Tough Customer

CHAPTER 22

WAKE UP, LADIES. SKI JUST CALLED FROM MERRITT." Dodge whisked aside the blackout drapery.

Berry came up on her elbows and blinked against the sudden light.

Caroline sat bolt upright. "What's happened?"

"Starks has been at it again. I'll give you the scoop on the way."

He disappeared through the door connecting his room to theirs. Caroline and Berry looked at each other, each taking a moment to remember where they were, why they were there, what had happened to Sally Buckland, and what they'd talked about long into the night.

Then, as if a starting pistol had been fired, both flew into motion. Dodge returned within five minutes to find them dressed, suitcases packed, ready to leave. Because Ski had checked them in, and the sheriff's department was handling the bill, they were able to skip the checking-out process.

Dodge was curt with the valet parking attendant, who didn't retrieve their car as quickly as he wished. Berry couldn't help but be amused by his impatience, because she could relate to it. Like father, like daughter. The thought made her smile.

She wanted time to reflect on everything that her mother had told her last night. Caroline had talked until she was exhausted and Berry was too sleepy to retain any more information about the unorthodox love affair that had brought her into being. She and Caroline had agreed to wait for morning to continue, but the situation in Merritt had evidently become imperative. The rest of her parents' story, specifically why they'd been apart for thirty years, must keep for now.

Dodge snarled imprecations at Houston's rush-hour traffic. Caroline insisted that he allow time to get coffee at a fast-food drive-through. "You'll be unbearable until you have some."

"I guess a cigarette is out of the question."

She didn't even deign to answer, asking instead, "When are you going to tell us what happened? Has Oren Starks been captured?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"When I've had my coffee."

"You're just being mulish because I won't let you smoke."

"Sue me."

The drive-through line at McDonald's seemed interminable, but when they'd been fortified with steaming cups of coffee, Berry spoke from the backseat. "Now, Dodge. Start talking."

His summary of events was inadequate. Berry and Caroline began firing questions. "That's all I know," he said, talking over them. "Ski was called away before he could give me the details. He just said to get you back to Merritt, so that's what I'm doing. Besides, I want to get back there myself."

"You're tired of playing my babysitter."

He met Berry's eyes in the rearview mirror. "No. I just want to be there when this son of a bitch is captured. I didn't get face time with Creighton Wheeler, and I had a personal grudge against that guy for what he did to Maggie."

"Who's Maggie?"

"Derek's dog."

He told them the story of the Atlanta playboy who was now serving a life sentence in prison. "They've got him in a section for the really scary psychos, which is still too good for him. Kinda sad for his folks, though. For rich people, they're okay. Because of Creighton, most of their friends have abandoned them. Julie's good to them."

He rambled on. Berry realized he was doing so to keep her and her mother diverted during the drive to Merritt, but she didn't really mind. She now had a special interest in anything he said.

Having had her suspicion confirmed that he was her father, she'd found it hard to behave as though she was still in the dark about it. Even while rushing from the hotel, she had wanted to pause and study him. She was seeing him in a new light and wanted to learn everything she could about his life.

So she listened to his digressive monologue without interrupting, enjoying the sound of his gravelly voice, clinging to every word from his mouth, most of which were colorful, irreverent, or profane. Even though he talked largely about Derek and Julie Mitchell, Berry was able to piece together, from hints he inadvertently dropped, a few facts about his life. The picture that began taking shape in her mind was rather depressing.

As they approached their destination, he said, "Ski said we can join him at the scene if you can keep out of the way. Can you?"

She and Caroline promised not to do anything that would impede the investigation. Dodge rolled to a stop at the entrance gate of an RV park. A car with the sheriff's office insignia on the door was parked horizontally, blocking the road. A deputy got out and walked over to them, leaning down to address Dodge. "Mr. Hanley?"

"You got it."

"Follow this main road to the first fork. Go left. You'll see the commotion."

The deputy returned to his car and pulled it onto the grass long enough for Dodge to drive through the gate. The park was well maintained and pretty. Berry, thinking back on what Dodge had told them earlier, asked, "How old did Ski say they were?"

"Seventy-something."

"Lord," Caroline said. "Who could harm people that age?"

"Same person that could shoot a woman in the head, then zip her into a garment bag."

A hundred yards beyond the road fork, the tranquil RV park took on the appearance of an armed bivouac. Double the number of law enforcement agents were here as had been at the Walmart store the day before, and also twice the number of spectators, campers who had been awakened with shocking news.

Uniformed officers were questioning them in groups or singly. Others were speaking into walkie-talkies or cell phones. Some appeared to have nothing to do but were trying to look as though they did. A helicopter circled overhead, adding its noisy clapping to the scene.

Dodge got as close to the yellow crime scene tape as he could, parking next to an ambulance. Through its open rear doors Berry saw a man, who was much younger than seventy-something, being examined by an EMT. Dodge got out of the car and whistled shrilly. "Deputy!"

The young deputy named Andy turned, and, when he saw Dodge, his apple-cheeked face grew even redder with anger. He stalked toward them. Berry lowered her car window so she could hear what was being said.

Without preamble, the deputy said, "You got me in a heap of trouble with Ski."

Dodge didn't apologize for whatever the nature of the trouble had been. "Serves you right for being such a gullible bonehead. You'd be smart to learn a lesson from it. Where's Ski?"

"In the RV." Andy nodded toward a large gray RV with a bright blue wave painted on its side. All its doors were open. "Texas Rangers' CSU just finished in there. Ski's talking to them, but he told me to let him know when y'all got here." He reached for the walkie-talkie attached to his belt.

Dodge asked, "That the victim?" He was looking into the open ambulance.

The deputy shook his head. "They already transported the old folks to the hospital. That's the guy who found them. He had a spider bite. The ambulance was here, so--"

Ski's voice interrupted him through the walkie-talkie's speaker. "Go ahead."

"Hey, Ski. Andy. They're here."

"Five minutes."

They waited. A little more than five minutes later Ski stepped out of the RV. He spotted them immediately and came toward them, looking thin-lipped and grim. Berry got out of the car along with Caroline and joined Dodge just outside the yellow tape.

Ski ducked under it. His eyes searched Berry's for several seconds, then he said, "We know how Starks pulled the vanishing act from Walmart."

Talking in choppy phrases, he explained that Starks had hijacked the RV at gunpoint. "Elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Mittmayer. They'd just rolled in from Iowa. Planned on spending a couple days here before going down to Corpus Christi. They wanted to see Padre Island."

"What the hell were they doing at Walmart at three a.m.?" Dodge asked.

"They had planned to spend the night at a park in the Ozarks, but when they got there, it was overcrowded, no choice spots left, so they decided to drive on down here, their next scheduled stop. They pulled into the Walmart parking lot to pass the rest of the night until the check-in office here in the park opened the following morning.

"According to Mrs. Mittmayer, Starks limped up to their RV. He looked like he was in pain, in distress. Her kindhearted husband opened the door for him, despite her cautioning him against it.

"Starks lunged inside, hit the old man in the head with the butt of a pistol, knocked him out cold. He backhanded Mrs. Mittmayer and told her if she didn't stop screaming, he was going to shoot her husband first, then her. He bundled both of them into the back, tied them up, and gagged them."

Dodge dragged his hand down his face. Caroline was looking into the surrounding trees, shaking her head over the unnecessary cruelty. Ski locked eyes with Berry and held, then continued.

"At nine a.m. yesterday, Starks drove the RV here and forced Mrs. Mittmayer to go into the office and check in, as though nothing was wrong. He threatened to drive away and kill her husband if she gave him away."

"Where had they been in the meantime?" Berry asked. "Between Walmart and here?"

"Mrs. Mittmayer doesn't know. She was in the back, couldn't see out. Besides, she's unfamiliar with the area. All she knows is that they left Walmart, drove for about half an hour, then parked. Starks rummaged through their pantry, ate some bread and a can of tuna, drank two Diet Cokes.

"His leg was giving him a lot of pain, she said. When he raised his pants leg to examine it, she saw that it was grotesquely swollen and discolored. He took a handful of Advil he got from their medicine cabinet. Then he dozed."

"They didn't try to--"

Ski interrupted Dodge, shaking his head. "She was scared out of her wits. Worried about her husband. He was in and out of consciousness. His head was bleeding. She was afraid Starks would kill him if she so much as moved.

"Starks roused himself at dawn. Ate some peanut butter crackers, drank another Diet Coke, took more pain reliever. Then he asked her where they'd been headed, and told her he would know if she was lying. She gave him the name of this park. He drove the RV here."

"Where it looked right at home," Berry observed out loud.

"They had a reservation and arrived as expected," Ski said, "so nobody was alerted to trouble. Once inside the park, Starks tied up and gagged Mrs. Mittmayer again. He dozed awhile longer, then washed up, exchanged his clothes for some of Mr. Mittmayer's, then locked them inside, unhitched their car, and drove away in it. This was about noon yesterday, while we were tracking him to the Walmart parking lot."

"He drove to Houston in their car. Made that call to Berry from near the stadium."

Ski agreed with Dodge's theory. "That's my best guess. We've got an APB out on the Mittmayers' car."

"How are the Mittmayers now?" Caroline asked.

"Your deputy told us that man there had found them," Dodge said.

The man with the spider bite was now talking to Andy. His arm was wrapped in gauze. "Neighboring camper," Ski said. "It took most of her strength, but Mrs. Mittmayer finally managed to worm her way over to a wall. She hammered on it with her fist. That guy had got up early this morning to go hiking, heard the pounding. He'd seen Starks unhitch the car and drive away yesterday, so he was curious as to who was inside the RV doing the knocking. He checked it out. Found them. She's basically okay, severely dehydrated. She's getting treated at the hospital."

Berry, along with Caroline and Dodge, looked at him expectantly.

He looked down at the ground, expelled his breath. "Her husband's skull was fractured. He didn't make it. He was seventy-six years old."

Dodge cursed. Caroline gave a sorrowful moan. Berry just stood there staring at Ski, futilely wishing none of this was happening.

"Mrs. Mittmayer identified Starks by his picture," Ski said. "The only good thing to come out of this is that he left indisputable evidence. Prints, DNA, an eyewitness. Add kidnapping to his other felonies. He'll be charged with a capital crime."

"Not if I catch him," Dodge muttered around the cigarette he was lighting, despite the bans against smoking in the area.

Ski said, "I wanted you to hear this firsthand, not on the news, not in snatches with rumors mingled in." Addressing Dodge, he said, "Take them home. There's a female deputy inside the lake house. Two outside patrolling the grounds and watching the lakefront. They're in constant touch with me and everyone else in the department."

Berry said, "For all we know, Oren is still in Houston."

"For all we know," Ski admitted. "But this indicates that he's going for broke. I'm not taking any chances."

"I'll drive them home," Dodge said, "but I'm coming back and joining the hunt."

Ski hesitated, then grudgingly agreed. Eager to get into the fray, Dodge hustled Caroline around to the passenger side of the car. Ski opened the back car door for Berry. "You okay?"

"Not at all okay."

"Since Friday night, you've received one shock after another."

Berry glanced over at Dodge and said softly, "They haven't all been bad."

Ski's cell phone rang. It was already in his hand; he raised it to his ear. "This is Nyland."

Instantly Berry could tell the call was urgent. He began talking rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah. Say again? Okay." He began walking quickly toward his SUV, then jogging. He ended the call and shouted back at Dodge. "They found the Mittmayers' car."

"My daughter says it's a sizable re-ward."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars."

The man smiled broadly, affording Ski a repugnant view of uneven, gapped teeth stained by chewing tobacco. "When can I collect?"

"Soon," Ski promised. "We're all a little busy right now."

"Trying to catch a fugitive from the law," the man said, nodding sagely.

"That's our priority, Mr. Mercury."

Ski had his cell phone to his ear. He'd been put on hold by his friend with the search dog business, otherwise he wouldn't be giving Ray Van Mercury-like-the-car this much of his precious time. The man was like a pesky flying insect, buzzing with seeming aimlessness but repeatedly coming back to the topic of Caroline King's reward like a housefly to a sugar cube.

"Ski, you still there?" his Army buddy asked into the phone.

"Give me some good news."

"Still trying to track somebody down. Instead of holding, want me to call you back?"

Ski impressed upon him the urgency of the situation.

"I hear ya."

His friend clicked off. "He has to call us back," Ski told Dodge, who'd had all of Ray Van Mercury-like-the-car he could stomach and had moved several yards away to smoke.

"Every minute we waste standing here, Starks is getting farther away," Dodge grumbled.

"Not if he's in there."

Ski looked into the forest. Footprints of athletic shoes, like the ones that Starks had bought at Walmart and that had been described by Mrs. Mittmayer as the kind of footwear he'd been wearing, led from the elderly couple's abandoned compact car into the densest part of the Big Thicket. No-man's-land.

The Big Thicket National Preserve had countless legends and mysteries associated with it, everything from a resident Sasquatch to capricious lights with no traceable source. Famous outlaws of Texas lore had eluded capture in its endless bogs and dense forests.

It was a popular destination for outdoor activities. There were campgrounds, marked trails, and waterways navigable by fishing boats and canoes, but many of the preserve's vast, off-limits acreage was composed of twisting bayous, monotonous swamps, and forests too dense for a gnat to wiggle through, much less a human being. It was a teeming habitat for poisonous snakes and other reptiles, biting insects, and carnivorous predators.

Dodge said, "I don't see why we can't just--"

"I've told you why," Ski snapped. "You don't know what it's like in there. We'd lose his tracks, and then I'd have men going in circles, getting lost, getting tangled up in brambles, getting bogged down--literally--looking for a needle in a haystack. Worse than that, actually."

Ray Van Mercury piped up. "Lucky for y'all I found the car. Or he'd've got clean away."

He was a tough, spry old man. Ski estimated he weighed no more than 130. He had a greasy gray braid that hung down his back to his waist. His lined skin was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut shell, and a lot of it was exposed because all he had on was a pair of grimy jeans unevenly cut off at his knobby knees.

"Yep, lucky for y'all I decided to go fishing this morning. You know," he said, lowering his voice to a confidential pitch, "you ain't s'pposed to go wandering off the trails in the Thicket. You ain't s'pposed to fish 'cept in designated areas. Them park rangers'll get you good, they catch you at it. But I ain't never got caught and I ain't gonna. I've been in the Thicket all my life. I've slithered through parts of it a pissant couldn't get through.

"My mama was one of the Alabama-Coushatta tribe. I know, I know, I don't look like one of them people. I took after my daddy. So Mama said. I never laid eyes on the man myself. He was an oil man. Weren't no good at it. Dry holes was all he ever drilled. Got on the fightin' side of some of his investors. One night under cover of darkness, he took off, leavin' my mama with me still in her belly. So anyhow..." He paused to spit some brown stringy stuff into the underbrush, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where was I?"

"At the part where I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut the hell up," Dodge growled.

Mercury tilted his head at Ski like an inquisitive bird. "What's the matter with him?"

"He's worried that our fugitive will escape capture. Why don't you wait over there, Mr. Mercury, so you'll be handy if we need any further information."

"Over there?" he asked, pointing to the row of official vehicles parked along the ditch.

"Way over there," Dodge said.

"My daughter give you our phone number, right? So's you can call and let me know where I can pick up the re-ward?"

Ski patted his shirt pocket. "Right here."

He grinned at them again and set off in a bowlegged trot.

"Oil man, my ass," Dodge said. "His mama screwed her brother."

Ski's phone rang. He answered it, listened, then said, "I owe you one," and immediately hung up. "He's got a trainer on the way. Twenty minutes at the outside. I'll let the others know."

At the RV park, a deputy had been assigned to follow Caroline and Berry to the lake house and to see them safely inside, where the female deputy waited. In the meantime, Ski and Dodge had clambered into Ski's SUV and sped to the spot several miles away where Ray Van Mercury had found the abandoned car.

Mercury-like-the-car lived with his daughter and her three children in a mobile home less than a quarter mile outside the perimeter of the Thicket.

He'd been on his way to his favorite fishing hole when he discovered the car. Had his eye not been so keen and familiar with the Thicket, he might have walked right past without seeing it. It had been left in a jumble of brambles and dense foliage. Not one to interfere in other people's business, Mr. Mercury had continued on, fished until he had a plentiful catch strung onto his rope belt, then returned to the trailer, where he'd mentioned the car to his daughter as she was gutting the fish.

He'd told Ski she "flew into a tizzy." "I don't pay no attention to news shows because the only thing on TV fit to watch is Vanna White and old-timey westerns," he'd said. But his daughter caught the news each morning. She'd heard about the fugitive and the elderly couple he had left tied up in their RV when he'd stolen their car. She'd called the sheriff's office, and when Ski arrived at her trailer, Ray Van Mercury had shown him and Dodge to the car's hiding place.

Within an hour, Ski had mustered a sizable search party that included a number of reserve deputies, DPS officers, one man from Merritt's municipal police department who was a notch above the rest, two agents from the nearest FBI office, and several Texas Rangers.

Now he made his way over to the line of vehicles parked along the shoulder of the road where the men were assembled and waiting. The DPS helicopter, which had been circling above the RV park, had followed the parade to the new location and had set down in a clearing near the Mercurys' trailer.

Some of the peace officers had arrived with saddled horses, ready to mount. Others had brought four-wheel ATVs. But Ski doubted their usefulness. The only possible way to get through this part of the Big Thicket was on foot, and even then there were sections that were impenetrable. In addition to the impassable terrain, they'd be subjected to the dangerous wildlife, biting insects, and the sweltering heat. The search wouldn't be a picnic.

Ski got everyone's attention and announced that the search dogs were on the way. "One of the best and most experienced trainers, I'm told." He urged them to use the downtime to check their gear, apply sunscreen and insect repellent, and make sure their water bottles were full.

Then he rejoined Dodge where he stood in the shade of a tree. Dodge took a last pull on his current cigarette, then conscientiously ground it out against the tree trunk and rubbed it between his palms until it had shredded and posed no threat of igniting a fire.

"I can't figure it," he said.

"What?"

"Starks."

"Be more specific."

"Everything. All of it. Nothing he's done fits a pattern."

"I'm with you," Ski said. "Yesterday, after tying up the Mittmayers, he drove all the way to Houston just to place a call on Sally Buckland's cell phone. Why?"

"Maybe that's when he moved her body. He wanted to draw us down there, scare the daylights out of Berry. He wanted to cause us to scratch our asses, just like we're doing. Don't forget his little hummed song."

"Okay. But then he came straight back here. What kind of sense does that make?"

"Fuck if I know. He'd eluded capture. He was driving a car we didn't know about. Why come back?"

Ski thought on it for a moment. "Refuge? He was relatively safe inside the RV. He had a well-stocked pantry. Refrigerator. TV, so he could keep track of what we were doing."

"Advil," Dodge said, picking up Ski's thought.

"He had all the comforts of home at his disposal. The Mittmayers had the camping spot reserved for three nights, and they posed no threat to him. Starks could have holed up there, got some rest, allowed his leg to heal."

"Or rot off."

Ski smiled grimly. "Neighbors are temporary and constantly changing. The inactivity around that RV could have gone unnoticed. He could have stayed hidden until he felt it was safe to make another run at Berry."

Dodge frowned. "Okay, let's say that was his plan. What was he doing out here in Mercury-like-the-car's backyard?"

"He got lost."

Dodge shot him a dubious look.

Ski shrugged. "On his way back from Houston, he missed a critical turn. It could be that simple."

"It could," Dodge said, "but not for a guy who's an expert on mazes."

"Shit." Ski removed his sunglasses and wiped at the sweat dripping off his forehead into his eyes. "We're missing something."

"Or somebody."

Ski gave him a sidelong look. "That's what I'm thinking, too. He's had help."

"I figured Amanda Lofland," Dodge said.

"So did I. But she hasn't left the hospital since she arrived. She's even spending the nights in her husband's room."

"You checked?"

"Early this morning, before the Mittmayers were discovered," Ski said. "I went to the hospital to talk to the Loflands about Sally Buckland's murder. I brought up the calls to and from her on Amanda's cell phone."

"And?"

"She said she barely knew Sally Buckland. Had only met her a few times at company parties."

"Then how'd she explain all those calls?" Dodge asked.

"They'd played phone tag. She'd been calling to get Buckland's address so she could mail her an invitation to a fortieth birthday party she's throwing for Ben in the fall."

"How did she react when you brought this up?"

"Pissed. The party was supposed to have been a surprise."

Dodge's laugh sounded like he was gargling phlegm. "She's a piece of work, that one. But she couldn't have been two places at once. So if she's not Stark's partner in crime, then maybe it was Sally Buckland."

"She'd served her purpose? He killed her to tie up a loose end?"

"Maybe. Hell, I don't know." Dodge reached for his cigarettes.

"Put them away," Ski said. "Dogs are here."

He and Dodge made their way over as the trainer alighted from a pickup truck that had dog crates in the back. "I'm supposed to be meeting Ski," he said to the group.

Ski threaded his way through the other lawmen and shook the man's hand.

"I brought an extra trainer." He introduced Ski to the man accompanying him. "Also two extra dogs. Just in case."

"Thanks. We may need them. How many do we start with?"

"Three. They're my best."

The dogs were released from their crates and put on heavy-duty leashes. The trainer took two black Labs, the other guy got a bloodhound. The dogs were eager. Ski let them smell the filthy clothes that Starks had left behind in the Mittmayers' RV.

"Okay, they're good to go," the trainer said.

One of the FBI agents said, "Let her roll."

Ski hid his smile. If there was one word that inaccurately described how one navigated this part of the Thicket, it would be roll.

Which they soon discovered. They hacked and clawed and slogged their way through. Within half an hour those who hadn't heeded the advice to apply strong insect repellent were fighting their way back to escape thick swarms of biting species. Even sturdy boots were sucked into mud the consistency of tar.

Clothing and skin were ripped by thorns that were as thick as thumbs or as fine as human hairs. While searching for Oren Starks's tracks, they also had to be on the lookout for alligators, mountain lions, razorbacks, cottonmouths, copperheads, and rattlesnakes that didn't like to be disturbed.

Ski couldn't imagine more hostile terrain anywhere in the world. After an hour, they had progressed no farther than a hundred yards. The strong men were made weak by the brutal heat. Those who had stamina in the gym were left gasping for breath. Even the energy of the search dogs began to flag. But they had Oren Starks's scent, and instinct and excellent conditioning made them determined. They strained at their leashes, pulling their trainers into bramble bushes that had to be hacked down with machetes.

Ski kept pace with the dogs, and when the assistant trainer stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle, he passed the leash to Ski. "She should do all right with you if you keep praising her."

Ski managed the dog. He was more worried about Dodge, who'd had difficulty keeping pace the night they walked through the woods at the lake house. That had been a stroll in the park compared with this. But the older man remained close on Ski's heels, wheezing heavily, cursing elaborately, but plowing purposefully forward.

"Changed your mind about deputizing me?" he asked when they paused to drink from their water bottles.

"You can't shoot him, Dodge."

"Hell I can't. My aim's excellent."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." He recapped his bottle and pushed aside a thorny branch that was in his path. "But when we find him, he better have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud for mercy."

"Or what?"

"Or I'm gonna consider him a fugitive in flight."

The afternoon wore on. The temperature rose, and water bottles emptied. One by one searchers surrendered to the elements until only a few diehards continued on, and then that number dwindled.

When the remaining troop stopped again to rest, Ski sidled up to Dodge, who was laboring over every breath. "You've gotta call it quits."

"When hell freezes over." He mopped his florid face with a handkerchief. "Which sounds pretty damn good right now."

"Look, Dodge," Ski said angrily, "I don't want you dying on me."

"Have you developed a crush?"

Ski didn't take the gibe. "You croak on my watch, and those two women in your life will never forgive me."

Dodge seemed on the verge of making a stinging retort when he thought better of it. He replaced the handkerchief in his pants pocket. "I'm not quitting."

Ski gave him a level look, then said tightly, "Have it your way."

The going got even rougher. One of the dogs on the trainer's leash began to limp. "She's picked up a thorn," the trainer told Ski after an inspection of the dog's front paw.

"Can she make it back?"

"She'll have to. It'll be slow going."

"You see to her. I'll take the other one."

The trainer transferred the second dog's leash to Ski. "Those two usually don't like each other. But maybe they're too tired to give you any trouble."

By now the group had decreased to only a handful. Dodge was still with them. When one of the FBI agents suggested they call it a day and resume tomorrow, Dodge said scornfully, "You can puss out. I'm not going to."

Ski told them he was in for the long haul, too. "The dogs haven't quit. They're still on Starks's trail."

The Rangers wouldn't quit, either, although one was regarding Dodge with concern. It was almost painful to watch him breathe. Ski made another attempt to get him to stop. "I know you want to be in on the capture, but--"

"Lead on, Deputy."

"I could order you to go back. I could get one of these Rangers to take you back."

"You'd have to kill me first."

"You're about to save me the trouble."

He motioned Ski forward. "I'm right behind you."

And he was, even when others couldn't keep up. Ski's threat to have him escorted back seemed to have imbued Dodge with strength. But the elements and the terrain were more powerful even than his fierce determination.

He and the few remaining fell farther behind until Ski was alone out front with the two dogs, whose past differences seemed to have given way to their common goal. They continued to thrash through the underbrush. They dragged Ski through marshes.

And finally they caught up with their quarry.

Oren Starks didn't have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud. He was sitting on the edge of a swamp among the knees of a giant cypress tree that jutted out of the murky water. His back was against the main trunk of the tree. He was slumped to one side, his forehead almost touching his thigh.

The dogs, barking in wild delight over their achievement, splashed through the water, separating the duckweed that covered the surface like a film of pea soup. When within a few yards of Starks, Ski reined them in and securely wrapped their leashes around a tree branch. He fired his pistol into the air three times to signal those men behind him that the search had ended, then waded through the knee-deep water, stumbling over tree roots concealed by the opaque surface, until he reached Starks.

There was a bullet wound just above his cheekbone at the outside corner of his eye. Obviously self-inflicted. The pistol was still in his hand, submerged in three inches of swamp water.

Ski went down on his haunches to get a closer look. The blood around the flyblown wound was congealed but not completely dry. His face was crisscrossed with scratches and swollen from numerous insect bites.

He'd lost one of his new shoes. Burrs were embedded in his sock. He was wearing the clothes of the man he had killed. Ski recognized them from the description Mrs. Mittmayer had provided. The gray Dockers were almost black with grime. The green and blue striped shirt was torn, covered in filth, and stank of body odor.

The remaining searchers gradually caught up and began collecting in a semicircle behind Ski, who remained squatting beside the body. Each murmured a comment on the grisly sight.

Ski heard Dodge's wheezing as he came near. He said, "Well, shit." Ski supposed he was disappointed that Starks had robbed him of the satisfaction of killing him.

Birds, whose primal environment was being disturbed by the barking dogs and interloping human beings, flapped their wings and squawked noisily in the treetops. The dogs were happily panting, their tongues hanging from their mouths, dripping slobber.

The first of the Texas Rangers to arrive was talking to the pilot of the DPS helicopter through a transmitter. Shouting to make himself heard, he was telling the pilot to watch for a flare that would mark their location and advising him that they would need a stretcher lowered so they could strap the body onto it and lift it out.

Ski was taking all this in subconsciously. His focus remained on Starks. He watched a large ant crawl across the bridge of Starks's nose and down his cheek. A small fish was nibbling at a finger on his submerged hand.

The Ranger on the radio was saying, "To get the body out of here--"

"It's not a body," Ski said suddenly. "He's still alive."