An Unforgiving Place, page 7
I shook my head. “No, this looks more like a disease state. Hand-foot-and-mouth disease, herpes esophagitis, maybe toxic ingestion …”
“Does he have it too?” Hux asked.
“I haven’t looked yet.”
Our exam of Tim Greer’s oropharynx showed the same thing. On a city street, that white residue around their lips would have called to mind any number of illegal substances: cocaine, oxy, heroin. Out here, though, my mind went to the local plant life.
“You didn’t bring your plant identification book by chance, did you?” I asked Hux.
“Sure did.” He walked a short distance to where his backpack lay on the ground and pulled out a pocket-sized guide. Hux had made it clear that he much preferred the app-based plant identification tools, but those didn’t work without a cell signal. “What am I looking for here, boss?” He waved the book at me.
“Berries, possibly. Something with white skin or fruit.”
He walked back over to where I was standing. The pages of his pocket guide were tattered and worn, and he flipped through them with a deft hand. “Baneberries,” he said. “Can be white or red with a round, glossy shape, so that fits. They’re also called ‘dolls’ eyes’ because of the red dot on white berries.” He squinted at the page. “All parts of the plant are poisonous—oh.”
“What?”
“The first symptoms of toxicity are burning and blistering of mucosal surfaces like the mouth and throat.” He looked up and met my gaze. “That tracks too.”
“It does, but have you ever heard of someone dying from baneberry poisoning?”
“Hmm.” He read down the page some more. “Well, they’re apparently supremely toxic, but it says here they have a bitter taste. So, that’s a deterrent, for sure.”
I thought on this for a moment, considering the possibility that Tim and Kelsey Greer had eaten a dozen horrible-tasting baneberries before prostrating themselves on the river and dying a miserable death. What didn’t fit for me was the fact that they didn’t look malnourished or even desperate. I was willing to bet that the autopsy report was going to show a recent meal in their stomachs, which meant they’d been camping and eating and doing their normal things until just a few hours before they died. So what had prompted the baneberry ingestion? Curiosity? If so, it sounded like they would have stopped eating them rather quickly because of the taste.
“We’ll have to wait on the ME’s report,” I said. “If it was a toxic plant, they’ll try to identify the species. If Tim and Kelsey Greer ate enough to kill themselves, they should be able to determine that too.”
“How long do you think that’ll take?”
“A day or two, I hope.”
Ollie was standing at the river’s edge, staring pointedly at the opposite shore. “He thinks they came from across the river,” Hux remarked. “He’s been whining for the last hour.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I tend to agree.”
“They aren’t wearing waders.” I gestured to the Greers’ hiking boots, which were laced up to the top. “And the water looks pretty deep here.”
Hux gingerly grasped Kelsey Greer’s boot. “It’s still wet,” he said.
“Have you ever experienced dry boots in Alaska?”
His lips twitched with a smile. “Are you okay with me taking it off?”
“Sure, go ahead. You got a knife?”
“Why?”
“The dead aren’t as limber as the living.”
Hux nodded, acknowledging the grim truth in that statement, as he proceeded to untie Kelsey Greer’s shoelaces. In the end, he had to remove them altogether to get the hiking boot off her foot, which came free with a small gush of water.
Hux was right. The significant volume of water in her hiking boots meant she had waded into the frigid, wild, dangerous river. Had something, or someone, chased them across the Alatna? It was a disturbing thought.
Ollie seemed to read my thoughts as he pawed at the gravel bar where it met the water. Hux tugged at the brim of his baseball cap.
“I think we should at least have a look on the other side,” he said. “If a bush pilot saw a tent in the water, it actually makes more sense that they were camping there. I checked the weather reports, and the wind was coming from the east last night.”
“Hm,” I said. “Good observation.”
He turned to face me. “You look perturbed.”
“Perturbed is a strong word.”
“Flummoxed?”
I smirked at him. “Are you sure you’re a math guy?”
“I’ve been known to flex my robust vocabulary now and then.”
“I’m just having trouble putting this all together,” I said. “It’s one thing to cross the river and then die, but to die here? Like this?”
“What are you saying, boss?”
“I’m saying I haven’t ruled out a homicide.”
The distant sound of a helicopter made me look up at the sky. It was approaching from the southeast, probably from Fairbanks or even Anchorage. The closest major medical center was in Fairbanks, along with the county morgue. I’d worked with several medical examiners in the state so far, and every experience had been positive. Alaska didn’t have coroners, who were elected to the position and often lacked relevant training for this kind of work. It wasn’t that I hadn’t worked with competent coroners before; it was just that I liked knowing that I could rely on someone with specialized training when I was in a different state, in unfamiliar territory.
When the chopper landed, it felt like reality was setting in—these two dead bodies on the Alatna River with their bizarre injuries, the cult we’d been tasked to find in the middle of nowhere, the mystery of a windblown tent spotted on the river. And then, of course, there was the question that had taken root in my mind, planting a seed of unease that had already begun to bloom: Was there a killer loose in the park?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brinegar striding toward me. He tucked his chin against his chest to ward off the wind. “This is your chance to get back to Denali right now, Agent Harland,” he said. “There’s room on the chopper for both of you, if you’re interested.”
“We’re going to hang back a bit,” I said. “We’re not quite done here.”
As if on cue, a lone wolf howled into the void. “Be careful,” he said. “Those wolves out there might hold a grudge.”
“Don’t worry,” Hux said. “I sleep with a big stick.”
Brinegar looked at Hux like he was trying to decide if he was being serious, but I knew Hux. He did, in fact, prefer to sleep with a big stick that he could grab at a moment’s notice.
“It’s not just the wolves,” Brinegar said. “We tend to attract some hardcore survivalist types up here. They don’t like company.”
Hearing him mention a “survivalist” made me think back to Hux’s conversation with Dora and Greg. “Any chance you’ve heard of one named Zane Reynolds?” I asked.
The lines in Brinegar’s leathery brow deepened. “You know about him?”
“You know about him?”
“I’ve never met the man,” he said, “but I’ve heard his name through the grapevine. We hear about guys like him from time to time—fugitives, ex-cons, doomsayers that come up to the arctic wilderness to live out their fantasies or what have you. Some of them are armed.” He glanced at the holster on my waistband. “I’m just saying you should keep an eye out.”
“Any chance you think one of those types might be responsible for what happened here?”
Brinegar shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I can’t say I’m even sure what you mean by that, Agent Harland. Are you thinking this was murder?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not necessarily saying that. I’m just trying to decide if these two ended up here all on their own. Seems unlikely to me.”
“I’m in agreement that they weren’t out here on their own for nearly a month,” Brinegar said. “I saw the report that went out on these two—that they were last seen in Bettles almost a month ago. Could it be they stumbled into a bunker? Or got abducted by some nutjob?” He shook his head. “To tell you the truth, ma’am, that’s above my pay grade. But I trust you’ll work through it. Just, again, keep an eye out.”
“We will,” I said, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by “keeping an eye out.” In an area that covered eight million acres, it wasn’t all that hard to stay under the radar. I was more worried about not finding Zane Reynolds than I was about him finding us.
I spotted Emily heading our way, planting her hiking stick in sync with her strides. Even though the wind had picked up and the daytime sunlight had started to wane, she seemed impervious to the cold. I had encountered several people like her in Alaska. And yet, here I was, layering up even on the warmest summer days.
“Um, Chief?” she said to Brinegar.
“What’s up?”
“I heard you talking—about this survivalist, I mean. I know a ranger that mighta stumbled on his campsite a couple months back.”
I glanced at Hux, giving him the sign that he should go ahead and take it from here. Hux said, “Where? Near here?”
“Not really.” She adjusted the straps of her wide-brimmed hat. “You familiar with Mount Chitiok?”
I started to say no, but Hux cut in with, “Sure. It’s west of here, over the Divide—right?”
Emily looked impressed. “Yeah.”
“So what happened?” he asked. “Did your friend talk to anyone at the campsite?”
“He talked to the main guy—the leader, I guess. My buddy was concerned about the size of the group, which he said was at least twelve, maybe fifteen. The limit in the park is ten.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“To help preserve the ecosystem. The vegetation near the rivers is getting trampled. We try to tell people to camp on the gravel bars, but some people feel like it’s not private or scenic enough. Since you don’t need a permit here, you can really camp wherever you want. So all we can do is limit group sizes.”
Hux and I exchanged a glance. “Any chance we could talk to this ranger?” I asked.
“Um, maybe. But I think he’s in Nepal right now.”
“Nepal?”
“He’s on a mountaineering expedition out there.”
“Got it.” I couldn’t fault a guy for pursuing his passion, but it could be a challenge getting in touch with him. Even so, it was worth trying to track him down.
“Any chance you could send me his contact info?” I reached into my back pocket for the slim stack of business cards I kept there. Every once in a while, they came in handy.
“Uh, sure.” She took my card, glanced at the front and back with a slight look of disapproval, and stuffed it in her pocket. I made a mental note to follow up with her later.
Brinegar shuffled his feet a bit. “Well, I’m gonna hitch a ride with the chopper,” he said. “You all take care now.”
“Safe travels,” I said. “We’ll give you an update when we have one.”
“Appreciate that.” Brinegar walked off toward the helicopter, its rotors whirring in the thin air. Emily munched on a granola bar while Dave made his way over to us. He had spent most of the last hour packing up his things.
“Are you and Dave sticking around?” I asked Emily.
“Um, just for a little while,” she said. “We were supposed to meet up this week for a wildlife survey.”
“Which way are you headed?” Hux asked.
Emily pointed to a collapsible canoe languishing in the water downstream. “That there’s our ride,” she said. “It’s the best way to travel if you ask me.” She tightened the straps of her backpack as the gusts of air from the helicopter nearly knocked us off our feet. She caught her hat at the last second.
Dave said, “We got a call about an injured bear not too far from here. Not that there’s much we can do about it, but injured bears can turn into aggressive bears, so we like to be proactive.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, good luck.” I handed him one of my cards. “Just in case you need to get in touch about anything.”
As they made their way down to Emily’s collapsible vessel, I briefly wondered if we were making a mistake letting them go. It wasn’t that I suspected Emily or Dave of any nefarious activity, but they both knew the Alatna River basin better than anyone, and it surprised me that Emily hadn’t seen a bright orange tent or a random campsite nearby. As for Dave, he looked out of his element, a wilderness biologist who feared the wilderness. I wondered what his backstory was. Even though he had spoken capably about the wolves, something seemed off there.
“What did you make of those two?” I asked Hux.
“I was waiting for you to ask me that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well?”
“Well, they’re definitely together.”
“You think?”
“I do think.”
Here we were, bumping up against the whole personal–professional boundary again. It always made me a little uncomfortable to talk about other people’s workplace romances because, well, we were at some small risk for one. Margo certainly thought so. She loved to bring it up every time we talked on the phone.
“Beyond that, though,” I said. “You didn’t think Dave was a little odd?”
“Odd, how?”
“He just seemed nervous.”
“Maybe because he was. I saw it all the time when I was interrogating people overseas. You ever hear of white-coat hypertension? It’s like that, except the person’s wearing military fatigues or a law enforcement badge.”
Ollie wandered over, his impatience having given way to resignation. He barked once—weakly, hoarsely. I knew what he wanted: to explore the other side of the river.
“He’s about to give up on us,” Hux remarked.
“I know, but we should eat first.”
“Thank God,” Hux said. “I’m in a red zone over here.”
Hux took charge of the food prep while I picked a dry spot by the river and studied my map of the park. The next meal would be my turn.
After a couple minutes, Hux walked over with a pair of spinach wraps, apple slices, and a piece of chocolate in the shape of Mt. Denali. “I got the chocolate at the airport,” he explained.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I said, a little sheepishly.
“Eh, you’ll make it up to me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
His lips curled up in a smile as he handed me one of the spinach wraps. As soon as I took that first bite, I realized how hungry I was. It had been a grueling day, with more hard hours to come. Now that the rangers had left, I wondered if the wolves were feeling emboldened. I could still hear them howling in the distance, a lonely chatter that rolled through the valley.
When we’d finished our dinner, I looked back at the final resting place of Tim and Kelsey Greer. In some ways, it was a serene setting—the river, the white spruce, the vast Alaska wilderness. The sky was a dazzling blue.
But I’d been doing this job long enough to suspect that they hadn’t died peaceful deaths. The toxic berries. The wounds on their wrists. Their bodies prostrated on a riverbed of rock and silt.
Something sinister had happened here.
The question was, what?
CHAPTER
8
WITH DUSK RAPIDLY approaching, Hux and I set out across the wild and scenic Alatna River. My first hard lesson coming to Alaska was getting used to the fact that my feet were always wet, no matter the weather or the terrain. Wet sponga, rivers, and streams were everywhere in the arctic landscape, and there was no avoiding them.
I gritted my teeth and ventured into the river, bracing myself for the inevitable chill. God, this sucks, I thought. It would take hours to warm up again.
Ollie was a capable swimmer, but Hux carried him in his arms most of the way because, well, he didn’t like taking chances with my dog. Hux was rather attached to him, which was cute. Seeing them navigate the river together took the sting out of the misery of being cold and wet.
After a smooth crossing without any major disasters, we made it to the other side. Ollie resumed the hunt almost as soon as his feet hit the ground, and Hux urged him on, using a glove from each of the victims that I’d given him permission to use for tracking purposes. Barely a minute passed before Ollie started howling.
I cupped a hand over my eyes and scrutinized a potential path eastward into the wilderness. “It feels like we’re in for some bushwhacking,” I said with a groan.
Hux caught my eyes briefly while looking up from his map. “You don’t sound super pumped about it,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, I’m a foot shorter than you, so your whacked bushes tend to hit me in the face.”
“Are you telling me you’d like me to do my bushwhacking from a crouch?”
I couldn’t help but briefly imagine what that would look like—essentially an unobstructed view of Hux’s muscular backside for hours—and decided to banish the thought from my mind as quickly as possible. “You do you,” I said. “I’ll survive.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
As we walked, I tightened my chest strap a bit, relishing my backpack’s familiar shape and weight. I had come a long way since my Sequoia assignment. I now had a backpack that suited me and a weight limit that I could handle. I knew how to pack my things in the most efficient way possible; in a side pocket were extra evidence bags, gloves, and a pair of tweezers. In the other side pocket were a compass and my Garmin inReach device.
Hux and I followed Ollie into the brush, covering mostly flat terrain that was rather inhospitable to trees. The lack of wooded areas made for good visibility but poor shelter in the event of bad weather. I hoped we wouldn’t have to deal with the latter on this trip.
We’d been hiking for less than fifteen minutes when Ollie unleashed a high-pitched bark and darted out of sight. I felt my stomach clench. Ollie wasn’t one to waste an opportunity or signal a false alarm. I was confident he’d found something.
Hux and I hurried after him, careful to stay within view of each other. Our one rule in the wilderness was to always stay together. Hux treated the buddy system like a religion.
“Does he have it too?” Hux asked.
“I haven’t looked yet.”
Our exam of Tim Greer’s oropharynx showed the same thing. On a city street, that white residue around their lips would have called to mind any number of illegal substances: cocaine, oxy, heroin. Out here, though, my mind went to the local plant life.
“You didn’t bring your plant identification book by chance, did you?” I asked Hux.
“Sure did.” He walked a short distance to where his backpack lay on the ground and pulled out a pocket-sized guide. Hux had made it clear that he much preferred the app-based plant identification tools, but those didn’t work without a cell signal. “What am I looking for here, boss?” He waved the book at me.
“Berries, possibly. Something with white skin or fruit.”
He walked back over to where I was standing. The pages of his pocket guide were tattered and worn, and he flipped through them with a deft hand. “Baneberries,” he said. “Can be white or red with a round, glossy shape, so that fits. They’re also called ‘dolls’ eyes’ because of the red dot on white berries.” He squinted at the page. “All parts of the plant are poisonous—oh.”
“What?”
“The first symptoms of toxicity are burning and blistering of mucosal surfaces like the mouth and throat.” He looked up and met my gaze. “That tracks too.”
“It does, but have you ever heard of someone dying from baneberry poisoning?”
“Hmm.” He read down the page some more. “Well, they’re apparently supremely toxic, but it says here they have a bitter taste. So, that’s a deterrent, for sure.”
I thought on this for a moment, considering the possibility that Tim and Kelsey Greer had eaten a dozen horrible-tasting baneberries before prostrating themselves on the river and dying a miserable death. What didn’t fit for me was the fact that they didn’t look malnourished or even desperate. I was willing to bet that the autopsy report was going to show a recent meal in their stomachs, which meant they’d been camping and eating and doing their normal things until just a few hours before they died. So what had prompted the baneberry ingestion? Curiosity? If so, it sounded like they would have stopped eating them rather quickly because of the taste.
“We’ll have to wait on the ME’s report,” I said. “If it was a toxic plant, they’ll try to identify the species. If Tim and Kelsey Greer ate enough to kill themselves, they should be able to determine that too.”
“How long do you think that’ll take?”
“A day or two, I hope.”
Ollie was standing at the river’s edge, staring pointedly at the opposite shore. “He thinks they came from across the river,” Hux remarked. “He’s been whining for the last hour.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I tend to agree.”
“They aren’t wearing waders.” I gestured to the Greers’ hiking boots, which were laced up to the top. “And the water looks pretty deep here.”
Hux gingerly grasped Kelsey Greer’s boot. “It’s still wet,” he said.
“Have you ever experienced dry boots in Alaska?”
His lips twitched with a smile. “Are you okay with me taking it off?”
“Sure, go ahead. You got a knife?”
“Why?”
“The dead aren’t as limber as the living.”
Hux nodded, acknowledging the grim truth in that statement, as he proceeded to untie Kelsey Greer’s shoelaces. In the end, he had to remove them altogether to get the hiking boot off her foot, which came free with a small gush of water.
Hux was right. The significant volume of water in her hiking boots meant she had waded into the frigid, wild, dangerous river. Had something, or someone, chased them across the Alatna? It was a disturbing thought.
Ollie seemed to read my thoughts as he pawed at the gravel bar where it met the water. Hux tugged at the brim of his baseball cap.
“I think we should at least have a look on the other side,” he said. “If a bush pilot saw a tent in the water, it actually makes more sense that they were camping there. I checked the weather reports, and the wind was coming from the east last night.”
“Hm,” I said. “Good observation.”
He turned to face me. “You look perturbed.”
“Perturbed is a strong word.”
“Flummoxed?”
I smirked at him. “Are you sure you’re a math guy?”
“I’ve been known to flex my robust vocabulary now and then.”
“I’m just having trouble putting this all together,” I said. “It’s one thing to cross the river and then die, but to die here? Like this?”
“What are you saying, boss?”
“I’m saying I haven’t ruled out a homicide.”
The distant sound of a helicopter made me look up at the sky. It was approaching from the southeast, probably from Fairbanks or even Anchorage. The closest major medical center was in Fairbanks, along with the county morgue. I’d worked with several medical examiners in the state so far, and every experience had been positive. Alaska didn’t have coroners, who were elected to the position and often lacked relevant training for this kind of work. It wasn’t that I hadn’t worked with competent coroners before; it was just that I liked knowing that I could rely on someone with specialized training when I was in a different state, in unfamiliar territory.
When the chopper landed, it felt like reality was setting in—these two dead bodies on the Alatna River with their bizarre injuries, the cult we’d been tasked to find in the middle of nowhere, the mystery of a windblown tent spotted on the river. And then, of course, there was the question that had taken root in my mind, planting a seed of unease that had already begun to bloom: Was there a killer loose in the park?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brinegar striding toward me. He tucked his chin against his chest to ward off the wind. “This is your chance to get back to Denali right now, Agent Harland,” he said. “There’s room on the chopper for both of you, if you’re interested.”
“We’re going to hang back a bit,” I said. “We’re not quite done here.”
As if on cue, a lone wolf howled into the void. “Be careful,” he said. “Those wolves out there might hold a grudge.”
“Don’t worry,” Hux said. “I sleep with a big stick.”
Brinegar looked at Hux like he was trying to decide if he was being serious, but I knew Hux. He did, in fact, prefer to sleep with a big stick that he could grab at a moment’s notice.
“It’s not just the wolves,” Brinegar said. “We tend to attract some hardcore survivalist types up here. They don’t like company.”
Hearing him mention a “survivalist” made me think back to Hux’s conversation with Dora and Greg. “Any chance you’ve heard of one named Zane Reynolds?” I asked.
The lines in Brinegar’s leathery brow deepened. “You know about him?”
“You know about him?”
“I’ve never met the man,” he said, “but I’ve heard his name through the grapevine. We hear about guys like him from time to time—fugitives, ex-cons, doomsayers that come up to the arctic wilderness to live out their fantasies or what have you. Some of them are armed.” He glanced at the holster on my waistband. “I’m just saying you should keep an eye out.”
“Any chance you think one of those types might be responsible for what happened here?”
Brinegar shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I can’t say I’m even sure what you mean by that, Agent Harland. Are you thinking this was murder?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not necessarily saying that. I’m just trying to decide if these two ended up here all on their own. Seems unlikely to me.”
“I’m in agreement that they weren’t out here on their own for nearly a month,” Brinegar said. “I saw the report that went out on these two—that they were last seen in Bettles almost a month ago. Could it be they stumbled into a bunker? Or got abducted by some nutjob?” He shook his head. “To tell you the truth, ma’am, that’s above my pay grade. But I trust you’ll work through it. Just, again, keep an eye out.”
“We will,” I said, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by “keeping an eye out.” In an area that covered eight million acres, it wasn’t all that hard to stay under the radar. I was more worried about not finding Zane Reynolds than I was about him finding us.
I spotted Emily heading our way, planting her hiking stick in sync with her strides. Even though the wind had picked up and the daytime sunlight had started to wane, she seemed impervious to the cold. I had encountered several people like her in Alaska. And yet, here I was, layering up even on the warmest summer days.
“Um, Chief?” she said to Brinegar.
“What’s up?”
“I heard you talking—about this survivalist, I mean. I know a ranger that mighta stumbled on his campsite a couple months back.”
I glanced at Hux, giving him the sign that he should go ahead and take it from here. Hux said, “Where? Near here?”
“Not really.” She adjusted the straps of her wide-brimmed hat. “You familiar with Mount Chitiok?”
I started to say no, but Hux cut in with, “Sure. It’s west of here, over the Divide—right?”
Emily looked impressed. “Yeah.”
“So what happened?” he asked. “Did your friend talk to anyone at the campsite?”
“He talked to the main guy—the leader, I guess. My buddy was concerned about the size of the group, which he said was at least twelve, maybe fifteen. The limit in the park is ten.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“To help preserve the ecosystem. The vegetation near the rivers is getting trampled. We try to tell people to camp on the gravel bars, but some people feel like it’s not private or scenic enough. Since you don’t need a permit here, you can really camp wherever you want. So all we can do is limit group sizes.”
Hux and I exchanged a glance. “Any chance we could talk to this ranger?” I asked.
“Um, maybe. But I think he’s in Nepal right now.”
“Nepal?”
“He’s on a mountaineering expedition out there.”
“Got it.” I couldn’t fault a guy for pursuing his passion, but it could be a challenge getting in touch with him. Even so, it was worth trying to track him down.
“Any chance you could send me his contact info?” I reached into my back pocket for the slim stack of business cards I kept there. Every once in a while, they came in handy.
“Uh, sure.” She took my card, glanced at the front and back with a slight look of disapproval, and stuffed it in her pocket. I made a mental note to follow up with her later.
Brinegar shuffled his feet a bit. “Well, I’m gonna hitch a ride with the chopper,” he said. “You all take care now.”
“Safe travels,” I said. “We’ll give you an update when we have one.”
“Appreciate that.” Brinegar walked off toward the helicopter, its rotors whirring in the thin air. Emily munched on a granola bar while Dave made his way over to us. He had spent most of the last hour packing up his things.
“Are you and Dave sticking around?” I asked Emily.
“Um, just for a little while,” she said. “We were supposed to meet up this week for a wildlife survey.”
“Which way are you headed?” Hux asked.
Emily pointed to a collapsible canoe languishing in the water downstream. “That there’s our ride,” she said. “It’s the best way to travel if you ask me.” She tightened the straps of her backpack as the gusts of air from the helicopter nearly knocked us off our feet. She caught her hat at the last second.
Dave said, “We got a call about an injured bear not too far from here. Not that there’s much we can do about it, but injured bears can turn into aggressive bears, so we like to be proactive.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, good luck.” I handed him one of my cards. “Just in case you need to get in touch about anything.”
As they made their way down to Emily’s collapsible vessel, I briefly wondered if we were making a mistake letting them go. It wasn’t that I suspected Emily or Dave of any nefarious activity, but they both knew the Alatna River basin better than anyone, and it surprised me that Emily hadn’t seen a bright orange tent or a random campsite nearby. As for Dave, he looked out of his element, a wilderness biologist who feared the wilderness. I wondered what his backstory was. Even though he had spoken capably about the wolves, something seemed off there.
“What did you make of those two?” I asked Hux.
“I was waiting for you to ask me that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well?”
“Well, they’re definitely together.”
“You think?”
“I do think.”
Here we were, bumping up against the whole personal–professional boundary again. It always made me a little uncomfortable to talk about other people’s workplace romances because, well, we were at some small risk for one. Margo certainly thought so. She loved to bring it up every time we talked on the phone.
“Beyond that, though,” I said. “You didn’t think Dave was a little odd?”
“Odd, how?”
“He just seemed nervous.”
“Maybe because he was. I saw it all the time when I was interrogating people overseas. You ever hear of white-coat hypertension? It’s like that, except the person’s wearing military fatigues or a law enforcement badge.”
Ollie wandered over, his impatience having given way to resignation. He barked once—weakly, hoarsely. I knew what he wanted: to explore the other side of the river.
“He’s about to give up on us,” Hux remarked.
“I know, but we should eat first.”
“Thank God,” Hux said. “I’m in a red zone over here.”
Hux took charge of the food prep while I picked a dry spot by the river and studied my map of the park. The next meal would be my turn.
After a couple minutes, Hux walked over with a pair of spinach wraps, apple slices, and a piece of chocolate in the shape of Mt. Denali. “I got the chocolate at the airport,” he explained.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I said, a little sheepishly.
“Eh, you’ll make it up to me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
His lips curled up in a smile as he handed me one of the spinach wraps. As soon as I took that first bite, I realized how hungry I was. It had been a grueling day, with more hard hours to come. Now that the rangers had left, I wondered if the wolves were feeling emboldened. I could still hear them howling in the distance, a lonely chatter that rolled through the valley.
When we’d finished our dinner, I looked back at the final resting place of Tim and Kelsey Greer. In some ways, it was a serene setting—the river, the white spruce, the vast Alaska wilderness. The sky was a dazzling blue.
But I’d been doing this job long enough to suspect that they hadn’t died peaceful deaths. The toxic berries. The wounds on their wrists. Their bodies prostrated on a riverbed of rock and silt.
Something sinister had happened here.
The question was, what?
CHAPTER
8
WITH DUSK RAPIDLY approaching, Hux and I set out across the wild and scenic Alatna River. My first hard lesson coming to Alaska was getting used to the fact that my feet were always wet, no matter the weather or the terrain. Wet sponga, rivers, and streams were everywhere in the arctic landscape, and there was no avoiding them.
I gritted my teeth and ventured into the river, bracing myself for the inevitable chill. God, this sucks, I thought. It would take hours to warm up again.
Ollie was a capable swimmer, but Hux carried him in his arms most of the way because, well, he didn’t like taking chances with my dog. Hux was rather attached to him, which was cute. Seeing them navigate the river together took the sting out of the misery of being cold and wet.
After a smooth crossing without any major disasters, we made it to the other side. Ollie resumed the hunt almost as soon as his feet hit the ground, and Hux urged him on, using a glove from each of the victims that I’d given him permission to use for tracking purposes. Barely a minute passed before Ollie started howling.
I cupped a hand over my eyes and scrutinized a potential path eastward into the wilderness. “It feels like we’re in for some bushwhacking,” I said with a groan.
Hux caught my eyes briefly while looking up from his map. “You don’t sound super pumped about it,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, I’m a foot shorter than you, so your whacked bushes tend to hit me in the face.”
“Are you telling me you’d like me to do my bushwhacking from a crouch?”
I couldn’t help but briefly imagine what that would look like—essentially an unobstructed view of Hux’s muscular backside for hours—and decided to banish the thought from my mind as quickly as possible. “You do you,” I said. “I’ll survive.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
As we walked, I tightened my chest strap a bit, relishing my backpack’s familiar shape and weight. I had come a long way since my Sequoia assignment. I now had a backpack that suited me and a weight limit that I could handle. I knew how to pack my things in the most efficient way possible; in a side pocket were extra evidence bags, gloves, and a pair of tweezers. In the other side pocket were a compass and my Garmin inReach device.
Hux and I followed Ollie into the brush, covering mostly flat terrain that was rather inhospitable to trees. The lack of wooded areas made for good visibility but poor shelter in the event of bad weather. I hoped we wouldn’t have to deal with the latter on this trip.
We’d been hiking for less than fifteen minutes when Ollie unleashed a high-pitched bark and darted out of sight. I felt my stomach clench. Ollie wasn’t one to waste an opportunity or signal a false alarm. I was confident he’d found something.
Hux and I hurried after him, careful to stay within view of each other. Our one rule in the wilderness was to always stay together. Hux treated the buddy system like a religion.
