the nurse’s station, proprietor, front desk, and others which he might need if he had trouble contacting Jessica directly. When they finished, she followed Mike into the hallway and shut the door behind her, leaving Andy in the room. Unlike their son, Jessica voiced her complaints. “So much for just talking with Lisbeth, huh?”

“I think I can help on this one.”

“Can I remind you that you’re on vacation?”

Arguing was pointless; he left.

09:31:16 AM

Whatever his family’s reaction, Mike Brody respected their feelings, but tracking was his decision. For Mike, the matter of Sean Jackson had chosen him just as he had chosen it.

His truck started on the first crank, as it had for each of the last two hundred thousand miles.

At the main gate, the man with the crew cut, one half of the couple from earlier that morning in the lodge, screamed with fury. The man was possessed; his face flushed red. He spared no one, especially not the cop he was yelling at.

Has to be Sean’s dad,
thought Mike, driving past the two men. It was common for parents to express frustration with the progress of a search, particularly if they were not allowed to be involved.

The mother was nowhere in sight. Mike parked the truck where Lisbeth had requested, on the shoulder of the dirt road, near the taped-off trail that led to the clearing. She was waiting for him.

“What’s with the Buddha?” Lisbeth pointed to a four-inch ceramic statue on the dashboard of Mike’s truck. Years ago, Jessica had affixed the avatar with epoxy, without his consent or knowledge. It was one of her less subtle attempts to change him. Like the deity it represented, the statue refused to budge. To Mike, that said a lot about Jessica.

“Gift from the ex-wife,” he said.

“I begin to see why you divorced,” said Lisbeth, eyes fixed on the ceramic statue.

“There’s a bit of Buddha in all of us. Perhaps that’s the part that wants you to quit smoking.”

“How did you know that?” Lisbeth asked, recoiling like she had stepped from a hot shower onto a cold floor.

From the reaction, Mike could tell smoking was a vice she kept under wraps. “You pat a bulge in the right pocket of your slacks a lot. A bulge shaped and sized exactly like a cigarette pack,” Mike said. “Checking to make sure your smokes and lighter are safe?”

Lisbeth slid her hand away from the pocket with a casual ease. She smiled at Mike, who spied her maneuver anyway. “So . . . you need anything else from me?” she said.

“If you have a recent picture of Sean and an old pair of his shoes,” he said.

“The ranch takes family pictures the first day,” Lisbeth said, “so we have one. Mom and I can have a chat about footwear.” She looked at him for a moment. “I’ll leave you to it.”

At the clearing, he started where he had left off the previous night, studying the knee-sized depressions next to the tree trunk. These tracks differed from the others. They were from someone younger and lighter, definitely not yet an adult. Something else was off about the scene, too. None of the reflective markers he placed in the soil the night before remained. He wondered why, and made a note to ask Lisbeth. Dropping down beside the tracks, he recalled the many times he had done this before.