Trace Evidence, page 10
“Why didn’t he live then?”
“Cause of death is stated as gunshot wound. Two gunshot holes from a handgun. One in the back of his head.”
Drake’s eyes widened and he shook his head slowly, probably running the same set of variables through his mind that Flint had covered. “Not looking good for Hallman, is it?”
“Question is whether Hallman delivered those gunshots and somehow got away afterward.”
Drake cocked his head. “Which leads to the question of why he’d want to do that.”
Flint nodded. “Or were the guys who threatened Beaumont the ones who killed Shafer and Evans?”
“If so, Hallman’s probably dead now, too,” Drake said.
“We haven’t found any paper trail to suggest otherwise.”
“Nothing? For six years?” Drake shrugged. “Not good.”
When they landed in Reno, Drake refueled and tied down the Pilatus before they moved their gear into the Cessna.
They were expected at Red Maple Lake Resort before nightfall. Flint had made reservations and confirmed they would be picked up at the landing site. He’d been reminded that the resort had no cell service. This could be his last chance to check with his contacts and download any updates. He left Drake to inspect the Cessna and headed into the terminal.
He logged on to his private server and checked his deposits. He found and downloaded three new files from his contact. He bought two black coffees and returned to the Cessna and climbed into the copilot’s seat.
The flight over the mountains toward Red Maple Lake was nothing short of breathtaking. Snowy peaks capped greenery below the tree line. As they approached the basin, Red Maple Lake glittered in the sunlight like a thousand fairy lights winking on and off.
When Drake approached the lake for landing, Flint said, “Take a couple of circles. I want to see what’s down there.”
“You won’t see much from here,” Drake replied. “The satellite photos were mostly dense forest. No way to get in there except maybe on horseback.”
On the first pass, Flint identified the rooftops of the resort to the east. The resort was all but engulfed by the greenery that separated it from rocky beach closer to the lake. But even from the air, the resort looked luxurious.
Drake pointed westward. “There’s another set of rooftops down there. Smoke coming from the chimney. See it?”
Flint pulled out the binoculars for a better look. “It’s a smaller cluster of buildings. More secluded.”
“Closer to the crash site, too. Probably a private residence.”
“Someone at the resort will know who owns it.” Flint continued to scan the area through the binoculars but saw no other buildings.
Drake circled the lake again, positioning for the best approach and landing. He began his descent and landed the Cessna smoothly on the surface of the lake, without mishap. He taxied the plane to the shore and shut down the engine. By the time they tied up at the dock, anchored, and collected their bags, the resort’s off-road utility vehicle was waiting for them.
The driver had parked the red Polaris Ranger Crew XP 1000 on the rocks. Before they’d finished with the Cessna, he approached and extended his hand. “Glad to see you made it. I’m Neville. Red Maple Lake Resort.”
“Flint, and Drake.”
“How was your flight?” Neville stowed their bags and they climbed into the Ranger.
“Perfect. Beautiful spot you’ve got here,” Drake said from the back
seat.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a boy.” Neville grinned as he started the engine. “The views never get old.”
“How many homes are there on this lake?” Flint asked.
“Not very many. Four or five. Too tough to get in here for most people.” He patted the dashboard on the Polaris. “This ORV is essential for us. Not the most comfortable ride, but it gets the job done.”
“There’s no road in and out of here at all?”
“Yeah, about three miles west of here and up the mountain, there’s a two-lane highway that runs up to Tahoe. But that’s a long, hard way to lug groceries and stuff. We think of our remoteness as a selling point here. Unspoiled nature is a big draw for our guests. Particularly for fishermen and hunters.”
“I thought I saw another rooftop west of here as we were flying in,” Flint said.
“That would’ve been Boyd Wilcox’s place. You know, the billionaire? His family’s owned that property longer than I’ve been alive.” He kept up a running travelogue as he turned the Polaris and drove over the rough terrain into the trees and they bounced along the hard ground.
A knot formed in Flint’s gut. He had nothing against billionaires. They were likely to be his best clients, given the fees he charged. But Wilcox was another story.
“How far to the resort?” Flint almost bit his tongue when one of the heavy-duty tractor tires hit a hole and rebounded midsentence.
“Couple of miles, give or take. Feels farther because the trail washes out and switches back so much. Takes a while to go anywhere.”
“Seems like a strange place for a luxury resort, doesn’t it?” Drake asked. “You’d get a lot more customers if the place was accessible, wouldn’t you?”
“Possibly. Believe it or not, we’re more accessible now than when Great Lodges of America bought the place. Added this trail and the pick-up service and the parking lot between the resort and the highway.
But yeah, only a certain kind of guy comes out here.”
“What kind of guy is that?”
“Outdoorsy types. Hunters, fishermen, hikers, and nature lovers who don’t want to tent camp.” He turned the oversize steering wheel to follow an almost invisible route east. “We’re not that far from Tahoe. People who love Tahoe but don’t love the crowds sometimes venture down this way.”
“How long have you been working here?”
Neville grinned and glanced toward Drake. “Seems like all my life. My dad owned the place when I was a kid. We came here on vacations. He sold out when I was a teenager. I took this job during college and it just seemed to stick for me. Been here five years, I guess.”
“There’s the resort.” He pointed straight ahead, through to a clearing in the trees. “Let’s get you guys checked in. You’ll want to wash up before dinner.”
The main building was rustic but huge. It looked like a newer version of Yellowstone’s Old Faithful Lodge, in much better condition. Flint wondered how they managed to get the materials in to do the construction in the first place and, now, supplies for guests. There was a lawn out front big enough for a helicopter. Maybe that’s how they did it.
Neville pulled up to the front door along the big circular driveway, and a young man came out to greet them. He wore a uniform and his name tag said “Jeffrey.” He picked up the bags. “Welcome to Red Maple Lake Resort. Follow me.”
Jeffrey led the way. Flint and Drake followed. Neville pulled the Polaris around the building and Flint wondered where he was going.
They trudged up the exterior stairs to the wide wood porch and into the main lobby. A huge fireplace in the corner heated the room well enough for the season, but Flint figured they needed a lot more heat during the cold winters. The lobby was decorated with Mission-style furniture, and a few guests were relaxing here and there. Like Neville had said, mostly men dressed in outerwear.
At the reception desk, another young man completed their registrations and gave them keys to adjoining rooms.
Before darkness settled in, Flint wanted a good look around. “Can we rent one of your ORVs for a couple of hours?”
“Oh, sure. We’ll pull it up out front for you. Be careful to stay close to the lake, though. You’re equipped with GPS, but if you get too deep inside the forest, you might not find your way back by nightfall.” He glanced at the big clock on the wall behind him. “It’ll be dark here in about three hours. Once the sun goes behind the mountains, it gets cold quickly. You’ll want to return before then.”
Flint authorized the charges to his credit card and, after rummaging through to find his satellite phone, left their bags with Jeffrey for delivery to the rooms. He and Drake walked back to the porch and down the wide steps.
Neville arrived with a smaller, two-seater black Polaris Ranger.
“How far is it over to the Wilcox place?” Flint asked.
“If you stay near the lake, follow the shoreline until you come to a driveway, maybe ten miles or so.” Neville cocked his head. “Do you know Mr. Wilcox?”
“We’ve met a couple of times,” Flint said. Which was true enough, if Neville should check. But the times they’d met were large public affairs, and Boyd Wilcox would neither remember Flint nor care to. It was Wilcox’s brother, Mark, who would remember Flint all too well.
Neville nodded. After a few operating instructions, they were belted in and headed back down to the lake, Flint behind the wheel.
-
Chapter Fourteen
Red Maple Lake, California
Six Years Ago
Josh moved deeper into the woods toward the voices, but he didn’t see them in the darkness until they were only ten feet ahead. Three average-looking guys dressed for hiking. Mid-forties, maybe a decade older than Josh. Their hiking equipment was of the weekend warrior variety rather than paramilitary or survivalist or something frightening like that. Totally normal.
Josh staggered when his foot tripped on a thick root and he nearly lost his balance. But he reached for a tree trunk and kept upright. His luck was changing. Maybe things were going to work out after all.
He hurried over to the three hikers and held out his hand. “I’m Josh Hallman.”
One of the guys said, “I’m Ruben.” He pointed to the other two. “This is Mark. That’s Kevin.”
They seemed wary, Josh thought. But he must have looked scary as hell, appearing out of nowhere, clothes wet and dirty, cuts and bruises on his face and neck. Hair plastered to his head. He shook hands all around and nodded and tried to look friendly so they wouldn’t feel threatened. “We were flying in to go fishing at Red Maple Lake Resort and our plane went down. My two buddies were hurt. We need a doctor.”
The three men looked at each other and some sort of meaning passed between them. Josh didn’t blame them for being skeptical, if that’s what they were. The situation seemed surreal to him, too. But they seemed to believe him. Maybe they’d heard the Cessna before it hit the water. It was certainly loud enough to be heard for miles.
“Dr. Kevin Hayes. I’m a pediatrician.” One of the men nodded. He must have seen the relief on Josh’s face. He frowned and his tone was somber. “Believe it or not, dispensing vaccines and treating kids for colds and flu is not the same medical skill set as adult trauma care. But maybe I can help. Where are they?”
“This way.” Josh led the way back to the shore, covering ground as quickly as he could. He answered their questions about the crash and the injuries his friends had suffered. They seemed to get more comfortable with him as his story unfolded. At least, they didn’t seem to be as cautious about him.
He thought he might have lost his sense of direction, but when they emerged from the trees onto the rocky beach, Josh looked westward down the shoreline and saw Dan’s flashlight, shining weakly in the distance.
“There,” Josh said, and trotted toward the beam. The three men followed.
It was full dark by the time they reached the pair. Dan was lying on the rocks, exactly where Josh had left him. Skip was still semiconscious and moaning in the life raft.
But Josh had made it back. And he’d brought help. Something like hysteria was probably responsible for the stupid grin he felt as it consumed his face.
Kevin immediately began to triage the injuries. He checked Dan first. “Get this guy up and warmed. His scalp wound is probably superficial. We can stitch it up when we get back.”
Josh already knew Skip’s injuries were severe. He didn’t need to see the expression on Kevin’s face to confirm his fears.
“We’ll have to carry him,” Kevin said.
Josh nodded. “He needs a hospital. Can we get him airlifted out of here?”
Ruben, Mark, and Kevin exchanged glances again. The silence lasted longer than it should have before Ruben shrugged. “Weather’s coming in. We’re guests at a private lodge not far from where we met you. Let’s get back and figure out how to get your friend some help.”
Ruben and Mark lifted Dan to his feet and encouraged him to stand. He yelped and lifted his left foot, in obvious pain.
Kevin knelt down and examined his leg. He glanced up at the others. “It looks like he’s got a bad sprain on that left ankle, too. He shouldn’t be walking, but there’s no way we can carry both of them.”
“I can manage,” Dan said, but his voice was weak.
They organized a makeshift stretcher out of the deflated life raft to carry Skip. Each of the four men took a corner and heaved the raft into the air. They struggled to keep Skip flat in the canvas bottom.
Skip was heavier than he looked, or maybe Josh’s muscles were already too fatigued. Either way, the third trek along the rocks threatened to overwhelm his meager energy reserves.
Dan followed along behind, hobbling on his sprained left ankle, but there was nothing more anyone could do for him now.
They stayed on the shore until they reached the break in the trees Josh had used before. When they ducked into the darkness of the woods, the terrain seemed impossible.
They trudged forward, making slow but steady progress. After a while, Josh saw a clearing ahead and a long dirt driveway. About halfway along the drive, a split-rail fence encircled the grounds surrounding a large luxury log cabin. An archway made of logs joined each side of the fence.
At first he thought this was Red Maple Lake Resort, where they’d been expected to check in a few hours ago for their six-day fishing vacation. Then he saw the sign above the entrance drive. “Wilcox Lodge,” it said. On the fence was a “No Trespassing” sign, and Josh wondered who would possibly travel all the way out here to trespass.
“This is the place,” Ruben said, as he led the way to the front of the big house. Josh’s body began to shake with relief.
-
Chapter Fifteen
Red Maple Lake, California
Tuesday
Flint was at the wheel of the smaller two-seater Polaris, which drove exactly like a tractor. He and Drake were buckled into the front seats and headed east, the setting sun behind them. The rock beach was not particularly comfortable for long-distance riding, but Flint preferred to be doing something, even if it turned out to be the wrong thing.
“This feels like a lead,” Drake said.
Flint scowled. “It feels like a setup.”
Drake glanced across the Polaris. “How so?”
“Certain wealthy businessmen travel in packs, like wolves. Hallman wasn’t one of the pack. How would he be involved with Wilcox?”
“He wouldn’t,” Drake said. “But the Wilcox place sits between Hallman’s crash site and the resort he was trying to reach. He might have noticed it from the air, like we did. It makes sense that he would have gone there first, assuming he could find it.”
Flint shrugged. His instincts said the connection was something else.
“Floatplanes are loud. Out here, it’s quiet. Mountains keep the noise inside the basin. Wilcox could easily have heard the Cessna flying in. Could have heard the crash.”
The Polaris moved faster now that they’d emerged from the forest, but the ride was still too rough to pick up speed. “Wilcox might have gone out to help. Brought Hallman back to his place.”
Drake said, “I’ve never met Boyd Wilcox and you have. Does he seem like the good Samaritan type to you?”
Flint laughed. “Not in the slightest.”
“So if he did go out to check on the crash, you’re thinking he’d do what?”
“There aren’t many options, given this location. And the weather was bad that day. Cold, sleet turning to ice during the night. He’d probably have taken Hallman and his passengers in overnight. Planned to go out in the morning.”
“Right. The FAA report’s final conclusion on Hallman’s crash was pilot error. But he would probably have landed okay in the absence of the storm conditions.”
The Polaris bounced and groaned over the rocky terrain. “This is a pretty hard slog, if Hallman was injured.”
Drake pulled up the preloaded GPS tracker. “Looks like about two miles from the crash site to the Wilcox place. Then, if you knew where you were going, about ten miles to the Red Maple Resort. But if Hallman tried to make it to the resort without GPS or even a map, he could wander around for a long time.”
Flint glanced at the GPS briefly and returned his full attention to the treacherous drive. “There’s no trail or road or anything he could have reached?”
“Farther up the mountain there’s a road, like Neville said.” Drake pointed to the road on the GPS screen. “Not likely he’d have made it that far, but if he did, he could have hitched a ride, maybe.”
“To where?”
“Closest real town is Tahoe to the north. Southbound, it depends on which way he went.” Drake moved the GPS images around, zooming in and out on the screen. “The highway, if you want to call it that, splits about twenty miles south. He could have continued south or taken either offshoot, west or east. Looks like there’s three options, all about the same distance from where the highway splits.”
“Any of them have airports, train stations, bus stops, car rentals?”
“Hard to say. Bus stops, maybe, in all three of those towns. No indication of a train station. The closest commercial airport is Reno, which is north and east. But that’s quite a hike from here.”
