The Zero Night

25

The tow-truck driver named Rex Samuels guided Stride along the roads on the south side of Island Lake. Like a psychiatrist’s inkblot, the reservoir sprawled across dozens of miles, creating strangely shaped inlets and a myriad of dead-end roads. Some of the roads were paved, but many weren’t, and they all looked alike, densely lined with evergreens. It was still early, just before sunrise, but there would be no sun that day. Another storm front had rolled in from the west to block out the sky, and the first drizzle of rain began to spatter across Stride’s windshield.

He was quiet as he drove. He should have been tired because he hadn’t slept at all, but instead, he felt charged with adrenaline. His body ached, but it was a good ache. He could still feel Serena in his arms and remember the sensations of her body below his, of being inside her again.

Maggie sat in the truck’s second row of seats. She nursed a cup of McDonald’s coffee and an Egg McMuffin, and she wore sunglasses despite the gray light. Rex sat next to Stride. The tow-truck driver had a big thermos of coffee, and a few white sticky crumbs of what looked like oatmeal clung to his lumberjack beard. The man wore a white T-shirt that didn’t stretch far enough to cover his stomach and loose-fitting jeans that were covered in grease stains.

“How’d you guys find me again?” Rex asked, sounding annoyed that they’d dragged him away from his business on a Monday morning.

“You fixed a tire for somebody on Saturday near Pike Lake Park,” Stride said. “He called me. He said you were telling him about doing the same thing for Gavin Webster up in these woods last weekend.”

Maggie slid a photograph of Gavin between the seats. “This is the guy, right? You’re sure?”

Rex glanced at it. “That’s him.”

“Are we close to the spot where you met him?” Stride asked.

“Hmm.” Rex leaned forward and squinted into the woods. “Not sure about that. Seems to me we took another wrong turn back there. Better turn around.”

Stride sighed and maneuvered the SUV into a tight U-turn. His tires scraped on the dirt, and he had to back up into the brush and avoid the white trunk of a birch tree that bent over the road. They’d already made several wrong turns and gone all the way to the winding edge of the lakeshore before Rex confirmed that they weren’t in the right area.

“Didn’t you write down the location?” Maggie asked impatiently.

“I did when he called me. After that, I threw it away.”

“Do you remember any identifying features?” Stride asked. “Were there houses nearby? Could you see the water?”

“Yeah, I remember some houses. Not where Webster was, but I passed some houses as I was going there.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Maggie commented sourly.

“Did you go as far as Boondocks?” Stride asked.

“No, I’d remember that. The wife and I go there for beer and nachos sometimes. Webster was on the south side of the lake. I never went through town.”

The rain got harder. Stride turned on his windshield wipers, and his headlights shined through the gloom. When he steered around a curve, they found themselves back at the paved highway of Rice Lake Road. Stride turned south. The land was more open here, with a few widely separated houses set back from the road and power lines following the highway. He accelerated through the spray. He hadn’t gone far when they passed a small fire station. Rex suddenly came to life.

“Hang on, what’s that?”

“The Gnesen Fire Station,” Stride said.

“No, the road. What road is that?”

“It’s County 295. Datka Road. But that heads toward Fredenberg Lake, not Island Lake.”

Rex’s big head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, I guess it could have been Fredenberg. I don’t know. The roads all look the same up here. Anyway, I definitely remember turning at the fire station.”

Stride could almost hear the sound of Maggie rolling her eyes in the back seat. He did another U-turn and headed left on Datka Road. The asphalt disappeared under his tires after about a hundred yards, and he drove through mud. Trees hugged the sides of the road, some pines, some birches that had cast yellow leaves into the ruts. They passed a few driveways and a handful of mobile homes built in the clearings. After a mile or so, they reached a fork, and Rex said confidently, “Yeah, go right. This is it.”

Stride steered right at the fork. The farther he drove, the more the road narrowed, until it was barely wider than the SUV.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I’m sure. It was a bitch getting my truck down here.”

They reached a junction where there was a wide trail leading into the trees. It was generous to call it a road, because it was overgrown with weeds and grass, and he spotted a couple of fallen tree trunks blocking the access. But there were tire tracks, so someone had been driving here.

“That’s the spot,” Rex said.

“Here?” Maggie said.

“Yeah. This Webster guy, his car was in that clearing.”

All three of them climbed out of Stride’s truck. The rain was heavy and loud in the trees, and the wind had begun to kick up, turning the air cold. This was a particularly deserted stretch of woodland. They hadn’t passed a house in at least half a mile, and they were still another half a mile from the lakeshore. The area was dead quiet, missing the distant rumble of traffic that was usually in the background. Stride wandered down the grassy trail until it curved away into the trees.

Maggie came up beside him. “What was Gavin doing out here?”

“Good question.”

They walked back to the dirt road and joined Rex by the truck.

“So what was wrong with Gavin’s car?” Stride asked.

“I told you. Flat tire. Rear driver’s side.”

“When was this?”

“A week ago Sunday.”

“Morning? Afternoon?”

“Morning. Pretty early. Normally I’d go to church, but a job’s a job.”

“Did you see anybody else out here?” Maggie asked. “Any other cars or people?”

“Nope. Nobody.”

“Was Gavin alone? Or was anyone else in the car with him?”

“It was just him.”

“How was he dressed?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t remember.”

“Was he clean or dirty?”

Rex thought about it. “Dirty. Looked like he’d been out in the woods.”

“Did he say what he was doing out here?”

“No, and I didn’t ask. I don’t stick my nose into other people’s business. They don’t bother me, I don’t bother them.”

“Did he have any equipment with him?” Stride asked. “Did you see anything in the car?”

“Like what?”

“Rope. Zip ties. Any kind of weapon.”

“Not that I saw. Shit, if he had a gun, I’d think twice about stopping. But it’s not like this guy looked like some punk who was planning to jack me, you know? He looked legit.”

“Did he give you his name?” Stride asked.

“No. No name. He called, told me where he was. That’s all.”

“Did you write down the license plate of the car? Or did you ask to see his driver’s license?”

“Why would I do that? I changed the tire, and I was done.”

“So you can’t verify that it was him?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah, but I’m telling you, I recognize his face. It was this Webster guy.”

“How did he pay?” Stride asked. “Did he use a credit card?”

Rex shook his head. “Cash. That was pretty nice, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Service plus the tire came to a little over four hundred bucks. Guy didn’t have change and didn’t want any. He peeled off five hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over and told me to keep the rest.”

Stride exchanged a look with Maggie.

“He gave you hundred-dollar bills?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah.”

“And this was last Sunday morning?”

“I already told you that,” Rex complained.

Stride took Maggie’s elbow, and the two of them retreated down the grassy trail again. He studied the road leading into the woods, and he felt the hammer of rain, not caring that he was getting soaked. Next to him, water dripped like a slow leak from Maggie’s bangs. Over their heads, lightning split the dark clouds. A few seconds later, thunder beat loud enough that he could feel it inside his chest.

“Gavin had hundreds in his wallet before the kidnapping,” Stride said. “Before the ransom demand.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Maggie pointed out.

“No, but it’s an interesting coincidence.” He stared into the woods, which were thick and dark and stretched for miles. They were the perfect hiding place. A body left somewhere in those woods was unlikely ever to be found. It would just slowly disappear into the ground.

“Did anyone actually see Chelsey on Sunday or Monday?” Stride asked. “Or talk to her?”

“Not that I know of, but we weren’t checking her whereabouts that early. Gavin says the abduction took place on Tuesday night.”

“Right, but we only have his word for that. We also only have his word that he got proof of life from the kidnappers.”

“You think he killed Chelsey and hid the body before he went to see his parents in Rice Lake?” Maggie asked.

“Maybe. Then he used Hink Miller to help him stage the ransom drop, and when he didn’t need him anymore, he got rid of Hink.”

Maggie frowned. “But there was evidence that Chelsey was transported in Hink’s trunk.”

“Gavin could have planted that evidence,” Stride said. “It’s part of the narrative. Make us think the kidnapping was real.”

Maggie shook her head. “You see, this is why I hate lawyers.”

Stride took a few steps into the woods. He inhaled the rain-tinged air. He looked for footsteps. Broken branches. Torn clothes. A path that would lead to a burying place. But there was nothing. Gavin wouldn’t have made the truth that easy to find.

As he stood in the downpour, though, Stride felt something else, something that had been missing from his life for fourteen long months. A sense of belonging. A sense of purpose. The gears of his life were fitting together again. Serena. His marriage. And his job.

He finally had his answer. He was back.

“We better get the dogs out here,” Stride said. “It’s time to search.”