The Tower (37 page)

The tyres found better grip on the broken and frozen ground than they had on the flat, icy road and he bounced and lurched his way up the track and between the trees. After a while he could see a light, high above him, warm and orange like a lantern winking through gaps in the thick woods. As he got higher the trees started to thin out a little until he could see the outline of the log cabin, lights on inside and smoke leaking from the chimney and drifting away in the cold, clear night. He let the car crunch to a stop just short of the end of the track where there was still a little tree cover, then killed the engine. He slipped out of the driver’s seat and closed the door quietly, keeping the car between him and the cabin while he listened to the night and studied the cabin.

It had changed a lot since he’d last been here. There was a woodshed that hadn’t been there before and the basic hunter’s hide on the rocky ledge above the cabin had been extensively modified so it now looked like a second home. A wide pathway had been cut through the trees leading up to it and there was now a proper roof on top with solar panels fixed either side of a large open hatch, suggesting it was still being used as an observatory. The rope they’d used to scramble up the side of the rock had now been replaced by a solid set of wooden stairs.

He scanned the periphery of trees, trying to work out the best way to approach the cabin. He reached into his jacket
.
This was the third time he’d held a gun in his hand in less than twenty-four hours. He stepped round the back of the car, his pulse pounding in his ears and sweat prickling beneath his shirt despite the cold. He made his way carefully through the trees, working his way round to the side of the cabin, trying not to make any sound as he headed for the woodshed. It would provide cover between him and the cabin when he stepped out of the trees. There was no reason to believe Douglas would be hostile, but he had blown up several hundred million dollars’ worth of government facility earlier that day, so there was always a chance.

He kept his eyes on the cabin and the observatory, looking and listening for any movement inside. The storm shutters were open on the cabin and the curtains pulled back so he caught glimpses inside, the warm orange glow making him feel even colder. His feet were numb inside the wet thin leather of his shoes. As he picked his way through the tree trunks and low branches, the crunch of snow far too loud in the still of the night, a parked car came into view behind the woodshed, a newer model of the same sort of jeep Douglas had driven all those years ago. Footprints in the snow spread out from it, heading to the woodshed and the cabin. More footsteps went back into the forest. They looked pretty fresh. Whoever was inside had been out here fairly recently, maybe just to get fuel for the fire, or maybe for another reason. He glanced back into the dark of the woods, wondering he should maybe check things out in that direction first, make sure it was clear and cover his back, seeing as there was no one else out here to cover it for him.

Carrie watched him through the night-sight, her eye pressed against the rubber cup to stop the green phosphorescent light leaking out and giving away her position. Even on the lowest magnification he filled her vision, his outline solid and dark against the bright glow coming from the buildings behind him. She could see his face, right in the centre of the cross-hairs, his eyes scanning the dark, looking straight at her from time to time but always moving on. If he chose to follow the tracks into the woods he would find them easily enough.

Her finger tightened a little on the trigger, ready to squeeze if he took so much as one step forward. A knife would be quieter but he was a trained federal agent and it wasn’t worth the risk letting him get close enough to use his weapon.

The cross-hairs remained steady on the centre of his head.

Just one step.

Shepherd scanned the woods, listening out through the muffled silence to the crack of ice and the sound of his own breathing. He felt sure he was being watched, but then he always did when he stared into woods at night. There was bound to be all sorts of wildlife checking him out, ready to bolt or take flight the moment he got too close. He shivered at the thought of all the potential eyes upon him. He needed to get out of the cold and into the warm before he got frostbite and his toes started falling off.

Franklin would tell him to head back to the car right now and warm up on his way back to Cherokee – come back again in the morning with some backup. But Franklin wasn’t here. Shepherd turned back towards the cabin. It looked warm in there. He took a deep breath to steady his shivers, then stepped out of the trees towards it.

The sound changed the moment he moved forward, opening out as the baffling effect of the trees was left behind, making him feel very exposed. He made it to the jeep and felt the side panel by the engine with his free hand. Stone cold. He moved round, stopping a foot short of the woodshed wall, his gun held in front of him, always pointing where he was looking. He had to make a choice now, head to the cabin and risk being spotted from the observatory, or check out the observatory first. He studied the tracks in the snow, but there were too many to give him any clues. He made a choice and headed for the porch of the cabin, figuring that walking up the wooden steps to the observatory before he’d checked the cabin would be too dangerous.

The deck creaked as he stepped onto it and made his way over to a window. He wondered, standing here now, if he should knock and give whoever was inside the chance to reveal themselves before he burst in with a gun in his hand. But silence and surprise were just about the only things he had on his side and he wasn’t about to give them up lightly.

He eased his head round the edge of the window frame and took in the room. The stove was lit and loaded with logs, the fire throwing enough shifting orange light into the room to show him that no one was there. He moved over to the door and tried the handle, it creaked, not much but loud enough in the tense silence, then opened.

The trapped warmth of the room was like stepping into a bath. Blood rushed to his face and feeling began to return painfully to his fingers and feet. He moved quickly across the room, keeping low and away from the windows. The bedroom was behind a partition at one end of the cabin, a thin wooden wall defining a space just big enough for a bed.

There was no one here.

He moved over to the back door and looked up at the observatory, the glow from the open roof hatch making it stand out against the night. He should have known Douglas would be stargazing on a clear night like this. He twisted the handle and slowly opened the door then stepped out into the frozen night again.

He moved across the snow between the cabin and the wooden steps leading up to the observatory, feeling both excited and nervous about the imminent reunion with his former mentor. He suddenly felt vaguely ridiculous and ashamed that he had his gun in his hand. Professor Douglas wouldn’t know that his old student was an FBI agent now. His best approach would surely be as a friend and colleague. He reached the foot of the steps and slid the gun back into its holster.

‘Professor Douglas?’ he called up, his voice a little high and much too loud in the muted silence. ‘It’s Joseph Shepherd. Remember me? You brought me here once when I was a grad student.’ His words echoed back from the surrounding trees then faded away. He listened for a response, a movement.

Nothing.

‘I’m going to come up now, OK?’ He took a step, making it a heavy one so it could be heard. ‘I just want to talk.’ He continued upwards, stamping the snow from his shoes as he went, his eyes fixed on the closed door at the top of the stairway. He could hear something now, low music from inside the shack and Shepherd smiled as he recognized it. It was from the Planet Suite by Holst. The professor had played it that long ago summer, switching tracks depending on which planet they were observing. The track playing now was the final piece: ‘Neptune, the mystic’ – slow and mysterious, the tinkling harp and shivering violins a perfect soundtrack to the frigid night.

He reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto solid stone that was slick with ice. A breeze was blowing the snow from it and singing in the steel cables that anchored the corners of the cabin to the rock. It was on odd place to build a cabin, high and exposed like this, but the rock provided the perfect, solid platform for stargazing. Even ground vibration was hugely magnified by a telescope so with the windbreak of the cabin and the high elevation and solid base of the rock, Douglas had created the perfect backyard observatory.

Shepherd moved carefully across the stone, the music getting louder with each step and building towards the climax, the eerie voices mixing with the instruments like a spectral choir. It was loud enough to explain why the Professor might not have heard him approach.

‘Professor.’ He rapped a knuckle on the door. ‘It’s Joseph Shepherd, remember me?’

The ethereal voices were his only response, chilling him along with the cold then melting away as the track ended, leaving him alone with the whisper of the wind and his pounding heart. He leaned in close to the door, listening through it, willing it to open or a familiar voice to invite him in from the other side. He jumped as the music started again, loud and urgent, the ominous stabbing strings of ‘Mars’ the Bringer of War suggesting that whatever the music was playing on was set to repeat.

Shepherd reached out, twisted the handle and opened the door.

A large telescope dominated the space inside. It was sat on a heavy-duty tripod with electric motors hooked to a laptop on a table beside it, the screen displaying the piece of sky it was currently pointing at. A cell phone was plugged into it as well as some small speakers from which the Planet Suite was booming out. He took a step inside and the door started swinging shut behind him. Then he saw the figure from the corner of his eye.

He spun round. Douglas was in the shadows, his arms stretching out, his head hanging forward. Shepherd gasped and stumbled backwards, reaching for his gun as his eyes adjusted and the shadows took form. Professor Douglas didn’t move. He couldn’t. His hands were pinned to the wooden walls, blood running thick from spikes in his hands and a deep gash in his neck, mouth bound, eyes open and staring at the floor. Shepherd hit the back wall with a sound that recalled the one he had heard from the road – like someone hammering nails into wood. Then he saw the writing scrawled in blood on the wall.

HERETIC

Shepherd fumbled for his phone, gun pointing at Douglas, ‘Mars’ the Bringer of War still booming from the speakers. Eyes wide, his adrenaline-sharpened senses sucked everything in: the curtains of blood from the hands and throat –
so much blood
– the slash and spatter of the writing on the wall, the slump of Douglas’s body, the way the weight of it pulled grotesquely at the flesh where the spikes had been driven in … steam rising up from the dark pool on the stone floor.

His numbed fingers closed around the phone in his pocket and he raised it to his face, not wanting to risk dropping his sight or the gun. His eyes flicked to the screen, found Franklin’s cell phone number and dialled. He held the phone to his ear, his breathing rapid, eyes scoping the rest of the cabin from over the top of his gun.

Nothing was disturbed, there had been no struggle. The kill must have been fast and deliberate, efficient even.

He stared at the body, almost disbelieving the violence it spoke of.

The phone connected.

‘It’s Shepherd.’

‘You find him?’

‘He’s dead. Throat cut. Nailed to the wall.’

‘Jesus. What’s your situation?’

‘Scared shitless.’

‘Good. You in cover?’

‘Yes. I think it only just happened.’

‘Why?’

‘The blood. There’s steam coming off it. I saw tracks in the snow. Thought they were his. Tracks leading into the forest. There was a car too. Parked on the road.’

‘Did you get the plate?’

‘No. I didn’t think it was anything. Just someone broken down.’

‘What about make and model?’

‘It was a station wagon, nothing fancy, an old Volvo, I think. It had a baby seat in the back.’

‘Colour?’

‘Yellow, white. Hard to tell in the light.’

‘OK, that’s good. Don’t do anything. Stay in cover, do not try and be a hero. Hunker down, sit tight and I’ll send the local cops to you. Keep your phone on so they can follow the locator, OK?’

It clicked in his ear and Franklin was gone before Shepherd could reply.

He felt alone and scared, the loud and ominous strains of Mars not helping at all. He was shivering from cold and adrenalin, the open hatch in the roof letting the cold of the night pour in on top of him.

He stared at the body, forcing himself to breathe more steadily and see it through the eyes of a professional assessing a crime scene.

There was something very deliberate about it all. The spikes in the hands were large, not the sort of thing you would find lying around, the killer must have brought them with him.

Shepherd tried to picture him coming here through the snow, nails and a hammer jingling in a bag, knowing he was going to do this.

He was already building a profile. Had to be a man because of the strength required. Douglas wasn’t a big guy but he was big enough. And it looked like his throat had been cut last, while he was already pinned to the wall, the arterial spray and blood flow all centred on his current position. How much strength would you need to do that – nail a struggling guy to a wall? Too much for one person. Two people then, maybe more.

Shepherd squatted low and moved closer, heading for the middle of the floor where the telescope stood. Anyone out there watching would have seen his head pass by the window as he recoiled from his initial sight of Douglas. The thin wooden walls of the shack wouldn’t stop a bullet if one came so he kept low and out of sight.

The music was frightening and oppressive now and he glanced at the laptop. He wanted to turn it off so he could listen for exterior sounds but knew if it suddenly cut out then anyone out there would know exactly where he was. He should wait for the track to end at least, then it wouldn’t be so obvious.