She pulled into the clearing. Several vehicles were already parked under the trees, including a muddy RCMP truck with stripes down the sides and a light bar on top. Oskar had positioned the KSAR command van toward the rear of the clearing, leaving room for the others to park. An awning had been extended from the van, with a pop-up canopy erected over a table alongside it. On the table were two industrial-size urns, mugs, and donated cookies. Sergeant Mason Deniaud stood beside the table, under the canopy, talking to Oskar, who held a steaming mug in his hand. Oskar was a tall Norwegian with white-blond hair, an avid mountaineer and kayaker who’d made Canada his home for the past eight years. Oskar was the KSAR expert in swift-water rescue. Good at rope skills, too. Callie relied heavily on his talent, and on his sheer strength and stamina. His dry wit was a bonus.
As she backed her truck in between two trees, wet branches scraping her roof, her thoughts turned to the new sergeant. If Mason Deniaud had just waited a few more minutes until she’d arrived the day before, they could have all been spared this exercise in what was turning out to be terrible weather. Benjamin might have made his Halloween party.
Instead, she was now sending teams to search along a section of the Taheese River that was dangerous in rain, and potentially deadly if someone slipped into the frigid rapids. Her irritation mounted as she put her truck in gear, turned the engine off, and reached into the back for her SAR cap and the box of muffins she’d baked last night. Baking was Callie’s way of dealing with insomnia, which had become a discomfiting companion of late.
“Come, Ben.” She tugged on her cap and threaded her ponytail out the back. “You can hang out inside the van. The generator will keep it warm inside, and you can play your game on your iPad, or read a book. You could even help run the search if you like.” Callie worked to keep her voice upbeat.
Ben scowled and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He hunkered lower into the passenger seat, a bizarre and angry little creature under his clown head of acid-green hair. Disquiet threaded through Callie.
“Benny?”
“I want him to move back home.”
The words punched her out of left field. Her mind reeled. She swallowed. “He . . . he will, Ben.”
“When?”
“Soon.” She cleared her throat. “Very soon, I hope.”
Her son glanced up at her with his blackened eyes and smeared Joker face. “You promise?”
Pain mushroomed in her chest at the irony in her little boy’s tone. With it came resentment. Anger. All of it boiled up inside her in a horrible, hot, toxic cocktail. How could she even begin to think of promising her son things that were not in her control? She inhaled deeply, struggling to find the calm needed to focus on this mission.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself tonight, Ben?” she asked quietly.
His red-lipsticked mouth dropped open and hung slack as he stared incredulously at her. “You’re stupid!” he snapped. “He won’t tell me—you know he won’t.”
She blinked at the vitriol blazing in her son’s eyes. Gently she said, “You do need to ask him these things, Benny. We both do. I think it will be good. It could make him commit to doing it, to making it happen.”
“You’re lying.”
A knock sounded on her fogged-up window. It was Oskar, gesticulating and pointing toward his watch, then at the command vehicle where Mason Deniaud waited. Callie made a motion that she was coming.
“Come on, Benny,” she said again.
“I don’t want to.”
“Your daddy would want us to find that plane, Benjamin. Your dad would want that, okay? He’ll be so proud of you when you tell him that you helped us.”
“I won’t be helping. I’ll be sitting in the stupid van!”
“You are helping, Benny, by helping me. You’re helping simply by hanging out. Otherwise I would not even be able to be here.” She opened her door.
“I’m Ben. Not Benny.” His lip quivered.
“I’m sorry, Ben.”
Why can’t I call my baby boy Benny any longer? He’s only eight. Can I not just put his growth on pause until Peter comes home? How can I allow Peter to miss out on all the little milestones of Benny’s life—all the days, weeks, months?
Would it be years until Peter came through the door of their house again? How much longer until Callie might see the light and love in her husband’s eyes again, hear his laughter, feel his touch, make love just one more time?
Ben turned his back on her and folded his arms tighter. His shoulders began to heave. He was crying.
“Ben?”
“Not coming. Staying in the truck.”
Callie took another deep breath. “Okay. But I can’t leave the engine running. When you get cold, come over to the command vehicle, all right?”
Silence. His green head remained turned away.
Her heart ached. She got out, shut the door, and ducked through the pelting sleet, making her way toward the awning, where Oskar waited with Mason Deniaud. In his hands Oskar held a clipboard with the KSAR incident sign-up sheet.
“Oh, you brought muffins,” he said.
“Morning, Sergeant Deniaud. Oskar. Sorry I’m late. Ben’s sitter bailed.” Callie set her muffin container on the table. She opened the lid. “Help yourselves. Sunflower and pumpkin seed on this end.” She pointed. “Blueberry-banana on that end. No sugar added, just Medjool dates and the bananas for sweetness.”
“Call me Mason,” said the sergeant. “And thanks again for yesterday.”
She glanced up and met his gaze. His eyes were gray. A very light gray. Deep creases at the corners. Something about the look in those eyes gave her pause and suddenly made her want to downplay this man’s error in judgment yesterday.
“Well, let’s hope we find that de Havilland soon,” she said crisply as she grabbed a mug and poured herself a coffee from the urn. “Shall we get started?” As she spoke, one more vehicle trundled into the clearing, wipers smearing mud across the windscreen.
“That’s Julia,” Oskar said. “I asked her to bring Zipper. I figured this incident would be a good first try for them as an official K9 cadaver team. I’ll go get her signature for the sign-in, and we can get rolling.”
Callie and Mason watched Oskar run through the mud and sleet toward Julia’s vehicle. Julia exited and opened the back of her SUV to access her chocolate lab in his travel cage.
Mason selected a muffin and bit into it. “So that’s Zipper?” he said with a nod toward the Labrador, now tugging excitedly at the end of his lead.
“Yeah.” Callie sipped her coffee, watching as Zipper leaped about at the end of his lead. Steam rose against her face. She turned her attention to the other members, who’d already arrived and were either checking their gear, organizing their packs, or chatting in small groups beneath the cover of the trees. They knew to leave her and Oskar alone while they planned the search.
Sleet drummed steadily down. It dripped from the bills of KSAR caps and from the heavy wet branches of the surrounding woods. It would likely turn to snow by evening. And visibility would be shit. Callie was thankful this wasn’t a live search. Victims didn’t last long in wet cold like this. Maybe a day or two. Sometimes as little as four hours, depending on the psyche of the victim. She’d become an expert in profiling the missing, predicting who would travel where, and why, and what their chances of survival would be on any given mission. She’d gotten so good she was often called out to assist other SAR groups on particularly challenging searches throughout the province.