This is the closest Ive actually come to meeting my neighbor. Ive only seen him from a distance when he lugs canoes or kayaks down to the access ramp he installed on the property for his customers. Seeing him up close, I realize that hes older than I thought. Midforties, Id say. He is tall and very fit with jet-black hair, dark eyes and Asian features. As far as I can tell, he lives alone and runs the outfitters on his own.
Officer...take...home...four-wheeler. Im able to fill in the gaps and figure out that Officer Snell is letting me know that Im going home on one of the four-wheelers.
What about my board? I ask, knowing that to worry about my paddleboard is petty under the circumstances, but Im convinced that this board saved my life on more than one occasion, whisking me away from the bottle of Jack Daniels I have stashed in the cabinet beneath my sink. I know I should just dump it out, along with the bottle of red wine I have hidden, but I cant bring myself to do it. Instead, when the need hits, I grab my board and Stitch and get the hell out of the house and paddle until Im exhausted and the urge fades. At least for the time being.
We can strap it on the back of one of the... my neighbor says and then moves toward my board so that the rest of the sentence drops away when I can no longer see his lips. Expertly he lifts the board above his head in one smooth motion, turns back to face me, his mouth still moving. He has no idea I cant hear him and I dont have any desire to educate him, so I just nod. He retrieves a knot of bungee cords from a small storage box on the ATV and secures the board lengthwise so that half of it projects off the back.
Snell is talking to an officer, who if possible, is younger than he is. From the look on the boys face he is disappointed about having to leave what is likely the most exciting crime scene hell ever encounter in his career in law enforcement so that he can accompany us home. I feel a little sorry for him but it dawns on me that if I dont act fast Im going to end up sitting behind my neighbor or the officer with my arms wrapped around their midsection as they drive me home. No way. I get onto the four-wheeler with my board strapped to it, staking my claim, and signal to Stitch to hop up behind me. I pretend not to notice Okadas slightly irritated expression as he climbs on behind the young officer.
Its about a forty-minute trek back to my house by four-wheeler and not that much faster on foot. I would have just walked home if I didnt have my board with me. The maze of trails, which are maintained by the DNR, have mine-era names that echo back to Mathiass mining history: Prospector Ridge, Galena Gulch and Knife Claim Hollow. We take Dry Bone Loop, a trail that winds like a corkscrew up one side of the bluff and then down the other. A delicate shower of gold and crimson leaves wafts down, littering the trail and catching in my hair. Stitch, from his spot behind me on the ATV, cranes his neck, jaws playfully snapping as he tries to snag each leaf that floats near. After about ten minutes of sitting patiently behind me as I navigate the rocky terrain, Stitch leaps from his seat and decides to run on ahead of us, pausing every few minutes to let us catch up.
Im eager to get home to try and contact Dr. Huntley directly. Im hoping hell be able to reschedule our interview for this afternoon or at least some time this week. Im sure David is fuming self-righteously and will try to find a way to use my absence against me. If finding a body in the river isnt a valid enough reason to miss my appointment, I dont know what is. The thing is, Im not allowed to tell Dr. Huntley just why I stood him up.
Up ahead of us Stitch has wandered off the trail and is pawing tentatively at something in a twist of barberry dripping with red berries. My heart rate quickens and I bring the ATV to a stop. Stitch continues to bat at whatever has captured his attention, and I jump when I feel a brush at my elbow. The officer and my neighbor have parked their ATV behind mine and have come to my side, curiously watching Stitch. For a beat Im afraid that Stitch has discovered another body and I find myself frozen in place. My eyes lock with the officers and I know the same thought is skittering across his brain.
I slide from my seat and we all start to walk toward Stitch. Startled by the sudden movement, Stitch darts away from us, a colorful object dangling from his muzzle. Stitch thinks were playing a game with him. He allows us to get just a few steps from him and then he dashes away, then stops short to see if were still in pursuit.
Stitch, ruce vzuru! Stand still, I call, and instantly Stitch freezes and rolls his eyes toward me to make sure Im serious. I look at him sternly and signal for him to come, and he slinks to my side. I show him my closed fist and open it, his cue to drop whatever is in his mouth. He grudgingly complies.
The three of us gather in a tight circle and bend forward to get a closer look at the item dispatched at our feet. Its a womans running shoe. Beneath the layers of dirt, the shoe is brightly colored with fuchsia and neon green stripes. An expensive brand that only the most serious of runners seem to own. The thought of Stitch playing keep away with something that Gwen may have been wearing makes my stomach roil. We stand upright, and the officer pulls a phone from his pocket.
Could belong to anyone, I read his lips, but the crease in his forehead lets me know hes not so sure. Well tag it just in case. I nod and move out of the way so that he can make his phone call.
There has to be a logical explanation as to why a running shoe has been abandoned in the weeds, though nothing I come up with makes much sense. An involuntary shiver runs through me. Gwen was a serious runner. Could the shoe belong to her?
My neighbor approaches. Hes tall, about six feet, and I have to tilt my head back to get a good look at his sharply planed face. Evan Okada, he says, holding out his hand. ...live next door... I wish...meeting under better...
Amelia Winn, I say and take his hand. His fingers wrap around minea warm cocoon.
Evan goes on to speak and from what I can decipher and from the wary look on his face he is telling me that hes tried to stop over to my house but the dog runs him off.
Really? I ask as if dumbfounded. Hes normally so friendly. In reality, when Stitch alerts me that someone is at the door I pretend to not be home or if I see my neighbor walking down the path from his house toward mine I let Stitch out the back door with the order to stekje and scokto jump and bark, sending Evan scurrying back to the top of the bluff. My little revenge for all the unwanted foot and river traffic his business has brought to my backyard.
He turns away from me and gestures toward the trail. I have no idea what hes saying and I should probably tell him that I cant hear but I dont particularly want to share any personal information with him. Though Im fully capable of taking care of myself, I dont advertise that Im a single woman living all alone. My ex, David, used to say that I have a thin layer of ice encasing my heart that makes it hard for people to get to know me and that the warm temperature in the room when we first met must have melted it enough for him to be able to wriggle his way in. I would laugh, because it was true. Ever since my mom passed away when I was thirteen, Ive been guarded, cautious of getting close to others. When David came along I let him in, let myself trust him. Now, once again, the thin layer of ice has thickened and has developed a bad case of freezer burn.
He turns away from me and gestures toward the trail. I have no idea what hes saying and I should probably tell him that I cant hear but I dont particularly want to share any personal information with him. Though Im fully capable of taking care of myself, I dont advertise that Im a single woman living all alone. My ex, David, used to say that I have a thin layer of ice encasing my heart that makes it hard for people to get to know me and that the warm temperature in the room when we first met must have melted it enough for him to be able to wriggle his way in. I would laugh, because it was true. Ever since my mom passed away when I was thirteen, Ive been guarded, cautious of getting close to others. When David came along I let him in, let myself trust him. Now, once again, the thin layer of ice has thickened and has developed a bad case of freezer burn.
Thankfully, the officer has finished his phone call and though Evan is still chattering away I take the opportunity to extract myself from his side.
Can I head on home? I ask the officer. Its not far, just down this side of the ridge. I really need to get home, I say. I have an appointment that Im already late for. He hesitates and I know hes grappling between following the order that he was given to make sure Evan and I get home safely and securing what could be a new part of the crime scene after Stitch unearthed the womans shoe. Please, I add. Officer Snell has all my contact information. And Im freezing, I add for good measure. The officer reluctantly nods.
Without meeting Evans eyes, I lift my hand in farewell and make a wide berth around where the shoe lies atop a pile of jewel-toned leaves. I climb back on the ATV and summon Stitch to join me. I turn the key and make sure the engine stop switch is in the run position, engage the clutch and start the engine. The scent of diesel fuel assaults my nose. Slowly, we begin the descent down the bluff.
I have no idea if the officer has allowed Evan to leave too and I dont look behind me to check to see if hes following on his ATV. Periodically, Stitch lays his chin on my shoulder, his silver eyes imploring me to let him run ahead. Zustan, I say. Stay. The trip down the bluff goes more slowly than the first half. The rocky trail tapers and is so steep in spots that Im afraid that the four-wheeler might tip over. If I didnt have my board and paddle strapped to it, I would abandon the ATV altogether and walk the rest of the way. Though Im glad to be rid of the officer and Evan, I find that Im feeling a little bit exposed and vulnerable. Without my hearing, I have to rely on my vision to gauge the world around me.
I have to so fully concentrate on maneuvering down the trail in front of me that I cant be as cognizant of my surroundings as I usually am. I have no idea if someone is hiding in the woods, watching and waiting. Every shadow, each sway of a tree branch seems ominous.
I mentally scold myself. Im sure Im perfectly safe. As an emergency room and sexual assault nurse examiner or SANE I know more than most people; I know that assaults are much more likely to be committed by an assailant familiar to the victim. But something nags at me. Ive worked enough domestic assaults to know that most violence occurs in the homenot in a remote, wooded location. Could Gwen and Marty have been hiking the trails, gotten into an argument that escalated, resulting in her death? But that would mean that Marty would have removed her clothing and deposited her in the river to cover his tracks, destroying any evidence that might lead back to him. I only met Marty a few times, but he seemed like such a nice guy. I just dont see it.
Its unnerving to know that a murderer may have recently been walking this very trail. I release my right hand from the steering wheel and reach behind me to rub Stitchs head. Hes accepted his plight in having to remain on the four-wheeler and is contentedly surveying his surroundings. I know that he will immediately alert me if somethings not right.
Finally, we reach the base of the trail and I can see my A-frame through the trees and much to Stitchs delight I release him and he darts toward the house. Right now Im living in a house that belongs to my dad. Its just a simple fishing cabin where we would spend summer weekends when Andrew and I were kids. For now, this is the perfect place for me. The remote location keeps me out of the bars, the dozens of windows let the light in and the river is just yards from my door.
I drive past three police cars and Jakes unmarked vehicle that are parked along the gravel road that runs right up to my driveway. I stop the four-wheeler next to my storage shed. I dont have a garage, just a covered car park where I keep my old Jeep. Its one of the few things I came into my marriage with that was completely my own and one of the few I left with. I thumb into place the correct numbers on the padlock in order to unlock the door to the shed, unload my board and paddle and set them inside next to my kayak, cross-country skies and snowshoes.
I drive the four-wheeler to where Evan has constructed a garage-like structure from log-cabin wood. This is where he stores his four-wheelers, canoes, kayaks, life jackets and other outdoor gear. I know this because all summer Ive seen the wannabe outdoorsmen and women emerge from behind the hewn logs with all manner of outdoor gear. They are dressed in their two-hundred-dollar hiking boots, neoprene bodysuits and GoPro cameras.
The garage is locked up tight so I leave the four-wheeler where Ill at least be able to keep an eye on it from my house. I may not want to be in a coffee klatch with my neighbor but I also dont want to be the one who let his four-wheeler get stolen.
I trudge back to my house, about a football field away. My muscles feel heavy and achy. Im chilled through and all I want to do is take a hot shower and curl up on the couch with Stitch and a cup of coffee. I kick off my water shoes, unlock the front door and call to Stitch. Ke mne! Stitch comes to my side as I open the door, waiting for me to enter first.
I refill Stitchs water dish that I keep in the tiny laundry room right next to my stacked washer and dryer, peel off my damp clothes and drop them to the floor and push open the door that leads to the only bathroom in the house. If I end up getting this job, if I still have a chance considering I missed the interview, the first thing Im going to do is gut this area so that I can have the biggest, most luxurious bathtub I can find. Right now all I have is a primitive shower, and no matter how much I bleach and scrub it, the mold and mildew always return, creeping ominously up the walls. I turn the water to full throttle and step beneath the showerhead, letting hot spray wash away the mud and dirt and the chill of my morning trek.
As my sore muscles relax under the stream of water I think back to the crime scene. I know that the police will probably want to interview me again about what I saw. Did I mention the beer bottle? I dont think I did. I know I didnt say anything about the extra set of footprints in the mud. Even though it will probably amount to nothing I should have mentioned it. The killer could have brought her through the thicket of prickly brambles, forced her over the piles of fallen timber. He could even have deposited her in the river somewhere upstream and she floated to the spot where I found her. None of these scenarios quite add up for me. Though Gwen was mostly submerged, the parts of her that were exposedher face, her breasts, her feet, were remarkably unscathed.
What did that mean? That she came willingly with him and he killed her on the scene? That would make most sense if they had been a couple that had been hiking. But wouldnt there be another set of footprints? Surely there would be signs of some sort of struggle.