Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

“What did she do? After Keith hit her?”

“She didn’t have him arrested if that’s what you mean. I think she was worried about Joey.”

“He ever do it again?”

“No. Not that she ever told me.”

Hitting someone you were married to. He couldn’t imagine it. Hell, hitting anyone, unless it was self-defense, was almost impossible to picture.

Graham was matching this information against other incidents in their past, against his wife’s words, her behavior. Dozens of times she’d touch her jaw in the morning. Even her waking, sweaty and groaning, from dreams. Her moodiness, her defensiveness.

Her control…

He pictured her hand, coasting along the uneven line of her jaw as they sat at the dinner table or watching TV on the green couch.

Still, sitting back, he said, “She didn’t know what was going on at Lake Mondac until she got there. Domestic may’ve been why she stayed tonight. It’s not why she volunteered to go in the first place. That’s what I want to know.”

“I think the answers’re pretty much the same, Graham.” The needle clicks resumed as Anna cranked up the assembly line of yarn once again.

THEY PAUSED TO take a compass reading, as they’d been doing every quarter mile or so.

The routine was that Brynn and Michelle would kneel down, rest the alcohol bottle on its side and tease their magnetic vessel into the center of its tiny ocean, where it would nose out north for them. The compass was a lifesaver. Brynn was astonished at how easily they would start to veer in the wrong direction, though she’d been absolutely convinced they were on course.

Michelle asked, “How did you know how to make that?” Nodding at the compass as Brynn slipped it back into her pocket. “You have children? A school project?”

“A course I took through the State Police. But I do have a son.” She tried to imagine skateboarding fiend Joey sitting still long enough for a science fair project. The idea was amusing.

“How old is he?” Michelle was suddenly animated.

“Twelve.”

“I love children,” she said. Then she smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Joseph.”

“Biblical.”

“I guess so. We named him after his father’s uncle.”

“Is he a good boy?”

“He sure is.” Hesitated. “Though he gets into things sometimes.” She told Michelle about the skateboarding incident today, some of his scrapes at school. The woman listened with interest-and sympathy. Brynn asked, “You and your husband have kids?”

Michelle glanced at her. “Not yet. We lead pretty busy lifestyles.”

“And you’re an actress, you were saying?”

A shy smile. “Just little things now. TV commercials, community theater. But I’m going to get into Second City. The improv comedy troupe. I’ve had a couple of callbacks. And I’m auditioning for the touring company of Wicked. ”

Brynn listened attentively as the young woman told her about some parts she was pursuing. Brynn’s opinion, though, was that she was a dilettante. It sounded like she jumped from medium to medium, hoping to find one she was talented at. Or one that was easier than others. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Michelle also tried her hand at writing plays, but had recently decided that independent films were the way to go. And was thinking of getting a job in L.A. to meet people in the movie industry.

They were walking uphill now and, breathless, fell silent as they slogged their way over another quarter mile.

She’d thought they’d have come across the Joliet Trail by now. It couldn’t be that far away. But with all this dense brush, she had no realistic sense of how fast they were traveling. Like treading through water; a lot of effort didn’t lead to a long distance covered.

After fifteen minutes they paused in a clearing surrounded by briars to take another compass reading. The lighter flared and Brynn saw they were on track. “Okay, shut it out.”

According to the routine they’d fallen into, they now sat for a moment or two, eyes squeezed shut to help them adjust to the dark.

A snap sounded behind them.

Loud.

Michelle gasped.

Both women tensed, rising to a crouch from their knees. Brynn slipped the compass away and grabbed the spear.

Another snap and a rustle of footsteps.

Brynn squinted until her cheek screamed in pain. But she couldn’t see anything.

Was it the killers?

“What? Do you-?”

“Shhh.”

Something was moving, circling them. Then stopped. Moved again.

Snap…

Then it vanished.

A moment later, from their right, came another snap, a shuffle of leaves. They spun suddenly in that direction. Brynn could vaguely make out a shadowy form, rocking back and forth.

It wasn’t the men. In fact it wasn’t a human. Brynn observed that it was an animal, about the size of a German shepherd.

Brynn believed it was staring at them with shoulders tensed and hackles high.

Michelle gasped and gripped Brynn’s arm.

Was it a mountain lion? The last one in Wisconsin had reportedly been shot a hundred years ago. But every year there were supposed sightings. You’d see coyotes from time to time. They were timid, but rabid ones, their minds melting, had strolled right into tents and attacked campers. Lynx weren’t unheard of either.

But this seemed too big for that. She decided it was a gray wolf, which were being reintroduced into the state. She didn’t know if they’d attack humans but the eerie, probing face-almost human-was unsettling.

Had Michelle and Brynn come close to the creature’s lair? Were there pups to be protected? A crazed mother was the worst of enemies, Keith, an avid hunter, had told her.

A flash of anger burned within her. They didn’t need another enemy tonight. She gripped the spear firmly and stood up. She strode forward, between Michelle and the creature.

“What’re you doing? Don’t leave me.”

Brynn thought: Don’t hesitate. Keep going.

The animal’s head cocked and its eyes caught light from the lopped-off moon.

Brynn kept walking, moving faster, hunched over.

Still staring their way, the animal backed up then turned and receded into the night. Brynn stopped and returned to the young woman, who was staring at her. “Jesus,” Michelle said.

“It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t the animal she was referring to. “Are you all right?” she asked uncertainly.

“Me?” the deputy asked. “Sure. Why?”

“You were…you were making this noise. I thought you couldn’t breathe or something.”

“Noise?”

“Like, growling. It was scary.”

“Growling?” Brynn was aware of breathing hard, teeth set tightly together. She wasn’t aware that she’d made a noise.

Queen of the Jungle…

She gave an awkward laugh and they continued on. Their route led them into a ravine, the rocks and trees along the side ensnared with vines, and the floor covered with patches of poison ivy and vinca. Boggy pools too, surrounded by mushrooms and fungus. They pushed through it all, exhausted, and struggled up the other side, using saplings and sandstone outcroppings for hand-and footholds.

At the top they stumbled onto a trail.

It wasn’t wide-about four feet-and was overgrown from disuse during the winter months but it was heaven compared with what they’d been slogging through since fleeing the Feldmans’ house.

“Is this it?” Michelle asked.

They found their answer only thirty feet away, a large wooden sign:

PERKINSTOWN 64 MILES.

DULUTH, MN 187 MILES

CAMP RESPONSIBLY ON THE JOLIET TRAIL

ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT FOREST FIRES

“HOW MUCH TIMEdo you think it bought us?” Lewis asked.