“Maggie’s right, Roger. On what basis did they eliminate him as a suspect?”
“They’ve still got him for questioning. He has volunteered to call his trucking buddies on his CB and see if they saw anything on the stops he made on his long haul from the U.S. to Canada.”
“And where was that?” Maggie said.
She now seemed fully composed but Joe knew better. His wife always internalized her missions. He’d watched her turn her heart inside out every time she searched for the lost. Most SAR handlers struggled to keep their emotions locked up, but both Joe and Maggie had found it impossible, particularly if the victim was a child.
The search for their own child had turned both of them into a walking bundle of nerves with one barely beating heart. Digging even deeper, Joe realized this was the first time he’d felt so close to Maggie in years. And that was a horror, all by itself, that it took a heinous act against his own flesh and blood to resurrect his emotions.
“The last two stops were in Chicago and Detroit,” Roger said. “The first was at a truck stop north of here. I’m heading that way to ask some questions.”
“Meantime, Kate could be anywhere,” Joe said.
Maggie didn’t wait around to hear Roger say, “We can’t rule that out.” She strode toward the truck, shouldered her backpack then let Jefferson out and hooked up his leash.
The big Lab went straight to their daughter’s car and began circling it, his alert behavior that indicated Kate’s scent was strong.
“Joe,” Maggie called.
He gave his wife a thumbs-up signal. “She’s set, Roger, and we’ve got less than seven hours to find our daughter.”
While Maggie let Jefferson continue his search around the car, Joe gathered his large backpack that held the bulk of their supplies then made arrangements to stay in touch with the detective via two-way radio.
The Superior wilderness loomed in front of him, a beautiful place to admire nature when the weather was tame--a brutal place to survive when the weather turned so dangerous that even the most skilled outdoorsman might not survive.
He glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. Only six and half hours until the storm hit, if the weatherman was right. Storms changed directions, shifted, lost steam or picked up intensity. The one constant of nature was its unpredictability. Even the most sophisticated tracking tools couldn’t be a hundred percent sure what Holly would do next.
Kate had already been missing for twenty hours. The task of finding her, even with the best SAR dog in the U.S., was so daunting Joe felt as if his backpack weighed a thousand pounds. Every step he took might be his last. He might crumple to the ground, useless.
And hadn’t he been useless now for several years, drifting through his life like a sleepwalker, aimless and unaware?
“Joe?” Maggie touched his shoulder, and he tired to shake off his ridiculous and untimely introspection. “Jefferson is raring to go. She’s around here somewhere. I know it.”
Maggie was right. An air scent dog never lied. And the big Lab had his nose turned straight toward the deep woods.
“Let’s go,” he said, and Maggie took Jefferson off the lead. The Lab raced off at a pace that buoyed his hope.
Air scent dogs search best in the early morning and late evening when the heavier air keeps a person’s scent trail closer to the ground. It was barely an hour after sunrise and Jefferson already had a strong scent trail.
Jefferson barreled straight into the wilderness, setting a rapid pace. Within minutes they were out of sight of the wreckage. In the distance they could hear Roger’s search party tearing through the woods, calling Kate’s name. But as hard as he listened, Joe never heard the shout he wanted. We’ve found her!
Soon Jefferson was loping off toward an area Joe remembered from a trail he’d once scouted. If memory served, there had once been an old farmhouse in the vicinity, easily reachable by snowmobile. But on foot, even moving as rapidly as they were, it would be at least another couple of hours.
Last night’s heavy ground snow was already airborne, hampering visibility. It would only get worse. How much conditions would deteriorate, and how rapidly, Joe could only guess.
Maggie had moved ahead with Jefferson so he stopped to catch his breath and study the weather. Portions of the sky were still a startling and burning blue. Nothing foreboding. Nothing to say that his daughter had vanished somewhere in the vast Superior wilderness and he might never find her alive.
His two-way radio crackled and Maggie’s voice came through.
“Joe? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just studying the weather. You got something?”
“No. I was worried about you. Do you want me to wait?”
“No. Keep going. I’m following your trail.”
The radio went silent, but something she’d said echoed in Joe’s mind, I was worried about you. Over and over it played, like a record stuck in one groove--or the hint of a promise you never thought you’d hear.
Chapter Nine
8:20 a.m
When the law walked in, Jonathan was at his favorite corner booth in the Glen’s Crossing Truck Stop five miles north of where he’d lured Kate into her trap, enjoying his second order of pancakes with sausages and his third cup of coffee. It wasn’t unusual to see cops coming in here for coffee and doughnuts, but this one, a tall, burly man with black bushy hair and the build of a linebacker, didn’t order coffee. He started talking to the cashier.
When she hurried off toward the manager’s office in back, Jonathan felt the first twinges of alarm.
The manager, Ricky Gerard, was a no-nonsense man who minded his own business. Still, when Ricky came out and started talking to the cop, every one of Jonathan’s senses went on alert. He’d been here yesterday morning after he took Kate, trying to cover his tracks. He threw some money on the table then sauntered to the cigarette rack close enough to eavesdrop.
“Have you ever seen this girl?” The cop pulled a picture from his pocket and showed it to Ricky.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“She’s tall, blond, blue eyes. Name’s Kate Carter.”
Jonathan eased to the other side of the rack so his back was to them.
She’d been covered with a tarp, and he’d parked the snowmobile out of range of security cameras and prying eyes. But could the wind have whipped it aside? Had someone glanced her way and seen her face?
“Ever hear anyone mention her by name?”
Jonathan tried to remember if he’d ever let it slip. He loved saying her name, loved the sound of it in his mouth, like strawberry ice cream. Before he grabbed her, he used to walk about the house saying her name aloud, “Kate, Kate, Kate.” Finally Betty made him stop.
“No,” Ricky told the cop. “Not that I recall. But then my memory’s not as good as it used to be.”
“Yesterday morning a trucker by the name of Jerry Harris saw a man he described as six feet tall, about two hundred pounds wearing a black ski cap and black parka messing around a Northwest America/Canada Transport.” That stupid cop just wouldn’t quit. “Do you know anybody who fits that description?”
Jonathan felt like a rat trapped in a maze. The only good thing is that today his ski cap was green. Still, if he ran, he might as well put a sign on his back that said catch me if you can. But if he stayed too long, the cop was bound to notice that he fit the description.