Deadfall (4 page)

Vicki clenched her fists to keep from shaking the girl. Jessica didn't even have the decency to look worried.

MAC GLANCED BACK AT THE TWO WOMEN he'd just met and nodded toward the girl who had joined them. “Is that the girlfriend?” he asked Dana.

Dana nodded. “There's something weird going on with those people. I can feel the chill factor clear over here.”

“Me too.” He also felt something else. Excitement at being involved in the search and relief that he was out here and not at home. Here with Dana, who accepted him at face value, and not with Linda, who insisted he change his wicked ways.

Mac had been bone tired the night before, partially due to the distressing session with Linda and her pastor. They'd ganged up on him and he resented it. Linda had five more counseling sessions scheduled, but Mac didn't plan on going back. He had no idea how to tell Linda that or how she would react. Mac also had no intention of compromising on the amount of time he spent on his job— he had no intention of changing. If Linda didn't like him as he was, then tough. He'd compromised enough by agreeing to attend the premarital counseling session, and look where that had gotten him. Still, he had promised to call Linda every now and then to assure her he was still alive. And they were still engaged.

He wasn't especially happy about his decision or the way he wanted to cut and run. Nor was he pleased with his dishonesty in not telling Linda about his past. His behavior reminded him of his father and how he had broken Mac's mother's heart. That was the last thing Mac wanted.

Dana's voice had been pure heaven this morning, and the promise of a search had pushed aside his angst. “Of course I'll come,” he'd told her.

“I'll pick you up at six.” Normally Mac would have insisted on driving up himself, but he readily agreed to ride with Dana. Being a passenger would be a nice change, since Mac usually did the driving when he and his partner, Kevin Bledsoe, were working an investigation.

On the drive up the gorge, Mac had been as excited as a kid on his way to Disneyland. He'd done a stint with the Oregon State Police Fish and Wildlife Division and loved being outdoors, although most of his exposure in that field was limited to seasonal fish run assignments.

Now here they were, searching for the missing hiker. He couldn't say why, but like Dana, he had a bad feeling about this guy's disappearance. He just hoped they were wrong.

They got their orders from Deputy Wyatt. Most of the searchers would stick to the trail. “Don't pick up clues or evidence— clothing, food items, litter. Just mark it and report back to me.” They received a small bundle of flags—footlong pieces of wire with plastic red or orange squares at the top—with which to mark items to be recovered by the police or search supervisor.

ON THEIR WAY OUT, Mac and Dana paused to talk briefly to Mrs. Gaynes and her daughter. Then they greeted the young woman who seemed to be catching the family's icy barbs. He felt sorry for Jessica in a way. Dana had told Mac about the girlfriend's report—how she and Brad had argued and how Brad had taken off in a huff.

“You must be Jessica.” Mac tried to make eye contact with her, but she stared at the asphalt. She had a birdlike look about her. Small, delicate features. Cute and fragile.

“I must be,” she commented in a stale, flat tone. She didn't seem overly concerned about her boyfriend. Jessica's oversized wool jacket and jeans with white canvas tennis shoes and no socks were not the kind of gear needed for hiking around these parts. Still, Mac felt he should extend the invitation. “You can come along with Trooper Bennett and me if you want. We're taking the upper trail.”

“No thanks.” She flashed him an almost frightened look. “I'll stay here. I'm not feeling well this morning. I shouldn't be out hiking.”

“Up to you.” Mac glanced at Dana. “Let's go.”

When they were out of earshot of the others, Mac leaned toward Dana. “Does this case remind you of anything?”

“No. Should it?” Dana adjusted the shoulder straps on her pack.

“Ten years—maybe more. This gal called 911 to report that her boyfriend was missing. She waited eight hours before calling the police and then it was at the guy's mother's insistence. In that case, the boyfriend supposedly took off and never came back.”

“He ran out on her?”

“Nope. The authorities suspected suicide for a while. But get this.” Mac tossed her a conspiratorial look. “His body was found months later up north in Gray's Harbor, near Aberdeen,Washington. Turns out she'd pushed him off the cliff—at least that's what the jury determined at the trial.”

Dana grimaced. “I remember reading about that. Happened down at the Oregon coast, didn't it?”

He nodded. “Ecola State Park. Anyway, this gal is acting funny.

I wouldn't be surprised if Jessica killed Brad.”

“Let's hope not.” Dana marched on ahead. “I prefer to think he just got lost. Easy to do out here.”

Mac nodded as he glanced back at the parking lot and then up at the falls and at the helicopters churning the air above them.

Good, the choppers were on the job. The search was starting in earnest now. If Brad Gaynes was out there, they'd find him.

TODD EMERGED FROM THE TRAILER and jogged over to where Vicki, Rachael, and Jessica were huddled against the wind and rain. “They've got at least one helicopter and more ground searchers,” he told the women. “A guy with tracking dogs should be here in a few minutes. Deputy Wyatt says he's a local guy— from Cascade Locks—and that he's been pretty successful at finding lost hikers in the past.”

Todd looked over his shoulder and pointed toward the mobile unit. “They've got coffee and hot chocolate in their command post if anyone is interested. You ought to take a look; that thing is set up better than our house. It has televisions, radios, computer ports, and fax machines. Looks like they are set up for the long haul if we need them.”

“Let's hope it won't be too long.” Vicki tucked her cold hand into her husband's large, warm one.

He squeezed it. “I know.”

“I'll take some of that hot chocolate.” Jessica turned away and ambled toward the motor home.

Rachael sneered at Jessica's back. “Let's go, Dad. I don't want to take time for hot chocolate or anything else. Where are we going?”

“Up to the top of the falls and on from there for as long as we can. Honey . . .”Todd gave Vicki an apologetic look. “They'll need someone who knows him to stay here. We could leave Jessica, but I'm not sure we can trust her to stay.”

“I'll stay. I'm not sure I'm up for all that hiking anyway.” Vicki bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes. “You two be careful.”

Todd kissed Vicki's cheek and Rachael gave her a hug. Then they headed out.

Jessica climbed down the steps of the motor home with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Instead of joining Vicki, she opted to sit alone at a picnic table on the grass, just outside the parking lot.

Vicki eyed Jessica critically.
You don't want to talk to me, huh?
Just as well. I don't want to talk to you either.
Vicki walked back to her SUV and settled into the passenger seat. Flipping down the visor, she winced at the image. She wore no makeup, and her hair looked as though it had been slept in. She undid the ponytail and finger-combed it back, securing it again and putting on the cap she'd worn the night before. Her heart lurched as she realized it was one of Brad's old ball caps.

Vicki leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes. “God, please let Brad be okay. Let them find him . . . alive,” she added quickly. “Bring him back to me.”

He may not be coming back.

“No. Don't even think such a thing,” she said aloud. “Brad is alive and he's out there. He's just lost his way.” Brad had never had a great sense of direction. “They'll find him. They have to.”

Vicki tossed a couple of mints into her mouth, wishing she'd taken time to pack some toothpaste. Her thoughts were halted as she caught sight of a silver Dodge pickup pulling into the parking lot two spaces away between her car and the command center.

The pickup had an odd-looking canopy—a giant wood box with chrome trim. The box had four large, round holes on each side and reminded her of a giant birdhouse. On the hood of the truck was flat plastic platform, with fake green turf glued to its face. Four short pieces of chain, with clasps on the end, were mounted in the four corners of the platform.

The door opened, and a large man with a bulky frame exited the vehicle. The crudely made ad on the door read J. Clovis Logging, with a Cascade Locks, Oregon, address and phone number printed below. The three-quarter-ton truck rocked as the man stepped onto the asphalt. He walked to the rear of the vehicle and opened one of the small doors on the box. A brown-and-black hound leaped from the back of the truck and ran to the front of the vehicle then back.

“Kennel up,” the large man said in a gentle tone to the hound, who obediently jumped onto the platform mounted on the truck.

The man opened three more doors, releasing two more black-and-brown hounds and one blue tick—a muddled gray, white, and black-spot blend.

“Kennel up,” he said to each of them, his volume rising as the dogs' excitement and barking increased. Almost in unison, the three dogs joined the first hound on the flat platform.

The big man reached for a box in the truck and returned to the hounds.

Curious, Vicki climbed out of the car. “What are those?” she asked as he took out four black boxes about the size of a man's wallet.

“Radio antennas.” He glanced in her direction and then returned to his task, fastening the antennas to each of the dog's collars. He then checked the transmitters with the handheld device he grabbed from the dash of the pickup. “The dogs run free on the track, and I can monitor their location by their barking or by these radio-controlled collars.”

Deputy Wyatt approached the man, and the two shook hands. Vicki stepped closer. “Can I give you a hand with anything?” she asked.

“I think we've got everything under control.” The big man smiled.

“Mrs. Gaynes,” Deputy Wyatt said, “this is Jack Clovis. Vicki is Brad's mother.” Clovis removed his brown oilskin hat and shook her hand. She was surprised that such a giant of a man would have such a gentle handshake. “Pleased to meet you, ma'am.” He winked and rubbed his thick black beard.

“Jack is a professional tracker,” Deputy Wyatt told Vicki. “One of the—”

“I wouldn't say professional.” Clovis interrupted, seemingly genuinely embarrassed. “Let's just say me and my hounds enjoy helping out.” He pointed back to his truck, where his dogs gazed at him with impatient eyes that seemed to say, “Let's get going.”

“He won't let me brag about him while he's around, so I'll tell you more later.” Deputy Wyatt grinned.

“We'd better get moving if we're going to be any use to you today.” Clovis put his hat back on. “My dogs have some of the best sniffers in the state, but they need something of your son's to start with.”

“Maybe there's something in his car.” She tried the door and it opened. In the back she found a blue sweatshirt with a Vail, Colorado, logo. “Brad wears this one a lot.”

“Good.” Jack took it from her. “As long as he hasn't washed it since the last time he had it on, it should be fine.” He brought it to his nose. “This will do the job.” He approached the hounds with the sweatshirt and allowed them to bury their faces in the soft material. Each hound smelled and licked the sweatshirt for only a couple of moments before Jack moved the garment to the next animal. “Now, fetch 'em up. Go fetch 'em up, babies.”

The hounds exploded off the truck, each seeming to have a different idea of where to go. The group eventually raced downstream toward the Columbia River.

“Do they smell something already?” Vicki started jogging in the direction the dogs had taken.

“Hold on, there, Mrs. Gaynes,” Deputy Wyatt said.

Vicki stopped and came back. “Why?”

“The hounds take off like that when they start out, but usually they're just running off some steam before they settle in on a track.”

“How will Mr. Clovis know when the hounds are on Brad's scent? Does he use those antennas I saw him put on their collars?”

Vicki watched the dogs for some sign that they knew what they were doing.

“Yes, ma'am. See that black thing Clovis has in his hand, that thing that looks like a cell phone?” The deputy pointed. “That's a GPS, or global positioning system indicator. He keeps track of his hounds with the antennas on the dog's collars. When they bark a certain way, he knows they are on to a track and checks his GPS to see where they are. You can hear those hounds bay for miles.”

Clovis's dogs eventually headed up the trail. Vicki listened closely for their baying, but they remained ominously silent. With every minute that passed on that impossibly long morning came another layer of anxiety and disappointment—another reason to believe the premonition she'd had the night before.

5

H
OVERING AT ABOUT SIX HUNDRED FEET, an Army Pavehawk helicopter thumped along the Oregon side of the Columbia River. The helicopter from the Portland Air Base had been dispatched to find a white male in his twenties, last seen yesterday afternoon at the base of Wah-kella Falls in the scenic Columbia River Gorge. All the pilot and observer had were a description of the man's clothing and his last known location. At that altitude, the name and other particulars were not important.

THE NAME AND PARTICULARS, however, were very important to Victoria Gaynes. The helicopter and countless others were not just looking for a faceless man without a name; they were looking for Bradley Gaynes, her only son.

Vicki scanned the endless November clouds for answers. There were none. The steep, fern-covered cliffs to the south and the meandering Columbia River to the north did not leave many places for a grown man to hide. But the thick, thousand-plus acres of forests with giant cedar and fir could hide a man for years.