Mountain Rampage (12 page)

“I know,” he admitted. He steered the truck with one hand, trailing the taillights of the field school van as Clarence led the way. “It's just, things are moving so fast. I'm thinking of stuff and making decisions on the fly.”

“You know how much I like your independent streak,” she said, softening. “I appreciate the breathing room we give each other—just not too much, you got it? We're a family now—you,
me, the girls. I know it's a balancing act, but you have to understand what that means.”

Back at the cabin, he hosed off his pack and set it in the bed of the truck to dry, stripped off his filthy clothes and shoved them out of sight beneath the deck, and went inside for a shower. He was so tired by the time he crawled into bed that it was all he could do to kiss Janelle's exposed ear, her head buried in her pillow, before collapsing. He fell asleep within seconds.

His eyes sprang open at the buzz of an incoming text. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and squeezed it in his hand beneath his pillow, stifling its vibration. He lifted his head to check on Janelle, who shifted position beneath the covers, but didn't wake up.

He slid the phone into view. Less than an hour had passed since he'd fallen asleep. The text message was from Clarence:
Noises outside between the dorms
.

Chuck slipped out of bed, eased the dresser drawers open to grab a fresh flannel shirt and pair of jeans, and crept downstairs and out the front door. He dressed on the deck and set off for Raven House on foot, lighting the way ahead with his phone.

He stuck his phone in his pocket when he left the shadowed woods at the bottom of the drive. The moon, now high in the sky, provided plenty of light out in the open. He rounded the conference center and crossed the fields in the middle of the resort, aiming for the swath of buffalo grass between Falcon House and Raven House.

He slowed as he angled between the buildings, choosing his steps with care. The windows were dark, most curtains drawn. Clarence's face was visible behind the screen in the open window of his unlit, second-story room.

Any more sounds?
Chuck texted him.

Clarence's face turned downward as he texted his reply.
No.

Chuck pointed toward the rear of the dorms and texted,
This way?

Again Clarence's head dipped.
Yes
.

Chuck set off for the woods behind the dorms. He breathed through his mouth to accentuate his hearing as he stepped onto the paved path connecting Raven House and Falcon House with the single-story dining hall that served the residents of both dormitories. A thick stand of trees stretched around the cafeteria on three sides. Beyond the dining hall, the forest continued up and out of the valley and on into the national park to the west.

He peered up the slope into the darkness. Somewhere in the trees above, a twig snapped. He turned his head, listening. A pair of whispering voices reached him, then went silent.

He stood, unmoving, for long, agonizing seconds. Had what he thought were whispers merely been the night breeze sifting through the trees? Perhaps. But the snap of the twig had been real.

He reached for his phone, thinking to shine its light into the trees in hopes of seeing—what? As he pulled his phone from his pocket, a blood-curdling shriek came from uphill in the forest, directly in front of him.

S
EVENTEEN

The shriek cut off abruptly. Chuck charged off the sidewalk and up the slope into the woods. Before he could click on his phone light, an outstretched tree branch, invisible in the darkness, gouged his arm.

He spun away from the branch and fell to his knees. Scrambling to his feet, he turned on his light, illuminating the few feet ahead of him.

“Who's there?” he cried out.

He turned off the light and stood, panting, just inside the line of trees at the edge of the forest. The night air smelled of dust and pine. Moonlight broke through the trees, speckling the forest floor with gray.

He stilled his breathing. A faint moan reached him from up the slope, then the sound of crunching pine needles as someone, invisible in the darkness, ran away.

Chuck turned his phone light back on. Its beam penetrated the gloom, lighting only the immediate forest around him. He sprinted uphill, swerving around bushes and dodging tree trunks. He paused after fifty feet and swung his light in a circle.

The crackling footfalls of the retreating person came from far up the slope. Another moan sounded in the darkness nearby, to Chuck's left. He hurried toward the sound. Within ten yards, a pair of feet shod in white canvas tennis shoes, toes pointing upward, appeared at the edge of his phone's small circle of light. He swept the beam up a pair of bare legs.

He ran to the prostrate body. In the light of his phone, he recognized Nicoleta, one of the international workers from Falcon House, a cashier in the Lodge of the Rockies snack bar from whom he'd bought treats with Carmelita and Rosie on several occasions.

Nicoleta lay on her back, her arms flung wide as if attempting
to grip the sloping earth. She wore tight denim shorts and a red-and-white blouse. No—her blouse was white, but drenched with blood.

Chuck dropped to his knees and scanned Nicoleta's body with his light. A leering red slash ran from ear to ear beneath her chin. She'd been knifed or, perhaps, garroted. Whichever the case, her neck was cut so deeply that her head was nearly severed from her torso. Blood coursed from her wound, spreading into the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor and seeping downhill.

Chuck gagged, nearly vomiting. He reached for Nicoleta but paused, his hand outstretched, unsure where or how to help her.

Her entire body shuddered. She moaned again, producing little more than a wet, gurgling sound that came from her slashed throat rather than her mouth.

Still holding his light, Chuck lifted the back of Nicoleta's head with his free hand, attempting to close the grievous wound at her neck. The young woman looked blankly up at him before her eyes closed. He dropped his phone and took one of her hands in his, her palm slippery with blood. She exhaled a long, raspy breath from her severed windpipe and lay still.

He rested her head on the ground and retrieved his light. He put his fingers to her neck above and below the slash but found no pulse. She did not take another breath.

Chuck stared at the gaping wound on the young woman's neck. No amount of chest compressions would be of any use. There was nothing he could do. Nicoleta was dead.

He smoothed her dark hair, tucked her arms beside her body. He sat back, teetering on his haunches. The blue-white beam of another phone light bobbed up the slope toward him through the trees.

“This way,” he called out, his voice shaking.

Clarence spoke from behind the bouncing light. “Chuck.
What the hell?”

“Clarence,” Chuck replied dully. “Clarence,” he repeated.

Chuck turned Nicoleta's head gently to one side. No bruises discolored the china-white skin of her face. Save for the wound at her neck, she appeared asleep.

Clarence stopped at Chuck's side. His phone light joined Chuck's in illuminating Nicoleta's still form.

“
Dios mio
,” Clarence breathed, standing over Chuck.

“911,” Chuck said. “Call 911.” His brain kicked in before Clarence could dial. “No,” he corrected himself. “Don't. You're not here. You can't be here.”

Chuck punched the emergency number into his own blood-smeared phone and spoke to the dispatcher as if by rote, giving basic details, setting things in motion. He ended the call.

Clarence stumbled off into the darkness. He leaned against a tree, his head hanging. After a moment, he returned to stand over Nicoleta. “She's dead? You're sure?”

“Yes. I watched her as she…as she…there was nothing I could do.” Acid burned in Chuck's throat. He fought for control. “Tell me what you heard down by the dorms. Be exact. I'll tell the police when they get here.”

His phone buzzed in his hand—the dispatcher calling him back. He didn't answer.

Clarence kept his eyes on Nicoleta while he spoke. “Somebody was arguing. They were behind the dorms. I was sleeping light, believe me.”

“What did you see?”

“The two of them on the walkway.”

“What did they look like?”

“I couldn't see much in the darkness.”

“Was there a struggle?”

“They were pretty fired up, I could tell that much. So I texted you. But then the argument ended. It got real quiet and they
headed up into the trees.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“No. I almost texted you again to tell you not to come. I mean, they made up. But the argument was different somehow.”

“Different?”

“It didn't feel right, like it was something more than just a lovers' quarrel. I'm not sure how to explain it.”

“And after they argued, they headed into the forest?”

“Which is where she screamed…and he killed her.”

“That would explain what didn't sound right about the argument: you heard the murderer make up his mind—you heard him decide what he was going to do.”

“Yeah,” Clarence said, sounding far from certain. “Something like that. Assuming it was even a ‘he' that I heard.”

The wail of sirens rose in the distance. Voices murmured at the edge of the forest as others—alerted, no doubt, by Nicoleta's scream—gathered behind the dorms.

Chuck looked down the slope through the trees, where beams of light were headed toward them. “You have to go,” he told Clarence. “Loop around and get back to Raven House.”

“Why can't we tell the truth?” Clarence begged, a deep-seated ache in his voice. “I can let them know what I heard, what I saw.”

Chuck weighed the pain in Clarence's voice. He aimed his phone light at Clarence's face. “You knew her, didn't you?”

Clarence stared into the light, bug-eyed. “Wh-what?” he stammered.

Chuck clamped his jaw around each word: “Did…you…know…her?”

Clarence licked his lips. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light. “Yeah,” he admitted, speaking softly, almost to himself. “I knew her.”

W
EDNESDAY

E
IGHTEEN

Chuck groaned.

“It was early on,” Clarence said. “The start of summer.” His eyes strayed to Nicoleta and his voice broke. “Just a couple of times.”

Chuck turned his light back to the young woman. His head pounded. The lights climbing through the forest from the dorms were drawing closer. “Go,” he told Clarence without looking up from Nicoleta.

Clarence didn't move.

“
Now
,” Chuck said.

Clarence didn't speak. He turned off his light and scurried across the slope, disappearing into the darkness.

Chuck rested his hand on Nicoleta's forearm. It was still warm to the touch. He aimed his light down the slope to find that the first of those making their way up the slope were two young women from Falcon House. Before they reached Nicoleta, Chuck rose and walked down the hill to meet them.

“We have to leave this to the police,” he told them, his arms out to keep them back.

The young women held up their phones, lighting the body sprawled on the ground twenty feet away from them. They clung to one another and sank, sobbing, to the ground.

Kirina arrived seconds later, accompanied by more Falcon House residents.

“I told the students to stay inside,” she said.

She tried to push past Chuck, but he stopped her. “The best
thing we can do for her now is let the police do their work.”

A pair of paramedics arrived, flashlights and equipment boxes in hand. The emergency lights on the roof of their ambulance flashed through the trees from the parking lot in front of the dormitories. They rushed past Chuck and knelt on either side of Nicoleta's body, ignoring his pleas that they, too, wait for the police. The paramedics were still crouched over her a few minutes later when two uniformed police officers hurried past Chuck and joined them.

The younger of the two officers took one look at Nicoleta and backed away, a hand pressed to his mouth. The older one, gray hair showing beneath his cap, bent over the kneeling paramedics and conferred quietly with them. He turned and addressed the gathered group, his voice deep and authoritative. “I want to talk to whoever found this young woman. Everybody else, show's over. I need you to head back to your rooms.”

Kirina and the residents from Falcon House took a last look at Nicoleta lying motionless on the ground between the paramedics before peeling away and returning down the slope in ones and twos.

Chuck stepped forward. “I found her.”

“Don't go anywhere,” the older officer said. “We'll want a statement from you.”

“Of course.”

Parker arrived with Officer Hemphill and more police officers a few minutes later. Parker wore jeans and his blue Y of the Rockies shirt. Hemphill was in uniform, his pants sagging where he'd missed a belt loop on one side.