Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (313 page)

“We’re going in circles!”

Jethro nodded gravely. “She is disoriented. Sometimes she moves fast, sometimes slowly. This is the pattern of someone without a plan. Panicking. I think she has no map or compass. After a while, these hills and trees all look the same.”

“She may have nothing,” Green said. “Not even food or water.”

“Water is easy. As for food, there are berries.”

“She won’t eat berries!” Green said. “She’s a city girl. Berries come in a plastic box from the supermarket.”

Jethro picked up a willow branch that draped over the trail. Its end was cut cleanly through. “She’s eating these, and she’s got a sharp knife. Trust your daughter, Mike. I’ve seen this before. People have an instinct to survive. Her actions tell me she’s exhausted. She will find a stream and she will make a bed for the night. In the morning, she will make a plan.” He smiled. “Even a city girl knows the sun rises in the east.”

At 10:00 p.m. that evening, just as the shadows were deepening across the valley floor, they came across a pile of flattened willow and spruce branches at the edge of the creek. “This is where she bedded down for the night,” Jethro said. He was optimistic, even smiling as he pointed out that she still had the presence of mind to prepare a primitive shelter rather than collapsing without care. No fire, but possibly she had no matches.

The foursome pitched their tents hastily, cooked dinner, and curled up for the night. “We’ve almost got her,” were Jethro’s last words. “Tomorrow, at 5:00 a.m., we go on.”

That night, while the others snored, Green drifted in and out of sleep, his ears sifting the night sounds — the gurgle of the stream, the howling of the wolves — for the scream of a terrified girl. There were two wolves close by, possibly watching from the hillside above the campsite. They were just curious, Elliot had assured him. But Green pictured them circling slowly, heads lowered, eyes gleaming. Hunting for prey. Looking for weakness. He shivered and wrapped his sleeping bag more tightly around him. Forced his thoughts away from Hannah, huddling in some makeshift bed of willow boughs, listening too.

When the first shafts of sunlight struck the mountain peaks to the west, he crawled out of bed. He took his binoculars, satellite phone, and bear horn, and climbed up the rocky hillside. When he reached the summit, the distant ridges were ablaze in amber light. He searched. Cupped his hands and called. Nothing.

Why didn’t she answer? If she was only a couple of kilometres away, as Jethro believed, why didn’t she hear him?

He felt an overwhelming need to reach out. Hunkering down, he phoned Sharon, who would be awake with Tony by now. He imagined them in the kitchen, Sharon propped awake over coffee, Modo hovering underfoot for scraps, and Tony chattering away about his latest fascination. Was it still airplanes, or had he moved on?

Sharon answered on the fourth ring, sounding foggy with fatigue.

“Oh, honey, did I wake you?”

“No.” She gave her wry chuckle. “Our children have already accomplished that. Any news?”

“We’re very close. We should find her tomorrow.” He skimmed over Scott’s death, Hannah’s frightened flight, and the wide open wilderness in which she was lost. “I just wanted to touch base. See how you are.”

“I’m fine, Mike. I will be fine, no matter what.”

“What do you mean, no matter what?”

“Nothing.”

“Sharon, is something wrong?”

“No, honey. Aviva just seems to be in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.”

“You mean …?” What the hell
did
she mean?

“Nothing. She seems impatient, that’s all. Of course, what else? She’s your daughter. She’s not going to make things easy.”

“But are you all right? Is
she
all right?”

“We’re fine. I’m resting. I’m keeping my feet up. And whatever will be, I’ll manage.”

“She’s not due for two months!”

“And we’ll try to hold her to that, but you may be in for a bit of a surprise when you come home.”

He gripped the phone. “I don’t want to miss the birth.”

Sharon laughed. “She may not give you any say.”

He stared out over eternity, unseeing. Oh my God, please, God, no more. How much was Sharon holding back, to spare him the added worry? She was laughing now, the fatigue gone from her voice as she talked about the daily trivia of family. She spoke no more of premature birth, stubborn babies, or surprises. Before she hung up, she promised to phone him if there were any developments, but he didn’t believe her. Like Hannah, Sharon would tell him only what she thought he needed to hear.

He rested his head in his hands, breathed deeply, and offered a mute prayer for the lives of all the women he loved. To whom, he didn’t know. Perhaps just to Jethro’s spirits that controlled this vast, open, sunlit land. If there was any way to reach those spirits, or his own austere, unattainable God, it was here.

When he raised his head again the first fingers of dawn were touching the hillside, glistening off the dew and burnishing the grey rocks with gold. It felt almost like an omen, a ray of hope in the bleak days he had endured. Further up the slope a huge boulder clung precariously to the edge of the slope, a perfect vantage point from which to watch the sun spread across the valley. As he climbed closer, he could see unusual scoring on its face, set into relief by the slanting light. Closer still, he froze.

It was a message, scratched into the surface of the rock by a ragged, uneven hand.

To Dad, Mum, Sharon, EB, and sister-to-be, I hope someone finds this and lets you know. Luv you, sorry Dad …

The final words blurred in the searing pain that filled his eyes. He sank to the ground, his head in his hands. For a moment all thought, all strength, deserted him. Is this your omen, God? Is this your answer? Then he raised his head and ran his trembling fingertips over the stone. Touched where she had touched.

“We’re going to find you, my little girl. No fucking way this land is claiming you.”

Back down at the campsite, Elliott was brewing coffee. His eyes rested on Green’s thoughtfully for a moment, but he said nothing. Waving off the coffee, Green began to pack up his things. As he packed, he told them about her etching.

“We’re going. We’ll eat on the trail. She’s near the end of her rope.”

Wisely, no one protested. He led them to the rock, where Tatso eagerly picked up the trail down the slope. As they hurried to keep up with her, Elliott fell into step beside Green.

“Who’s EB?”

“Energizer bunny. My son.”

“Your wife’s pregnant?”

Green nodded. “It’s a girl. Aviva. Hannah’s been so excited.” It was one of the means by which he had hoped to lure her home. Hannah had grown up alone most of her life. She’d only had her brother in her life for three years, since she’d reconnected with Green, and she was thrilled at the prospect of a sister. She’d threatened to teach her everything she knew about being a girl. Green had shuddered in mock horror at the thought.

Now he’d give anything for that.

As they walked they took turns calling, to no avail. But the silence slowly filled with a sibilant murmur, which grew louder when they crested yet another hill. Below them, in the distance through the trees, shone the sparkle of water. High over the water a bald eagle surfed the wind in search of fish.

With fresh excitement they rushed forward until the wide flood plain of the river became visible through the trees. A broad, flat stretch of willows and marsh, followed by acres of river stone beach before the river itself. Broad, meandering, and deceptively peaceful in the misty sun.

“That’s the Little Nahanni,” said Elliott. Smiling, he took out his binoculars. “I’ve never approached it from here. Beautiful.”

“But she can’t get across it?” Green asked.

When Elliott shook his head, Green’s hopes surged. “Then we’ll find her.”

Elliott didn’t answer. He stiffened suddenly and adjusted his binoculars. “I see movement.”

Green and Sullivan both pulled out their binoculars. “Where?”

“On the shore. Wait.” Elliott continued to stare. “See that big boulder on the other side of the river? Look across to this side and to the right a bit, maybe twenty feet. Through that gap in the trees.”

Green could see nothing but a blur of green and blue. The water shimmered, the branches swayed in the gentle river breeze. Nothing. Nothing!

“Is it a person?” he asked in frustration.

“Yes. Wearing a red jacket.” Elliott pointed. “Look, they’re running.”

Sullivan’s binoculars were riveted to the spot. “Looks like they’re trying to get across.”

“Suicide,” Elliott muttered. “It may look placid but the current’s too strong.”

“Hannah!” Green shouted, plunging headlong down the hill. They were still hundreds of yard away, but he had to try. “Hannah! Stop!”

He could hear the others pounding through the bush behind him, but he had only one thought. To save her. They reached the treeline and were swallowed in the dense willow brush. Holding his arms out to break a path, he stumbled on. Dodged around trunks, tripped over roots, ignored the long, thin branches whipping his face. He couldn’t see the river any more, but above the snapping of branches and the rasp of their breathing, he could hear its hiss.

Finally a glimpse of water through the brush, much closer now. Shrubs and marsh. Mud sucked at his boots. He floundered and fell. Scrambling to his feet, he unsnapped his backpack and threw it to the ground. Saw the figure at last. A small red shape splashing along the edge of the gravel bar. Still too far! Miles of muddy marsh stretched between him and the river.

He clambered out of the mud onto a small knoll. Panting, his heart bursting his chest. “Hannah! It’s Dad!” He waved his arms above his head.

The figure turned back. Saw him, then wheeled and began to run.

“No!” he screamed. What the hell? Was it Hannah? Or someone else? Who?

As he shouted, the others came up behind him. They watched the figure disappear around the bend.

“She ran away,” Green cried. “Damnit! Why?”

“If it is her,” Sullivan added.

Jethro looked worried. “She’s not rational. She’s operating in full flight mode.”

“And if she tries to cross the river …” said Elliott.

“Don’t even think it!” Green snapped. “How do we get across this swamp? How do we reach her?”

As they searched the riverbank downstream, new movement flashed through the trees. Weaving in and out. Grey blending with rock. Another figure, running in the same direction as the first.

Chapter Twenty-Three

 “N
o time!” Green shouted as Sullivan swung his pack from his back and fished his phone out. Stubbornly Sullivan shook his head, muttering something about backup. Green turned away. The figures had vanished from sight, but he plunged diagonally through the alder bushes in the direction they had headed.

He slipped, tripped, flailed, and cursed as his hiking boots squelched in the mud and his lungs burst for air. For each hard-fought yard of advancement, the shoreline seemed to recede by two. The copse of trees where the figures had disappeared seemed as far away as ever, the river bobbing and hissing as it swept toward the bend.

On the horizon far upriver, three tiny dots appeared. Bucking down the ribbon of water with the buzz of a hornet, leaving a widening ripple of white in their wakes. Green halted in surprise. Behind him, he heard Sullivan swearing at the phone as he tried in vain to raise a signal. On the river, the three objects drew closer and the buzzing louder, until Green realized what they were.

Zodiacs! Ploughing through the current under the power of a small outboard motor. One figure steered in the stern while the other leaned out over the bow with binoculars.

“Hey!” He rushed forward, sucked down by willows and reeds and mud. “Hey!”

The lead boat slowed. The driver paused, hand on the throttle, glanced in Green’s direction, and waved. The boats were drawing directly opposite now, but still too far away to make out any features.

“Wait!” Green flailed his arms and quickened his pace. The lead driver signalled ahead down the river and turned the throttle back up. Cursing, Green glanced back at the others. Sullivan had given up on the phone and both he and Elliott had their binoculars trained on the river. Green could barely make out a logo on the side of the boats.

“They’re from the mine up the river,” Elliott shouted over the noise. “That’s their company logo on the boats.”

Sullivan was shaking his head. “I think they’re cops.”

Green couldn’t see how anything could be gleaned from the figures, who were concealed from head to toe in helmets and bulky orange life jackets. The first two boats had disappeared around the bend and the last was fast approaching it. Soon nothing was left but the ribbons of wake on the grey water and the hum of distant engines in the air.

Green fumed as he waited for the others to catch up. “They saw us! They fucking saw us and blew us off! We could have been in trouble or —”

“They were in a hurry,” Sullivan said. “Whatever they’re up to, it’s a higher priority than us.”

Green took a deep breath to rein in his temper. He was tired and frightened, but he needed to think like a cop. He turned to Sullivan. “What makes you think they’re police?”

“Instinct?” Sullivan said. “They were searching for something, but very methodical. Moving fast but efficiently like a trained team. One guy steering, the other scouting.” As if he read the doubt on Green’s face, he shrugged. “Pretty professional for a bunch of miners.”

“Mining companies often hire ex-military and ex-cops to run security,” Elliott said.

Green felt himself go cold. The lure of a mine had drawn them all into this wilderness, cost two young men their lives, and now put his frightened daughter at risk. “We’ve got to get moving!” was all he said as he surged toward the river. Once they had reached the gravel flat he broke into a run. Sounds filled his ears — the crunch of boots on stone, the ragged hiss of his own breath — but nothing else. No shouts, no screams for help.