Eleven Huskies, page 21
The room was dark again, other than the small circle of light from Peter’s phone on the dark wood lobby floor.
“Here it is.” A glint of brass was visible in a blackened hole in the wood.
“Why are you looking for the bullet?” Laura asked.
“I’m going to get Pippin to do some nosework so we can find the gun.”
“That makes me nervous,” Laura said.
“I get that, but isn’t it better than waiting for the gunman to retrieve the gun, sneak up in the dark, and pick us off one by one?” Peter showed Pippin the bullet hole as he spoke, and quietly commanded, “Sniff.”
“What if we miscounted? Or someone else from outside came in and shot Cam?” Laura asked.
“As much as I hate to admit it, Pete’s right, sis,” Kevin said. “The risks are much bigger if we don’t find the gun. At some point I’m going to have to let someone go to the bathroom, or they’ll make a diversion, or something, where they can grab the weapon again. We need to find it.”
The door to the restaurant swung open. Two men stepped into the lobby. Peter could only see their silhouettes.
“Officer. Kirill and I help.” It was Pyotr.
“Thank you, but it would be best if everyone stayed in the restaurant,” Kevin said.
“We not afraid. We have training. We can hunt this man,” Pyotr said, pulling a dagger out of a sheath on his belt. Stuart had turned his phone’s flashlight on. The dagger caught the light and reflected it into Peter’s eyes. It had a vicious serrated edge. It looked extremely sharp.
“Thank you, but right now, protecting the people in the restaurant is the best idea. And everyone is accounted for, so the man we hunt is in the restaurant anyway. I need to begin questioning, but if you can keep any eye out for anything suspicious, that would be very helpful, thank you so much.” Peter smiled to himself at Kevin’s effortless transition to his smooth, authoritative, professional persona. He wondered why he didn’t insist on Pyotr surrendering his knife, but assumed Kevin knew what he was doing. In this regard anyway.
“OK, Officer. But say if need help. We have training.” The knife went back into the sheath and the two men left the lobby.
Peter turned his attention back to Pippin. The dog was sitting up, alert, looking at him.
“He’s got it,” Peter said. “OK, Pippin, seek.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I’m coming too,” Laura said.
“What? No,” Peter said. He turned to Pippin. “Wait.”
“You’re going to be focused on Pippin. You know how you get tunnel vision in these situations. And speaking of vision, yours can’t be a hundred percent yet. You need someone along to watch out for anything else.”
“But . . .”
“No buts. Stuart can look after Cam, and Kevin is in charge of everyone in the restaurant.”
“She has a point, Pete. It’ll be much better with two of you,” Kevin said. “I’ll prop the restaurant door open, so I can keep an eye on Stu and make sure he’s safe up here.”
“I have a lot of battery still,” Stuart said. “I can keep the light bright here. Then Kevin can also see the front door. We will all be fine. But you need someone with you. I think Laura is the perfect person. Small, quiet, very smart.”
“Thank you, Stuart,” Laura said. She stepped over to pet Pippin, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking up them, nostrils flaring.
“I suppose,” Peter said, standing up.
His phone’s flashlight gave out.
“Do you have a working flashlight, Laura?”
“Yes, I have about 20 percent battery, but we won’t use it. Pippin can navigate completely by smell, so we’ll just follow him closely and let our eyes adjust to the dark. That way we’ll be less obvious if anyone is out there.”
“See, Pete? Laura’s got this,” Kevin said. “Stu, you OK here? I’m going to head into the restaurant now and make sure the Belarusskis haven’t tied everyone up.”
“Yes, I am fine. I have a little bit of first aid training from when I was in the Boy Scouts.”
“I didn’t know you were a Boy Scout,” Kevin said.
“There are many things you do not know about me,” Stuart replied, flashing a tense smile before turning to take a pulse rate on Cam.
* * *
Pippin moved up the stairs quickly and then slowed down when he got to the upstairs hallway. It was pitch dark ahead, with the only light coming from Stuart, behind them at the bottom of the stairs. It felt like entering a coal mine.
He could feel Laura on his right and feel and hear Pippin on his left, now moving slowly and sniffing continuously. They passed one set of doors, then another, and then a third.
The rifle’s not in any of the rooms, Peter thought, but that made sense as all the rooms had been occupied at the time of the shooting, so unless a whole group of guests was in cahoots with the killer, he wouldn’t have run back into the room carrying the rifle. And then it occurred to him, that even without a rifle, someone dashing back into one of the rooms after the shooting would look odd to their roommates, unless they had the excuse that they had stepped out for a smoke — the Belarusians for sure were smokers — or to use the bathroom. This train of thought made him uneasy. Something didn’t add up.
They came to the sitting area on the landing at the far end of the hall, and the bathroom the last two guest rooms shared, the ones that had been occupied by staff.
Pippin sniffed at the bathroom door and then moved quickly through the sitting area to the top of the back stairs.
Peter wondered how they were going to handle going down the stairs to the guest exit in the dark, but as Laura had predicted, his eyes were adjusting, and he could sense the railing as much as actually see it.
There was a sound from the bottom of the stairs. Indistinct. Soft.
Peter put his hand on Pippin to stop him from going down yet.
He could tell Laura was holding her breath. He strained to listen for anything else.
Nothing.
He leaned toward Laura and cupped his hands around her ear. He breathed, “What do you think?”
She did the same in reverse and whispered in his ear, “Don’t know. Let’s go down slow. Hope there are no squeaky steps.”
Peter nodded, although he knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. He took his hand off Pippin. The three of them, first Pippin, then Peter, then Laura, started to go down the stairs, one slow step at a time. Pippin either sensed the need to go slow or needed to anyway to follow the scent trail.
They arrived at the bottom. To the left was the door to the outside. To the right was a small guest library and lounge. Beyond the library, Peter knew there was a narrow hallway that led past what he thought were storage rooms, emerging into the lobby beside the reception desk. John’s office was somewhere there too, behind reception. But he wasn’t sure if it had a door into that hall too. There was also a bathroom for restaurant patrons to use near reception, but his memory was hazy on its exact location. Stress. Too much stress. Normally he had a near-photographic memory.
There was faint light from a window in the outside door. In the distance Peter could see flames. He had forgotten about the fires.
Pippin sniffed the door carefully and then turned toward the library.
Peter tried to recall the layout of that room. He was pretty sure the doors were on the middle on each side, so that if there was light, and both the doors were open, you could see through the library, down the hallway all the way to reception. He remembered the right side of the room had two big leather armchairs, reading lamps, and magazine racks. The left side had a table, several smaller chairs, and bookcases covering the walls. There was taxidermy in this room too. He thought he remembered an owl and a fox on the bookshelves and something larger against the wall behind the reading chairs. Was it a caribou? Yes, definitely a caribou. Not that it mattered.
The door was closed. It was a solid wooden door.
Peter turned the knob, hoping it wouldn’t creak. It didn’t. The door swung easily and noiselessly into the library.
Pippin brushed past him. Laura followed. The dim light from the window in the exit door didn’t reach the library. It was blackest black. The far door must have been closed too as otherwise some of the light from Stuart’s phone in the lobby would have been faintly visible in the distance.
Laura touched Peter’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze to signal him to stop. He heard Pippin stop as well. He listened.
There was the tick of a clock, and a murmur of heavily muffled voices, probably from the restaurant. He wondered briefly whether Kevin was grilling the guests, pacing back and forth like Hercule Poirot, twirling his beard braid.
He could also hear the wind outside. It had picked up again. That wasn’t good.
He felt Laura stiffen. She squeezed his shoulder a little harder.
There was something else. The sound of someone breathing very quietly? Maybe?
He realized with a sudden tightening of his stomach that although the room was dark, the three of them were silhouetted against the faint light in the doorway.
“Come in,” said a voice. Peter recognized it but couldn’t place it.
“Zealandia,” Laura said, half to herself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Zealandia? Peter thought.
Before he could try to make sense of that, the voice spoke again. “Please step inside and close the door behind you. I am disappointed that it is you, Dr. Bannerman. I was hoping for your brother-in-law, the cop. A cop, I can shoot. A vet, no. I love animals too much.”
Now Peter knew.
They did as they were asked. Once Peter closed the door the room was plunged into complete darkness.
There was the sudden flare of a match from the right, first illuminating a man’s hand and a ghastly-looking head of a caribou behind it and then moving to reveal the top of a white apron, and the lower half of a face with two stretched earlobes with large black plugs.
Evan Lundquist.
He lit a cigarette and shook the match out. The room was dark again other than an orange glow from the tip of the cigarette.
“Hang on a sec,” he said.
A rustle and a click.
Then Peter and Laura were blinking in the light of a lantern on a small round wooden table beside Evan’s chair. It was one of those battery-powered Coleman camping lanterns.
“Made sure it had fresh batteries before I took out the generators,” Evan said.
Peter and Laura stood silently. Pippin sat down beside Peter. He could feel the dog’s tension.
Evan regarded them for a moment and then said, “How’s Schmidt? Dead, I hope.”
More on instinct than by forethought Peter said, “Yes. Now you have another murder on your record.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’d get life anyway. One, three, six, twelve murders. Doesn’t matter.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and turned his head to blow the smoke toward the caribou. “Life if I don’t die here tonight, that is, and if they catch me alive.”
Peter was about to blurt how he possibly thought he could escape, but Laura spoke first.
“You love Molly, don’t you?” She said this softly. Peter considered “love” the wrong word for the violent, evil obsession Evan had, but he understood why Laura used it.
Evan tilted his head slightly, frowned, and then smiled. “You know, you look a little like her.” He took another puff. “But yes. Always have. Always will. And she loves me too.”
“Did she tell you that?” Laura asked, voice still gentle.
“A long time ago, yes. And then . . . But it doesn’t matter. We were just about to get together again when then that fucking Australian . . .”
“Ned Fromm?”
“Yes, Ned fucking Fromm. He waltzes into our lives and . . .” Evan screwed his eyes shut and set the rifle on his lap.
Is this my chance? Peter thought. He was on the cusp of jumping for the gun when Evan opened his eyes again and shook his head. “But now that fucker’s dead as fucking dead can be.” He laughed.
“And Cam?” Laura asked.
“He was in there right away, the prick. Pretended to be my friend.”
“In there? As in comforting Molly?”
Evan snorted. “Comforting? Sure, you can call it that. But I know his game.”
“And you think killing them will bring Molly back to you?”
Evan took several slow puffs and looked at the floor.
The mantel clock seemed to be ticking louder than before. The wind was definitely louder. Peter could hear his own pulse in his temples.
“Eventually, yes, I do. Murder, like love, is passion. It comes from the same place. I’m taking her into the woods with me. I know how to survive out there. I’ve learned a lot working here.” He held his hand up. “I know what you’re going to say. They’ll come looking for us. They will. I know. That’s the point. The world is going to shit. You guys know that. Don’t lie to yourselves. Either we go down weak with this dying world, or we go down strong on our own. If they find us, it will be Romeo and Juliet. Passion, love, death. Together in eternity. She’ll see the truth, the deep truth, before they come. She has to. My Juliet.”
Peter bit his tongue. He so wanted to rebut this. This was so twisted, so insane, so disconnected from reality. But as Laura didn’t say anything in response, he thought the better of it.
Evan stubbed his cigarette out on the floor, picked up the rifle and lantern, and stood up.
“OK, enough chit-chat. Where is everyone else?”
“In the restaurant . . .”
Evan interrupted him with a laugh. “That is awesome. Best news of the evening so far. Saves us from having to head out in the dark. We can wait till dawn now. This makes it much easier to stop you guys from following us. Dawn was Plan A anyway, but I couldn’t pass up that beautiful opportunity to take Cam out. Fucking prick . . .” He took a deep breath. “Anyway. Everyone’s there? Every last person?”
“Except Stuart who is by the front door with . . . the body. And I imagine John is still out watching the fire line. By the way, how did you leave him?”
“I just said I was going to check over at the far side of the lodge, because the wind was picking up. It was the perfect excuse. Anyway, let’s go.” He waved the tip of the rifle at them and pointed at the far door.
“That’s a good dog,” he said, smiling at Pippin as they turned toward the door.
“Yes, he is,” Peter said.
“I love dogs.”
“Then why did you try to kill John’s dogs?”
Evan looked genuinely confused. “John’s dogs? Atlas and them? I had nothing to do with that. How could you think that, Dr. Bannerman? Like I said, I love dogs. Go.” He nudged Peter with the barrel of his rifle.
Passing into the hallway they could see Stuart’s light ahead. Peter had no doubt Evan would put a bullet in Cam’s head if he knew he was still alive.
“Peter!” Stuart said.
Peter held his finger to his lips, knowing Evan wouldn’t be able to see the gesture from behind, especially with Laura in between. Cam looked the same as he had before. The movement of his chest with his slow breaths was only perceptible if you watched carefully.
“You,” Evan said to Stuart when he saw him. “Into the restaurant. No need to watch the door anymore. Or the dead asshole.”
Stuart’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, but Peter could tell he had comprehended the situation immediately.
Stuart, Peter, Laura, and Pippin walked into the restaurant. Someone had lit candles, presumably to save on flashlight battery power. They lent an eerie flickering glow to the various anxious faces gathered around a cluster of tables in the centre, under the antique dogsled.
Kevin turned around and was just beginning to say, “Hey guys, wha—” when he saw Evan and his rifle. He reached for a kitchen knife tucked in his belt.
Molly gasped.
There was a general murmur. And then a thick silence.
“Easy, Officer,” Evan said. “Nice and slow. Drop the knife on the floor and hands up where I can see them.”
Kevin eyed him. He didn’t move. His hand remained on the hilt of the knife.
Evan took a step forward and in one startlingly quick and fluid motion swung the rifle by the barrel so that the butt connected with the side of Kevin’s head. He crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.
“Kevin!” Laura shouted.
“Shut up!” Evan said, pointing the rifle toward her.
Molly began to sob loudly.
“You too, Mol, shut up. Nothing to be sad about here. You’re going to help me now.”
She shook her head violently. “No, Evan, no.”
“Yes. Help me, or someone else gets a bullet. I’ve got lots. As I was telling Dr. Bannerman, what’s one more murder?”
Silence.
“I take that as a yes. OK, get the duct tape we keep behind the bar. Please and thank you. In the meantime, you three” — he inclined his head to Peter, Laura, and Stuart — “grab seats. And everyone arrange their chairs in a big semicircle around me. Just like in kindergarten. I’m the teacher.” He laughed.
Nobody moved.
“Now!” he shouted and raised his rifle to aim at Jacob’s head. He lifted it slightly and shot at a post behind him, hitting a stuffed grouse. The shot echoed in the large room, accentuating the moment of shocked silence that followed.
Then gasps and rapid shuffling and scraping of chairs into place. As demanded, they were in a large semicircle facing Evan, who sat down now as well, near the bar.
“Erin and Jacob, move the tables to the side so I can see everyone nice and clear. And put some of the candles on the bar here. For mood lighting.” He laughed again. “And Mol, with that duct tape, I want you to tape up everyone’s wrists together behind their chair backs. I hope nobody’s dumb enough to try anything when I’m the only one with a gun, but you never know who might feel like being a martyr tonight.”
