“I believe they symbolize betrayal,” Laurel said, clicking through her memory of a book she’d read years ago. “We can conduct more research later.”
A tall figure walked between two trees, kicking snow out of the way and creating a trail with his size fourteen boots.
“Huck,” Laurel said, taken aback. “Where did you come from?”
“Monty called me. There’s an old forest service trail to the north, and I drove my snowmobile along that route. I’ve cut a trail from there. You’re going to want to see this,” Huck Rivers said, his eyes a whiskey brown, his whiskers a day past needing a shave, and his hat partially covering his thick black hair. His Karelian bear dog, Aeneas, bounded behind him, tail wagging and tongue out.
Laurel blinked. She and Walter had ridden in Fish and Wildlife UTVs from the Sauk River to the creek to reach the scene, and she hadn’t realized Huck would be out there. It had been more than a month since they’d worked together, since they’d seen each other, and she’d wondered about him. Had he spent Christmas and then most of January alone in his cabin? She’d been in DC for much of January working on another case and had only been back in town for a couple of days. “All right,” she said coolly, stepping carefully over icy rocks and slippery snow to reach him. “Lead on, Captain.”
His gaze inscrutable, he turned, his broad shoulders blocking the trail he’d created. “Follow me.”
She’d forgotten how tall he stood and walked close to him so he could break the brutal wind. Her hands were chilled through the rubber gloves, but she kept them outside her pockets to avoid picking up trace evidence, although the snow continued to land and then melt on her.
They walked for about ten minutes, around bushes, under boughs, and over icy brush, with snow piled on either side of the makeshift trail. Her legs ached, and the biting wind sliced to her bones, weakening her muscles.
Huck paused and partially turned to the right. In profile, his features were more rugged than the brutal mountains around them. “If you look there, the victim’s footprints are still visible in the snow because of the tree covering above them. I’ve taken pictures, because they’re going to disappear within the hour.”
Laurel squinted to see through the thick trees at the smaller prints, followed by much larger ones. “Are those yours?”
“No. Mine are a yard beyond those prints. I paralleled the trail as I took pictures.” He made a hand gesture, and the black-and-white dog sat obediently. “From the spacing of the steps, they were running, and both broke several branches on the way.” He pointed farther down the snowy trail. “She fell twice but got back up and kept running.”
Laurel could imagine the woman’s terror. “Where did she come from?”
“This way.” He turned again.
Aeneas sat in place, one ear up as if he wanted to ask her a question.
She couldn’t pet him and get fur on her gloves, so she smiled. “Hi, Aeneas. Miss me?”
Did Huck’s shoulders square at that question? They’d shared one intimate night together, and then nothing. She’d thought they might be becoming friends, but then he’d disappeared. The dog yipped and flipped around to follow his master.
Laurel trudged behind the two males, stepping gingerly over the exposed root of a tree that rose high out of the deep snow. The pine would probably fall over in the howling wind. She turned at a bend and stopped upon spotting a dark structure that nearly disappeared into the rock wall behind it. “Incredible.”
Huck nodded. “Yeah. It’s an old forestry cabin that was abandoned about ten years ago, according to my office. Nobody knew anyone was staying out here.”
Weathered wooden logs created a square-shaped cabin built against a solid rock wall. A crumbled stack of planks showed what had once been a porch, leaving the door two feet above the ground, now iced over with snow. A tarp partially covered a battered old side-by-side utility terrain vehicle beneath two mature blue spruce trees to the right of the cabin.
“I removed part of the tarp to see what was secured under there,” Huck explained.
Laurel looked around. Her phone buzzed again and she ignored it. “I take it UTVs are the only way to access this area?”
“Or snowmobile, during the winter.” Huck pointed to his black snowmobile with a Fish and Wildlife designation on the side. “I guess somebody could hike in during summer months. I took that old forest division trail, while you all drove along the river and then cut east along the creek.”
A branch broke over by the tarp, the ice and wind having triumphed over the slim wood.
Laurel jumped as ice and pinecones rained down. “Is that how the killer or killers reached this place? We didn’t see any tracks on our way in.”
Huck wiped snow off his cheekbone. “The snowstorm eliminated any possible tracks out here, so we don’t even know which way the killer came.”
Laurel looked around and shivered. “What a lonely place to hide.”
“Hide?”
“Yes.” Laurel moved beyond him, following his trail to the front door, which she nudged open. The cabin was one room with a blow-up mattress covered by several blankets, a fireplace with kindling and neatly stacked logs next to it, and a kitchen shelf holding a battery-operated hot plate, a plate, and a cup. Cans and more cans sat on the shelf. Noodles, soup, beans, veggies, and fruit. Even something that said turkey on it. Along with several gallon bottles of vodka and gin. Enough for months of self-numbing.
She walked to the unmade bed and lifted a tablet from it, scrolling through pages of books. “How—”
“Small portable generator,” Huck said, pointing to the one window above the kitchen shelf. “It’s right outside with gas not too far from it. She was able to charge her tablet, heating pad, hot plate, and it looks like a burner phone.” He gestured to a basket near the bed. “She has enough gas out there for probably another month.”
