Killer View

Walt hadn’t told her about the avalanche, only the possible abduction and Brandon ’s shooting, which seemed enough information to process.

A few minutes later, they entered the cabin, and Walt propped the broken door shut to try to contain some of the warmth from the propane heater.

They circled the cabin’s main room, Walt pointing out areas he wanted photographed.

They hadn’t been inside but a few minutes when she asked, “Do you know a guy named Roger Hillabrand?”

“I know of him, sure. Extremely wealthy. Well-co

“I met him at a wedding I was shooting.”

“And I need to know this because…?” Having worked the floor for one full turn, Walt directed his attention to the furniture and the walls.

“No reason. Just wondered.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said from the opposite side of the room.

“No reason,” she repeated.

“Women don’t mention other men for no reason.”

“You’re the sheriff. That gives you an insider’s position when it comes to people like Roger Hillabrand.”

“He’s not a serial killer,” Walt said. “That I’m aware of.”

“Thank you.”

“Now you’re mad at me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“If you want me to be jealous, I’m considering it.”

“Furthest thing from my mind, I promise you.” She hesitated. “Why would I want you to be jealous, anyway?”

“My mistake,” he said.

“It most certainly was.”

“Government contracts. Like Halliburton. That kind of thing. Iraq. Afghanistan. Domestic work as well. Site clean-ups. Nuclear facilities. He attends the Cutter Conference-that’s how I know all this. Has a very… professional… security detail around him.”

“Was that sarcasm or cynicism?”

“Ex-military. All of them.”

“Is that so unusual?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Ex-cops is more typical. Big-city cops: New York, Chicago, Miami. Those are the guys these guys hire. They’ve got the résumé, and they maintain good contacts. An effective security detail needs access to other law enforcement. Hiring military discharges gives you brawn but no brains, in terms of co

“Discounting the Pentagon.”

“Knowing someone in the Pentagon doesn’t tell you who you can trust in the NYPD to get your guy across town safely.”

“But nothing bad? Roger, I mean. Does he have a reputation?”

“As a ladies’ man? A drinker? A gambler? Not that I’ve heard, no. But he’s in that upper echelon of power brokers, and, from what I’ve learned, they all dip their toes in that water, whether they’re known for it or not.”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Over here,” he said. She crossed the room and studied where he was pointing. Four pushpins framed an empty space on the wall. Three more pushpins were on the floor. They’d missed those pins the first time around, something neither mentioned but both were thinking.

Fiona readied her camera, changing some settings.

“Something was pi

“Money?” she said.

“If I had to guess, I’d say maybe a map. A topo map.”

“Don’t you have to guess?” she asked.

“As little as possible,” he answered. “Those numbers on it will help us identify it.”

The cabin was constructed of three-sided logs, with the milled face on the interior. Walt pointed out three distinct pinholes at the center of the four others, which, to him, represented corners. He told her he wanted a lot of coverage on these, including a way to reconstruct it to scale.

He pocketed the torn corner of paper, protecting it in an evidence bag, and left her to work.

They were thirty minutes into it when Walt stomped his foot down onto the area rug in the small bathroom. His ear had picked up a difference in sound and it did so again. His thumping brought a curious Fiona. He peeled back the area rug, which was tacked on one end but loose on the other.

It covered a hatch that had a recessed handle carved out of the top. He pulled out the Beretta for good measure, signaled Fiona to step back, and yanked it open. His penlight led the way as he climbed down into the dark. He found a light switch, and a compact fluorescent glowed.

It was a small, square space, eight feet by eight feet-two sheets of plywood on each wall. It had been dug into the earth but was built only with wood, not concrete.

Mark had installed the equipment for solar power down here: an inverter, a battery bank. There was a French-made instant-hot-water device, an air pressure tank, and a composting toilet that smelled of peat moss. And two lawn chairs. A portable radio. Five-gallon jugs of spring water. A variety of freeze-dried foods. A camp stove. Two sleeping bags-though not enough room to unroll them.

Steep ladder steps led down, ending near the battery bank.

Fiona clicked off several shots by lying down on the floor above. “A safe room?” she asked.

“Looks that way. Not originally, of course. But he’d made it into one. Check out the bolt,” he said, indicating the open hatch.

She photographed the three large steel bolts on the underside of the hatch, making note of the steel plating that had been installed on not just the hatch but across most of the ceiling of the room.

“Jesus,” she said. “Built for an invasion.”

“Francine could have been down here,” Walt said, noticing a partially eaten protein bar.

“When?” Fiona asked.

“When Tommy and I arrived. I never had time to look around. Tommy was shot and… the shooter… And we both took off. Shit! Francine could have been down here the whole time.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I fucked up,” he said.

“Your deputy was shot.”

She was making excuses for him and he didn’t like that.

“It’s pretty crowded down here. Let me get out, and then why don’t you take pictures of everything you can?”

“Everything?”

“Cover it. I’m going to alert the Challis deputies to be looking for a set of tracks leaving the area. If Francine was here, she’s gone now. She’s had several hours’ head start.”

“But why would she take off?” Fiona asked.

“It’s bulletproof; it’s not soundproof. It’s conceivable she heard her husband go down. Heard someone take him away. Can you imagine that? Then we arrive. More shooting. I’d have taken off too.”

“God…” she said.

“Work it like the crime scene it is,” he instructed, as he climbed out of the space.

She was lying on her stomach on the floor above as Walt climbed the ladder. When they were face-to-face, Walt paused, and, for a moment, they both just stared. “Hillabrand does have a reputation,” he said, in more of a whisper. “He’s supposedly a good guy, someone who doesn’t throw his weight around and who gives back to the community, which is more than you can say for most of the people up there in his income bracket. The Semper Group does billions a year.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.” Her breath smelled sweet, like chocolate.

LEAVING HIS CHEROKEE for Brandon to use, Walt rode with Fiona. The long drive through Stanley and back over Galena Pass forced the memory of Randy Aker’s broken corpse back on him, as they passed the turnout where the tire tracks had been found. Twice he caught himself falling asleep but woke up, despite Fiona’s encouraging him to rest.

She dropped him at his house.

Lisa had been with the girls since the close of school. Nikki had a ru

The clock on Mark Aker’s abduction was ru