Pieces of her, p.8
Pieces of Her, page 8
No snow had fallen in recent days, and the spot where the kidnapper had pounced on Roy was clearly visible in the snow.
“Definite signs of a struggle here,” Jim remarked as he examined the scene. “But there seem to be a lot of footprints all around this spot. Did you come back here and search for something after you’d rescued your son, Hank?”
“Nope,” Hank said, shaking his head. “I was too damn tired and shaken up by what happened. Roy and I just came straight back to the truck.”
This place was deep in the woods and far from any trails. It was extremely unlikely that any hikers had come here since yesterday. “You told the cops about what happened, right?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, we went this morning,” Hank answered. “But they didn’t give a shit, at least the son of a bitch lieutenant we spoke to didn’t. I ain’t surprised. Damn pigs ain’t never done shit to help poor people like us. They’re just good for harassing us and throwing us in prison.”
“I used to be a cop, you know,” Jim said as he bent down to examine one of the many footprints.
“Oh uh, I didn’t mean—” Hank began, but Jim cut him off and chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Hank, I’m not offended. There are plenty of bad eggs in our local police force—one of whom was the man you spoke to this morning. He told a bunch of lies about me and got me kicked off the force. He and his corrupt buddies pretty much ruined my life … but I don’t need to get into that right now. Do me a favor, take this,” he said, taking out a small tape measure and quickly measuring one of the many footprints, “and go measure a few of the footprints over there, please.”
“Uh sure, okay,” Hank said, taking the tape measure from Jim.
Jim continued to examine the scene while Hank measured a few of the footprints. “These are all the exact same size,” Hank remarked after a while.
“I thought they would be,” Jim said. “They’re the kidnapper. He returned to this scene.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Remember, Roy said that he bit the man’s hand and thus prevented him from administering the full dose of whatever was in the syringe. Well, the kidnapper likely dropped the syringe, which probably has his prints all over it, so he came back to find it. He seems to be very meticulous; he goes back to the scenes of his crimes after he’s kidnapped his victims and erases any traces of his presence and any evidence. Look up at the trees, for example.”
Hank looked up. “What am I supposed to be looking at? I don’t see nothin’ up there?”
“If you look a little closer,” Jim said, “you’ll see marks on the tree trunk and boughs where cables or ropes were lashed around the tree. This guy uses cables to zip around between trees and pounces on his victims from above.”
“Like a goddamn mountain lion.”
“He’s evil, but he’s intelligent,” Jim said. “Think about it; in the woods in winter, your eyes are usually on the ground, so you can see where you’re going when you’re walking through snow. People rarely look up under such circumstances. And what better way to avoid leaving any footprints than by traveling above ground?”
“He’s a smart son of a bitch, I guess. Smart, but sick.”
“And very thorough,” Jim said, noticing the bright afternoon sun gleaming on something nearby. “But on this occasion, not quite thorough enough.”
He pulled a rubber glove over his right hand, bent down, and carefully pulled a syringe out of the snow. Only the very end of the sharp point had been sticking out of the snow. It had only been because of the angle of the sun shining on it at this precise moment that he had been able to see it—but he had seen it. He had found what the kidnapper had not been able to.
“And here,” Jim said, holding the syringe up, “is the first solid piece of evidence against the suspect, in this case, a piece of evidence that’ll almost certainly identify the kidnapper.”
15
“You think there’s DNA or some shit on that?” Hank asked, staring at the syringe.
“Not likely,” Jim said, “but there might be a fingerprint or two, but just as important as what’s in the syringe. Once I’ve got a lab analysis, we’ll know exactly what it is—and I’m pretty sure it’ll be something that not just anyone can buy. That’ll help narrow things down when it comes it IDing our suspect.” He took a Ziplock bag out of one of his pockets and dropped the syringe into it. “All right, now that I have that let’s follow these footprints.”
They followed the trail of the kidnapper’s footprints, alongside which ran a set of Hank’s footprints, from where he had chased the man.
“This is the point at which the kidnapper started running,” Jim said, pointing at the tracks.
“How do you figure that?” Hank asked.
“Look at the distance between prints,” Jim answered. “You can see his stride abruptly increase here; that tells me he started running.”
“You know quite a lot about tracking, huh?”
“You have to if you want to be a good cop—well, investigator—in an area like this,” Jim said. “Now, this guy’s usual modus operandi is to ‘vanish into thin air,’” he said as they continued to follow the footprints, keeping their eyes peeled for any further clues. “He would do this by using secret tunnels from an old 19th-century mine system that this town forgot about. So there has to be an entrance to one of the tunnels somewhere around here. The fact that he did this yesterday also tells me that not all the tunnels are filled with water—I tried to explore them, but they got flooded when I was doing it. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if the kidnapper had a hand in the flooding, but I do know that the tunnels have to be connected to the big river in the valley or the lake somehow. And if the kidnapper is still using the tunnels, at least parts are above the waterline. Are we higher than the lake here?”
“I’m pretty sure we are higher than the lake here, yeah,” Hank said.
“Keep your eyes open for any clear patches of ground then,” Jim said. “The entrance I found was perfectly camouflaged. It looked just like any other patch of dirt. This guy may have disguised any other entrances and made them look just like that.”
They headed onward, moving up the slope, which was becoming steadily steeper.
“It was about here that I fired that shot into the air,” Hank said. “So we’re not far from the spot where that bastard dropped my boy and ran off.”
It didn’t take too much longer to reach the location. They spent a couple minutes searching for it but didn’t find any other evidence. Despite this, Jim remained optimistic. For one thing, the trail of the kidnapper’s footprints remained clearly visible.
“Let’s keep going,” Jim said. “I need to see how far this trail is going to take us. It may well lead to another tunnel entrance, and this time the kidnapper won’t be able to flood me out of it.”
“I’m as eager to find the scumbag as you are, but I can’t guarantee I won’t put a few bullets in him when we do,” Hank growled. “Trying to take my boy like that … I’ll kill him, I swear to God I’ll murder that sick son of a bitch.”
That made Jim think of Andrew, who was surely even more determined to kill the kidnapper than Hank was, given that the man had actually succeeded in taking his child, unlike what had been the case with Hank’s son. A pang of sadness shot through him, but it only served to galvanize his determination. Despite the lingering feelings of nausea and the continual throb of his hangover headache, Jim felt a fresh surge of strength and energy flowing through his veins.
“Shooting this monster is too good a punishment for him,” he said to Hank. “It’s too quick and merciful. He deserves to rot. He deserves to sit in a dirty cell for the rest of his miserable life and rot. And I’m gonna make that happen. I promise you I’m gonna make that happen. Come on, let’s keep moving. Standing around talking isn’t gonna catch this guy.”
The fact that there was a trail of footprints to follow gave Jim hope; perhaps, he reasoned, by flooding the tunnels—if the kidnapper had done that intentionally, anyway—the man had shot himself in his own foot. By making that section of the old mining tunnels unusable, the kidnapper would be restricting himself to a much smaller section of tunnels, and perhaps it wasn’t possible to hide the entrance to that section in the way he’d previously hidden the entrance to the other section.
“The walls are closing in around you, you bastard,” Jim whispered. “There’s no escape … and we both know that.”
“Did you say something, man?” Hank asked.
“Oh no, nothing,” Jim said. “It’s getting steeper, isn’t it?”
The hike was indeed getting steeper, and here and there, rocky outcrops jutted up out of the ground like ancient stone houses. These were some of the highest hills in the area—not quite mountains, but close enough in some parts like these. The trees grew less thickly together here, and there were more open gaps, all blanketed with snow. There were a few animal tracks here and there, but the trail of the kidnapper’s footprints remained unbroken; he had been forced to leave this evidence behind.
Jim’s senses were on full alert; he knew he would resort to ever more desperate measures to protect his identity because the kidnapper's situation was becoming more precarious. And given that he had already tried to kill Jim, Jim knew that the man wouldn’t hesitate to ramp up his efforts to end his life.
“Keep your eyes open for any signs of movement or the flash of a rifle scope in the distance,” he said to Hank. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but this guy is a killer, and if he’s hanging around here, waiting to see who follows his trail, you can bet that he’s got a gun on him and that he’s more than willing to use it on both of us. He’ll do anything to protect his identity.”
“Let the son of a bitch try,” Hank growled, gripping his rifle tightly. “The way I see it, we got two guns. He’s only got one. If he’s stupid enough to start popping off shots at us, he’s gonna be the one leaving these woods in a body bag.”
A large vertical wall of gray rock loomed ahead. It was around twelve feet high, and they couldn’t see what was on top of it. The trail of footprints led right up to the base of the wall, and that was where they ended.
“Don’t tell me this asshole has pulled his disappearing act again,” Hank muttered. “Where the hell could he have gone from here?”
Jim pointed at the top of the ledge twelve feet above them. “Up,” he said. “That’s where he went.”
“How? This is a sheer wall of rock! Does he have wings or gecko hands or something?”
“I think if we look a little more closely,” Jim said, “we’ll find a way up.” He examined the wall and found that a few sections were jutting out an inch or two that could be used as handholds and footholds. It would be a tough climb, but it was only twelve feet.
“You really think you can get up there?” Hank asked.
“I’m pretty sure I can,” Jim answered. “Follow me.” He started up the wall, taking it slowly and making sure he had a firm grip on every handhold and foothold before moving to the next one. It was a short but difficult climb, but soon enough, he got to the top and pulled himself up onto the ledge.
“What’s up there, man?” Hank called out from below, grunting and cursing as he struggled with the climb.
Jim didn’t answer immediately, for he was staring at the opening of a cave, partially hidden behind a dense shrub.
This was it—this was the other entrance to the kidnapper’s tunnels, and this time there would be no flooding or anything else that could keep him out of them. He squeezed past the shrub, got down onto his hands and knees, and crawled into the darkness.
16
The entrance to the cave was narrow and low, but he got through it without much difficulty. Once he was past this section, the cave opened up into a much larger space.
Jim hadn’t brought his headlamp; he silently berated himself for this lack of foresight and then took out his phone to use its flashlight. It meant he would only have one hand free, but it was better than nothing.
“Jim, where are you?” Hank called out from outside. He had only just got to the top of the ledge.
“I’m in the cave!” Jim yelled back. His voice boomed in a series of echoes through the caverns, and this gave him a sense of just how vast they were—way larger than he could have imagined. “Wait out there. I’ll just check this place out for a few minutes.”
“All right, man, holler if you need anything!”
The sound of the echo seemed to indicate that the cave system split up into several different tunnels. Jim examined the rock walls as he crawled forward. This section was natural, but he guessed that deeper in the system, it opened up into the old mining tunnels. The passage deeper into the caves took him on a downward slope, and soon enough, he was able to stand up and walk forward.
He shone his light all around him as he went, again cursing himself for forgetting to bring his headlamp. The cave ceiling remained roughly level while the floor beneath him grew lower and lower, in a natural stairway of sorts.
After a minute or two of heading down like this, he came to a section where he saw he would need to use two hands to climb down. He gripped his phone with his teeth—it wasn’t ideal, but it was all he could do—and climbed down into the hole, using a ladder-like section of jutting rock. This led down for around ten feet through a narrow tunnel, but once he emerged from this, he found himself in a far larger space—a space that was definitely manmade. Here, the walls were rough but even, and old timbers propped up the ceiling.
“The forgotten mining tunnels,” he whispered to himself.
This particular section of the tunnels was a crossroads, where three different tunnels intersected. He shined his phone light up each of them, but it appeared that they all led off for a long way beyond the reach of his phone light. He checked behind him and saw that the “ladder” of stone that led up into the cave would be easy to miss, and he certainly didn’t relish the prospect of getting lost in here. Hank, of course, knew he was in here at least, so if he did go missing, a search party would know where to look for him, but even so, he felt it was a risk not worth taking. He needed to come back here with some yarn and a headlamp, and perhaps more people to help him search. As much as he wished to explore this place and find out what was at the other end of these tunnels, he knew it would be safer and wiser to come back and do that with the right equipment and more people.
He put his phone back into his mouth and turned around to climb back up into the cave—and at that moment, there was a tremendous boom like a thunderclap that ripped through the tunnels, accompanied by what felt like a mule kicking him in the back.
Jim stumbled forward, dazed as if hit by a sucker punch, and his phone dropped out of his mouth to the ground. His brain took a few seconds to process what had happened, but just as it did, another thunderclap boom tore through the tunnels. This time, though, Jim didn’t feel a kick. He was, however, showered with a spray of shattered rock and dust as the bullet hit the cave wall inches above his head.
Someone was shooting at him, but he couldn’t see where they fired from. In desperation, he pulled out his pistol and fired a few shots blindly into the darkness. Then, with adrenalin surging through his veins, he grabbed his phone, clamped his teeth around it, and scrambled up the stone ladder.
Another shot boomed through the tunnels, and the bullet ricocheted with a high-pitched ping off the rocks near his legs, but Jim managed to get up into the tunnel without being hit. He fired his last bullets blindly down behind him as he clambered up the passageway, breathing hard and feeling a heavy sense of weakness slowly but steadily overpowering him.
“What the hell’s going on in there?” Hank yelled from outside.
His voice sounded muffled and distant to Jim, whose ears were ringing with a shrill, monotonous whine from discharging his firearm in the confined space.
“He’s shooting at me!” Jim yelled.
High on adrenalin, he got down on his hands and knees, scampered through the final section of the cave, and burst out into the open. To his dark-accustomed eyes, the daylight seemed blinding, and he had to half-close his eyes as he crawled out.
“Oh my God,” Hank gasped, and his words were laced with deep and intense fear. “We’ve gotta get you outta here!”
Jim, gasping, managed to open his eyes a little more, and when he did, he saw that the snow around the entrance to the cave was red—red with blood. His blood.
“Oh God,” he murmured. He looked down and saw blood oozing out of a hole in his chest, just below his right collarbone. “I’ve been shot…”
“Shit, dammit, come on, man, we have to get back down that wall!” Hank said.
Jim was still running on adrenalin, but its effect was quickly wearing off, and a heavy sense of weariness was coming over him. His limbs were feeling weaker and weaker with every passing second, and he knew that soon he would not be able to move.
“Okay, okay,” he murmured, his vision becoming blurry and his breathing becoming increasingly ragged.
He and Hank scrambled back down the sheer wall, but Jim fell off halfway down and landed with a heavy thump in the snow below. The snow had cushioned his landing, but it was still a hard fall.
“Shit!” Hank yelled, and he scrambled down and rushed over to Jim. “Come on, man, come on, you gotta get up!”
“I … can’t,” Jim gasped weakly. He felt as if all the strength had left his limbs, and at this point, even breathing was difficult.
“You have to!” Hank said. “I ain’t lettin’ you die out here, not when you’re the only man who can stop that fucking kidnapper!” He got down and helped Jim up and got his arm around Jim’s shoulder to support him. “Hold onto my waist, man, come on, do it!” he yelled. “Let’s go, let’s move, you ain’t dyin’ out here, not on my watch!”
“I … can’t … go … on,” Jim wheezed.
