My first impulse was to swim after Alicia. But it was dark. The water was ice cold. If I didn’t succumb to hypothermia, I’d likely hit my head on a boulder. It would be better to run.
I pulled on the overhanging branch and jerked myself up onto the far shore. My clothes were leaden with the weight of water as I stumbled down the bank. The cottonwood trees and the bushes at the edge of the water made a maze. I ran through the darkness. Branches scraped my face. There was no point in calling out to Alicia. If she was still alive, she would be too cold to respond.
I ran downstream. When I’d gone far enough that I was certain to be past her, I waded back into the ice water. On my second step I plunged in over my head.
The current pulled me away as I tried to swim toward the bank. My arm hit a submerged log. The blow was numbing, but I hung on. My toes just touched bottom. I lowered myself to gain purchase, then jumped up, vaulting onto the log. From there I leaped to the bank and sprawled in the mud.
I got up and again ran downstream. The stream was wider and shallower where I next waded in. I walked to the middle of the stream with the water up to my thighs and spread my arms wide, hoping to catch Alicia as she floated by.
There was no light except for the rotating beacon at the airport. Its white beam raced across the landscape. I stared upstream, willing my eyes to see in the darkness. The stream was briefly illuminated and then thrown back into darkness.
On the second sweep of the beacon I saw Alicia, mostly submerged, ten yards upstream and coming toward me rapidly. The light was gone as fast as it came and I could only guess where and when Alicia would float by. I judged her to be a bit to my left, so I shuffled sideways.
Something brushed the fingertips of my right hand. I lunged that direction and grabbed Alicia’s limp form. There was no tension in her body as I picked her up and carried her out of the rapids.
She was silent when I set her down on the bank. I lay her in the dirt under the cottonwoods and felt her neck for a pulse. There was a slow, weak beat, but she didn’t appear to be breathing. I was about to start artificial respiration when she coughed and sputtered and sucked in a breath of air. I pulled her cold, wet hair out of her eyes. She did not seem conscious. She was hypothermic, her core temperature too cold to engage the shivering reflex.
And I had no way to warm her.
I had broken her out of the hospital and now she was going to die if I couldn’t get her warm.
I scooped her up, draped her over my shoulder and ran toward the rotating beacon. Two squad cars appeared from the direction of the airport. Their flashers were on. Waving one arm to signal the cops, I rushed toward them across the desert. They didn’t see me and drove on toward town.
The white airport beacon suddenly went dark.
It was probably on for an incoming flight of extra law enforcement. Now that they had landed, the beacon was turned off. I continued running. Gradually the airport entrance came into view.
Another vehicle, a dark pickup, cruised out of the airport entrance. It stopped. A man got out, left his door open, and went around and shut the gate behind him. I yelled at him. He couldn’t hear me over his blasting radio. I ran faster, hoping to catch his attention. But he got back in his truck and drove off, oblivious to me.
I stopped, near collapse, and lowered Alicia to the dirt. I put her on her side, curled her up in a fetal position and draped myself over her while I gasped for breath, exhaling my hot air under me, into her curled form.
When I regained my strength, I picked her up and we headed for the airport again.
The entrance gate was designed to stop vehicles, not people. I swung my leg over the gate and ran toward the buildings. Alicia was still unmoving and ice-cold. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. But I didn’t dare stop.
The airport was comprised of two hangars, one work shed with a single dark window and a low building of concrete block. It had windows, a door and a tall utility pole. At its top was the rotating beacon, unmoving and dark.
I carried Alicia to the door and tried the knob.
Locked. Without setting her down, I kicked it open. It swung in and hit a metal garbage can which tipped over and clattered to the floor. There was dim light coming from a Coca-Cola clock on the wall. I found a light switch and turned it on. A row of overhead fluorescent lights filled the room with a greenish, flickering light. I kicked the door shut to keep out the cold breeze and set Alicia down on a faded brown couch. Her skin, in the fluorescent light, was the color of skim milk. There were two doors in one wall. I opened them. One was a utility closet, the other a bathroom. In the bathroom hung a filthy mechanic’s shop coat. I grabbed it and brought it to Alicia. “Alicia, we need to get you out of that wet dress. I found a dry coat for you. Help me now.”
She was unresponsive. I tried to get the dress up over her hips, but the wet cloth was sticking to her cold skin. I grabbed the fabric at the hem of the dress and ripped it all the way up to the neck line. Then I tore the arm holes apart so that she was freed of the dress without moving. Under the dress she wore wet cotton underpants and no bra. I ripped off the underwear and picked up her clammy nude body. Holding her up I pulled the shop coat over her arms as if I were dressing a manikin. When I had her firmly wrapped up in the coat, I set her down on a dry part of the couch. She was still dangerously hypothermic. I knew the best antidote was slow warming next to another naked human body. But mine, although functional, was wet and very cold.
On the desk was a phone. I picked it up and was about to dial 911 when I saw an old vending machine in the corner behind the door. In addition to coffee, the machine advertised hot cocoa. Just what Alicia needed. I hung up the phone and opened the top desk drawer looking for change. There wasn’t any change, but there was the key for the vending machine.
I got the vending door opened, and poured the coins from the collection box out on the desktop. A minute later I had a foam cup of steaming hot chocolate.
Alicia was still lying limp on the couch, her eyes shut, her mouth open. I lifted her into a sitting position, sipped the cocoa to be sure it wasn’t too hot and raised the cup to her lips.
“Hot cocoa, Alicia. Drink some cocoa.”
Her head lolled. I put the cup to her mouth and slopped some cocoa onto her lips. She moaned as the cocoa dribbled down her chin and onto the shop coat. I’m sure it burned against her frozen skin.
“Come on, Alicia. You need to drink this. Take a little sip.” I slopped some more and she cried out.
I set the cup down and patted her on the cheeks firm enough to sting. This time she turned her head. Better. I tried again with the cocoa, and again.
Alicia’s eyes stayed shut, but she eventually took a sip. Her right arm came out from her side as if to reach for the cup and then stopped, hovering in mid-air, fingers spread. I got a little chocolate in her and then a little more. She resisted, but I forced it. Eventually, she got down a half of a cup. Not much, but it was heat inside of her.
I could still call 911 for paramedics, but I thought of all those guards and their guns. Something was very wrong at the hospital. Now that it looked like Alicia would make it, I decided to stay with my plan.
We started in on the second cup. I knew it was working when Alicia warmed up enough to start shivering. Her body was wracked by violent spasms, which meant that she was over the worst of the hypothermia.
Alicia opened her eyes. She looked at me and then the room. She appeared frightened but said nothing. Her head vibrated and her teeth chattered. When I raised the cup to feed her more cocoa, she tried to take it from my hand, but her hands shook so much she knocked it to the floor.
By the time Alicia finished the third cup she was much better although still not very cognizant. I was confident enough that she was out of danger that I started searching for keys.
I found them in a masonite cabinet on the wall behind the desk. There were four. Each key hung from a paper fob that was circular and had a thin rim of metal around it. On the
fobs were written registration numbers. I took all four keys and turned to Alicia.
“You stay here and drink more cocoa. I’m going outside for a minute. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
Alicia said nothing. She sat on the couch, clutched her foam cup and stared at me. I didn’t know what to make of her silence. But her shivering was less violent and her cheeks had turned from blue-white to blotchy red.
I went out into the night and shut the door behind me.
The planes were on the far side of one of the hangars. All four had numbers that matched my keys. One was a Cessna 150 that was missing a prop. Another was a Mooney that was missing the entire engine compartment. Next to the Mooney was an old Piper Cub with canvas wings and only one seat inside. The last plane was a Piper Tomahawk, a trainer built back in the early seventies. It wasn’t an ideal plane for cross-country flight, but it looked to be in one piece.
I got up on the wing, opened the door and climbed inside.
I pushed and pulled on the yoke and looked out and behind to see the elevator move down and up. Turning the yoke left and right moved the ailerons on the main wing. The rudder pedals worked, as did the lever that controlled the flaps.
I put the key in the ignition and turned on the navigational gyros. They whirred up a couple of octaves. Both fuel gauges were on full. I turned the fuel selector to the left tank and set the fuel mixture to rich. Then I tried the starter.
The prop rotated one revolution and the engine fired. It ran rough for ten seconds and then smoothed out as the tach climbed to 1500 RPM. The plane buffeted itself with its own propwash. I made sure the brake was on. Then I throttled back to 700 RPMs and climbed out of the airplane.
Alicia was in the exact same position as I had left her, shivering on the couch. She still had some hot chocolate left in her cup. I got a coffee for me. Then I picked up the phone and dialed Street. It was the middle of the night.
“Hello?” she said, alert and worried.
“Street, it’s me. You’re awake.”
“Owen,” Street said. “God, I’m so sorry. They just woke us up.”
“Who?” I sipped some coffee.
“The police. Diamond and two other officers. Mrs. Salazar was with them. Owen, they took Jennifer. She struggled against them. She didn’t want to go, but they took her! What do you want me to do?”
I saw Alicia looking at me. I didn’t know how much she was aware of, but I didn’t want to alarm her. “That’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing to do. I can’t talk now. I’m... in a hurry.”
“Someone is there,” Street said.
“Yes. What I need is a ride. I’m flying in with Jennifer’s mother Alicia.”
“What?”
“Right. We’ll be there in about four hours. Can you be there waiting? Maybe get there early?”
“Sure, Owen. That’ll be early morning. I’ll have plenty of time to get to Reno. What airline?”
“We’re coming into South Lake Tahoe. And we’re in a Piper Tomahawk.” I drank more coffee.
“Owen, don’t tell me you’re flying a plane. You haven’t flown in years.”
“Right. Oh, and Street? Can you bring Spot? We might need him.”
“Owen, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No. Thanks, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to introducing you to Alicia. She’s a real trooper. Oh, one more thing. Did you get an estimated time of...?” I stopped myself, glancing at Alicia.
“Time of death on the body? Yes. It’s not what we thought. I took Jennifer to the lab last evening and made some new determinations based on the hygrothermograph readings. I couldn’t reconcile the readings with some quirks in the timing of the maggots, the pupas and the succession of insects, especially the arrival of hide beetles. So I asked Diamond if the body could have been moved from a warmer place. He thought a moment and said that the stream in the next ravine over was fed by a hot spring. He didn’t think coyotes would drag the body so far up and over the ridge. But if they did, then I could make it work. I figured the heat of the hot spring could raise the temperature where the body was by twenty degrees during the day and forty or more degrees by night. Then my findings made much more sense.”
“Which gives us how long since death?”
“Instead of eighteen or twenty days, the body might only be eleven days old.”
“Thanks, Street. That is what I needed.”
I hung up. Alicia was still watching me. I needed to make one more phone call.
I dialed information for San Francisco and got the number for Smithson’s hotel. I dialed the hotel.
“Hello, may I speak to John Smithson, please,” I said when the night man answered.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Smithson checked out this afternoon.”
I hung up and guzzled the last of my coffee. Alicia’s bare feet caught my eye. They were covered with red scratches and darkening bruises. There was a roll of clear plastic packaging tape in the desk. I tore off pieces of the thread-bare couch fabric, pulled out some stuffing and wrapped the cloth and stuffing around her feet, fashioning makeshift slippers using the tape.
“Time to go,” I said to Alicia. I helped her stand up. Her shivering was almost gone. She faltered and I grabbed her. I tried to put her arm over my shoulder, but I was too tall for her. So I told her to hold on to her cocoa and I picked her up again.
I carried Alicia out to the plane. She tucked her head to my chest as we got close to the roaring prop.
“It’s okay,” I said loudly in her ear. “The plane is safe. I’m going to help you into the seat.
I put a foot up on the right wing and opened the door. Alicia understood my indications and she helped hold herself up as I lifted her into the right seat. After her door was shut, I hustled around the plane and unhooked the line that went from the wings to the tie-down loops in the tarmac. Then I took the blocks out from under the wheels, hoping the brake would hold.
I climbed up into the left seat and shut the door. Alicia was sitting rigidly, alarm on her face.
“It’s okay,” I said again, strapping the belts across her waist and shoulders. “We’re going to see Jennifer,” I said, immediately feeling bad for raising her hopes. Now that Jennifer was back home, she was an easy target. Especially when Gramma thought that the only danger came from me.
I made a slow perusal of the cockpit, trying to remember the procedure from years before. The gas, oil and ammeter gauges all looked normal. The altimeter showed 2100 feet above sea level. I didn’t know if that was accurate for Hollybrook airport, but I had no choice but to assume it needed no correction. There were King radios, but I didn’t want to engage anyone who might figure out what I was up to or where I was going. I decided not to turn on the headlight, running lights or strobes. Better not to attract attention. I found the heat vents and turned them on high.
I leaned-out the fuel mixture, released the parking brake and was easing the throttle forward when I saw the flashing red lights of a police car.
The squad car rushed up to the airport entrance, crashed through the gate and careened out onto the tarmac.
I pushed the throttle forward and, with my lights still off, turned down the taxiway. The police car was driven by a hotdog. He raced out onto the runway and, apparently unaware of our location, turned away from us and shot down the runway.
When we reached the end of the taxiway, I pushed on the rudder pedals and steered the plane around in a big U-turn. I held the throttle partway down and we were going 20 knots when we rolled onto the runway. The moment we straightened out I pushed the throttle all the way forward. I had no idea of the proper position for flaps in a Tomahawk during takeoff. Guessing, I pulled the lever up just one notch hoping the increased lift would shorten our takeoff roll.
The engine roared and we accelerated quickly down the dark asphalt runway. Alicia ducked her head down. Our lights were still off, and I realized the cop couldn’t tell if we were on the r
unway or not when he spun his car 180 degrees and came back toward us.
His headlights bore down on us as we raced at each other from opposite ends of the tarmac. I watched our airspeed indicator. It was crossing over 50 knots. Cop cars accelerate much faster than small airplanes, so he was likely going much faster than we were. Without our lights, he didn’t even know that we were there.
When it seemed clear that we were going to crash into him, I switched on the strobes, the running lights and the landing light.
It didn’t work. He continued to accelerate toward us.
He was only fifty yards away. Our closing velocity was probably over 150 mph. The cop was on a suicide/ murder mission. If we went into the air without enough speed, we might clear the squad car but then crash anyway. But if we stayed on the ground our crash would be much worse.
The cop was almost on us. I jerked back on the yolk and the plane jumped into the air. The police car’s antennae scraped our underside as he raced under us.
THIRTY