Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

He now looked around the house and yard. There was a possibility that somewhere he’d left damning trace evidence. But probably Lewis was right; the cops here weren’t out of that famous show CSI -Crime Scene International or whatever it was called. Hart didn’t watch TV, though he knew the idea: all that expensive scientific equipment.

No, something more fundamental was bothering him. He was thinking back to the paw print and the creature who’d left it, its disregard for the men who’d invaded its territory. Any challenges here weren’t about microscopes and computers. They were more primitive.

He felt that tickle of fear again.

Lewis was moving along with the jack and the lug wrench, swapping the wheels on the Ford. He looked at his watch. “We’ll be back to civilization by ten-thirty. Man, I can taste that beer and burger now.”

And returned to the task, working fast with his small but clever fingers.

“NO ALARM,” BRYNN whispered, grimacing.

“What?” Michelle asked, not understanding the mumpy voice.

She repeated slowly, “No. Alarm.” Brynn was looking over the spacious mountain house, 2 Lake View. The owners clearly had money; why no security?

She broke a window in the back door with her elbow, unlatched the lock. The women hurried into the kitchen. Brynn walked immediately to the stove and turned on a burner to warm herself, risking the light. Nothing. The propane was shut off outside. No time to find the valve and turn it on. Please, she thought, just have some dry clothes. It was cold inside but at least they were protected from the wind, and the bones of the house retained a bit of heat from the day’s sun.

She touched her face-not the bullet wound but her jaw. When the weather was cold or she was tired the reconstructed spot throbbed, though she often wondered if the sensation was imaginary.

“We’ve gotta move fast. First, look for a phone or a computer. We could e-mail or instant-message.” Joey was always online. She was sure she could get a message to him but she’d have to phrase it so that he’d get the urgency but not be upset.

There’d be no vehicular escape; they’d already peered into the garage and found it empty. Brynn continued, “And look for weapons. Not much hunting here, with the state park and most of the land posted. But they still might have a gun. Maybe a bow.”

“And arrow?” Michelle asked, her eyes panicked at the thought of shooting one at a human being. “I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know how.”

Brynn had played with one of the weapons at summer camp, once or twice, years ago. But she’d learn to handle it fast if she had to.

She was considering this fantasy when she noted that Michelle had walked away. She heard a click and a rumble.

The sound of a furnace!

Brynn ran into the living room and found the young woman at the thermostat.

“No,” Brynn said, her teeth chattering.

“I’m freezing,” Michelle said. “Why not?”

Brynn shut the unit off.

Michelle protested, “I’m so cold, it hurts.”

Tell me about it, Brynn thought. But she said, “There’ll be smoke. The men could see it.”

“It’s dark out. They won’t see anything.”

“We can’t take the chance.”

The woman shrugged resentfully.

The furnace hadn’t been on for more than a few seconds and from the distance the men wouldn’t’ve been able to see anything.

“We don’t have much time.” Brynn glanced at a clock radio, which glowed blue: 8:21. “They might decide to come here. Let’s look fast. Phone, computer, weapons.”

The darkness outside was now almost complete and the frustration intense: maybe their salvation was two feet away, a phone or gun. But it was impossible to tell. They had to search mostly by touch. Michelle was cautious, moving slowly.

“Faster,” Brynn urged.

“They have black widow spiders up here. I found one in my room when I came to visit Steve and Emma last year.”

The least of our worries.

They continued to search frantically for ten minutes, through drawers, closets, baskets of papers and personal junk. Brynn smiled as she found a Nokia, but it was an old one, no battery and a broken antenna. She dumped out all the contents on the rug and felt for a charger.

Nothing.

“Damn,” Brynn muttered, standing stiffly, her face throbbing. “I’ll check upstairs. Keep on looking down here.”

Michelle nodded uncertainly, not happy about being left alone.

Spiders…

Brynn climbed the stairs. Her search of the second floor revealed no weapons or phones or computers. She didn’t bother with the attic. A glance out the window revealed flashlights in the yard around the Feldman house but the men couldn’t be counted on to stay there much longer.

She longed to turn on a light but didn’t dare and continued feeling her way through the bedrooms, concentrating on the largest. She began ripping open drawers and closet doors and finally found some clothing. She stripped off her jacket and the leathery, wet uniform and dressed in the darkest clothing she could find: two pairs of navy blue sweat pants, two men’s T-shirts and a thick sweatshirt. She pulled on dry socks-her heels were already blistering from the waterlogged footgear-but had to put on her Sheriff’s Department Oxfords again; there were no spare shoes. She found a thick black ski parka and pulled it on, and finally began to feel warmer. She wanted to cry, the sensation was so comforting.

In the bathroom she opened the medicine cabinet and felt her way through the bottles until she found a rectangular one. She sniffed the contents to make sure it was rubbing alcohol, then soaked a wad of toilet paper with it and bathed her wounded cheek. She gasped at the pain and her legs buckled. Swabbed the inside of her mouth too, which hurt ten times more. She dropped her head before she fainted. Inhaled deeply. “Okay,” she whispered as the pain dissolved. Then pocketed the alcohol, ran downstairs.

“Any phones or guns, anything?” Michelle asked.

“No.”

“I looked…but it’s so spooky. I couldn’t go into the basement. I was afraid.”

Brynn herself took a fast look down there. She risked the light but since she’d seen no windows she figured it was safe. She found nothing helpful, though, either for communications or defense in what seemed like an endless series of small rooms and passages. Several small doorways led to what would probably be pretty good hiding places.

As Brynn returned to the kitchen Michelle whispered, “I found those.” She nodded at a block of kitchen knives. Chicago Cutlery. Brynn took one, about eight inches long. She tested the factory-honed blade with her thumb.

The deputy looked back at the Feldmans’, saw the flashlight beams still scanning the yard. She had a thought, gazed around the house. “Didn’t we see a pool table somewhere down here?”

Michelle gestured toward the dining room. “Through there, I think.”

As they walked quickly in that direction Brynn said, “The way I drove up, Six Eighty-two, was from the east. After Clausen, I didn’t see anything but some trailers and a few shacks in the distance. Nothing for miles. If I’d kept going west, would I have come to some stores or a gas station? A place with a phone?”

“I don’t know. I never went that way.”

The women entered the recreation room, a spacious place with a bar, pool table and thousands of books on built-in shelves. Beneath the big-screen TV the cable box showed the time: 8:42.

Brynn was now warm again; curious, she reflected, she had no direct memory of the cold. She recalled how terrible she’d felt but couldn’t summon up the sensation, as intense as it had been.

She studied the room, the sports memorabilia, the liquor bottles, the family pictures, the rack of pool cues, the balls aligned in their triangular nest on the table, then began rummaging through drawers at the bottom of the bookshelves.