A Shadow Fell Read online

  Everything aside, though, Con’s news was exhilarating. And until I could figure out what was going on with him I didn’t want to give him any reason to suspect that I had lost faith or trust in him. “What did you find?” I asked, conveying a level of excitement that matched his own.

  “Oil spots, some rock scrapes, shit like that,” he responded dismissively. “I’ve got the general direction he was heading as he went down the mountain. He’s smart enough to use a different path every time so as not to make an obvious trail but I’m onto him.” He nodded his head in a faintly maniacal fashion and smiled to himself.

  This guy is fucking crazy I thought to myself. Why didn’t I see this before? The idea that he may have killed his wife was now rapidly gaining in likelihood.

  The only weapon Con carried overtly was a large hunting knife that hung from his belt in a scabbard. Although he had never mentioned it I was fairly certain he had at least one handgun, probably his service weapon, in his backpack. I, as Con was aware, continued to carry my Glock in a holster at my back.

  The idea of being up here, a million miles from civilization, with a potential madman, was not giving me a good feeling. I suspected he was here for reasons that remained unclear to me - that he harbored a hidden agenda that was not necessarily in concert with my own.

  * * *

  Con was now like a hound on the scent of a fox. Before daylight the next morning he was up, anxious to pick up the trail. I insisted on a good breakfast before undertaking what I knew would be a strenuous day. I had not slept well and although Con seemed to have the capacity to go forever without nourishment, I most certainly did not. I cooked up some powdered eggs with bacon, toast, and coffee and tried to savor the meal. He devoured his share of the food so fast he barely bothered to sit down for it. I was only half finished before he was done eating, had broken camp, and was standing over me pacing impatiently.

  The behavior he was exhibiting at this point was worrisome on several levels. I didn’t know whether to trust his judgment now. I continued to possess a burning need to find Henderson but I was no longer convinced Con was rational enough to help me accomplish the goal. In addition, I was extremely concerned about his real motivation in helping me achieve my purpose.

  If, as I suspected, he was hatching some kind of scheme, how did I fit into it?

  32

  I gave up trying to make sense of all the signs Con was finding as we wove our way across, over, and down the mountain, all the while covering terrain until now unknown to us. It was hard enough just keeping up with him. He was either a tracker of monumental ability or he had succumbed to total insanity. I decided to simply give him full reign and see where it landed us. The truth was, unless I was prepared to chance what might turn out to be a most disagreeable confrontation with him, I had very little choice in the matter.

  By one o’clock I was both famished and completely worn out. “Con,” I called ahead to him, “I’ve got to rest. And we need to have some lunch.”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to me. The look on his face was one of utter disgust. “We’re getting close,” he said. “We need to stay on him.”

  I shook my head. “An hour one way or the other probably won’t make much difference.”

  For a while it looked as though he was going to argue the point. “All right,” he finally said, accompanied by an elaborate sigh. “Thirty minutes.”

  He seemed to be losing the ability to tolerate me. It was like he had morphed into a completely different person from the one I had come to know as my laid back and helpful neighbor. I couldn’t help but wonder where this was likely to go. Or how long it might be before his attitude toward me became violent.

  After precisely thirty minutes Con announced it was time to go. He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment from me but simply loaded up his gear and took off. I had to scramble like mad not to lose sight of him. And his pace had picked up even more from the already hectic pace he had set in the morning, presumably to make up for the time we had lost in stopping for lunch.

  We maintained the same level of activity for most of the afternoon. Throughout this time I had become increasingly worried. I was now starting to wonder whether he had any concept at all about what he was doing or where he was leading us. Or was this just some mindless fantasy of his that would end with us being hopelessly lost? Conversation between us had all but ceased entirely. At times it seemed like he considered himself to be on his own. I followed along at some distance, as much to give myself a feeling of safety as anything else.

  I was dreading the thought of making camp that night. Sharing a tent with him now was not a notion that gave me any comfort whatsoever.

  Just about the time I was seriously considering a confrontation regarding the advisability of continuing on with our mission, events took a surprising turn. I had lost sight of Con for a few seconds when I came around a thick patch of undergrowth to find him kneeling by a rock, mumbling to himself.

  I angled up beside him and said, “What is it?”

  “Smell that,” he said, pointing to a patch of moisture in the dirt.

  I leaned down somewhat reluctantly, not knowing what to expect, and did as he said. The odor of gasoline was unmistakable.

  “He refueled here,” Con said.

  I didn’t know whether I was more surprised or relieved. Either way it now seemed apparent that we were indeed hot on the trail of our prey. All of a sudden I was only too willing to attribute all of Con’s odd behavior to nothing more than single-minded determination to get the job done. I was about to congratulate him on his keen eye when it occurred to me that he’d been doing similar things for days. By mentioning it now I would only be making it quite clear I had actually lost confidence in him in the first place. Much better, I decided, that I keep that bit of information to myself.

  My own enthusiasm for the task at hand was now magically rejuvenated. Convinced that we were, after all, closing in on Henderson my mind turned once again to the prospect of revenge.

  When encroaching darkness made it impossible to track any longer we made camp. Con continued to display the same peculiar conduct that had characterized his actions for the past few days, but I was now far less concerned with this than I had been before. He had reestablished a degree of credibility in my mind, whether it was wholly justified or not.

  It had been a long and exhausting day and, as soon as we were done with supper, we sacked out.

  With my mind less occupied with worry over Con I fell almost immediately into a deep and, for a change, dreamless sleep.

  33

  I continued to marvel at the way Con uncovered the most minuscule signs of Henderson’s presence. I no longer harbored any doubt that the trail we were following was in fact that of the killer. I had complete confidence not only in my companion’s tracking abilities but in his endless assurances that we were getting close.

  It was obvious, even to me, that the trail we were following was not one that would lead us to civilization. I believed absolutely that we were being drawn to another hideaway. Somewhere even deeper into the wilderness. And I had no trouble imagining what we would find when our pursuit finally came to an end.

  Blood lust ran hot in my veins. I could envision clearly the imminent encounter with my daughter’s slayer. I hungered after the prospect of confronting him, of witnessing his despair when he realized that his capture did not simply mean a return to prison. That I intended to end his miserable existence without regard to legal process.

  Perhaps it was my preoccupation with these dark thoughts that allowed me to overlook the obvious signs of mental illness that Con was displaying.

  I suppose it is equally possible that, at that time, I was less than entirely sane myself.

  * * *

  The sound of the gunshot I heard did not cause me any particular anxiety at first. It seemed to emanate from too far away to represent any kind of immediate threat. It wasn’t until I saw Con, who was at least thirty feet in front of me at
that moment, drop to a prone position, that it occurred to me we were actually under attack. The next shot I heard relieved me of any doubt. A bullet ripped through my backpack with enough force to knock me off balance. I dove face down, at the same time scrambling to get the Glock at my back. Still exposed, I slithered behind some nearby boulders. “Con,” I yelled. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t respond and I couldn’t see him from where I was hidden, but I heard him curse. I yelled again and, this time, Con answered with an angry, “Yeah.”

  “Can you tell where the shots are coming from?” I hollered.

  I heard him mumbling again but he ignored my question.

  I chanced a peek from behind my protective rock. My guess was the shooter was on a slight rise, maybe a hundred yards ahead and to the left of us. The area was heavily treed; there were a thousand places he could be hiding. If he was there, we were easy prey. All he had to do was wait us out.

  “Con,” I yelled again. “Have you got good cover?”

  When he responded this time his voice nearly scared the shit out of me. He was standing a few feet in front of me. “Come on. Let’s go,” he barked.

  “Jesus, Con,” I rasped. “Get down.”

  “He’s gone,” Con announced. “I heard his bike fire up.”

  “It could be a ruse,” I said.

  “If it was, I’d be dead right now.”

  I supposed he was right. I came slowly and a little grudgingly to my feet, half expecting another bullet to tear through me. Then I noticed the blood on his neck. “You’re hit,” I said.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me have a look,” I said. I peeled back his shirt collar. The bullet had grazed the flesh at the meaty part of his neck where it met his muscular shoulder. “It doesn’t look too serious. You were lucky.” I dug a dressing bandage from my pack and covered the wound.

  “Come on,” he said the moment I was through. “We gotta get after the fucker.”

  There seemed little point in arguing with Con. He was going to do what he was going to do whether I accompanied him or not. It occurred to me then that any sane person would have reconsidered the whole enterprise right there. “Why are you so determined to run Henderson to ground when this fight is not even yours?” I asked.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and squinted off in the direction from which the shots had come. “That fucker shot me,” he growled. “Now it’s personal.”

  I certainly couldn’t blame him for being incensed that he’d nearly been killed by Henderson but I found his vindictiveness interesting.

  It wasn’t very difficult to imagine how he might have reacted if he’d learned his wife had been cheating on him.

  34

  Picking up the trail was easier now. Henderson was making no effort to hide his presence. All he wanted to do at the moment was outrun us and he had the means to do so. It became fairly obvious that he was not going to head for his lair, wherever that might be. He would now want to get clear of the mountains altogether.

  Or would he?

  If there was one thing I knew about Reuben Henderson it was that you could expect the unexpected from him. In this case I began to wonder if he really wanted to lose us at all. I started to believe that Henderson might well decide to take a stand. All he had to do was lead us to high ground from which he could pick us off. He may have let his presence be known earlier simply to ensure that we would follow him to that very point of advantage. It was a no lose situation for him on his first attempt. If he got us, great; if not, then set us up so he couldn’t miss the next time.

  Con, although a tracker of uncanny skill, appeared totally oblivious to the notion that we may be the subjects of a setup. But the more thought I gave the matter, the more convinced I became I was right. After all, we were clearly outgunned by Henderson. He was in possession of a high-powered rifle with long range capability. Why run from us?

  My efforts to convince Con that we should slow down, take more precautions in our pursuit, met with no success. It was like trying to talk a preschooler into not running after the ice cream truck.

  By nightfall, when we made camp, I was thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The mental strain of knowing that a bullet might be speeding toward me with every step I took, exacted a huge toll. How Con continued to charge forward, seemingly unaffected by physical exertion or concern for his safety, was beyond me.

  After our modest evening meal I went immediately into the tent and, before long, had lapsed into a deep sleep.

  About 3 a.m. I was awakened by something I heard. I had no clear reckoning about what it might have been but the notion of distant gunshots ran through my mind as a possibility. I realized at once that Con was not in the tent with me. After five minutes or so it was apparent he was not simply out taking a piss. I crawled from my sleeping bag and stepped outside the tent.

  The night was as black as coal.

  Where the hell was he? And what was he up to? It was impossible to think of going back to sleep now. I went back into the tent for my flashlight and used it to look around. Con’s clothes and boots were gone. He had dressed fully before heading off for places unknown in the middle of a pitch black night.

  The more time I spent with this guy the more uncomfortable he was making me. His odd and unpredictable behavior, combined with his deceitful statements about his wife, were finally beginning to eliminate any doubts I still harbored about his mental competence. There was something going on with him. Something – I was becoming increasingly convinced – sinister.

  Sitting alone throughout the night, awaiting the return of a man I was becoming more and more to think of as a madman, my resolve for the mission I had set out on, for the first time, started to wane.

  Put in context my situation could be summarized as follows: I was in the middle of a vast wilderness; chasing an armed serial killer; in the company of a man who was exhibiting signs of lunacy; a man who had very likely murdered his wife.

  And what did I really hope to gain from this undertaking? A measure of vengeance? Did it make any sense at all for me to be spending my time doing this? Why wasn’t I at home, giving support and aid to my wife who surely needed me, now more than ever before in her life.

  By the time the first faint light of day filtered through the trees I had, at last, come to a firm resolution. I would take the knowledge we had gained here to the Feds and let them chase Henderson down. Then I would devote the rest of my life, if that was what it took, helping my wife regain her health. And we would face whatever the future held for us together.

  I went into the tent and pulled on the rest of my clothes. I reached for the Glock I kept holstered and stored under my backpack at night.

  It was gone.

  35

  If there was any doubt remaining in my mind that Con Edgerton had gone completely mad it was eliminated the moment he returned from his mysterious nocturnal expedition. The look in his eyes and the condition of his clothes as he tore into our camp spoke volumes.

  It was an hour past sunup. I had broken camp and had given serious thought to abandoning Con here. My only real hesitation came from knowing he could easily track me down and I feared what the outcome might be to what he would consider betrayal. There was also the very real possibility that I would never find my way back to civilization without him.

  What he said when his eyes focused on me shocked me even more than his feral appearance. “I got him,” he announced loudly.

  “You what?”

  “Come on. I’ll show ya.”

  I was stunned. “How the hell did you get him at night?”

  “Hurry up,” he commanded.

  “Con,” I said, “slow down. Tell me what’s going on. How did you get him?”

  “I smelled smoke from his campfire after you turned in,” he said matter-of-factly. “Then I tracked it.”

  It struck me as improbable that Henderson would have camped in such close proximity to us. He had the wherewithal to put
a lot of distance between himself and us. Why start a fire where he would run the risk of being detected? “How far is it from here?”

  Con shrugged. “Half hour hike.”

  “How did you leave him? Is he alive?”

  “He’s dead,” he told me. “I killed him.” There was absolutely no emotion in this declaration. He might just as well have told me it was a cloudy day.

  Was it possible? Had Reuben Henderson finally come to an end? I had a hundred questions but it was hard to know where to start. The first thing that came to mind was determining the location of my gun. Had he used my gun to shoot Henderson? “How did you kill him?” I asked.

  “I used your Glock,” Con answered, settling the issue quickly. “How else was I gonna get him?”

  A sinking feeling was starting to form in my gut making me slightly nauseous. “Where is the gun now?”

  Con reached into his jacket pocket and extracted my gun, holding it by the barrel. He handed it to me grip forward. I wanted to check it to see if it was loaded but I didn’t want to give Con the impression I distrusted him so I holstered it.

  “What happened when you found him?” I asked. “Was there a struggle? Did he try to shoot you?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Con said. “What do ya think he did?”