The 9th Hour (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 1) (25 page)

Temeke heard the scream. He took a breath and froze. Malin. He wasn’t sure where it came from, possibly the game trail near the cabin. At least that was his hope.

He looked up into the canopy of the tree above him. Tess was lying against the branch, body trembling with fear. He tried to get her attention, tried to tell her it would be OK.

He saw the flames as they broke between the thinning rafters in what was once the roof of the cabin. There was an overhead cable behind the trees, promising a round of fireworks, and he heard the unmistakable sound of someone extracting a spent cartridge casing before chambering a new round.

Crack!

Temeke mashed his face into the dirt, hugging the ground as close as he could. It was a snapping twig about a hundred yards from where he lay. Eriksen couldn’t have seen him camouflaged amongst the shadows, dark clothes, black face, unless…

Temeke didn’t want to think of the
unless
– the night vision goggles he hoped Eriksen didn’t have. Luis almost always carried a box of twenty cartridges in the back of his car. This could go on all night, Temeke thought.

He lay there on the leaf-strewn ground, staring through blades of grass at the fire pit. He could see at least twenty feet in every direction because of that bright round moon and the fire that blazed behind him. Trouble was, he couldn’t see a sniper amongst the ashes.

But what he could see was a metal frame with steel springs about ten feet to his right and partially hidden behind a clump of grass. The frame was armed with teeth, and he knew exactly what it was.

A man trap.

He began to shiver, elbows pressed into a bed of pine needles. How many were scattered about the perimeter he had no idea, but there were likely to be more in the shadows if he didn’t watch out. It was the acrid smell that made his throat sore and he worked up a glob of spit to stifle a cough. Easing up slowly, he peered cautiously over a branch and glimpsed something powering through the trees. It couldn’t have been Eriksen. It was too fast for that.

A coyote, or something bigger.

Another gunshot, only this time something whistled about ten feet to his left, popping as it struck a tree.

Too close. Much too close.

He rolled sideways, plunging into a soft crater of earth and barreling into the corky tree trunk. If it wasn’t for the backpack he would have surely bruised his spine. The lower branches only reached out to a maximum of five feet, but it gave him the cover he needed.

He peered up at Tess again and signaled for her to stay down.

Another snap, and then another. Footsteps. He reckoned this one was about a hundred yards to his right and looping toward the river. At least Eriksen was heading away from him. He wasn’t about to shoot what he couldn’t see and besides, he didn’t want the bugger knowing where he was.

Lifting his head, he plucked a few pine needles from his cheeks. His eyes streaked up through the branches at Tess. She was sitting astride a thick branch, back nestled against the trunk. Torn tights ripped to a mesh and barely covering those long dark legs. Eyes blinked down at him, finger stabbing at the ground. He saw the flashing light flickering about in the detritus and realized she’d dropped the cell phone.

It took him a few seconds to find it, hearing the soft purr of a female voice on the other end. He left it open so the police could hear them and slipped it in his trouser pocket. “Climb down, love. I’m right here,” he whispered, urging Tess with a flapping hand.

He wanted to add,
and make it snappy,
only the kid would probably start bawling and fall. She shook her head, shoulders back, chin high. He couldn’t blame her, not after what she’d been through.

“Tess, we have to get out of here.”

Tess shook her head, hand flapping in front of her face. He had seen that gesture before, the jitters, the defeat. The gunshots had been loud and he was already preparing for another round.

“Don’t give up. Not now.” Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he was aware of a churning stomach and tingling legs. “Blimey, girl. You’re going to make me come up there, aren’t you?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist. There was only one thing for it. Climb up there and get her down, only he was feeling a tad sick just thinking about it. She looked safe enough to him, couldn’t really fall between the branches. After all, she’d probably been up there a good twenty minutes, and the flames from the cabin would keep her warm.

Get up there, you sissy
. It was his father’s voice with its thick Amharic accent. The man had climbed enough palm trees in his poaching days and would never understand vertigo even if it slapped him in the ribs.

Temeke holstered his gun and reached up to the first snag, keeping his eyes on the weathered bark. He was sure it wouldn’t hold his weight and he began to feel that familiar dizziness and the tightening in his chest.

“Just look up,” Tess said.

Temeke wondered how she knew he was a first-time climber. “Tell me if you can see anything,” he said. He was almost a hair breath from breaking point and he was only six inches off the bloody ground.

She must have had a good view of the cabin and the river, with the chimney stack to her right. “Just trees.”

“Anything else? A man perhaps?”

“Nothing.”

Temeke heaved up to the third branch and wondered if it was high enough.

“He shot an elk,” she said. “This big.”

Temeke didn’t look up to see how wide her hands were. He was too busy deciding if all this bother was worth the fuss. If she had scurried up, she could surely scurry down. “Sure you don’t feel like coming down here, love? It’d be a darn sight quicker.”

“So I hid behind it,” she said, voice quivering. “I stayed there until the thing went cold. Until he found me. Then I ran.”

Temeke pulled himself up to the fourth branch and listened to her voice.

“I found the fire pit. I had to keep warm. Only there’s bones in it. And legs. It’s awful.”

That’s when the panting started. “All right, I’m coming up. Don’t do anything daft,” he said.

“The world’s so big up here. I feel lost. I won’t cry,” Tess sobbed. “I don’t believe in crying.”

Temeke stretched a hand toward her. This is what he could understand. Action. “Good girl. Now tell me what you can see besides trees.”

“The cabin’s all burnt up. It smells really bad up here. Have you got any water?”

“Plenty,” he said, bending one knee and pressing down on a branch. It was then he realized the wind had changed because all that thick black smoke was starting to get in his eyes. “Do me a favor, love. Cover your nose.”

He hoped she had. He could no longer see. And he was beginning to feel a little smoke sick himself.

“I can see something,” she whispered, voice quieter now. “Over there.”

“Over where?” Temeke said, blinking repeatedly and stopping to hug the trunk. The smoke wasn’t as thick as he thought and he strained to see what she saw.

He parked his butt on a branch perpendicular to Tess, feet resting on another below. He ripped off his bulletproof vest and handed it up to her.

“I’ll help you put this on. Under that jacket.”

Facing the fire pit, Temeke had no view of the cabin and the clearing behind him. The smoke swung back around, drifting across the river like a heavy fog and all he could hear was snapping flames and the bark of that coyote. A pebble rattling against stone.

He looked up at Tess and realized she had heard it, too. Her eyes were big and round, fixed on an object behind him, an object he couldn’t see.

She stayed perfectly still.

So did he.

No matter how bad things get, he thought, they can only get worse. And what could be worse than having your back to the target?

They waited a few moments and then Tess tugged off her jacket. He told her how to tie the vest, but he couldn’t for the life of him get up there to help her.

He was lusting for a whiff of tobacco and tried to get comfortable on that prickly branch. Hiding up trees was hell and so was screwing up his eyes to see in the dark. The moon was hidden by clouds now and he couldn’t see a bloody thing.

He leaned against the bark, hearing the creak of the limb beneath him. It wasn’t a soft creak, more like a loud groaning which increased every time he moved. There was something poking at the crown jewels and he reached down to his crotch and snapped off the offending twig.

“Let’s hope the bastard’s deaf,” he muttered.

Tess looked down, mouth widening just a little. “I think I can climb down now,” she whispered.

Temeke held a finger to his lips and shook his head. He wanted to listen to the forest murmurs and measure the wind. Something was sniffing around down there, feet scuffling through fallen leaves. Probably the wolf he saw earlier, chewing its way through his crime scene.

Then he saw the figure walking toward the tree, face brilliant with the light of the flames from the cabin, rifle balanced in his right hand. Temeke glanced around the area as he quietly slid the gun from his belt. He saw no one else, just the man. Sighting his target, he aimed. And fired.

The man staggered back a couple of feet, before falling to his knees. He was a blurred image amongst branches, head bowed, rifle discarded by his side.

It was the night vision goggles on the man’s head that got Temeke moving. His brain was working faster now and he began to plead with God that Malin was out there with a loaded gun. Tempting Tess down from the upper branch, he reached the ground first, easing her down with a steady arm.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as he was jerked around. Felt his cheek explode, felt the gun ripped from his holster. Tess was right beside him, screaming, cheek pressed against his arm.

Temeke felt the sting of that punch. That’s when he realized Ole was wearing a bullet-proof vest. He had thought of death in the past three days, wondering what it would be like to go in one’s sleep. Luxury. And here he was in a forest staring at a man with movie star looks and a gun pointed right at him. It just didn’t seem real.

Whatever the outcome, it would be a violent death, over in a second, no farewells and a ton of questions. His wife would wonder if he suffered, what were his last thoughts and were they of her. He wondered if she was still hiding in their bedroom behind the chest of drawers. That all seemed so silly now.

Temeke didn’t much care for himself. It was Tess he was worried about. If she didn’t die herself, she would watch him die. And if she survived two more days, she would be in a place of permanent terror. Ole wouldn’t let them go. Not after Becky ran away.

“You forget,” Ole whispered, “I’m immortal. Now move.”

Temeke felt the cold nudge of a rifle bore against his right arm while hugging Tess in his left. Bushes clutched and pulled at their legs, and in the harsh glare of the fire he could see the leaves were a pale shade of green. From a long way off was the scrunch of something dragging through dirt.

A car? He hoped so.

Ole heard it too and urged them on with a shout. They walked toward the river’s edge and stood about twenty feet from the rear of the cabin and a row of boulders. Temeke saw a twitch of movement across the river, a figure cowering in a boat at the foot of the cliffs. It was Malin.

He started as he heard the shot behind him, so loud it hurt his ears. Pushing Tess to the ground, he covered her body with his. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Tess shuddered under his weight.

He looked out at the river. Malin was still standing.

Ole had missed.

“Want to see real fireworks?” Ole shouted, chin high, eyes flicking toward the river. “Then watch this.”

Temeke looked back and saw the gun in Ole’s hand, raised upwards toward the utility pole. It was then he heard the popping of electrical wires like a bursting corset. The cross-arm snapped clean from the horizontal bar and a cable bounced downward like a bungee line, sweeping out to the middle of the river and toward the rocky ledge.

The cable grazed the surface of the water until it reached the middle. Through the intermittent sparks, Temeke could just make out a small sandy island about ten feet beyond its path, crowned with tall clumps of grass.

Around him the forest was silent. The moon was full. The wind was still. He heard only the steady hammering of his heart in the darkness and a sharp intake of breath from Tess beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ole standing five feet to his right, aiming the rifle right at him.

“Get up,” he said.

Temeke pulled Tess up with him and stood in front of her. He hoped Ole couldn’t see the blinking light in his trouser pocket and he hoped the female officer on the other end wasn’t about to break into song.

The cable stuck fast to the grass, sparks and flames leaping up the stems. It shuddered for a time as if trying to decide which way to go and then, slowly, very slowly, it began its journey back toward them, this time carrying a bundle of burning brush and dead leaves.

It must have taken Ole by surprise because Temeke heard the moan of disappointment. He was glad Malin was spared a nightmare from which he couldn’t have saved her, and he was glad he didn’t have to watch her die.

He heard the unmistakable sound of coughing. Tess needed water and instinct drove her toward the river’s edge and away from the smoke. She didn’t get far before Ole began to laugh, taunting and shouting a warning.

“Kid’s got guts,” Ole said, lowering the rifle and aiming Temeke’s pistol. “Let’s see them spill all over the rocks.”

Tess turned toward the loaded gun, face blanched mouth slack. Temeke took a chance and swung toward her, hearing the sharp crack, knowing the bullet had hit her. The knock-back threw her three feet into the water and the spray slapped him in the face.

The growl took him by surprise, so did the large cage of teeth and hot fetid breath. It was a wolf, a coyote, some such beast, front legs splayed, head lowered. It took him a second or two to realize that it was now standing in the water directly in the path of the cable.

He saw sparks and flames and streaks of red. The wolf was lifted from the ground, a burning mass of hair and teeth, a stench that would cling to Temeke’s nostrils for days.

He pulled Tess from the water, held her against him to keep her warm. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing and then a twitch at the corner of her mouth, a long loud breath, hands reaching for the center of her chest. She tried to wriggle to one side, wheezing and panting.

He heard Malin scream his name, saw her wading toward him waist-deep in the water, face pinched in pain. Her voice sounded out of breath the third time she spoke.

“Go after him!” she shouted, hand pointing to his right. “Run!” She had to have been freezing in that icy water to make her voice resonate like that.

All Temeke saw was the tremor of leaves and the sound of snapping twigs as Ole darted along the water’s edge and into the shadows. The rifle had to have been empty. That’s why Ole had used the handgun. And the scraping of gravel earlier? Cars halting at the crest of the trail from the open phone in his pocket. Now police officers were bursting through the foliage.

Hackett took a quick head count and nodded at all those stacked up near the burning house and ready to go. Forty officers fanned out in different directions, two came forward to take Tess.

“What’s the situation?” Hackett said, handing Temeke a vest.

“The situation,” said Temeke, wiping the blood from his lip. “Tess has been hit, but the vest took most of it.”

“And Malin? Because if anything’s happened to Malin―”

“I’m here, sir,” said a trembling voice behind them, hand pressed against the top of her leg. “He can’t get far. Not without the boat. And I let the air out of his tires.”

Temeke wanted to hug her, wanted to tell her how grateful he was. Instead, he reached out and took her cold, trembling hands and helped her out of the water. “I want you to call Darryl Williams,” he whispered. “Tell him Tess is safe. Tell him she’s coming home.”

Temeke watched those dark glossy eyes, saw the quivering chin. She nodded just enough to let him know she would.

“Lucky your phone was open,” Hackett interrupted. “We’ve got most of it on tape. Good job.” He swung his arm at Fowler who was shining his flashlight along the water’s edge. “Stop paddling and get a blanket!”

Temeke couldn’t resist a final jab and Hackett was the perfect victim. “He’s threatening to kill us all, sir, if we don’t meet his demands – a spitfire to take him to PNM to pick up Morgan or some such rubbish.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Next you’ll be telling me he wants a car and we have to promise not to go after him.” Hackett delegated a task to Officer Jarvis and then scowled at Captain Fowler. “Make sure the marksmen are positioned exactly where I indicated. They are not, repeat
not
, to fire a single round unless I give the signal. Is that clear?”

Fowler nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“But, sir,” Temeke said, seeing the officers trailing off toward the road. “He’s run off into the woods. That way. And you might want to radio your officers about the mantraps.”

“Mantraps? What mantraps?”

“Well that’s the thing, sir. I don’t know―”

“He’s not going back in the woods, Temeke. He’ll go toward the road. Any smart man would figure that out. Well don’t just stand there.”

“Do I still have a badge? Has my name been cleared?”

Hackett handed him a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson and one magazine. He jerked his chin toward the trees. “Find him and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Temeke wouldn’t be surprised if his annual review was outstanding. He gripped the stocky frame of the Smith & Wesson and checked the magazine. Ten rounds.

His left eye felt numb and he could smell blood in his nose. He was suddenly achy and stiff as he walked beside the river under the canopy of trees. There was no cascade of water from the palisade cliffs, just a smooth channel where a summer waterfall had once been. It reminded him of his wife’s childhood, how she loved to come to the park and camp. It reminded him of her black hair, her faraway smile.

A soft rustling under the pine trees told him to keep alert, to listen to the wind against the cliffs and the occasional whisper of the grasses. And under all those sounds he could hear something else, a scraping sound, like a boot against bark.

He paused, holding the gun in his right hand, sensing a slight shake in his support hand. He turned a half circle, first one way and then the other. Looking into the gloom he could see twisted gray limbs and a gnarled old tree trunk that had been struck by lightning. Beyond it was a pit of blackness he didn’t want to explore. There were mantraps in the long grass. He couldn’t see them but he sensed they were there.

Somewhere to his left he heard the soft gurgle of a stream that had cut away from the main body of water, and to his right the occasional flutter of a night bird lifting high into the sky.

A night bird lifting into the sky
. There was someone out there. Hunting. Tracking. Smelling the scent of the woods, nose twitching with every current of air.

Temeke was baffled. Why hadn’t Ole run deeper into the woods when he had the chance? He didn’t have any attachment to the dead girls and there was nothing in that burnt out cabin.

What was he waiting for?

Ole was an ambusher, not a hunter. He could wait in parking lots hidden in dark colored cars and stalk innocent girls. He was good at waiting, good at watching. And he was probably watching the police fanning out in all directions and making a heck of a racket. A man like Ole enjoyed soaking up the media hype of his latest kill, took pleasure in the excitement and pain.

That’s when Temeke knew. Ole was smarter than the rest. He wasn’t camouflaged in the underbrush like most hunters were. He was perched in a lofty roost, watching as he always did. In the trees. Morgan’s trees.

As the path curved off to the right away from the river and the hoary moon, Temeke could see splinters of light shining through the branches, only he could hardly see the path underfoot. He started down the sloping hillside and away from the cabin, moving silently in the darkness, boots tapping on the hard, dry earth.

He paused often to consult his wrist compass. He was heading west along rugged terrain where tree roots and craters were treacherous, and the sense of isolation was getting worse by the minute.

His heart pounded as he continued across a slushy stretch of mud, and then up again. At the top of the next ridge there was a break in the trees. To his left was a rim of bluish cliffs bordering the river and to his right, he saw a clearing where intermittent shafts of light pooled onto the ground and there, leaning up against a tree, was a rifle.

His eyes followed the line of the trunk up into the foliage. There was nothing up there that would indicate a human shape, nothing perched on an upper branch.

He began to wonder why it was suddenly so quiet.

Ole was out there, waiting to take out a few cops. And let’s face it, he’d already used three of those eight rounds in his pistol. So it couldn’t be cops he was waiting for.

Something kept nagging in the back of Temeke’s mind, something important.

My wife used to camp in the woods when she was a child. Said they were mostly ruins, except for the boathouse.

The boathouse.