Killing Season Part 1 by Faye Kellerman

Author:Faye Kellerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The sky began to lighten, changing from charcoal to deep, evanescent pinks and intense lavenders right before the brilliant golds of sunrise. As they headed toward downtown Albuquerque, the highway was empty, the horizon obscured by the multistoried buildings of a real city. With its steady growth and a population topping the half-million mark, Albuquerque had pushed New Mexico into the twenty-first century. In many ways, Ben thought of it as a small town from the Wild West. If crime rate was any indication of lawlessness, the image fit perfectly. Because of the wide-open space, New Mexico was always a perfect hiding place for fugitives, drug dealers, and transients making their way across the continent.

Ben drove deep into the preserves of the Sandias, keeping a close watch on time because daylight was short. He parked at the trailhead, but kept the motor idling for heat. “We should eat before we go.”

“Nothing like baloney and cheese first thing in the morning.”

“Is that what you packed?”

“Excuse me. No one was up to fix my Niçoise salad.”

Reaching around to the backseat, he opened his knapsack. “I have egg salad. That’s kinda like breakfast.”

“Sure.”

“Coffee? It’s black.”

“Yeah, motor oil is fine.”

He poured two cups and gave one to her. She wore a blue Cornell sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Her complexion was alabaster white except for rosy cheeks enhanced by the cold. Without makeup, she had a sprinkling of freckles over her nose that he’d never noticed. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail. The November air was cold and parched and had been that way for a while. Her lips, though rubbed with something greasy, were chapped. Her eyes were moody blue.

They ate quickly and in silence. After a quick bathroom run, Ben handed Ro a walking stick and adjusted it for her height. The trail he had mapped out contained several estuaries that emptied into the Rio Grande. Though rescue parties had searched the area many times, Ben just had a feeling that Katie’s resting place was near water.

The sky was pale and there was a cold breeze as they started up the trail. No talk, which was good. He could focus, hearing the burbling of the water, the rush of wind, the other noises of nature—scampering, cracking, and birdcalls. The trail was compacted dirt—hard under the foot—whereas the ground beside it was filled with brown and gold organic material, all of it sodden. Whiffs of wet paper and pine wafted through the air. After a half hour of hiking, Ro decided to talk.

“Why’d you pick this spot to search?”

“Soil is looser around water, so you can dig a deeper grave. But also . . . when you do this long enough, you have to start thinking like the killer. It’s real easy to get lost off-trail. Everything starts to look alike especially in the dark and in this terrain. It’s impossible to navigate without tools. Unless you have compasses or GPS, which doesn’t work too well here, you need some kind of guide to get back to where you parked your car.

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