Six Seconds

55

Interstate 15, en route to Las Vegas

Maggie and Graham left the Los Angeles area for Las Vegas on Interstate 15, each mile taking Graham further out on a limb.

Edging him closer to insubordination.

But he’d taken steps to reduce the risk.

He’d called his boss again but had timed it when he knew he’d be in a meeting, and then left another vague voice mail about a lead in Las Vegas. Then he called Vic Thompson’s voice mail and updated him with general information on Nevada. Then Graham advised Las Vegas Metro, and the FBI, he was coming to town.

He’d played loosely by the rules.

But soon he’d either have to give up, or make his own rules because deep down he didn’t care. Deep down he wasn’t ready to let go. There were too many unan swered questions and it was eating him up.

As the road rushed under them, Graham went back to that day, back to the riverbank, staring at the boy’s body with Liz DeYoung, the medical investigator.

“Mother Nature’s your suspect,” Liz had said.

Graham considered her words as he watched L.A.’s urban sprawl melt into the Mojave desert. Maggie had fallen asleep beside him. Her window was open, breezes played with her hair. She wore sunglasses, white Dockers, a lavender T-shirt that complemented her figure.

A cell phone was strapped to her wrist. A manifes tation of her faith that she’d talk to her son. She’d for warded her home number to her cell. She’d brought her laptop, she’d booked time off work, again. She’d nearly maxed out her credit cards.

Nearly took her own life.

Who was this anguished mother?

Graham knew one true thing about her. She’d put everything on the line just like him. He felt the stirrings of a partnership just as a rig roared by, its air horn sounding a blast that woke her.

Maggie massaged her temples, then checked her phone for messages.

They were strangers yet comfortable with each other, letting silence pass in long stretches along with the miles. Maggie asked Graham about the Mounties and he handed her his badge. She ran her fingers over the gold crown, the wreath of maple leaves, the words Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the bison’s head en circled with the scroll bearing the motto.

“I thought your motto was that you always get your man?”

“No, it’s there, in French, see: ‘Maintiens le Droit,’ means ‘Maintain the Right.’”

“Why the buffalo head?”

“Bison kept the guys alive when they marched west, half-starved in the 1800s, for a buck a day pay.”

“How come you’re not wearing a red serge and

Stetson?” She smiled.

“That’s pretty much ceremonial.”

“Do they still make you eat buffalo meat?” “No, you can be a vegan Mountie if you like.” “They pay you more than a buck a day?” “Depends what day.”

Maggie laughed, the first time she’d laughed since

Jake took Logan from her. She wanted to thank Graham for that; instead she turned to the desert, watching it flow by. Graham asked her how she’d met Jake and she told him about high school. Then she asked Graham if he had a family.

“My parents are still living. That’s it.”

“Wife and kids?”

“No kids. I was married. My wife died.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, looked down the road ahead.

“I’d prefer not to talk about that, if that’s okay.” “No, sure. Sorry.”

Graham’s phone rang.

“Danny, Len Bowman in Banff. You heard we found Tarver?”

“I heard. Is the autopsy done yet?”

“No. You’d best get back here, Stotter’s not in a pleasant frame of mind.”

“I’m working on it. Is that why you called?” “The wardens want the Tarvers’ campsite released.

So, seeing that we’ve found him, do I have your verbal? We’ve been sitting on this thing for a long time, Dan.” Mother Nature’s your suspect.

At that instant Graham was struck with an idea-an overlooked aspect finally revealed itself.

“Wait! Len. Did Arnie process it with you?”

“For blood splatter?”

“Yes.”

“I think he looked in the tent, the SUV, scoped them and stuff.”

“Tell him to do the whole area leading to the river.”

“What? You want him to scope the woods?”

“Remind him about the Icelandic study about outdoor application. Arnie will know. He’s the one who told me about it. After he processes the area, call me.”

“I’ll do it, but it’s your head in the chopper when Stotter gets word. Because as far as he’s concerned this one’s been cleared.”

“Tell him, it’s all me. That should make things easy for you and Arnie.”

After the call, Graham lost his thoughts in the traffic. Maggie suspected that he had been discussing the Tarver case but didn’t ask him about it. Nor did she ask him when they pulled into a service center for gas and burgers.

Later, when they’d returned to the freeway, they didn’t notice the car following them. A blue Impala with tinted windows and a front bumper that was scraped on the driver’s side.

The same Impala that had followed Maggie a few nights ago.

This time one of the two men in the car had affixed a small transmitter to Graham’s rental. The signal was strong on the laptop computer they were using to monitor Maggie and Graham’s movements.