Killer View

“Forget about that,” Walt said. He radioed the unit to hold off. The cruiser pulled to the side of the road just as the two pickups drove out of sight. “You saw her?”

“I said I did, didn’t I?” Crabtree sounded irritated, and more nervous than a few minutes earlier. “Walking…on the side of the road…”

“Walking? What road?”

“And I stopped to… you know.”

“Let’s assume I don’t know,” Walt said.

“She got in. But she was fucked-up.”

“You knew this how?”

“Because she was fucked-up. Shit, Sheriff. Fucked-up. You don’t know fucked-up?”

“In what way?”

“High. Real high. Barely recognized me. Barely standing up. That kind of fucked-up. Real fucked-up.”

“Intoxicated.”

“No. More than that. High. Boozed-up, yeah, but fried, you know? Spaced. And I say, ‘Get in,’ and she gets in, like it’s cool. You know? With me. I mean, that’s like totally not happening. And I say, ‘Where to?’ And this is, like, I don’t know, the middle of the fucking night.”

“And she was on which road?” Walt asked.

Crabtree looked as if he’d been slapped. “This road,” he said, pointing. “East Fork. Headed down toward the highway.”

“And you were headed where at that time of night? The middle of the night?”

“I don’t know. Don’t remember. Smokes, I suppose? Mountain View,” he said, referring to a gas station quick stop.

“Okay.”

“And once she’s in the car, you know, I see she’s all messed-up. The dress is toast. Her face looks like shit, like she’s been beaten real bad. Her left tit comes out of the dress and she barely notices. Stuffs it back in and looks over at me with these creeped-out, dead eyes. And now I’m thinking she’s loopy because someone hit her too hard or something. Like my moms used to get…And I’m no longer asking her, ‘Where to?’ I’m booking it for the hospital.”

“You took her to the hospital?”

“I dropped her there, yeah. I thought about taking her in, you know, but what was going to happen to me? I’d be talking to you. The way I am right now. And no one would believe me, just like you don’t believe me. That’s how it is with me. That’s how it always is, so fuck that. I just dropped her. Let her figure it out.”

“You came to my house the other night,” Walt said. “The back door.”

“That wasn’t me.” Spoken too quickly, and with his eyes to the ground.

“Were you thinking about telling me about Kira?”

The boy had tipped. He was bursting to tell all. Wished for a quiet room, other circumstances. But Crabtree looked at the cruiser again and the light went out of his eyes. He fumbled for a cigarette. The moment had passed.

“There are a couple things that need to happen now,” Walt said.

“I promise you, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do shit to her, Sheriff.”

“You don’t have to go down for this. But I need more. Did she say anything to you? A name, maybe?”

Crabtree tightened. He took a long drag off the cigarette, and the smoke disappeared inside him. “You look scared, Taylor. Real scared. Of me? Of the possibility of prison? Or something else?”

It took Crabtree a long time to speak. “Something else.”

“A rape conviction puts you in the sex offender database. It’ll follow you the rest of your life. People will put posters up on telephone poles near your house. They’ll cross the street to avoid you.”

Crabtree twitched at the mention of rape, his eyes narrowing: he hadn’t known. A weight lifted from Walt. A smile slipped across his face, but he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Blah, blah, blah.” Crabtree glanced around again, either afraid to make eye contact with Walt or plotting an escape.

“Don’t try it,” Walt said.

“What?”

“Whatever it is you’re pla

“Are we going to do this or not?” He held out his hands to be cuffed.

“Work with me, Taylor.”

Crabtree looked Walt squarely in the eye. “Fuck you and your posters.”

“Please,” Walt pleaded.

“Do what you gotta do,” said Crabtree.

41

THE TERRAIN ROSE UP THROUGH THE TANGLED FOREST, THE dark bark of the trees like burnt offerings against the sparkling, sun-dappled snow. A snowmobile whined as it followed a game trail, its motor straining, its tread spewing ice and elk scat in its wake. The irritating sound grew fainter as it was swallowed by the landscape.

Along that same route stood a majestic fir tree, battle-scarred from a lightning strike forty years earlier. It was split from the first long-dead limb to its four-foot-diameter base. While half the tree had died as a result of the strike, new growth extended up the other half, with gnarly, tightly grouped branches, scarred with veins of charcoal, ru

Forcing his way through the split in the tree, he’d fallen into the cavity, two feet below the snow’s surface, and onto a bed of leaves. Aker had burrowed down into the leaves, using them as both insulation and camouflage. He passed the coldest hours of the night drifting in and out of sleep, knees to the chest. The buzz of the snowmobile woke him, steadily approaching like a nagging insect. As it tore past his hiding place, he realized that at least for now he was safe. And, though he was regaining strength, if he hoped to save his feet from frostbite, he would have to get moving soon. At some point, he’d have to leave the game trail for deeper snow, even though it would create a path for his captors to follow.

He waited over forty-five minutes for the return of the snowmobile, sunlight blazing on the very tips of the trees he could partially see through. Coats had stripped him of his watch, but he was guessing it was late morning or early afternoon. The horrid machine came back more slowly than it had gone out, Gearbox no doubt at the controls and paying closer attention, attempting to track him. Aker hoped he’d done his job well enough; and when the snowmobile’s whine grew faint, he allowed himself to relax and plan his next move.

42

WALT WAS REELING WITH REGRET WHEN HE TURNED CRABTREE over to booking. The kid was eighteen now; Walt could no longer protect his record.

He ate a muffin to settle his stomach, but the lukewarm coffee chaser only added to his discomfort. Among his many phone messages were several he found impossible to ignore: a pair from Congressman McMillian, inquiring about Walt’s participation in the national law enforcement conference, and another from James Peavy. He couldn’t ignore them. He was an elected official; he needed both the support of his party and his party leadership, especially given that it was an election year.

“McMillian first?” Nancy asked him.

“Let’s hold off on that. Any word from the people out at the INL?” The possibility of radioactive water had led Walt to the obvious call: the Idaho Nuclear Laboratory, a facility covering nine hundred square miles in the center of the state and containing over thirty active or retired reactors.

“I’ve called a couple different people out there. They’ve all refused appointments. They were polite enough about it. But I get the feeling it’s not going to happen.”

“Okay, one more time: get me the director out there.”

“Now?”

“Now.” Walt stood there while Nancy made the call. She was put on hold several times before she eventually thanked someone and hung up. “Unavailable. He’ll return the call when he’s free.”

Walt considered the situation. The smart move would have been for them to take the meetings and calls and issue a string of denials. By refusing him, it implied they needed time to coordinate their denials, and that seemed to him the most advantageous time to strike. “Get hold of Fiona. Find out if she’s available for me later today. It may involve night photography, so tell her to bring the appropriate gear, and tell her to dress warmly.”