everyone would have continued safely to the plane if he had not suggested using the helicopter.
Ben and I countered with our claims that other factors, and not his offer of the helicopter, had led to the decision to look for the second grave.
He seemed unconvinced, until Frank said, “By the time you were all standing on that ridge, I think Parrish had Bob Thompson’s number. If not everyone else’s as well.”
Seeing he had our undivided attention, he went on. “I can’t get over the feeling that Parrish planned even more thoroughly than we’ve said he did — that he anticipated the reactions of certain key people in this scenario he devised. I think he knew he could get someone to take him up there, sooner or later.”
“You mean that he intentionally allowed himself to be caught?” I said. “Yes, I think everyone agrees that he left Kara Lane’s body where it would be found.”
“Exactly. The trap was already waiting by the time he was taken into custody. He might not have known who would be on the trip up there, but once he started spending time with all of you, he studied you, figured out how to push your buttons. I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of Bob, but it was never hard to figure out where he was coming from.”
“Ambitious,” Ben said.
“Right.”
“J.C.,” I said, “have you ever stopped to think that you saved Andy’s life?”
“Saved Andy’s life?” he repeated blankly.
“Yes. Parrish undoubtedly wanted all of us to be down there. I think he planned to have me survive to — to chronicle his greatness.” For a moment, I couldn’t say more; there was an invisible nine-hundred-pound weight on my chest. Frank reached over and took my hand; I held tightly to it. “By separating from us,” I went on, “you saved two lives, J.C. — yours and Andy’s. It undoubtedly upset Parrish to have you spoil any part of his perfect little plan.”
J.C. was quiet, staring at the maps. After a time, he said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“You probably had him worried that you’d have a helicopter in there taking him back to prison before old slow- digging Ben here uncovered the body. You nearly ruined his whole setup. The rain was the only thing that allowed him to get away with it — otherwise, your helicopter would have picked us up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” J.C. said quietly.
“So let’s look at these maps and try to see if Parrish had time to disable those helicopters,” Ben said.
There was one other unpaved road that ended within a few miles of the far end of the meadow, but this road came into the forest from a different direction. J.C. would have had a much longer drive from the ranger station just to get to the road itself; from there he would have been doubling back in the same general direction he came from, and once he parked the truck, the hike from that road to the meadow would have been worse than the one he made from the other road. It would have been almost entirely uphill and over steep terrain.
“You were in the Forest Service truck,” Frank said. “Parrish was on foot. It’s ludicrous to think he would have hiked that longer, steeper route to and from the ranger station.”
J.C., much more familiar with the area than the rest of us, said, “I agree. And I think Irene is right about his having a partner. It’s not impossible that he sabotaged the helicopters alone, but think about it — he would have been hiking in a downpour, after dark. He would have been risking some really nasty falls.”
“Parrish is an experienced hiker,” Ben said. “But he isn’t in the kind of shape you’re in, J.C. — you can cover ground faster than any of us, including Andy. He’d have had to hike quite a distance overnight in the rain, disable the helicopter, hike back, and then have the energy to chop down a tree that next day.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “Was anyone in our group carrying an ax up there?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “There was one in the camping gear the police brought.”
“Oh.”
“You seem disappointed,” Frank said.
“I hadn’t seen anyone use it,” I said. “If it wasn’t in our group’s gear, that would argue for an accomplice — someone who brought the ax to Parrish.”
“Who would help a man like Parrish?” J.C. asked.
“His lawyer,” Ben said.
“His lawyer was injured,” Frank said.
“Unable to drive?” Ben countered.
Frank shook his head. “No, he could walk if he needed to. But Phil had nothing to gain and everything to lose if his client escaped.”
“Did Parrish call anyone while he was in custody?” I asked.
“No,” Frank said. “If we’re right about this, though, he didn’t need to make calls. He provided the destination for the group, so his partner — or partners — would know where he was going. And the date of departure was well publicized.”
“Don’t serial killers usually work alone?” J.C. asked.
“Usually, but not always,” Frank said. “The Hillside Strangler — Kenneth Bianchi — and his cousin, Angelo Buono, tortured and killed together. In Houston, Dean Allen Coryll killed at least twenty-seven young men with the help of two friends — they knowingly brought his victims to him.”
“Killers don’t have to be loners,” Ben agreed. “And apparently some women are excited by the idea of being with a killer. There’s even a matchmaking Web site now where women can ‘meet’ the prison inmate of their dreams.”
