The Ice Sings Back, page 27
However it went, May knew she needed to do it soon.
The opportunity came several days later. May was in the medical tent when the Chief appeared and ordered her to dismantle the gear and take everything back to the department. The search was being suspended, Eugene PD was taking over. He explained they’d regroup back at the station.
May had tried to summon some emotion within herself as she put the final crate into the back of the ambulance, some thought for the still-missing Amelia Kane. But her brain was completely frozen and could only focus on the report on her phone in her back pocket and how she knew she’d need to give it to the chief that day. During the two hour drive down the mountain with Baker she sat in blank silence, numb.
After Baker parked the ambulance in the bay and exited the vehicle, May sat in the passenger seat until the automatic lights clicked off. Indecision and doubt roiled in her stomach. She knew that she needed to give her report to the chief. She wanted to be heard. But she couldn’t bring herself to act.
But then the bay doors opened back up, the lights flooded on. The chief pulled in beside her in the bush truck. He was alone in the vehicle and May felt suddenly certain. It was a sign, a way forward. She jumped down from the ambulance.
“Chief,” she called. “Can I talk to you?”
He inelegantly rotated as he stepped out of the truck, heavy boots scrabbling on the concrete. “Young?” he asked. “Is that you?”
She stepped around the truck hood, SAR pack balanced on her shoulder, heart pounding. She was already flushed, she could feel it. “Yes,” she wavered.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” he said. “My office in three?”
May nodded but knew he couldn’t see her. He’d disappeared into the single bathroom in the bay, the one she used to change into her uniform while all the rest of the crew stripped in front of their lockers.
She dropped her pack at her locker, walked out to see if Foxface was around for a little morale bump, but didn’t see the dog. Walked to the medic desk in the back office, printed off her report. Then headed into the chief’s office, a little room jammed with metal filing cabinets, firefighter posters, gear, a desk, and two chairs. She sank into the chair by the window, waited.
“Sorry,” the Chief said fifteen minutes later, breezing through the open door and around the side of his desk. “That turned into a shit.”
May flushed, tried to hide it. “What’s going to happen with Amelia Kane?” she asked, ankles pressed together, feeling her heart rate already above one hundred and thirty.
He shrugged, looked at his desk piled with paper. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think some civilians are going to keep looking, but we’re out of budget. Eugene PD is likely going to reclassify it a homicide investigation, especially given the graveyard in that randkluft at the Collier. They think four more bodies today. What a horrific mess. But for Amelia they might focus on the mother. More power to them. Let the police burn up their accounting.”
“Four more?” May stopped, shocked. Maybe now was not the time to press her report on the chief.
But Chief kept talking. “They won’t have to spend much on autopsies, I’ll tell you between us. I talked to the forensics lead. The ice and snow preserved those women, froze their wounds. Each body so far appears to have been asphyxiated.”
May swallowed thickly, gripped her chair. She’d read about strangulation in her training, primarily in the context of domestic abuse situations. Abusers who strangled often had superficial injuries caused by a victim fighting to live, while, conversely, the victim typically had far less visible wounds. Often, the only immediate sign of strangulation was the small bursting of blood vessels in the victim’s eyes. Sometimes, when police or medics responded to a call, the victim could be arrested because the abuser had the more noticeable injuries. May had been trained to identify such situations, look for starry eyes.
“Their throats were literally crushed.” He inhaled sharply, caught May’s eyes. “But none of that is public knowledge, Young.”
May nodded, shivers running down her arms. Tried not to visualize gruesome bodies thawing out of the ice, necks crushed. What a horrific way to die.
“But what about Amelia Kane?” she asked. “Any possibility she’s up there?”
The fire chief looked at May across his desk. “We’ll likely all find out at the same time, read about it in the Register-Guard. Seems like they’re devoting their front page to the story each day. The police have released the names of two more today.”
May tucked a loose chunk of hair behind her ear. Wished she’d showered, didn’t, again, feel so dingy. “Do you think the mother did something?”
He angled back into his chair, eyed her. He was a long time responding. “Maybe?” he finally said. “But, I’ve been chief at this department for over twenty years. What do I know?”
May nodded. She didn’t think a mother could murder her child in cold blood.
“In actuality, though, it’s a bit of a statistical anomaly. From what I recall, usually it isn’t the mother. Usually it’s a known male.”
“Eight times more likely. I read that in training,” May said. “Ninety-two percent of female murder victims know the man who kills them.”
He tapped his desk. “I’m more likely to kill a woman that Amelia Kane’s mother is. But…” he trailed off, fidgeted, then ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know any more.” He sighed. “Lots of women have gone missing up there, but no one has paid much attention. Now the police on all sides of the Cascades are looking like complete fools. The Bend police didn’t even devote a single day looking for Dee Mercier.”
May eyed her lap, looked at the papers she’d carefully stapled together, recalled the feel of the stiff leg she’d handled in the snow. Raised her face back up. “Does it ever get easier?” she asked quietly.
Chief pushed the roller chair away from his desk, interlocked both his hands behind his head, leaned, flashed her a grin. “Yeah,” he chortled.
Confusion twinged in May. What was funny?
He must have registered her confusion because he tapped the desk, leaned forward. “Did Baker not tell you? Remember Donna Watts? How many of those calls did you go on? Her dumbass dad tried to sneak a smoke, burned himself and the whole place to cinders. Springfield had to respond, three trucks. Nearly burnt the whole forest down. God, what a mess.”
May pictured Donna, visualized the woman sitting alone on that cabin porch. Scenarios opened before her. But May shook them away. She told herself to focus. She eyed him with her firmest expression.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I remembered something that might be helpful…” May trailed off, waited for some sign that he was listening. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking at the clock above her shoulder with such intensity that May turned in her chair, glanced at the wall. The clock was standard issue.
She twisted back, drew in a breath, hoped he wasn’t already over this meeting. “When I hiked back from the Collier that first night, about forty minutes outside of Command I ran into an old woman with a birthmark shaped like a bird over her right eye.”
“Huh?” He turned to her. “You didn’t tell me that before. What’s the significance?”
May tamped down a surge of triumph. She knew her television shows. This was the moment when she presented vital evidence and her superior recognized her worth. She shrugged a shoulder, tried to make it more casual and less scoliosis. Feigned demureness. “You haven’t read my report,” she said, tapped the papers in her lap. “You’ve only heard Jonas’s account.”
“Young,” Chief barked, irritation crumpling his eyes into tank windows. “I don’t have time for games.”
“When I studied for my EMT-B,” she inserted quickly, flustered that he was so quickly irritated. She didn’t want to lose ground. “I had to learn missing person protocols. They were all local examples. One of the missing people was this girl.” May took the top sheet off her lap, handed him the image she’d printed yesterday before turning into her bunk. She felt confident for the first time in weeks. This would do it; she could taste it.
“Amiah Benton. She went missing decades ago. Last seen hiking with her parents in the Three Sisters.” Swallowing, May reached across his desk, tapped her finger on the girl’s grainy face. “Note the birthmark. Like a bird, flying over the right eye.”
He did not follow her finger, did not look at the printed page. He held his gaze trained squarely on May. His eyes were chalky, they looked like storm clouds. “I thought you wanted to be a medic?”
Electricity surged through May and sweat gathered under her thighs. She would have to fight for this one, she realized. “I think I’m smart,” she replied, held the eye contact with him. “I work hard, I’m sharp. I think I can be an asset here, if you let me.” Held her head up like her mother taught her, kept her face soft, non challenging to masculine authority. Best way to sell a property, her mother had drummed into her over and over. Be strong, but not challenging.
He brought his hands back down from around his head, sat up straight in the chair, rolled it forward to the edge of his desk. He looked at her thoughtfully, and May couldn’t guess what he was about to say.
She held herself still, waited.
If it had been her in his seat, she would have praised the good work of her newest hire, asked how she’d learned to follow leads, recommended her for more training and a promotion. May’s heart beat painfully as she waited for the chief to speak.
He coughed, rubbed his throat. “I’m intrigued that you’re focusing on detective work, but I need to remind you that you’re not a police officer. You’re a medic, the newest member of our team—a strong member.”
May allowed a brief smile to flicker on her mouth. So, he recognized how worthwhile she was, how much work she’d put in over the last few months.
“It’s my job to assess new recruits, find out their strengths. Clearly, you have a lot of strengths. You’ve moved through some of the medic training faster than any of the guys here. Well done.”
Feeling the heat on her face, May kept her face tilted as her heart pounded wildly.
“I’ve noticed especially your organizational capacities,” Chief continued. “And we just got back from a multi-day search, and I know the gear is disorganized and a mess. What I’d like you to focus on is less the detective stuff, and more on getting the storeroom, gear room, and front bay ship-shape so we’re ready for the next call.”
He wiggled his mouse, woke up the computer screen on his desk, looked intently at it. Brows furrowed like crop rows. May waited, but he didn’t look back at her. He was signaling that the conversation was done. He’d praised her, then sent her to organize and clean.
May sat motionless in the chair, tried to digest his words. What about Amiah Benton? Wasn’t he at all curious why a woman who went missing decades ago was now strolling around the same trails where a child went missing? Wasn’t that a curious event? And what was going on with all the laughter May had heard? That the hikers had also heard? Maybe he needed more of an explanation. May steadied herself, then stood, looked down at him. “Here’s my written report, Chief.”
She set the stapled report on top of his desk, next to his hand which did not move, did not reach for the papers. The hand was steady, long fingers wrapped comfortably around the black plastic mouse.
May turned to leave the office, slow-walked, willed him to say her name, draw her back in, tell her he was joking, that he found her an incredible asset to the department and a skilled medic. She moved through the doorframe.
“Young.”
May’s heart surged. She stopped, but didn’t turn.
“Sit,” he commanded.
He was a slow reader. He took an inordinate amount of time picking up his reading glasses, leaning back, settling in. May watched his bottom lip tuck, the way his eyes moved line by line, color on his face growing dimmer when the computer monitor fell asleep and went dark. She took in the chaos of his desk—the detritus of tools and paper and rope and mints and notebooks. No pictures. She wondered if he had a family. He’d never mentioned a wife, children. Maybe the department was his family. It usually was for the older men in the firefighting television dramas, especially the ones from the late nineties like Third Watch. She’d binge-watched all six seasons of that show, and totally understood why Sully never had a family except for the brief stint with the superhot Tatiana. But Tatiana had turned out to be a Ukrainian working for a Russian mob boss. She had a secret love child and was eventually murdered. If May had been on the show, she’d have told Sully to steer clear.
The chief stopped reading, released a barely perceptible groan. Set his feet on the ground with a loud thud. Narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s quite a report,” he said flatly.
May sat silent.
“Mystical laughter from the landscape? Seriously? Missing people making more missing people? Is any of this even provable?”
May kept her face blank. She hoped he’d agree, but then, he hadn’t seemed even remotely interested in Amiah Benton.
“Instead of the likely scenario, where Amelia Kane tragically wandered off into a lava tube, you’re claiming… what?”
May’s mind went blank.
“And you’re saying you discovered the bodies, and Jonas is lying? This is just…”
May swallowed, sat straight in the chair. She stared steady at him, pretended a confidence she didn’t feel.
“This is all rather different from Jonas’s report.” His tone was dry, skeptical. “Rather different than the report you yourself gave me in person.”
May brought her ankles together, hands folded, chin set at a ninety-degree angle from her neck. Told her brain to turn off. “It’s the truth.” She said it firmly.
“Young, I don’t want strife in this department. I won’t have it. Which one of your reports should I believe? Jonas only filed one, and as far as I understand, he certainly hasn’t revised his.”
Why did every conversation she have with the chief go in directions she couldn’t predict? Why couldn’t he believe her? She sucked air between her teeth, kept her eyes trained on his desk.
“This seems a little crazy, you know?” He set both elbows on his desk, leaned in. Voice low, intimate. His face suddenly seemed warm. “You doing okay? I’m not unaware you’ve been a little unwell since uncovering all of this. That can leave a mark.”
May had seen Sully use this tactic on Third Watch. Be all intimate before he punched the lights out of a villain. But May knew she wasn’t a villain, and she wasn’t sure why the chief was treating her like one. May had a speech prepared. She’d run it over and over in her head over the course of the last day. And while she’d pulled liberally from a few of Meredith’s scenes in Grey’s Anatomy, she had inserted her own voice into it. She was trying hard to be a medic. She was smart, could make a career for herself. Hell, after a few years, she’d maybe even think about medical school.
“In all honesty, I don’t think this matters very much. Right? You’ve already given me a verbal report, and, frankly, you weren’t the lead on the search.” His tone was almost cajoling. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but I think the best way forward is—”
“It does matter, though,” May interrupted quietly. “It matters to Jonas.”
The fire chief pulled back, created distance between them. May noted his face was no longer warm.
“Well, he’s a young, ambitious guy, May. He’s trying to get his name out there, move up the ladder.”
“Aren’t I?” May whispered. Trying to get a career? Trying to get momentum forward? Trying to put one foot down on the ground, let alone a second foot?
“You’ve got time, May. You’re just inexperienced.” Chief gathered the individual sheets of paper together, tucked the printed image of Amiah Benton at the bottom.
May watched as he took the stack of paper, her words, carefully typed out on her phone in between days of patching up searchers’ sliced feet. She’d read it, reread it, and palm-sweated all over it. But he just tapped the pages together, made it neat, then slid the whole stack into a cardboard box on the floor by his feet.
The room wobbled, and the corners of May’s eyes felt hot, strained. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not what happened on television. Blurrily, May saw her shifts, her training, her career accordion out before her, the days and months and years she would spend at this department with people like Jonas. She swallowed, summoned the speech she’d memorized, all the words she could say to the chief that articulated how she felt. Every character in all the shows she loved got a moment, a speech, a soliloquy, where they exposed their insides for everyone else to know them, love them.
But no words came to May’s mouth and she sat mutely, her tongue made of ice.
“You’re doing a really great job, Young. I’ve been quite surprised at what you’ve managed to accomplish so far. Great work.” The chief jiggled the mouse, and his computer screen lit up again. “Don’t forget about the gear sort,” he said, turning his attention to the screen.
May understood she was dismissed.
She got to her feet, cleared her dry throat in affirmation, walked rigidly out of his office.
She stood in the middle of the bay, indecisive.
Then, she went to her locker, looked at the picture she’d taped up of Meredith, Cristina, and Izzy. May undressed, not in the small bathroom she always used, but right there, in full view if anyone had bothered to look. Folded her uniform. Set it deliberately on the second shelf. Slipped into her regular clothes. Peeled the picture off the locker, held it in her hand. May looked at the three women and saw clearly now that they were powerless to change their situations and tragedies. They were stuck forever in Grey’s Anatomy world.
