Tahoe Chase (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (26 page)

Joe took another piece of plain paper and set it flat on the table. “This is our map.” He drew concentric circles. “Here’s a representation of our nice, symmetrical paper mountain. Now let’s map our valley.”

Joe put the pencil on the origami paper valley and moved it on the level around the top part of the valley. The line made a U-shape. He again moved the pencil down and made another line, taking care to keep the pencil line level as it moved around the origami valley. It became another U-shape, narrower, tucked inside the first one.

“Those are topo lines going through the valley. Let’s put those on the flat map.” He drew similar lines on the map. Then he filled in more valley lines and mountain lines. He slid his home-made map in front of Simone.

“Look at the result. These lines show the mountain, these show the valley. And I can add more that represent any kind of undulating landscape.”

Simone spoke up. “If I were up on this mountain and I walked along as if I were following a topo line, I wouldn’t go up or down at all, right?”

“Exactly,” Joe said, obviously pleased. “You would be taking a level route across whatever slope you were on.”

“And if there’s an area with no topo lines on the map?” Simone said. “What would that mean?”

“That would mean that it’s a flat area.”

Joe pointed to the real map and showed Simone different areas and explained how they went up and down. Soon, it appeared that she had the hang of it and, with a little thinking, could tell the shape of any landform.

Next, Joe showed her how to put a compass on top of a map, then rotate the map until north on the map matched north on the compass.

“Do you know about Magnetic Deviation?”

Simone shook her head.

“A compass points to the magnetic north pole, not the geographic north pole. They are quite far apart. In Tahoe, the difference is over thirteen degrees.” He pointed to the map. “See this symbol? This arrow shows geographic north, and this arrow shows magnetic north. So you rotate your map so that the magnetic north arrow aligns with your compass needle. Then your map will match the landscape. By studying the topo lines, you can look at the features on the map and match them to your landscape. That way you will know where you are and plan where you want to go. Do you know your specific route?”

“No. I have to sign up on the website, and then I’ll be given all of my mountains to climb. I’m supposed to determine my route from that.”

“Can you do that now?” Joe asked.

“If I can use your computer, yes.”

Joe pointed to the computer on his desk. “We’ll wait.”

Street helped Simone work through the process of signing up and requesting a Tahoe Randonnée Extreme route to be started on the winter solstice.
 

Joe and Diamond and I each had a beer while they worked. Simone and Street declined. Soon, Simone brought a printout over to Joe.

“Perfect,” Joe said. “Each checkpoint is shown in the order they want you to pursue them. This will be fun.” I could see that he was intrigued.

Joe pointed to the topo maps arranged across the table. “Here’s where you will start on Donner Pass Road. Near the chair lifts at Sugar Bowl. Your first mountain to climb is Donner Peak at just over eight thousand feet.” He put an x on the mountain top. “So we’ll draw a line that goes up the slope at a gradual angle so that you can climb on skis.” He drew with care and precision and just a bit of the wavering common to people of his age.

“Always remember to stay off steep slopes, never ski near the base of steep slopes, and try to avoid any slopes that face northeast.”

“Why?” Simone said.

“Avalanche danger. Do you have a beacon or one of those new inflatable vests?”

She shook her head.

“Well, skip the beacon. No one will be near you to pull you out anyway. But get a vest. If you get caught in a slide, you pull the lever and it inflates. Having a big bubble around your neck helps keep you floating to the top of a slide.”

“How do I tell if the slope is steep or faces northeast?” Simone asked.

“We look at the same old topo lines. If they are close together, that means the slope is steep. If they orient to the northeast, that means a slope that gets lots of wind-loading and too little sun to help weld the snow layers together. Most people who die in avalanches are on northeast-facing slopes between thirty and forty-five degrees of steepness.”

“How do I tell that amount?”

“Those are like Black Diamond slopes at ski areas. Have you seen those?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You see a slope in the back-country that looks like it would be a Black Diamond run, stay off it. As for route planning, see these lines that are close together?”

“Yeah.”

“That amount of spacing represents a steep slope. And these lines that are farther apart represent a shallow slope. We’ll pay special attention as we plan your route.”

Joe went down the checkpoint list and marked every mountaintop with numbers to show the order. Then he slowly drew a route from one to the next.

Simone said, “How do you know this country so well?”

“I’ve skied back-country through there.”

“Do you like back-country skiing?” Simone asked.

“No, I don’t, especially the up part. Doesn’t mean I haven’t done it. I like to know the territory. And I do like the down part.”

“And you remember it so well that you can make paper models of the mountains?”

I interjected. “Didn’t Rell ever tell you that Joe is an Olympic medalist in ski racing?”

Simone’s eyes widened. “She said that you were a ski racer. I didn’t know about the Olympic part. Wow, that’s something.”

“I don’t like Rell to brag about me,” Joe said. “Anyway, most racers have good mountain memory. Racers think topographically. It’s a bit like a musician who can hear a song and then tell you the key changes. Let me ski a mountain, it gets fixed in my mind.”

Joe lifted up the pile of maps and sorted through them. He pulled one out from the pile and drew a curving line across a portion of it. At one end of the line was an X.

“Now we’ll give you a little real world experience,” he said.

Simone frowned.

“This is a route you can see from this neighborhood. This X represents a viewpoint only two blocks away. I want you to study this route. Figure out which direction it goes and where it goes up and where it goes down. Then we’ll go out to the viewpoint and see if you can identify the route in the landscape. It’s dark out, but the moon and stars light the snow. It will be very much like what you will do on your Randonnée trek.”
 

Simone studied the map and made some notes on the paper.

Five minutes later, she said, “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

We all went out through the dark house and got into our vehicles, Joe riding in Diamond’s decrepit pickup.

Diamond led, with Joe telling him where to drive, and we followed. We stopped at a corner in the road and got out. The snowbank was beat down from snowshoers and cross-country skiers. With only Diamond’s steadying hand on Joe’s elbow, Joe was able to walk up onto the compacted snow.

The view was out over Tahoe Valley, a vast, beautiful landscape, glowing blue-white under the stars and moon sliver and speckled with a thousand lights of houses, eight hundred feet below the Angora Highlands neighborhood.

Joe handed Simone a compass and stood behind her as she opened the map and held out the compass. She looked out across the valley toward Freel Peak to the east and down Christmas Valley to Stevens Peak to the south. She compared it to the map, consulted the compass, rotated the map, angled the paper to get a better look at it in the dark, rotated the map again.

In time, she spoke softly to Joe. He murmured something back. She pointed to the map and spoke again. He nodded. She raised up her arm and pointed as if following Angora Ridge up to Angora Peak, taking the next ridgeline to Echo Peak and farther.

I understood Joe’s mastery as I realized that he had already given her a route into the Desolation Wilderness and had her identify and imagine two peaks that might in fact be on the Tahoe Randonnée Extreme.
 

Simone made a gesture as if she would go down the southwest side of Echo Peak, opposite the side we were looking at. Then she pointed toward the mountains to the south, her finger aiming directly at Steven’s Peak in the distance.
 

After a time, he patted her on the back, said something else that we couldn’t hear, and she folded the map.
 

“What if it’s too dark to see the compass?” she asked. “And what if my flashlight dies?”
 

Joe turned and pointed at the sky to the north. “Let me show you how to find the North Star.” He pointed out the Big Dipper and explained how the last two stars at the end of the pan pointed toward the North Star.
 

“But that’s only useful if you lose your compass,” he said. “Otherwise, it’s best to dig in and wait until morning.”
 

FORTY-THREE
 

The next morning, we drove around to buy supplies, an avalanche vest, dehydrated food, extra maps, compass, headlamp, and solar cellphone charger.

When we got back to Street’s, before we got out of the Jeep, I tested Simone’s resolve one more time.

“You are still solid about this plan?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow morning we will go to the police and you will tell the truth about how Ned beats you up.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to call Commander Mallory and tell him we will be in first thing in the morning.”

“Yes.”

So I called Mallory to let him know that Simone Bonnaire would arrive in the morning to tell all, and Mallory could prepare for the arrest of Ned Cavett on assault charges. I didn’t know for certain, but I hoped that by arresting Ned, Mallory would also be bringing in our murderer.

At noon, Diamond stopped by once again, and we all visited Joe for a final lesson in back-country skiing.

Joe had thought of many more bits of advice over the preceding hours. He discussed a hundred points with Simone, quizzing her at times, explaining the safest approach to tackle the route along with the best escape strategy should something significant go wrong. He even drew on the map the best escape routes from the high country.

As evening approached, Joe announced that he was making a ski racer’s dinner. “You’re going to need lots of protein and lots of carbs to start off on a trip of this magnitude.”

 Simone looked concerned, like a vegetarian who worries about being surprised with meat.

“Do you like salad and French bread?” Joe asked.

Simone nodded.

“Baked potato and butter?”

“Of course.”

“Broccoli?”

“Certainly,” Simone said.

Street elbowed me in my side.

“You like a grilled Porterhouse steak?” Joe continued.

Another nod.

“How do you like it cooked?”

“Medium rare.”

“Do you drink red wine?”

“I spent my first ten years in France,” Simone said.

“Homemade apple pie?”

“I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Joe gave her a big smile of approval and went into the kitchen to begin preparations without asking any of the rest of us about our preferences.

Simone again looked worried. She spoke to me in a whisper. “Mr. Rorvik cooks?”

“Lots of men do,” I said.

“None of the men in my life have ever cooked.”

“Welcome to your new life,” I said.

Joe put on a fabulous feast and even cooked a steak for Spot.

While we all ate, Joe paid particular attention to Simone, making certain that she ate seconds of everything.

After dinner, Joe and Simone worked until well into the evening, discussing maps and routes and strategies.

As we left, Simone seemed subdued by the enormity of what she was planning to do. We were getting into the Jeep when Joe’s voice called out quietly from the front door.

“Simone?”

“Oui?” she said, slipping into French for the first time, a sign, I thought, of serious introspection.

Joe walked out to where we stood by the Jeep. The outside lights were still off for security. He reached out his hands toward Simone. Despite the darkness, gold sparkled in his fingers.

“This is my good luck necklace,” he said. “I wore it during all of my ski races. I had it on when I won my Olympic Medal. I want you to have it.”

Simone stood frozen. “I...I...” she stammered.

“When you are out there in the dark,” Joe said, “and the air is very cold, and the distances seem far, and you feel very alone, you can know that I’ll be here cheering you on.”

Simone shook her head a bit as if in disbelief. She took the necklace and put it over her head. Joe started to back up toward his door, making a little wave of his hand. Simone broke into a huge smile, reached up and gave him a hug, and kissed his cheek.

The next morning, Mallory met us at the police department. He said he already had two men outside Ned’s house, waiting for the go-ahead once the judge signed the warrant.

Simone was nervous as we went in. She filled out the paperwork, made her statement, showed her bruises, which, although healing, were still dramatic. They took pictures of her, asked her many questions, then let us go.

I drove to Ned and Simone’s house and parked a block down from the patrol unit. I guessed that it would take Mallory about twenty minutes to get a judge’s signature on the warrant.

Twenty minutes later, the two officers got out of their car and went up to the door. In about the time it takes to inform and cuff their suspect, they came back out with Ned, his hands locked behind his back, put him into the back of the car, and drove away.

I pulled up to their driveway and parked behind Ned’s chinless yellow pickup. Simone pointed out the skis and skins and camping stuff in the garage. I loaded it into the back of the Jeep while she collected her clothes inside.

She had a little list of things to bring, and after we’d loaded everything, she carefully went through the list, checking off each item. It gave me some confidence, seeing her thoroughness, and I realized that somewhere down in the cellar of my brain I’d been hearing a voice that sounded like Joe’s. It said that Simone was nuts to try this with so little experience. It also said that I would be to blame if tragedy should come to her. I’d encouraged her at each step when I should have been telling her to wait, find a skiing buddy, get some experience, go in the spring when the weather was safer.

We drove up the East Shore and picked up Street to join us on the ride. Street has a calming effect on people, and she did a good job with Simone, making conversation that was designed to be casual and thoughtful at the same time.

I could see how it worked as it unfolded. Talk only about trivial stuff, and it communicates that you’re worried about the big issues and are afraid to focus on them. Talk only about the major stuff, and it clutters the traveler’s mind with too many concerns. Strike a medium balance, and the person knows that you understand the scope of the mission, but you are still relaxed about it. The relaxed manner telegraphs confidence in the person who is about to embark on the big event.

As we drove north out of Tahoe City to Truckee and then around Donner Lake up to the summit and the launch point, Simone seemed more comfortable than at any time since I’d met her.

We parked near Sugar Bowl and got out. Spot ran around exploring while Simone made a last check of her gear. She strapped the climbing skins onto her skis because her very first leg was an ascent up to the top of Donner Peak.

I went to help her with her pack, but she held up her hand to stop me.

“For the next few days I’m going to do all this myself,” she said. “I better start now.”

We watched as she clicked into her bindings, swung her pack up on her back, adjusted her sunglasses, and picked up her poles.

Street gave her a hug first, then I followed.

“You’ll do great,” I said. “We’ll see you on the other end when you ski down into Kirkwood.”

Simone patted her thighs and called out, “Spot.”

He came running and jumped around, excited.

She gave him a hug, turned to us and said, “Au revoir.”

I held Spot as the tiny young French woman pushed off with her poles and started climbing up toward Donner Peak.

Back in the Jeep, Street said, “She’s tough, you know.”

“No kidding.”

“I watched as Joe marked all of those zig-zag lines to the various peaks. I think it turns a forty-some mile straight trek into sixty or more.”

“Probably.”

“How many nights do you think she’ll be out?” Street asked.

“I’m guessing three nights and four days. She told me that she has more than enough food for four nights and five days. But we’ll get a sense as she calls in her locations along the way.”

“Do you think she’ll make it all the way?” Street asked.

“I’m guessing that the single greatest part of success in this kind of thing is determination rather than skill. She’s pretty determined.”