The Killer Trail (4 page)

“What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Ray chortled. “That's only a graze. Nothing compared to what I'm gonna do. But first things first. Where's my phone?”

“I don't...” Chris grimaced as pain shot through his shoulder like shards of glass. “I don't have it.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you don't have it?” Ray grabbed Chris by the collar of his jacket and dragged him to his feet. He checked Chris' pockets and, coming up empty, slammed him to the ground. Chris landed on his injured shoulder, sending fresh pain screaming through his body.

“Where is it, Ryder? You're starting to piss me off.”

Chris summoned the strength to say, “I hid it. You kill me, you'll never get it back.”

“Oh, I'll get it back. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for a bullet, but I ain't gonna let you off that easy. I'm gonna have fun taking my time with you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a picture, and shoved it in Chris' face. “Look what I found in your truck. Recognize this pretty young thing? I think she's got your eyes.”

Chris' eyes bulged at the sight of Ann Marie's picture. “You leave her out of this, you hear me!” he raged.

“Or what, Ryder? What the fuck are you going to do about it?” He aimed the rifle at Chris' head. “One shot, and it's over for you, and I'll still go after the girl.”

Chris' will to fight was crushed. He swallowed dryly. “I'll take you to your phone, Ray.”

EIGHT

Tuesday, February 7, 5:57 p.m.
“911, what is your emergency?”

“My name is Deanna Ryder. I think my husband is trapped in Woodland Park.”

“When was your last contact?”

“About an hour ago. He called me from the park and said he would be coming to my house. But he hasn't shown up, hasn't called, and I can't reach him.”

“Is there anywhere else he may have gone?”

“No. He was coming over here to see our daughter. This isn't like him to not show up or call. I'm worried he got caught out there in the park with this weather. Can you do something?”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Ryder. We can't initiate a missing person alert until twenty-four hours have—”

“But he could be hurt!”

“I understand your concern, ma'am. What I can do is provide you with the number for your local Search and Rescue agency. They'll want to know what your husband looks like, what he may have been wearing, and the kind of vehicle he drives, okay? Please hold for that number.”

NINE

Tuesday, February 7, 6:37 p.m.
The crows were back. Human movement on the trail had disrupted their roosting area. Chris wondered if they'd been there the whole time, watching quietly from their perches in the trees. Now they appeared restless, with their noisy chatter and frequent swooping from branch to branch, jockeying for the best view of the action unfolding beneath them. He remembered his Boy Scout leader telling him that a collection of crows is called a murder.
They've come to the right place
. Excruciating pain radiated from his shoulder. Even pain was no match for the way he felt as he walked with Ray to the phone's hiding place.
How could I have been so stupid to think
I could beat him?

“You know, Ryder, I'm beginning to like this place. Yeah, I think I'll come back here one day and check out an old cabin I heard about. But I won't forget you, Ryder. We'll always have this trail to remember.”

Chris cursed under his breath. He wasn't going to be beaten without putting up a fight. He had underestimated Ray, and now he hoped Ray would make the mistake of underestimating him.

“
Hey, Ray, you really messed up, didn't you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He gave Chris a puzzled look.

“I mean, what kind of professional killer, and I use the word ‘professional' loosely here, loses his cell phone? Does your boss know you messed up?”

“I didn't mess up. Shit happens, and I deal with it. Just like I'm dealing with you.”

“Seems like shit happens a lot around you, Ray.”

Ray's face turned red, and he shoved Chris to the ground. “I could waste you right here.” Without warning, he struck the barrel of the rifle against Chris' forehead, breaking the skin and sending a streak of blood down his cheek. He aimed the rifle in front of Chris' eyes, forcing him to look through the barrel of the gun. “I could put a hole right through your head right now, mess up your pretty face. How about I send your pretty young thing a picture of her daddy with a hole in his head?”

Chris knew he was getting to Ray and also that he had to ignore the pain burning through his body. He had to act now. “You sure you wouldn't mess that up too?”

Ray's eyes widened in blind rage. He swung his rifle over his head aiming to crack Chris' skull. This time, however, Chris rolled out of range and ducked the blow. He kicked Ray's leg, knocking him off balance and onto his back on the soggy ground. Chris pounced on top of Ray and punched him hard in the face.

“I'm gonna fucking kill you!” Ray raged, wiping blood from his nose. The acrid smell of stale tobacco wafted towards Chris. Ray motioned to raise his gun, but Chris wrestled it from his hand and got back on his feet.

“I don't think so. Now it's my turn.” He towered above Ray with the rifle pointed at his head. “Don't move.”

“Go ahead, asshole. Do it. You don't have the balls to pull the trigger, Ryder.”

“You have no idea what I want to do to you, Ray.”
Do it.
Do it.
A clamouring voice deep inside Chris' mind urged him to pull the trigger.

“Wanting and doing are two different things,” Ray snarled.

“Don't push it.”

“Your problem, Ryder, is you think too much. I don't give it a second thought. Killing is like breathing to me—comes natural. Like eating, shitting, and fucking.”

“Like the way you killed the old man, Dobbin?” Chris spat.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Your landlord. He didn't deserve to die.”

“Why are you harping about that? That was years ago. Move on, Ryder. I have.”

“You really don't get it, do you?” Chris shook his head in exasperation. “You killed a helpless man because you were disturbing the peace.”

“Don't you talk to me about disturbing the goddamned peace. My peace was disturbed when that stupid cripple had the gall to knock on my door. He got what he deserved, and so will you.”

Chris knew Ray was beyond reasoning, but he couldn't resist attempting to understand him. “Why did you kill the guy on the trail?”

“That was business, pure and simple.” Ray's matter-of-fact tone made Chris queasy. “But killing you is gonna be pleasure. So, what you gonna do, Ryder? I ain't about to waltz with you to the pigs.”

“That's exactly what you're going to do. Get up.”

Ray pressed his hands against the slushy ground in a motion to stand to his feet. In a sudden move he threw slush in Chris' face and lunged at him. They struggled for control of the weapon and in the ensuing chaos, the rifle went off and a body collapsed to the ground.

TEN

Tuesday, February 7, 7:03 p.m.
A team of Search and Rescue volunteers converged upon the Woodland Park entrance in response to Deanna Ryder's report.

“Mike, Ryder's truck's here. The tires have been flattened. Looks like someone punctured them.”

A second volunteer inspecting a white Chevy van suddenly exclaimed, “Shit. Looks like blood smeared on the door handle.”

“Over here,” the third volunteer called. “There's footprints leading to the trail. And blood. We'd better—” The sound of a gunshot roared in the distance. “Fuck! I'm calling it in,” the commander screamed. He dialed 911 and shouted, “Shots fired at Woodland Park!”

ELEVEN

Wednesday, February 8, 9:33 a.m.
“Is he going to be okay?” Deanna asked the attending physician. She had received the call from the Health Sciences Center in the early hours of the morning, but they had suggested she visit once Chris regained consciousness. After a sleepless night, Deanna informed her bank manager that she would not be working and the school that her daughter would also be away, and rushed to the hospital.

The physician reviewed his patient's chart and looked at Deanna. “All things considered, I would say he's doing pretty well. He's a fighter and quite fortunate his wounds were not more severe. The bullet grazed his shoulder, and he sustained what looks to be a mild concussion.”

“Can I see him?” Her voice quavered.

“That's fine by me, but right now he's being interviewed by the police.”

“Mr. Ryder, my name is Sergeant Brandon Ryan. I'm with the RCMP Major Crimes Unit.” The officer extended a powerful arm for a handshake, a symbolic gesture as he could see that with his arm in a sling, Chris wouldn't be shaking hands any time soon.

“I regret talking with you under these circumstances, but I have a few questions I'd like to ask you. If you're feeling up for that right now, of course.”

Chris felt dazed. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police had found him unconscious on the trail and had taken him to the hospital. Spaced out on the Demerol the doctors had given him for the pain, he was having trouble concentrating on what the sergeant was saying, or recalling the reality of his ordeal.

He felt the blood drain from his face as one memory bubbled to the surface. “You've got to stop him. He's going to go after my family!”

“It's okay, Mr. Ryder,” the sergeant said in a calm voice. “Your wife and daughter are fine. They're waiting outside.”

“Where's Ray Owens?”

“I'm hoping you can help me with that one. Search and Rescue heard a shot and called us, but this Ray Owens you mention was gone before we arrived, and Search and Rescue didn't see anyone. It looks like he may have been parked at the gas station across the street from the entrance.” He paused to make sure that Chris was following. “We're dealing with two bodies in Woodland Park, and I'm hoping you can help shed some light on this. Starting with this Owens fellow.”

Chris' breathing accelerated in full-blown panic as he tried desperately to get up from his hospital bed. His weakened body betrayed him, and he lay back in frustration. “You've got to get him! I know he's going to go after my family.”

“We'll get him,” Sergeant Ryan said in a quietly confident tone. “But I'm going to need your help. I need to know everything you know about Ray Owens.”

Chris told the sergeant about the cell phone he'd found on the trail, along with his history with Ray Owens. Sergeant Ryan took notes and occasionally asked questions for clarification and elaboration of details.

Even in his foggy state, Chris detected a slight accent of the East Coast, most likely Newfoundland. The sergeant's buzzcut and crewneck sweater gave him a military look. A faint scar above his eye slanting down towards his cheekbone told Chris that the sergeant had seen his share of adversity.

“We need to find that cell phone. It's a critical piece of evidence that might lead us to Ray Owens and his associate. Thank you for giving me the general location. I'll check it out.”

Chris shook his head in disgust at himself. “I can't believe I actually thought I could go up against him.”

Sergeant Ryan put his notepad away. “Mr. Ryder—”

“You can call me Chris.”

“Okay, Chris. You know we're likely dealing with a man who kills people for a living?”

Chris thought he was about to be lectured with the “leave the bad guys for the cops” routine. “Yeah. I know I was stupid to go after him.”

“Actually, what I was going to say was that your instincts and resourcefulness are likely what kept you alive.”

“Thanks.” Chris was pleasantly surprised, but his mood quickly turned to concern. “I know he's going to come at me again,” he told the sergeant. “It's some kind of sick game to him.”

“Well then, we'll have to work together to make sure that doesn't happen.” The sergeant looked at Chris' shoulder sling. “You're in no shape to look after yourself right now. Are you going to be staying with your wife? Sorry, you said you're separated, right?”

“Yeah, we're separated. And that's an interesting question. After what I've put her through, I may need police protection—from her.” Chris smiled.

“Well, we'll be assigning an officer to you and your family until this Owens guy is in custody.” The sergeant reached into his pocket and handed Chris a business card. “Call me when you're being released so we can work out the details.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Call me Brandon.”

“Thanks, Brandon.”

“Your wife has been waiting anxiously to talk with you. I'll let her in. We'll talk again soon.”