The Body in the Woods (3 page)

Except not today.

Nick's mind kept starting to wander, and after a while, he let it. His body might be in Forest Park, but instead he imagined he was in Iraq. Back where his dad had been.

In his mind's eye, he saw piles of gray rubble. A car burnt down to its blackened bones. A bleating goat. White buildings, sand-colored roads, oily smoke. A woman all dressed in black, not even her eyes visible. A world without color. Certainly nothing green.

His red climbing helmet, which he had finally strapped on after Ruby wouldn't shut up about it, became a combat helmet. His SAR backpack was now military issue.

He whirled around and aimed an imaginary rifle.
Blam
!

His mother never mentioned his dad, but Nick had seen the medal, snug in its case, in his mom's dresser drawer. A Bronze Star on a red, white, and blue ribbon. He had looked it up on Wikipedia. “Rewarded for bravery, acts of merit, or meritorious service.”

But his mom never talked about the medal or the man. His dad had died in combat—that was all Nick had been able to piece together from cryptic comments made over the years. Sacrificed himself to save others.

Nick had been four when his dad died. Were his few memories even his? Or did they come from movies? From his imagination? A deep voice, big hands lifting him up under his armpits, a scratchy cheek against his own.

All his mom ever said was, “The army destroyed your father. You'll join up over my dead body.”

When joining up was the only thing Nick wanted.

In the army, he was sure he would feel like he belonged. He had a weird pale Afro and was too light skinned to be black, too dark skinned to be white. Nick had grown up in a white world, but he didn't really fit there. That world didn't really want him. He'd seen people from his mom's work clutch their purses until they realized he was her kid.

Portland was segregated, not in ways that anyone talked about or even admitted, but it was still unusual for him to see another black person on the streets of Southwest Portland. In a lot of his classes at Wilson, there were white kids, Hispanic kids, Asian kids—and Nick.

But in the army, what mattered was being fast and strong and brave. And Nick was all those things.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

He was so lost in his daydream that for a minute, he didn't know what the sound was, or even where he was exactly.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

And then he did.

It sounded like someone had found Bobby.

And it hadn't been him.

Nick set out on a long-legged lope, running back down the trail toward the sound. Was it Ruby or Alexis? It didn't seem fair that he might have walked right past something important, something they had spotted and he hadn't.

Maybe Nick hadn't been the one to find Bobby, but he still might be able to help. Bobby was a big guy. He could be injured. He could be unable to walk, and he might need to put his arm over Nick's shoulder so that Nick could walk for both of them. Or maybe Nick would have to make a travois the way they had learned on a training weekend. He could drag Bobby to a clearing where they would wait for a helicopter to set down, the rotor wash whipping up dirt that would sting their eyes.

In another minute, Nick would realize that his fantasies were exactly that.

CHAPTER 5

TUESDAY

SOMETHING AWFUL LURKING

No, Alexis
thought.
No, please. I'm not seeing this.

But she was. It was a back. A human back, clad in a black jacket. The hump of a shoulder, a dip, the smaller hill of the hip.

From this angle, she could not see the legs or the face. All she could see was the back.

Unmoving. Half curled around a bush.

Her blood chilled.

It was him. Right there. The missing man. For a minute, Alexis couldn't even remember his name. Everything inside her was blank. Holding its breath. As if as long as she didn't remember, time wouldn't heave itself forward. Because if he was there, right there, and not moving, then Alexis would have to do something.

And she was all alone. She looked around to make sure this was true. No one on the trail before or behind her. The only sound was the wind sighing through the trees and the birds calling.

She forced herself to open her mouth. It was so dry, her lips made a smacking sound as they parted. And as they did, his name came to her.

“Bobby?” The sound was lighter than a whisper.

Alexis forced a swallow past the lump in her throat and tried again. “Bobby?”

A little louder. Shaky.

The back did not stir.

Alexis tried again, putting some steel into it. “Bobby?” It was still not quite a shout, but it was loud enough—it had to have reached him. After all, he was only about thirty feet away.

He didn't move.

Her heart hammered in her chest, in her ears. Alexis fought off a wave of nausea as her stomach rose up and crammed into the back of her throat.

Maybe he was unconscious. Maybe he had hit his head on a tree limb, or broken his ankle and passed out from the pain.

Maybe.

Bobby's parents had said he had no medical problems. And it wasn't like there was anything out here that could kill him. Just trees and small streams, trails and undergrowth. But he was a big guy. Maybe he had had a heart attack. Maybe it was even possible that he had gotten tired from his big adventure and lain down for a nap.

Alexis was going to have to go up to him. Lean over. See what was wrong. The feeling that gripped her now was the same one she had had as a little kid, the one that told her something awful was lurking underneath the bed, just waiting to reach out and grab her ankle as soon as she was within reach.

Alexis was going to have to get close enough to touch him.

No matter how afraid she was.

And then she remembered the whistle in her hand.

Three blasts, wasn't what they had said in class? Three blasts, pause, and then three more. And anyone in SAR who heard it would come running.

Alexis put the whistle to her lips and blew. It came out breathy and light, no louder than the birdsong above her.

Deciding that first one didn't count, she tried again, putting all her fear behind it. And again. And again.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

If Bobby was conscious, shouldn't he have moved at the shriek of the whistle? But he lay still.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

Nick would know what to do. He was always talking about how his dad had been in the army. On one of the training weekends, he had been the first to figure out how to use a branch as a splint. And Ruby's parents were doctors.

But Alexis couldn't just stand here until Nick and Ruby showed up. She forced her feet to start moving. Toward that curved away back.

Shouldn't she be able to see the ribs expanding with each breath?

If he wasn't breathing, did that mean he was …

Her stomach bottomed out. Her steps were so small she was nearly walking in place.

And that jacket—why was it black, not navy blue as Bobby's mother had said?

Although, according to their instructors, civilians frequently got important details wrong. Clothing colors, shoe size, medical conditions—all things that were vital to search and rescue personnel, and all of them likely to be muddled, confused by the very people who were so anxious that you find their missing loved ones.

Alexis was now only fifteen feet away. She couldn't bring herself to call out Bobby's name again, as if he were a sleeper she was trying not to wake.

The thing was, as she got closer, she could see the top of the head. And the hair on that head.

It wasn't brown and short. It was blond and longer. At least shoulder length.

And that dip in the waist? Why would Bobby have a dip in the waist? Not at more than two hundred pounds on a five-foot-eight frame. He should be built like a fireplug.

Portland SAR might be looking for Bobby, Alexis realized, her stomach doing another tidal heave, but what she had found wasn't Bobby at all.

CHAPTER 6

TUESDAY

YOU JUST HAVE TO LOOK

Before the whistle sounded, Ruby had been moving down the path as silently as a cat.

And like a cat, her attention was sidetracked by all the birds. Dark-eyed juncoes flitted around the forest floor, their white tail feathers flashing. A slightly larger hermit thrush regarded her from a nearby branch, its eyes ringed in write. Ruby's ears picked out the distinctive twitter of a goldfinch from among the pips and trills of other birds. She lifted her head, her eyes following the sound, until she spotted it on a dead limb half broken from a trunk. It was wearing its drab winter plumage with only a ruff of yellow at its throat.

A flash of color farther back caught her attention. Was it? Yes. A pileated woodpecker as big as a raven. Ruby admired its black body, the bold white stripes down the neck, and its flaming red crest. It was stabbing its beak over and over into a dead tree, looking, she knew, for carpenter ants.

Thinking of the birder, she wondered if she herself would ever see a northern spotted owl. Her mom collected owl figurines the way Ruby collected bird sightings. Not only were northern spotted owls nocturnal, but they were also endangered. Just one of the thousands of species at risk of going extinct, thanks mostly to human beings ruining the world.

Suddenly, a whistle broke the stillness. Not a bird's, but something that came from a human throat, forced through a black plastic tube.
Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!
The pattern of three sharp notes was repeated. Someone was in trouble. Without hesitation, Ruby turned back and ran straight toward the sound.

She found Alexis standing just off the trail, pointing at a figure dressed in dark colors lying on the forest floor. It was far too small to be Bobby. And when Ruby pulled off her backpack and fell to her knees beside it, she confirmed that it was a girl. A girl about her own age, with shoulder-length blond hair and green eye shadow painting the one lid she could see. There were no obvious signs of injury, just an ear that bore three piercings.

“Are you all right?” When she was around other people, Ruby was always more comfortable if she could assume a role. This one was easy: First Responder. She leaned into the girl's face, bracing one hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” A familiar smell teased Ruby's nose.

In her mind's eye, she saw Jon at the lectern.
Introduce yourself and your level of training. Tell the patient what you are doing and why. Don't make promises you can't keep.
Now she unzipped a small compartment and yanked on a pair of purple vinyl gloves as she said rapidly, “I am Ruby McClure with Portland Search and Rescue. I have first-aid training. May I help you?”

Ruby waited for three seconds, counting in her head.
One jelly bean, two jelly bean, three …

The girl didn't say anything. According to Jon, no response was implied consent. She reached for the girl's wrist. Even through the vinyl glove, it felt cool. Her skin was mottled. Late-stage shock? Ruby reminded herself to ask about nausea and dizziness, confusion and weakness, to check for restlessness or dilated pupils. Rolling her fingers, she found the notch in the wrist and then held her breath. She waited for the pulse in whatever form it might take. Fast and shallow? Slow and irregular?

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Footsteps ran up behind her. “Who's that?” Nick shouted. “What's wrong with him?”

“It's a girl.” Ruby let the girl's cool wrist slip from her grasp. She gently brushed the choppy blond hair back to check the carotid artery on the side of the neck. After a long moment in which she felt not even the tiniest flicker under her fingertips, Ruby sat back on her heels. “And she's dead.”

“Dead?” Nick's voice cracked.

“Call it in, Nick!” Alexis shouted, even though he was only a few feet away from her. It was like neither of them could stop shouting. “You're the one with the radio.”

Bending over the girl's body again, Ruby heard the tearing sound of Velcro as Nick fumbled with the rat pack. A squawk, and then, “We found a girl,” Nick yelled, not using the proper protocol at all. “A girl on the path you sent us down. And she's dead!”

A calm voice repeated back his words, asked for the GPS coordinates, and then told them to stay where they were. Ruby heard more Velcro as Nick pulled out the GPS unit, more fumbling, more shouting. Alexis was crying now, big gulping sobs.

But Ruby was too busy looking to pay much attention to all the noise.

What she had at first taken to be a fold in the girl's neck was really a dark red furrow ringing her throat. A ligature mark. The girl had been strangled. Not with bare hands, the way Jack the Ripper was said to have killed his victims, but instead with something narrow slipped around her neck. The Boston Strangler had often used his victim's own stockings, but this girl was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, not a dress. Ruby leaned closer. Shallower scratches ran down both sides of the neck. She lifted the girl's hand again. Two of the nails were broken past the quick.

The girl had tried to save herself. Tried and failed.

“It looks like she was murdered,” Ruby said.

“Murdered?” Nick's voice got even louder.

“What do you mean,
murdered
?” Alexis demanded.

“That's a ligature mark.” Ruby pointed, but the other two didn't come any closer. “And see those scratches on her neck? She tried to get it loose, but she failed.”

Nick swore.

Alexis stared. “How do you know all that?”

“You just have to look,” Ruby said. She thought of the limpness of the girl's arm when she had picked up her hand. “I don't think she's been dead long. Not more than an hour or two. Rigor mortis would have set in.”

Alexis got that look on her face that grown-ups sometimes got when Ruby talked about certain subjects.