Winter Kill, стр. 22
“She wasn’t dragged to the highway. She wasn’t dragged anywhere,” Adam said. “Whoever cut Cynthia Joseph’s throat would have been covered in blood. There’s no blood in the Joseph house. We both agreed that nobody came inside after her. She may have fled and later been caught and abducted. Or she may have been an accomplice.”
Rob threw him a grim look. “You really do think she was in on it.”
“I don’t know. I think her sudden decision to come home that night doesn’t look good.”
“That’s completely circumstantial.”
“Yes. But you and I both know circumstantial evidence is every bit as valid as direct evidence.”
Rob grunted.
They continued in silence marred only by the thud of their boots and the wind in the pines. From up here the view of the valley was spectacular, and it gave Adam a better understanding of how scattered most of the houses and dwellings were. In this land of snow and pine trees “neighbor” was more concept than reality.
Rob said grudgingly, “You’re not doing too bad for a city boy.”
“Thanks.” Adam grinned, and after a second Rob grinned too. Their smiles faded at the sudden crack of gunshots.
Chapter Seven
A couple of yards ahead, the rest of the search party stopped walking and began to look around.
“Less than a mile away,” Norris Peterson called.
“That’s a semi-automatic,” Adam said as Rob spoke into his radio.
“Who’s firing?” Rob demanded. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hear the answer over the thunder of his heart. His mouth was so dry it was hard to unstick the words from the roof of his mouth. “This is Deputy Haskell. We’re hearing shots—”
Zeke’s voice cut in. “Rob, we’re taking fire.”
What the hell? Once upon a time Nearby had been a nice, quiet, peaceful place to live and work. Now it was turning into a war zone. “You’re…? Are you sure it’s not some asshole hunter?”
“Hell yes, I’m sure!” Zeke returned.
Rob swore. “From where? What direction are the shots coming from?” He hastily unfolded his map. “What’s your position?”
“Widow’s Peak. Somebody’s up there with a fucking assault rifle taking potshots at us.”
The shots sounded tinny and distant over the radio compared to the crack and rolling echo of their real life counterpoint.
“We’ve got to get these civilians off this mountain,” Adam said.
Rob nodded distractedly, trying to coordinate with the other team leaders. Everybody was hitting the airwaves at the same time. He was dimly aware of Adam jogging down the hillside, ordering everyone down to the shelter of the trees, and it was a relief to know that at least he had solid and sensible support at hand. Right now he needed all the support he could get.
“Zeke, is anyone hit? Hurt?” he asked.
There was a burst of static. “Negative,” Zeke said.
The relief left Rob weak.
“We need everybody off this mountain right now. Move it!” Adam called. How the hell did he manage to sound so calm—like he did this every day?
That official permission seemed to be what everyone was waiting for, because the remaining searchers began a hasty descent, slowed only by the terrain. Thank God for that. Thank God for Adam.
Rob was calculating how long it would take to cut across the ridge, when Adam loped back up, squatting down beside him.
“Are they pinned down?” Adam asked. “Can they withdraw?”
Rob shook his head. I don’t know. “Zeke, get your party out of there,” he ordered.
Zeke’s voice came over the radio with sudden and exasperated clarity. “I would LIKE to do that, Haskell. We’re pinned down. Copy?”
“God damn it,” Adam muttered.
“Roger that,” Rob answered both Adam and Zeke.
“Deputy Haskell? This is Deputy Sheriff Sergeant Laird with Medford—”
At the same time another voice burst in, “This is Klamath Falls Sheriff’s Deputy O’Neill. We are moving to intercept.”
He looked at Adam in alarm. Moving to intercept? Did these cowboys think they were playing Xbox? All he needed was Zeke’s group of civilians getting caught in interterritorial crossfire.
Adam was frowning over this exchange. “This doesn’t fit,” he said.
“Uh… Yeah. Well, tell it to the asshole with the rifle.”
“What do you want to do?” Adam asked.
Rob had to smother a surge of something alarmingly close to hysterical laughter. Adam was asking him? How the hell was he supposed to know what to do in a situation like this? Things like this did not happen in his world.
He pointed to the map. “This is Widow’s Peak. This is Zeke’s position. Roughly. And this is us.”
Adam met his eyes. “You want to try to circle in on the shooter? Sweep in from behind?”
Rob drew in a deep breath. He nodded tightly. “I do. Yeah.” He folded the map again. “It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got. It sounds to me like Medford and Klamath Falls will provide all the distraction we need. What I know for sure is we—I—need to get over there before someone gets killed.”
He was thinking rapidly. He knew the area well—he’d taken a lot of photographs up here through the years—the snow would slow them down. Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? Even so, he and Adam were Zeke’s best chance of reinforcements.
“Right.” Adam nodded. “Let’s do it.”
He sounded like he thought it was a perfectly reasonable plan. “Pistols against an assault rifle,” Rob felt obliged to point out.
To his surprise, Adam’s mouth twisted in a chilly smile. He rose, saying, “All that matters is who holds the pistol.”
* * * * *
They made good time, and in twelve minutes they crested the ridge behind Widow’s Peak and began their descent. Physical exertion—the useful expenditure of all that adrenaline—and time to think had helped Rob regain his equilibrium. He wasn’t happy, but anger and determination had replaced his fear that he was not equipped to handle this crisis. Someone had to handle it. And by God, it looked like it was going to have to be him.
He was just glad he had Adam as backup. This way, at least one of them maybe knew what he was doing.
The slope was slippery with pine needles, loose stones, and wet earth. The snow had melted where the sunlight speared through the tree branches. Most of the hillside was in deep shade, and there was still ice in sharp crevices of rock. Even so, they moved swiftly, keeping about fifty feet between them.
The wind rushing overhead through the sugar and ponderosa pines sounded like the ocean. The spaces between shots were longer now. Every time Rob hoped the standoff was over, another crack of gunfire split the wind-scoured emptiness.
After several hundred yards they stopped to catch their breath. Below them was a large log cabin in a grassy green valley dotted with tall pines. The metal roofs of a couple of outlying buildings flashed in the irresolute sunlight .
Rob motioned to Adam. When Adam joined him, he handed over his field glasses. Adam took the glasses.
Rob said quietly, “That’s Sandy Gibbs’s place. He’s what you might call our local survivalist nut. The they’ll-have-to-pry-my-gun-from-my-cold-dead-fingers type.”
Adam studied the spread beneath them. “You think Gibbs is our shooter?”
“I think there’s a damn good chance.”
“Has he got weapons stockpiled in there?”
“Oh hell yeah. I don’t doubt he’s got a goddamned arsenal in there. My concern is that he may also have Tiffany.”
Adam’s pale brows drew together. “Tiffany?”
“Maybe. Maybe he went courting the old-fashioned way. I can’t think of any other reason he’d do this.”
“You think this Gibbs kidnapped a teenaged girl and murdered her mother?”
“He’s racist. Out and out. And he sees himself as a modern day mountain man. I know it probably sounds like a stretch, but I could see how killing a Native American woman and taking her child fits his movie script.”