Critical Conditions

Twenty-eight

A motorcycle engine revved and upshifted somewhere in the adjacent canyons. The sound echoed off the stone walls, and each shift in pitch of the distant drone froze the assembled cops like the assured click of a gun cocking.

Someone said, “Shh. Quiet,” and we all stilled and listened.

The canyon walls trapped and distorted the sound. At first I thought the high-pitched whine I was hearing was identical to the drone I had heard fading away from Dead Ed’s ranch the night before. Then I wasn’t so sure. And at first I thought the motorcycle was north of us, heading toward the west, and then I thought it was south of us, heading farther south.

By the time the engine noise finally disappeared, all I was certain of was that the motorcycle wasn’t coming up the hill to rendezvous with Haldeman.

Lucy said, “False alarm.”

The Routt County deputy said, “Infrared still negative?”

“Yes. It’s ice cold in there.”

“Let’s go check out the RV.”

“Everybody have vests on?”

“I don’t,” I said.

The Summit County deputy helped me pull one on. He told me to stay back until we found the kids.

I thought it was great advice.

The approach to the Holiday Rambler reminded me of the stealth my friends and I used to employ while capturing an unprotected treehouse when I was a kid. Everyone skulked up the hill waiting for an attack nobody really believed was forthcoming.

“Police, open up!” yelled a Routt County deputy as he tried the door on the RV. It swung open. “Police!” he called again, then once more, the barrel of his handgun pointing toward the Big Dipper.

Everyone waited. There was a moment of shared doubt. Maybe the infrared was wrong.

Maybe it was an ambush.

“Scope?”

“Just you guys bright as Martians. Nothing’s glowing inside. Nothing. It’s cool.”

“Okay, go in.”

Three deputies did, one after the other, their guns ready, their hearts, I was sure, beating like steel drums.

Lucy appeared beside me. Coolly, she said, “They’re not here. Damn. Sorry about pulling you away for this.”

“It’s fine, Lucy. The helicopter ride was great.”

I heard a radio call. “Clear.”

One of the deputies poked his head out of the RV and said, “We have a crime scene here. Lot of blood inside.”

“Vic?”

“No vic.”

“Weapons?”

“Half a dozen of them.”

Lucy said, “Shit.”

The flashlights were out now, and all the cops were scanning the area around the RV for physical evidence.

The Routt County deputy was silent for a minute; then, in a loud voice, he ordered the area cleared. He wanted a perimeter set up at fifty yards.

Someone said, “Wait. Blood trail goes out the door and then down here.” A Summit County deputy was pointing his flashlight at some large pine boughs that were resting against the side of the vehicle, midway between the wheel wells.

“See anything else?”

He crouched and adjusted the beam of his flashlight. “Dark stains. There are some big doors behind these branches. You know, like for luggage on a bus.”

The Routt County deputy called for a camera. He took shots of the pine boughs and the blood before removing the branches. He pulled latex on his hands and tried the handle of the left-hand door. As the door raised on hydraulic lifters, he stood off to one side.

The converging beams of the flashlights showed an empty cavern.

The deputy moved to the other door, clicked it open, and again stood back as it lifted up to a horizontal stop.

This cavern wasn’t empty. I thought what I was seeing inside was a pile of rags. Then I saw the wispy hair, the hair so light that it could be lifted by baby’s breath.

Lucy said, “It’s the girl.”

All the flashlight beams focused on the body. The firefighter with the infrared helmet had his scope on her. He said, “Don’t bother disturbing her. She’s stone cold.”

I said, “Oh, Madison.”

Lucy and I stepped out of the helicopter onto the tarmac at Boulder Airport at one-thirty in the morning. We had spoken little on the ride back over the Divide. She was husbanding her energy for her next errand-heading off to tell Miggy Monroe that her daughter had been murdered.

I was going home.

My head found my pillow a few minutes after two o’clock. But I couldn’t sleep. The night’s events felt unreal, my subconscious rendering them into the hazy stuff of dreams. I didn’t think I had slept at all when I looked up and saw the clock at four-forty-two. At five to five I crawled out of bed, took a shower, dressed, and headed to Denver before rush hour.

I had my own notifying to do.

The adolescent psychiatry unit at The Children’s Hospital was still. The kids were all asleep, and the night shift was putting finishing touches on the kids’ charts, looking forward to going home. My arrival surprised everyone. The nursing staff wasn’t accustomed to doctors showing up before dawn for psychotherapy sessions, especially on weekends.

After I explained the circumstances, they handled my request to awaken Merritt with aplomb and informed me that Merritt had not started speaking with any staff members.

Generally, adults awaken looking like leftovers. Kids awaken looking soft and tousled and unkempt. And Merritt was still a kid. Her skin was puffy and pink and she held her hair back from her face with one hand. She examined me with a combination of vigilance and fire in her sleepy eyes. Defiantly, she said, “Is Chaney okay? Is this about my sister?”

“I’m not aware of any change in Chaney’s condition, Merritt. I’m here about something else. Please sit.”

She did.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, but-”

“Are my parents okay?”

“As far as I know, yes.” With a cushion in my voice, I added, “Please, may I go on?”

She nodded.

“Merritt, I’m afraid your friend Madison is dead.”

Merritt released so much air from her lungs that I expected her to collapse in on herself and implode, like a punctured balloon. I waited for the inhale. The delay was inexorable and when she finally breathed, she gulped at the air, swallowing hungrily.

“Are you sure? What happened?”

I searched for a euphemism. I didn’t find one. “She was murdered. Sometime yesterday, probably. The police aren’t sure yet.”

“Was it Brad?” No hesitation.

“We need to make some decisions about the ground rules, Merritt. I need the freedom to let the treatment team know what we talk about here.”

She looked injured, mumbled, “God.”

“It’s essential, Merritt.”

“Not my parents? You won’t tell them?”

“No, I don’t need to tell them.”

“Not the police?”

“No, certainly not the police. Not unless it’s about child abuse or hurting someone.”

She stretched her neck back and tried to tame her unruly hair. “I think…I’m about to trust you. Do you deserve it?”

“I hope so.”

“Okay. You can tell the treatment team what we talk about if you also tell them not to tell anybody else. That’s important. And you can tell the lawyer, Mr. Maitlin, too. Now you tell me, was it Brad?”

“It may have been. She was with him.”

“Did he beat her again?”

“Has he beaten her before?”

“He’s hit her before. He has a temper. Did he beat her?”

I thought about the bloody trail and Madison’s pitifully crumpled body. I said, “Someone may have.”

“He beat her to death?”

“No, she wasn’t beaten to death.”

“How did she die?”

“She was shot.”

“Did you see her?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the mountains. Near Steamboat Springs.”

“No, no. Where was she shot? Where on her body?”

“She was shot a number of times, Merritt. Different places.”

“Was it really awful? Like…Dr. Robilio?”

“I didn’t see him. What happened with Madison wasn’t pretty, Merritt. I don’t think she suffered, though.” I had no idea whether or not Madison had suffered. But I desperately wanted to put a Band-Aid on Merritt’s hurt.

“She’s so stupid. I told her not to stay with him. He’s, he’s trouble. He’s…”

“What?”

“He scares me, okay? I told her not to tell him. He’s such a jerk.”

“Tell him what?”

She looked at me with total concentration. I knew we had reached the edge of the frontier. She had to decide whether to guide me through it.

She hesitated, hugged herself, and said, “It’s about Chaney.”