Ridley Pearson - Killer View

Her eyes softened, thanking him, and she nodded. “Good people,” she choked out.

“Yeah.”

The tears finally spilled, and she laughed at herself out of embarrassment, saying, “I thought I was done with this.” She dabbed her eyes with tissue.

“If Sally could get back to me about those deliveries…” he said.

“Will do.”

As Walt stood, the dozen dogs in the room hurried to him, nosing him and whining.

She laughed. “We kind of spoil them in here.”

“I’ll say.” He pet several.

“You might try Kira,” she said.

“Excuse me?” he said. Mention of the name turned Walt around sharply to face Jillian.

“Mark’s assistant, Kira. I suppose there’s a chance she might know how to find the cabin.”

Walt felt it like a blow to his sternum. He took a moment to recover, to clear his head, so that his voice didn’t give away his surprise. “Kira Tulivich?” he asked. He’d left her in the hospital only hours earlier.

“You’ve already spoken to her?”

“Kira’s Mark’s assistant?” He tried to keep the shock from his face. He had a good deal of practice with such things, but this one hit him hard and he was afraid he’d shown his cards. “I didn’t know that,” he said.

“You know, she didn’t show up today either.” She paused. “You don’t think Mark and Kira…”

“Absolutely not,” Walt said. The idea swam around in his head. “Do you?”

“No, of course not.”

Walt needed some time to think this through.

“I doubt she knows anything more than I do,” Jillian said. “Whatever he was up to, he wasn’t sharing. And, yes, I thought it might have something to do with Randy-you know, because of the inventory. But that was never anything more than a wild hunch.”

His cell phone rang, and he chased a decent signal across the room and out the door. He took the call in a back lot used for animal exercise and training.

His office informed him that AmeriCell had traced the emergency call that had sent Search and Rescue into the mountains the night before. The owner of the cell phone that had made the call had a billing address in West Ketchum.

He returned to the door, thanked Jillian, and asked that she keep their discussion private. “You know about this valley and rumors,” he said. “Mark doesn’t need that on top of everything else.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” she said.

AS WALT PULLED DOWN Bird Drive in West Ketchum, a KPD patrol car pulled away from the corner and followed him. Out of courtesy, he’d called ahead to his friend, Cory Limon, the Ketchum police chief, detailing his intention of making an arrest, and Cory had assigned the backup.

Walt and one of the KPD officers approached the front door of a gray-and-white, board-and-batten single-family residence while the other officer sludged through the snow to cover the back. The clutter of snowboards, mountain bikes, and other gear on the covered porch suggested a rental property. Walt rapped sharply on the door and called out: “Sheriff’s Office. Open the door, please.”

It took another try before the door finally was opened, by a girl in a tight-fitting T-shirt, black Lycra stretch pants, and gray wool socks. Walt and the officer stepped inside. For the time being, Walt ignored the faint smell of pot, looked past the clutter of pizza boxes and the clumps of clothes on the floor. A dormitory room.

“May I help you?” she asked, a little taken aback by their entering.

“I’m looking for Charles Jones,” Walt said, glancing around.

“CASEY!” she shouted over her shoulder. Then, more softly, “Can I help you?”

“Do you live here?” Walt asked.

“No. Just a friend. We all went boarding today. Amazing powder.”

“You might want to take off,” Walt said. “I’m only interested in Charles-Casey. But Officer”-Walt read the man’s name tag- “Shanklin might have an interest in the incense.”

“Got it,” she said, and immediately went searching for boots and a jacket. She was out of the house before the boy arrived downstairs.

“Charles Jones?”

“Yeah?” he said.

He was a gangly boy with curly, unkempt hair, a skier’s tan, and a failed attempt at facial hair. Like most of the kids his age that Walt encountered, he did not cower at the sight of law enforcement. He carried his shoulders straight and high, and his mouth remained small as he talked, like he’d been sucking on a lemon.

“Your cell phone placed an emergency call to the county’s ERC- the Emergency Response Center-at six thirty-two P.M. yesterday.”

The boy appeared to be chiseled out of marble. For a moment, he didn’t breathe and didn’t blink.

“Think carefully… Casey,” Walt warned. “Can I call you ‘Casey’?”

“Yes, sir.” The shoulders hunched forward. Eye contact was broken.

“Think carefully about how you answer. These next few minutes are critical. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your cell phone bills are being sent to this address,” Walt said. “That’s how we found you. You’ve cost this county time and money. The money will have to be repaid. But whether or not we treat this as a crime… well, that depends on you and how forthcoming you are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was it a prank? A dare?”

Jones looked up, his face a pool of shame.

“It wasn’t, was it?” Walt said. “A thing like this… you get one chance and one chance only. That chance is to tell the truth. You lie to me, son, and you’ll pay for it for the rest of your life. So you want to think about that, okay? You want to think about your parents, your friends, your family, and how this is going to reflect on all of them. Because there are no second chances. You lie to me and you’ll start a progression of events that you’ll look back and regret forever. I need to know you understand that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. There are two ways to do this. I can arrest you, right here and now. If I do, Officer Shanklin here is likely going to search your residence and that may complicate your situation, judging by the odor in the air. The situations of others living with you as well. So that’s one way. The other is to talk this out for a few minutes, for you to tell me the truth. For me to decide where to go from here. You agree to do that and Officer Shanklin goes back to his cruiser and waits for me. Do you understand? It’s just you and me. But I’m only interested in door number two if you’re interested in sharing the truth with me. In my line of work, you get so you can spot the truth, son. So don’t even think about trying to lie to me. The choice is yours: door one or door two? Time’s up, so which is it?”

Shanklin shut the door on his way out.

Walt took a seat on the spongy couch, moving an Xbox controller out of the way. Jones took the dilapidated, overstuffed chair across the coffee table from him.

“You all set?” Walt asked.

The boy nodded.

“Did you make that call to 911?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was it the truth?”

“No, sir.”

“There was no skier left behind on Galena?”

“No.”

Walt fought back the emotions that set his teeth grinding.

“Why’d you do it?”

The boy wouldn’t answer. Walt asked a second time.

“I was paid. By the government.”

“The government?” Walt said, unable to disguise his astonishment.

“A guy from, you know… I don’t know… some agency. He told me, but I forget exactly which one. He said it’s, like, routine to check the response time of Search and Rescue teams. That with caller ID, and everything, the government can’t make the calls, because then people know it’s a test, so they ask common citizens-like me-to make the calls for them.”