Nowhere to Run (26 page)

Farkus heard the rapid thumping of footfalls and saw a flash of spindly movement from the other side of the rim and then a full set of antlers. The big five-point buck mule deer with a satellite phone wired to its antlers came lurching up over the side in a dead run.

Parnell and Smith turned it into hamburger.

“WE DIDN’T KNOW DIANE WAS MISSING UNTIL SHE’D BEEN gone for four days,” Jenna Shober said in a low, soft voice rubbed raw with sandpaper from two years of crying. “Can you imagine that?”

“No,” Joe said.

They were in the living room. He assumed she’d head back to his office but she only made it as far as the couch. She’d folded into the far corner of it with her back against the armrest and her hands clamped tightly between her legs. Her head was tilted slightly forward, so when she talked to Joe she had to look up. But she spent most of the time staring at her knees, recalling what happened from a script so obviously seared into her being that at times she seemed to be reading from it.

“If we’d known right away—even a day after—we could have done something,” she said. “Brent would have done everything in the world to find her. She couldn’t have been that far from the trailhead in just one day—only as far as she could run. So at least we would have had a known radius where to look. She usually ran four miles in and four miles out—eight total. Sometimes when she was in hard training, she’d double that. But because the trials were just a month away, her training schedule was pretty regular and eight miles total would have been about right. She loved to run in the mountains. She’d rather run in the mountains than in the best facilities in the world.

“She started her last run on a Tuesday. We didn’t find out she was missing until Friday night, when her fiancé finally called.”

“Tell me about him,” Joe said.

She looked up. “His name is Justin LeForge. He’s a triathlete, one of the best. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him or not. He’s placed in the top three at the Hawaiian Ironman, and he won a big race in Nice, France, and the Wildflower in California.”

Joe shook his head. “I’m not familiar with triathlons, sorry.”

She continued, “Anyway, Justin and Diane seemed like the perfect couple. They were beautiful—thin, fit, athletic, attractive. Ken and Barbie in track clothes, one of my friends said. A little odd when it came to politics and worldview, but young people can be like that. They met down in Colorado Springs at the Olympic Training Center. Brent thought Justin was the greatest, and he bragged constantly about his future son-in-law. But everything wasn’t as it seemed.”

Joe said, “What do you mean when you say they had odd political beliefs?”

She laughed a dry laugh. “They were certainly counter to her father’s, for one. Brent has always been very involved politically. We give a lot of money to candidates, and as a big developer he is used to being, um, close with them. There’s a lot of federal money these days, you know. It has to go to somebody, is the way Brent puts it, so it might as well be him. Anyway, Justin was a big fan of that writer Ayn Rand. You know her?”

Joe said, “I read
Atlas Shrugged
in college. It was pretty good until that last speech. I never could finish it because of that ninety-page speech at the end.”

“Justin said he was an Objectivist, like Ayn Rand. You know, staunch capitalism, anti-big government. Lots of kids go through that.”

Joe nodded, urging her on.

“Justin and Brent butted heads a few times, and Diane was right there in the thick of it. I always wondered how much of her new philosophy she truly held and how much was because of Justin. And how much of it was simple rebellion, mainly against her dad. They’re both strong-willed people, Brent and Diane. The funny thing is Justin is just as bullheaded as Brent, but Diane never seemed to see the similarity.

“They were selfish, both of them. Part of it came from Objectivism, I guess. I’ve never been around two people more self-absorbed than my daughter and her fiancé. They lived in the same house but they never really
lived
together, if you know what I mean. She did her thing and he did his. It was all about running, working out, eating food as fuel. It was all about their bodies—how they looked, how they could trim a second off their best time. They looked at their friends, relatives, families—and the rest of the world—as their support team. I used to complain about it, how Diane would only talk about herself when she called and never ask about her brother or sister or me, but Brent just sloughed it off and said that’s how athletes had to be when they reached a certain level. And as you could see, Brent is a little like that.”

Joe said, “Back to the four days between her disappearance and you finding out about it.”

“Oh,” she said, squirming farther back into the couch, making herself smaller. “I’m sorry. I went on a tangent.”

“It’s okay,” he said, stealing a look at his wristwatch and deciding:
Pizza tonight
. Delivered.

“Well, as I said, we didn’t hear from Justin until Friday night. It was a maddening conversation. He said he didn’t have much time to talk because he had to catch a flight for a race in Hawaii. It was like, ‘By the way, I’m not sure where Diane is. I haven’t seen her since Tuesday. Gotta go, wish me luck.’ ”

“Man,” Joe said, sitting back.

“That’s how he was. That’s how he still is. Cold as a fish.”

“How did he explain it?”

“He didn’t, really. He said she’d left him a note Tuesday morning saying she was going to drive north of Steamboat Springs and go for a run in the mountains. This in itself wasn’t unusual. Her car was gone, of course. Later, much later, he said he figured she decided to get a room in Steamboat and use it as her base to train from for a few days. He said they’d been fighting and she probably needed a little time away, that it had happened before and it was no big deal. Can you imagine that?”

“No,” Joe said, deciding if he ever met Justin LeForge he’d smack him in the mouth.

“That’s when Brent contacted the authorities. We didn’t have much to go on, and you can imagine how angry and scared we were. At the time, we didn’t even know which mountains or in which
state
. On Monday, the sheriff in Walden, Colorado, got a report that her Subaru was reported at a trailhead across the border in Wyoming. That’s when things finally started to happen. Search-and-rescue teams, helicopters, news alerts, all of it.”

Joe nodded. “I was on the search team.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “A lot of good men and women spent days trying to find her. But by that time, she’d been gone over a week. All I could think about was that she’d fallen and broken her leg and was waiting for help that never came. I was terrified she was suffering up there somewhere. I was horrified that she wouldn’t be found at all or that her body would be found. I can’t even tell you how awful that week was. Or how everything is coming back now.”

Joe said, “About Justin . . .”

She waved her hand. “I know what you’re probably thinking—that maybe he had something to do with it. We did, too, eventually. Especially when he just stopped caring and calling. But according to the police, his alibi was airtight. He was training all Tuesday and Wednesday with his coaches. The note she left him was in her handwriting. When my husband hired Bobby to investigate, the first thing we asked him to do was to check out Justin’s alibi. But Bobby said there was no doubt Justin’s story held. In fact, Justin found a girl—another runner—who testified Justin was with her from Tuesday through Thursday. He was cheating on my daughter, Mr. Pickett.”

She looked at her hands. “I no longer suspect Justin, even though I despise him. He just didn’t care. And as tough as it was for me to accept, I realized he didn’t care enough about Diane to hurt her. She really meant nothing to him. He’s got a new girlfriend now, and he’s moved from Colorado. We haven’t heard anything from him in months, although I still follow his races on the Internet. When Bobby told us about your statement, Brent called him on his cell phone and left a message that there might be some new information. Justin hasn’t returned the call.”

Joe sighed. Her pain gave him a knot in his stomach. That his report had given her a glimmer of hope made his palms cold.

She looked up. “I hope you can forgive my husband for the way he acted earlier. If there is such a thing as being obsessed to the point of insanity, that pretty much describes Brent now. I’m watching him fall apart in front of my eyes. Sometimes, I think it would be better if some hunter found her bones. At least then it would be over. If the news didn’t kill him, he might finally be able to recover. But this not knowing . . .” She let the sentence trail off.

“It’s been
so
hard on Brent,” she said suddenly. “He worshipped his daughter, even though she distanced herself from him in the end.”

Joe thought about that.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and Sheridan flew inside the house, running straight for her bedroom. Joe looked outside and saw her pickup truck in the driveway with the door open and the motor running.

“Crap!” Sheridan said, seeing Joe and Jenna Shober. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were there.”

“What’s up?” Joe asked.

“I forgot my basketball shoes,” she said. “I’ve got to get them and go. Practice starts in ten minutes. Sorry.”

With that, she ran into her room and ran out with the shoes. “Sorry to interrupt,” she called out over her shoulder. “See you later, Dad.”

“See you later,” Joe said, even though Sheridan had shut the door and jumped back into her truck.

“She’s pretty,” Jenna said.

“Thank you,” Joe said, distracted.

Jenna reached out and squeezed Joe’s hand. “Hold on to her tight,” she said. “Don’t let her go.”

Joe knew what she was thinking. The same thing
he
was thinking.

 

SHE TOOK out a large envelope from her purse. “We meant to show you these things earlier,” she said. “But things got heated and Brent forgot. These days, he gets so wrapped up in the
how
that he forgets about the
why
. He just assumed you’d jump up and go find our daughter. When you didn’t, he lost it and forgot about the envelope. When we got to the motel, I slipped it into my purse and lied about going shopping. Brent would never have approved of me coming here myself to talk with you.”

Joe nodded, still dumbstruck from seeing Sheridan and imagining what it would be like if she left one day and never came back. He paid polite attention to a postcard she handed to him.

“This was sent to our Michigan address a year ago,” she said.

The card was a generic COLORFUL COLORADO postcard with faded images of Pikes Peak, the Maroon Bells, a skier turning down a slope, and the Denver skyline. He flipped it over. It was postmarked from Walden, Colorado, but over the border.

The handwriting was crimped and severe, as if the author had struggled with the words. He guessed the sender was male.

 

Jenna:

It was signed,
A Friend
.

Joe handed the card back. “Any idea who sent it?”

“No. But it gives me hope.”

He kept his voice soft. “Her disappearance wasn’t a secret. I mean, anyone could have sent this to you. It could be a cruel hoax, or it could be someone well-meaning trying to ease your pain.”

She looked down. “I know that. But I want to think it’s real.”

A moment went by as Joe tried to form his question as diplomatically as possible. “So, did you show it to Brent?”

She shook her head quickly but didn’t look up.

He sat back. “Why not?”

She looked away. He could see moisture in her eyes.

“You didn’t want him to know,” Joe said.

She whispered, “It’s tough.”

Joe was confused. He knew he was on thin ice. Finally, he said, “Jenna, is it possible the relationship between your husband and your daughter was, you know, a little too close when she was growing up?”

Jenna refused to answer, which was an answer in itself, Joe thought.

Minutes passed. Joe didn’t press. And he tried not to stare at her while she sat silently, looking away.

At last, she said, “Would you like to look at some photos?”

“Sure,” he said. Anything to move past his last question, he thought.

He’d seen most of them before in the initial briefing before he’d struck out with the search-and-rescue team, and others on fliers the Shobers had posted, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not looking at them. He did look at them to try to find what it was about the unknown woman he’d seen that made him think of Diane Shober. Maybe a profile or an expression? But thus far, none of the photos made a direct connection.

Most of the shots were of Diane running in competitions. She had a determined set to her face, and her blond hair flew back like frozen flames. Her fists were clenched, her arms pumping, the muscles in her arms, thighs, and calves taut as ropes.

“Here,” Jenna said, “this is the one we wanted you to see.”

Joe took it. The photo was not from a track meet, but from training. In it, Diane wore tight running clothes but she looked happy and relaxed and she had a nice open-faced smile. The right front fender of her Subaru poked out from the bottom left corner of the photo, and behind her were lodgepole pine trees and a glimpse of a cobalt blue sky between openings in the branches. Joe wondered if the shot had been taken at the same trailhead where her car had been found.

“Justin sent us that picture,” Jenna said. “He said he took it a week or so before she disappeared but he’d forgotten it was in his camera. He sent it to us almost a year after she’d been gone.”