it stand to reason someone might attempt to intercept me?'
An enlisted man came onto the bridge with a few papers and handed them to the officer.
For at least a minute Stutz studied the papers.
'The one thing you have going for you,' he finally said, 'is that two of the three men have criminal records. The odds are a little slim that two ex-felons were going with a third man for a boat ride after dark on a fall evening. However, the state police are very clear that your friends over on San Juan are wanted in a murder investigation. They have eyewitnesses to the shooting of two deputy sheriffs. We have a boat theft. Resisting arrest. And the gruesome murder of one Detective Ranken. The list goes on.'
'Garth Frick is not a regular deputy.'
'You're right, he's a sergeant. And an ex-detective in the big city.'
'He's a criminal,' she said quickly. 'He's the witness, and he did the shooting in any gruesome deaths.'
'It's not that simple,' said Stutz. 'The undersheriff is in the hospital alive and he figures he was shot by this stranger who has a driver's license in the name of Robert Chase and calls himself Sam.'
'I know the undersheriff and he's a good man,' Rachael said. 'But Frick's tricked him.'
She crossed her arms, knowing that she was signaling an end to her cooperation.
Hopefully, this would convince him to listen. 'I want to see a state police officer or someone from the attorney general's office.'
'I'd advise that you get a lawyer.'
'I have no time for a lawyer. My friends will be killed.'
'By whom?'
'By Frick! You're not listening to what I'm saying. Look, read this.' Rachael held out the FBI memo. 'Call Special Agent Ernie Sanders.'
'I already read it and tried the agent. It's the middle of the night back there and, not surprisingly, he doesn't answer.' The lieutenant shook his head, obviously unsure of how he should proceed-probably because he was obviously intrigued by both her and her story. 'It's not an arrest record. It's a report.' Stutz paused as if thinking.
'Think about this,' she said. 'If I'm telling you anything like the truth, if the fountain of youth is real, if there is a conspiracy, it could be the biggest thing in your career. On the other hand, if I'm a nut or just wrong, it will only be mildly embarrassing and it certainly won't follow you in your file.'
'You're saying the upside to believing you could be tremendous, whereas the downside isn't that bad.'
Stutz sounded skeptical, but Rachael could tell the argument had hit home. This guy was a no-nonsense, get-ahead career officer.
'All right,' he said. 'I'll try to get someone from the state police. You'll have to wait here on the boat.'
Sam was huddled down in the forest. He heard the dog breathing hard, trampling through the bushes covering more ground in a few minutes than a man could cover in an hour. Although the dog was moving away on his circle that would take him back to the water, on the next swing he would probably run right over him. There wasn't enough charcoal in the forest to block his scent if the dog came too near. Unfortunately, he didn't know what too near was.
The dog was concentrating on the portion of the forest that lay between the gravel road and the water. Sam had to move deeper into the forest to the far side of the gravel road, and that would make it difficult for him to respond to the plane. It was a tough choice. If she landed and tarried, these men would come with their guns and it would be all over for Haley unless she fled. If she did that, he would be trapped on foot. None of it seemed good.
When Sam hit the road, he resisted the temptation to run down it. It would be an easy place for Frick's men to lie in wait. Instead, he crossed the road quickly, seeing no one, and walked about fifty yards inland. Then, watching the stars, he did his best to parallel the road. It was rough going. He could see nothing and had to hold his hands out in front of him, guiding himself through the tree trunks. The ground occasionally had holes and rocks protruding from the surface. His body hurt in so many places that at times it seemed one whole leg and his back were an interlocking maze of stabbing pains, muscle knots, and aches.
Lying flat on his back undisturbed became his fantasy.
After checking the stars a dozen times and traveling for fifteen to twenty minutes, he turned back toward the water and came to the edge of the road. Far down around a bend he saw what he figured was the faint cast of a flashlight beam against the trees. He supposed the dog was in that vicinity, working back and forth between road and beach.
Nearly dragging his stiff leg, he made it across the road and looked for the trail to the fire pit and found it. In the distance he heard the dog's handler calling the dog; then he heard a woof. Like scalding water on skin the realization came over his mind. The dog was coming closer. No sooner had he thought it, than the dog started whining and barking.
Uh-oh.
This was bad.
He had little time. First he picked up a stick and covered his knees to his shoes with charcoal as fast as he could. It took about thirty seconds. The dog was charging through the woods along the far side of the road, probably on his trail. It sounded as though he were casting about, trying to sift through all the charcoal. It would give Sam a couple minutes. What he was about to do would either save him or kill him. He found a piece of driftwood about the volume of four footballs. He could hide his head behind it; maybe it would help him float.
A large madrona tree stood just up from the rock line. It was nothing but a vague shadow. He felt for the base and, after turning the cell's ringer to silent, placed his phone, watch, and the papers in the bag under the duff right at the base of the tree. Then he found a big rock and put it atop, careful not to put too much weight on the cell phone.
With the first few steps the cold seawater lapped his ankles and immediately set them to aching. It was an ache powerful enough that he very much wanted to step out of the water and find relief. Even worse was the horrible burning from the cuts that he had encountered earlier. Although he tried moving quietly, the dog was coming ever closer, and with his stiff leg some splash was inevitable. It required only seconds to get to deep water. He was still far too close to land. Miserable from the cold boring into his body, probably cooling his vital organs, he winced at the sheer pain of it. He ducked underwater to take off his shoes. It took some fumbling.
The dog's yelps were frantic and the animal was due to break out of the forest.
Sam began swimming with one shoe on the stiff-legged foot and one off. With some effort he stuffed the one shoe into his belt so he could paddle. Placing one hand on the piece of wood, he used the remaining hand to sidestroke and his legs to create a crippled scissors kick. It was tough to swim at all with his sodden clothes. He tried to keep all movement beneath the surface. For some reason, the dog seemed to stop, perhaps running in tight circles, distracted by a scent. Then, after a short time, the dog started running again and soon burst out on the beach, barking. Hopefully, he wouldn't swim.
Sam paddled to keep afloat, knowing the cold would soon kill him. If he ended his life drowning in order not to kill a dog, maybe his decision would count for something, but it would be a dumb decision, nonetheless.
Now the dog was nearly hysterical in his barking. Sam swam into the night, slowly heading toward Shaw Island, knowing the swim was over a mile and that he would never make it. However far he swam from San Juan Island, he would have to swim back. So far that was about sixty yards and growing.
Men arrived on the beach and he guessed he was now probably eighty yards distant. He was too far from shore to see at night with an ordinary flashlight.
'Come on, Roamer.'
Sam assumed that was the dog and thought it a good name.
'Maybe the guy went in the water,' a second searcher said.
'If he did, he's dead now. That'll freeze your nuts in no time and your brain in just a few minutes longer. He can't survive.'
'Not necessarily.'
Oh yes, necessarily, thought Sam. You try it.
'Go ahead, Larry, jump in,' said the dog handler. 'Swim out there a quarter-mile and let me know if you see him.'
'We could call for the boat,' Larry said, chastened.
