Necessary evil, p.2
Necessary Evil, page 2
It was only with her MBA that she had a sort of social blossoming. Awkward at first, she learned how to reach out to people. Shortly after school, she wed. She thrived at her first job, at Delphi, a high-tech company, where she soon headed the information technology division.
When Gail, her best friend since childhood, suffered an auto accident that broke multiple bones, almost ruined an eye, and generally made her a nervous, quivering person, Jessie gave up the better part of her "free" time to help her old friend. Just about that time, Jessie's husband, Norman, announced their breakup to their respective families.
Gail was the reason Jessie had joined the FBI. Gail had a job in the public relations department for the Bureau in Washington, D.C. Although Jessie was a computer whiz, and she was more or less happily buried in her work, and had lots of friends, she wanted to do something more creative. Gail, for her part, wanted Jessie for a roommate, now that Norman was history, so she convinced her to join the Bureau, effectively arguing that Jessie could specialize in computer crime-no street work-and match wits with the smartest crooks in the business. There was no end to the personal creativity she could bring to the task of hunting down virus disseminators, techno-terrorists, and other computer criminals.
Jessie surprised herself by going for it-the right thing at the right time, she guessed-turning down two promotion offers from Delphi. A lot of things about making the move were painful, including the sizable cut in pay, and the interminable, but ultimately rewarding, training.
She rapidly formed many good relationships, chief among them the one with her boss, Frank Bilotti. She had known him for three years before he did the unthinkable.
Although Gail had been the initial victim, it was Jessie who was the witness on whom the entire case against Frank rested. Without what Jessie saw and heard, there would be no investigation of Frank Bilotti. What Frank did to Jessie was threaten her career, and what she held most dear, her reputation, in order to force her silence. What he really did was break her heart. Then it was a professional war.
Of course, when the Bilotti thing blew up, Gail had pointed out that it was ludicrous for Jessie Mayfield to leave the dung heap of a bureaucratic mess for the dirt roads and insect-ridden, off-the-grid, back-country living of Wintoon County. This was not a Jessie Mayfield kind of place. There were no hot dog stands, Jewish delicatessens, sushi bars, or theater districts- nothing but her sister Claudie.
When Frank found out that Jessie intended to bring him down, Jessie just purchased an airline ticket, found Gail a good shrink and an extra friend, then hugged her good-bye and said she'd be back in a month. Given the nature of the accusations (word of which had immediately filtered up and down the Bureau's ranks), and despite Frank's flat denials, counter-accusations, and old-boy buddies backing him up, the FBI would have given Jessie a six-month administrative leave of absence if she'd asked for it. As it was, she was taking a month. Until then, Frank could sweat.
As Kier wound his way down from Elk Horn Pass, he felt the four-wheel-drive climb over the billowy drifts and enjoyed the familiar sounds of his truck's heavy-treaded tires compressing new snow. The mindless driving eased his anger at the hell Winona had just been through. Kier had noted, but not remarked upon the infant's dark complexion. It could have been Winona's natural child, fathered by a fellow Tilok. Tilok parentage seemed unlikely, though. Few Indians could afford the reproductive technology of this clinic. It wasn't like the measles or an appendectomy or a normal birth where government dollars or insurance coverage was available. Could the parents have been from some other mahogany-skinned race? Kier wondered. He had been expecting a white child, and this visit had been an eye-opener in more ways than one.
As the grade lessened and the road met the valley floor, a thought occurred to him: He wasn't going to get back over Elk Horn Pass tonight or tomorrow. The snow would be impassable until the heaviest plows got off other jobs and managed to break through. This wild valley, being so sparsely populated, was not a high priority for county snow removal.
Being stuck in Mill Valley would actually come as a welcome relief-a little time off from his veterinary practice in Johnson City. He could stay in his cabin and complete the construction of a bookcase that had been unfinished for months. It all dovetailed with his visit to the Donahue ranch. For a mare in foal, Kier might have sent an assistant into the valley, but the Donahues were as close to him as family.
The evergreens to either side of the roadway were imposing, white cones. Interspersed, from ground to sky, the hardwoods sent out gnarled winter-darkened branches with iced toppings- witches' fingers, the Indian kids called them.
Windblown snowflakes choked the air. In the valley, the new snow would soon melt. But in the high country, winter had arrived. Nearly vertical, moss-bearded granite faces and green, conifered slopes rose thousands of feet from the river gorge that cupped the road on which he drove. According to Tilok legend, the world began here. A little of the coastal California mountain range still belonged to the sovereign nations of the Hoopa, Yurok, and Tilok tribes, but the greater part by far belonged to the U.S. government.
Rounding the corner at the abandoned Murdock homestead, Kier looked up the old road past the leafless maples and into the old orchards that were feasting places for the deer, and ghost places for men-reminders of a time when small farmers populated the valley. They lived a simple life, with no radio, lots of kids, lots of food, hand-me-down clothes, and screen doors to control the bugs.
Even through the fresh snow at the Murdock turnoff, he could see the imprints of multiple, deep-treaded tires. His pickup bounced and fishtailed as it rolled over the big, frozen ruts. Strange. Few vehicles would be heavy or large enough to leave such a calling card. Either a loaded dump truck or water truck had made several trips or, even more unusual, several heavy vehicles had traveled to the Murdock's in a convoy.
Kier considered turning around and investigating, but the snow already covered the valley floor, and he needed to check out the horse. If Claudie was right, the mare would drop her foal any time now.
Six of the eight miles down from the summit, Kier saw the tail of a snow-covered, boxy car just ahead of him. It looked like Claudie Donahue's Volvo, and given the number of cars in this area, it almost certainly was. Strange that she would be coming back from town in this weather, especially with the mare's delicate condition and her own health impaired by a bout of shingles. Kier thought it odd that Claudie didn't pull over to let him pass, since the truck could break a path through the snow for her sedan.
Now the Volvo slowed even more. The blizzard was whiting out everything so badly that maybe Claudie feared she would miss the turnoff. But that wasn't like her. She knew the road as well as anyone.
Kier flashed his headlights repeatedly, signaling for her to stop, and finally she did. He pulled alongside the car, slid across the seat, and rolled down his window, sticking his face into the wind and snow. Her window lowered, and Kier's mouth fell open. This was not Claudie Donahue.
"What do you want?"
The woman behind the wheel had curious brown eyes like brook-shined stones, wet with intensity. Her brown hair was pulled back sleekly to the top of her head, where it cascaded back down in well-coifed curls. Her dark sweater was embroidered with gold thread, and her lapel sported a gold rose pin. She had the look of the city. Nothing this refined had ever arrived in Mill Valley, much less in a blizzard.
For a moment the words stuck in his throat-not so much because of her appeal as at his shock at encountering this creature that didn't quite fit in this world of dirt, trees, ice-covered mountains, barns, manure, and sawdust.
"You going to the Donahues'?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Maybe I could help."
"Didn't know I needed any."
"Well, I'm the local vet, and I'm going there now."
"Oh. Hello." Her face softened slightly. "Well, I guess I'll see you there then. I'm visiting my sister to give her a hand until she gets a little better."
He hesitated, wondering if she knew he ought to go first and break trail. Shouting in the storm felt awkward, especially since they hadn't had any introduction.
Her chained tires dug in and she lurched ahead. Perhaps she felt more secure with him trailing along behind.
And then he knew.
He hadn't been thinking. She was Claudie's sister, Jessie. He knew perfectly well from photos that Jessie was brunette and beautiful.
''A woman from New York City, driving in these mountains, in a whiteout," he told himself, shaking his head.
The most he had heard about Jessie at one sitting was a few years back, when Claudie told Kier her kid sister was joining the FBI, her specialty computer crime. Claudie had been so proud. According to Claudie, Jessie was a tough one, the type who kicked guys in the testicles and smiled.
The arctic cold front was doing its deed in earnest. With the truck's wipers losing the fight against the ice, the Volvo quickly disappeared, then abruptly reappeared out of the storm-at a dead crawl. Kier nearly rear-ended her, swerved, and made a split-second decision to go around the car. Now was his chance-he would lead the way.
To his surprise, the Volvo jumped ahead, moving toward the centerline. It was too late to avoid a collison. Grating fenders sent an ugly feeling through his gut. The Volvo's left rear fender crumpled against the oversize tires of the pickup.
Within seconds, Jessie's fist was pounding on the passenger's side window. He opened the door, and she jumped in.
"I have never had an accident." She said it in a deliberate, clipped way. Her cheeks were red, her dark hair flecked with snow. "Now this."
"I'm Kier Wintripp. Like I said, I was just on my way to Claudie's. It's nice to meet you. And I apologize for the fender."
"Jessie Mayfield." She shook his hand in a businesslike manner.
"I can be of more help if I go just ahead of you," Kier continued. "The truck will pack down the snow, and I know the way."
"I know the way." She paused. "Look, you pulled around without any warning," she said more sharply. "I know I sound angry." Another pause.
Kier decided that whatever she was thinking was a welcome distraction from her anger.
"That's probably because I'm pissed," she said, half laughing. He noticed what on a better day would be a terrific smile.
''Don't be. I crashed into your car. You have a right to yell."
"Wait, wait." She shook her head. "I am not yelling."
He knew he should drop it. But he couldn't resist.
"Claudie will understand. Blinding snowstorm. You pulled ahead unexpectedly while I was trying to go around you. To break trail."
"I was trying to get to the middle of this disappearing road, and you neglected to explain that you should go ahead when you stopped me."
"This is no big deal," Kier said. "You're just not used to driving on mountain roads in a snowstorm."
"I'm from New York. It snows every winter."
He stared at her, somewhat amused, somewhat stumped.
She stared back. "My sister calls you the James Herriot of Wintoon County. Says you tame mean dogs just by looking at them. Even tame shrews. So where did that soothing personality go?"
"By not looking at them. I just don't challenge dogs."
She opened the door and stepped into the snow.
"Ever try it on people?"
"I treat most anything. If your shrew has a problem, you could call for an appointment."
She shut his door firmly.
"A cougar attacked Dawn. She's bleeding and won't let anyone near her. She's crazy with fear and dilated like she's going to foal."
Nothing about this day would be easy. At the Donahue ranch, Claudie was waiting for them in front of the house in the full blizzard.
She glanced from Jessie to Kier, seemingly unconcerned about the fender of her Volvo. Even in an emergency, she had those mother's-bliss eyes, now slick with tears.
"Where is she?" Kier asked.
"We put her in the paddock near the woods where she wouldn't be bothered. Ever since that new law where nobody can shoot the cougars, they've come around. But usually they stay away from the big animals." Claudie drew a breath, visibly shaken. "I'll bet she's up the pasture a long ways."
"Just let me get a few things."
Kier pulled a big nylon bag from his truck. In seconds, they were in the old barn, Jessie following. They passed eight stalls that opened onto the paddocks, and walked out into the storm. In the far corner of the paddock, the soil was broken and the electric fence ripped apart.
''Normally, I'd chase her on another horse and rope her, but she's about to foal," Claudie said. "I didn't know what to do."
Kier walked quickly to where the mare had tussled with the cat, trying to read what had happened.
"Swollen and slow," he said. "She looked wounded to the cat.. easy prey." Kier shook his head. "In her condition, she won't run far. You two can use the truck." He looked at Jessie. "I assume you don't ride horses."
"Just have that look about me, huh?"
It took Kier a few minutes to saddle a horse in the barn. He then took a second horse and clipped a lead rope onto its halter.
"Why are you bringing Shaman too?" Claudie asked, referring to the haltered horse. "You'll see."
Jessie was both attracted and repelled by this man. In her current frame of mind it was a relief to find anything attractive about any man. Probably the stories she had heard, the healing stuff, influenced her perceptions. He was also handsome and more masculine than a leather tobacco pouch. Now, sitting in his truck she had studied him; the fade of his jeans, and that they were clean; the deep brown of his heavily oiled boots; his leanness-no part of his belly hung over his belt, and his smart-looking khaki shirt.
Now watching him ride in a bulky overcoat, his hat cocked low, leaning into the wind, he looked like a vision from the old West. After a couple of hundred yards, Jessie and Claudie drove up to a barbed-wire fence. They got out and walked to where Kier knelt over tracks in the snow. The flakes were beginning to dance and swirl. Drifts were deepening.
"I doubt she crossed this fence. So she was probably shunted to the far corner," Claudie said.
"Yup." Kier followed the tracks down the fence line. "Damn."
He knelt again at a muddy spot where the snow mixed with soil. There was a cougar track right amongst the mare's hoofprints. A splotch of blood had congealed on the snow.
"He's still after her."
Kier opened a compartment on the truck and removed a large canvas bag, which he handed to Jessie. Grabbing the saddle horn, he vaulted onto the horse and, in one smooth motion, snatched back his medical bag.
"Catch up with me," he said, leaving at a dead run.
Jessie and Claudie didn't have to drive far. Around the next stand of trees, Jessie saw Kier in the distance, standing next to his mount, watching the silver-gray mare against the fence. Coming right to the foot of the mountain, the oak-dotted pasture made a natural funnel defined by the terrain. The cattle scattered in response to the activity, then banded together in the far corner of the pasture, perhaps smelling the blood or the big cat.
Kier left his medical bag by a lone oak, then swung out of the saddle and hung from the side of his horse with one foot in the stirrup, his body facing his mount's rear. From what she could tell, Kier was approaching the mare while leading the other horse. The wounded mare tossed her head and began moving away down the fence.
Kier stopped.
As they neared the scene, Jessie could see the lather and blood covering the panicked Dawn. Nostrils flaring, the horse panted wildly, intermittently making a high-pitched, squealing noise. Jessie could even see the newborn colt beginning to emerge, a dark spot that appeared to be the colt's forelegs.
Kier waved at Jessie to stop the truck.
Now Jessie saw the blood on the mare's flanks and a horrible wound on her nose. On her belly a deep, bloody furrow ran between many smaller gashes. Jessie gasped. What looked like greenish viscera protruded from the deeper belly wounds. Blood dripped thickly from more places than she could count.
At the oak tree, the women climbed out of the truck, watching, riveted to the delicate dance before them. Every time Kier's horse stepped toward the mare, the wounded creature would begin moving up the fence.
"It looks bad," Jessie said.
"It's worse than that," Claudie said. "From what I can see, the cat grabbed her nose with his paw, sank his teeth in her neck, raked her flank. I think she's lost a lot of blood."
Jessie suddenly realized why Kier was hanging off his horse: By doing so, he remained almost invisible to the wounded mare. Guiding the two horses to the mare's left side, Kier stopped them along the fence a good thirty feet from her. He steadied the two horses, now skittish at the smell of blood, and kept them tight together.
Still the mare sidestepped away.
Kier moved the two horses again, at least ten feet back, giving Dawn even more room. The mare still tossed her head, but this time she took a few nervous steps toward them. Kier remained stock-still, stuck to the side of his horse. Again the mare came toward them, then stopped. It seemed she would come no closer.
Stepping down from his mount, Kier let his horse drift away, so that he came into full view of the mare. He stood square to her, focusing all his attention on her now. He raised his arm and pointed at her and began chanting loudly in Tilok.
The mare pawed and snorted. She backed away at first. But after a minute, she turned sideways, flicked an ear, then released a breathy squeal of pain. Another contraction came hard. The moment the mare flicked the ear down, Kier's chanting grew softer, and he turned sideways to her as if singing to the horizon-as if he were ignoring her.
