Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(8)

“It could have been at one of the campgrounds, either inside the park or nearby,” noted Lambert.

“Okay, he took the train up here. But if he came from DC he probably first flew into Sky Harbor. He might have stayed somewhere there until he went to Williams, Arizona. That’s where the train leaves from, right?”

Lambert nodded. “There’s a hotel at the train depot. He might have stayed there.”

“Have you made a search down here?”

“We covered as much ground as we could. No trace so far. And we’re losing the light.”

Pine took all this in. In the distance came the sharp bark of a coyote followed by the echoing rattle of a snake. There might be a standoff going on out there between predators as the lights of nature grew dim, thought Pine. The muscular walls of the canyon held a complex series of fragile ecosystems. It was the human factor that had intruded here. Nature always seemed to get on all right until people showed up.

She turned her head to the left, where a long way away lay Lake Mead near Arizona’s border with Nevada. To the right, and also a great distance away, was Lake Powell in Utah. In between these two bodies of water sat the gargantuan Canyon, a deep gash on the surface of Arizona, visible not only from an airliner at thirty-five thousand feet, but also from outer space.

“We’ll need to bring in an organized search team tomorrow and go grid by grid,” said Pine. “As far as possible. What about the other mule riders with Priest? And the campers?”

Lambert said, “They all headed out. Some before we even knew Priest was missing.”

“I’ll still need all their names and contact info,” said Pine. “And let’s hope if something did happen to Priest that we didn’t let whoever did it hike or ride a mule or raft it out of here.”

Lambert looked uncomfortable with this and quickly glanced at his fellow ranger.

“Anybody keep watch over the mules during the night?” Pine asked.

Brennan shook his head. “I checked on them around eleven last night. Everything was fine. We got some coyotes and mountain lions down here, but they’re not going after a pack of mules in an enclosure. They’d get the shit stomped out of them.”

“Right, like someone would have when they gutted her,” said Pine pointedly, looking at the dead Sallie Belle. “So at least at eleven, Sallie Belle was alive. The ranger on duty didn’t hear anything. What’s his name?”

“Sam Kettler.”

“How long’s he been with NPS?”

“Five years. Two here at the Canyon. He’s a good guy. Ex-military.”

“I’ll need to talk to him,” said Pine as she mentally catalogued all she had to do. Then her gaze ran over the dead animal. Something was not making sense.

“Why is the bleed-out above the mule’s withers? It should be below the belly.”

She looked up at the men, who stared blankly back at her.

“The mule’s been moved,” Pine said. “Help me turn her.”

They each grabbed a leg and maneuvered the dead animal onto her other side.

There, carved on the mule’s hide, were two letters: j and k.

“What the hell does that mean?” said Lambert.

What the hell does that mean? thought Pine.





Chapter

4



T?HIS IS SAM KETTLER,” said Colson Lambert.

Pine had been standing on the front porch of the Phantom Ranch dining hall when Lambert had approached with another man dressed in a ranger uniform.

“He was on duty when Priest and the mule went missing,” Lambert added.

Pine took Kettler in with one efficient sweep.

He was nearly six two, his forearms tanned and heavily muscled. He took off his hat to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing close-cropped, light blond hair. He looked about her age. His eyes were light gray. He was an attractive man, she thought, the muscles of his lean jaw clenching and unclenching as he stood there.

“Colson said you didn’t hear anything?”

Kettler shook his head. “It was a pretty quiet night after the campers went to bed. I made rounds, did some paperwork, checked on a trash can that someone didn’t secure properly. Critters got inside and made a mess. Shooed them away. Other than that it was pretty routine.”

“Colson’s filled you in?”

Kettler shifted his feet. “A rider missing and a mule cut up.” He grimaced. “Sick stuff.”

Pine said, “My basic questions are, why take out the mule, and why kill it? Now, we don’t know for sure that Priest did any of that. Someone else could have done it, and maybe Priest stumbled onto it and the person had to shut him up.”

“That’s true,” conceded Lambert.

Pine shook her head. Her gut was telling her that this theory was not true. Too many coincidences. Too many things that had to go both right and wrong for it to happen.

Life was not the movies, or books. Sometimes the simplest answer was the right one.

She flicked a glance at Kettler. “Think again. You see anything out of the ordinary?”

He shook his head. “If I had, I would have reported it.”

“No sounds of a mule being ridden away?”

“I’m pretty sure I would have heard that. What time do you think it happened?”