Six Seconds

6

Faust’s Fork, near Banff, Alberta, Canada

Campsite #131 was upstream, deep in the backcoun try, secluded in a dense stand of spruce and pine, offer ing sweeping views of the river and the rugged cliffs of the Nine Bear Range.

When Graham arrived with the others, he saw no movement.

A late-model SUV was parked near a large dome tent. It was a typical campsite: propane camping stove, lawn chairs, four life jackets stacked neatly against a spruce tree, food kept a safe distance from the tent, and other items, including shirts and pants, hanging from a clothesline tied between two pine trees. Shouts for the Tarvers were answered by the river’s rush and the thud of the search helicopters.

The site was silent.

Lifeless.

Graham declared it a second scene and as Prell and the others taped it off and radioed for a request to run the SUV’s Alberta plate, he entered the tent alone.

Inside, he detected the pleasant fragrances of soap and sunscreen. There was also the sense that something had been interrupted but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Time had stopped here. To one side, was a sleeping bag big enough for two adults. Next to its left pillow, a Danielle Steel paperback. Next to the right, a large flash light.

Across the tent, two smaller sleeping bags, side by side. A SpongeBob comic was splayed open on one, while a pink stuffed bunny sat on the other, arms open, awaiting its owner’s return.

Graham picked it up, looked into its button eyes.

Children’s clothes in bright colors erupted from small backpacks: sweaters, small pants. The larger bags on the opposite side were also open, clothes spilled from them, but not in a disheveled way.

It was orderly.

Graham searched in vain for a purse or wallet. Camp ers often hid them or locked them away. After making notes, he stepped outside, where Prell updated him.

“The SUV’s a rental from an outlet at Calgary Interna tional. Customer’s Raymond Tarver, same D.C. address.”

“Anything inside?”

“It’s locked.”

“Get the rental agency to open it for us ASAP. Tell them it’s a police emergency. Then we’ll get forensics to process it and this site. Nobody tromps around here or touches anything.”

Graham nodded upriver.

“What about the people in the neighboring sites?”

“Some of the guys have started a canvas.”

“Good, I want statements, time lines, background checks.”

Six Seconds 49

“Will do. Corporal, what do you suspect happened to the parents?”

“I don’t know.” Graham surveyed the site again: the life jackets, the cooler of food kept at a proper distance from the tent, a pail of dirt near the fire ring- did they cook hot dogs, toast marshmallows and huddle under the stars together? Did they die together? “These people follow the rules, keep things safe, take no risks. I don’t know what happened.”

Later that night, after Prell had gone back to Calgary, Graham watched flashlights and headlamps probe the dark river valley as SARS teams continued searching. Graham was alone at his own campsite sitting before a fire, listening to transmissions echoing from the bor rowed radio next to him.

As the searchers reported, Graham reviewed his case.

After a mechanic from the rental agency had opened the SUV, Prell found more items, including a wallet, a purse and U.S. passports belonging to the Tarvers. The flames illuminated the faces of Raymond, his wife, Anita, their son, Thomas, and their daughter, Emily, the girl who took her final breaths in Graham’s arms.

What went wrong here?

Graham wanted to believe that this was your nice, average American family. But where were Ray and Anita Tarver?

Did they drown their children?

Or drown with them?

What happened?

Had they been having a blissful mountain vacation before a horrible accident? Or was something else at work? Was there stress in the family? What was going on in the lives of the Tarvers before the tragedy?

What about his own life?

The firelight also captured the urn visible through the screen door to his tent.

Graham ran a hand across his face.

It’d been a hell of a day. He’d come up here to one of Nora’s favorite spots, to distribute the rest of her ashes. He’d come up to quit the force. He couldn’t go on without her because he had nothing left.

Nothing.

Because it was his fault.

Then today happened. And in his darkest moment when he was in the river, certain he would die, he heard her, telling him not to give up.

To keep going.

And then came Emily Tarver’s final cryptic words.

How could he walk away from this?

He owed the dead.

The radio sputtered.

“Repeat, Sector 17-”

“We’ve got something here!”