Tahoe Skydrop (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 16) Page 4

  “Six o’clock in the morning,” the man said.

  Vince nodded to no one. “Yeah. But you should know there are better places to learn how to rappel on ice. Safer places.”

  “No.” The man sounded firm. “It is to be the Job’s Sister.”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Vince said. “I’ll bring the gear.”

  “Let me talk to the man who is your companion.”

  Vince frowned again. He slowly handed the phone to me.

  “This is Owen McKenna, Lucas.”

  “You are a cop?”

  “A retired cop. I used to be in San Francisco. Now I’m private in Tahoe. I’ve told no one about this. If you keep your word, I’ll not tell any cops.”

  “If I see any cops, we kill the boy. I am not the joking person.”

  “I understand you are serious,” I said. “I am serious, too. I’ve advised Vince to do what you say. After Vince does what you want, you will release the boy.”

  “It depends on how Vince is to teach us. If he is good to our need, we let the boy go.”

  “He’ll be good.”

  “I am to decide that. Not you. The Brödraskapet has a rule. We live to the honor. But we decide what is the honor. It is my wish that you do not make to change my plan. If you do, I kill the boy. First, maybe I cut the boy’s tongue out and send it to Mr. Vince.” He hung up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I turned to Vince. “You said this guy referred to other men when he previously called you. Any idea who any of them could be?”

  Vince shook his head. “No.”

  “Just now, he said there are three of them. Does that fit with what he said earlier when he asked you to take them up the mountain?”

  “I don’t think he said how many of them there were.”

  “Let me ask a general question about climbing,” I said. “Why would someone want to do anything up on a mountain in extremely high wind?”

  “No idea,” Vince said. “Unless they didn’t want to be seen by anyone.”

  “Just what I was thinking. The weather could keep everyone else off the mountain. You would be up there alone. No witnesses.”

  Both Vince and Brie made slight nods.

  “Have you had any recent disagreements with anyone?” I asked.

  “No. Life has been, you know, same old stuff.” Vince made the briefest glance toward Brie.

  “Tell me about your work,” I said to Vince.

  “I’m a wilderness guide,” he said. “My business is called Tahoe Wilderness Plus. Basically, I take people wherever they want. I show them how to do it. Kayaking. Skiing. Biking. Backpacking. Camping. Climbing. Sailing. One of my most requested skills is paragliding. I take people up on a tandem rig.”

  “That’s the big, curved type of parachute?” I asked.

  “It’s a big curved canopy. A flexible airfoil. But it’s not a parachute. You can’t jump out of a plane with a paraglider. You launch paragliders on foot.”

  “I remember now. You take off by running down a hill. And if you find an updraft, you can fly for miles.”

  “Yeah. Everything I do is about back-country experiences. I teach them how to navigate. I even explain some star stuff. I carry the food pack, and I cook, too.”

  “Have you been doing this a long time?”

  “Yeah. I grew up in Squaw Valley. In my twenties, I was on the U.S. Ski Team. I raced in the World Cup and won second place in the downhill in Val d’Isère, France. I was a serious water skier in the summer. I raced in multiple sailing events through the Tahoe Yacht Club. I’ve spent over three hundred nights camping in Desolation Wilderness. I’ve hiked and skied every Tahoe mountain multiple times. I’m a pretty good rock climber and have done serious climbs in Yosemite. I know mountain biking and hiking. I was a Boy Scout. Bottom line is, if you want someone to show you an outdoors experience in Tahoe, I’m your guide.”

  “How do you think Lucas found you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he just found my website. Or maybe he asked around. I get a lot of business from locals and past customers recommending me.”

  “You’ve had no contact with anyone else in Lucas’s group?”

  Vince shook his head. “No.”

  We were silent for a time.

  “The man on the phone used a word I didn’t recognize,” I said. “The brodra… something.”

  “Oh, yeah. He said that on the phone when I first talked to him, too. I typed versions of it into my computer and found out it’s called The Brödraskapet.”

  “Brödraskapet,” I said. “Any idea what that means?”

  “Yeah. I looked it up on my computer,” Vince said. “It means ‘Brotherhood’ in Swedish.”

  “Sounds like a gang,” I said.

  “That’s exactly what it is. Some kind of prison gang in Sweden. Nothing about this makes sense. I can’t believe a Swedish prison gang is in Tahoe.”

  “Maybe someone is just using the gang name,” I said. “They said to show up with the gear for three men. What kind of gear would that be?”

  “Crampons. Ice axes. Ropes. Ascenders. Brake bars.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Take them up the mountain. Teach them what they want to know. And try to remember every detail.”

  Vince nodded.

  “I think you should consider letting me assemble a team of men ready to intercept these guys. The team could be disguised as a Search and Rescue team. Once we catch these Brödraskapet guys, we can squeeze them.”

  “You mean bring cops. But things can always go wrong. You know that. Tell me the truth about what could go wrong.”

  I thought it would be best to say all my thoughts. “Well, even if we pick up these gangbangers, they still hold your boy. Maybe he’s locked in a room somewhere. But it’s possible they’ve got a keeper sitting on him, a guy who could act independently. A guy who isn’t just waiting on a communication but maybe is planning to act if he doesn’t get a communication.”

  “So we’re trapped,” Vince said. “Just as I thought. Unable to do anything.”

  “Not completely.”

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I can observe. Not the cops. Just me. While you’re up on the mountain, I’ll be down below in the forest, watching with a telescope. As you know, the summit of Job’s Sister is very exposed. The summit and cliff faces below it are visible from the north to northeast from all over the Tahoe Basin. So I’ll set up where no one will see me, not the men you’re leading, nor the drone cinematographer, if she’s even real. When the men come down, I can stay well back and follow them.”

  Street said, “I can be in my car near where the men will likely come out. It’s possible we can follow them right to Jon.”

  Vince shook his head. “No. They might see you’re following them. That could drive them to kill Jon.” He turned to me. “What will you do when you watch me lead the climb?”

  “You and I will agree on some hand/arm communications that I can understand from a mile or two away. As long as you’re not obscured by clouds, I can get information from you. Are you familiar with any hand and arm signals?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, we’ll go over some basics. In conditions of radio silence, they can save your life.”

  “My boy’s life,” Vince said.

  “Right.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “We live in a caretaker’s apartment above a garage north of Homewood,” Vince said. “The house at the front of the lot is used as a vacation rental. The owner handles rentals, but I do the maintenance, and Brie takes care of the garden in the summer. In return, we get a break on rent.”

  “I’d like to come visit,” I said.

  Vince looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “I want to make a general assessment.”

  Vince frowned.

  “In this business, asking questions gets you part of the way toward understanding. Walking the territory, absorbing the mood, rumina
ting on the problem… Those things can’t be quantified or analyzed. But they are beneficial. We can go over signals there.”

  “Okay.” Vince turned to Brie. “Should we go?”

  Brie shot a glance up through the forest. Then she looked at Street.

  “The shooter is probably long gone,” Street said.

  “I think Street’s right,” I said. “The shooter was just trying to scare you. He wanted to make you feel under siege.”

  “It worked,” Vince said.

  Vince took Brie’s hand and pulled her. “Let’s show them where we live. Maybe they’ll see something helpful.” He turned to me. “It’s walking distance.”

  Street kept Blondie on a leash, and I held Spot’s collar as we walked with them to Highway 89, the West Shore conduit for all traffic movement, then turned north. After we walked past Homewood ski resort, Vince and Brie turned down one of the side streets. They walked to a medium-sized house, recently remodeled with exquisite architectural details and fine craftsmanship. It had exposed beams and cedar shakes and was painted in two different soft greens. The window trim was red. The house was a combination of country lodge and Tahoe ski townhouse.

  We walked down the short drive to what looked like a country carriage house, finished to match the main house. The lower level was a three-car garage. Nearby, but not blocking the garage, was an old Ford pickup with peeling brown paint, probably thirty years old. Next to it was an old Chevy pickup, green, slightly newer. On the right rear side of the building was a wide staircase that led to the second floor apartment.

  Vince and Brie went up at a trot. Both of them still glanced at the nearby surroundings, houses and forest.

  Spot paused at the base of the steps and looked at me. I pointed up the stairs. “Go ahead,” I said.

  Spot went up three steps at a time.

  The door was painted the same red as the house trim. Vince pulled out his key and opened it. Spot paused at the door.

  “It’s okay for the dogs to come in,” Vince said.

  “I’ll keep hold of Blondie’s leash,” Street said.

  I took Spot’s collar again.

  The apartment was luxurious in design and finish and at least twice the size of my log cabin. The main room was open with living room, dining area, and kitchen designated by design features, rather than walls. The living area had many built-ins made of white oak, book shelves and entertainment cabinets and window cubbies with big cushions for curling up with a book. The kitchen was modern with stainless steel appliances and counters of white synthetic stone.

  Despite the upscale interior design, the apartment had a motley collection of furniture like one would find in an apartment shared by twenty-something kids who worked as liftees at the ski resorts. Obviously, the owners didn’t supply the furnishings.

  Vince turned to look at me, a questioning look on his face. “What do you want to see?”

  “I’d like to look at Jon’s quarters. Does he have his own room?”

  “Yeah.” He waved his hand. “Down that hall on the right. First door past the bathroom.”

  Vince and Brie stood in the kitchen area. Street and I walked down the hall, then turned into the doorway past the bathroom.

  I flipped on the light. Spot pulled me in.

  Jon’s room was small, about 10 X 12 feet, with a single bed on the left and a medium desk on the right with a computer on it. Next to the door was a dresser. Next to the desk was a closet.

  Street held Blondie in the center of the room, away from the furnishings.

  The bed was made up, the blankets and pillow taut and tucked in. There was a bedspread that came up just below the pillow. It depicted California wildflowers. Printed beneath each blossom image was the popular name and the scientific name of the flower.

  The desk and dresser had been painted sky blue, and both had ornamentation in the form of triangular patterns custom painted at the corners with purple paint. The edges of the purple triangles had been traced with gold metallic ink pen.

  Next to the desk, lined up on the floor, were two pairs of rollerblades. They looked like fancy models, orange wheels in a row. The wheels showed substantial wear.

  There was a bulletin board above the desk, and on it were push-pinned sheets of lined paper with numerals and symbols written in long lists. I didn’t know what they meant, but I guessed they were some kind of computer coding.

  “Look at Spot,” Street said.

  He was sniffing one of the dresser drawers, working his nose along the edges.

  I opened the drawer. Inside were multiple small jars and bottles. There were butter knives, a set of measuring spoons, some artist brushes. A pint-sized bottle of vodka stood next to a bag of cotton swabs. There was a mortar and pestle.

  Street reached in and picked up a small metal pot.

  “I recognize that, but I can’t remember what it’s for,” I said.

  “It’s a cappuccino pot.” She sniffed it. “But it doesn’t smell like coffee. More like lavender.” She put it back.

  To one side were several plastic produce bags, sealed with twisties. It looked like they contained dried flowers. The drawer emanated powerful aromas of flowers, herbs, and spices.

  Back out in the main room, I said, “Does Jon keep his room so neat? Or do you two pick up after he goes to school?”

  “That’s Jon,” Vince said. “He’s always been a neatnik. I can’t even sit on his bed after he’s made it, or he gets upset that I’m messing up the smooth lines of the blanket.”

  I nodded. “The dresser drawer that smells like cologne...”

  Vince looked off as if staring through the walls. “Jon is into fragrances.” Vince’s voice betrayed a sense of frustration and tolerance. “He’s interested in making cologne and perfume. He’s always looking for different scents, mixing them into alcohol. He even has a little pot that he uses to boil off scents. Sort of like a still, I guess.”

  “Is that the cappuccino pot?”

  “Yes. He puts his concoction in the bottom and heats it real slow. I don’t know what his technique is. I don’t think he knows, either. But, as he always says, he’s experimenting.”

  “What does he put in it?”

  Vince made a little roll of his eyes and looked at Brie.

  “Practically anything with an interesting smell,” she said. “He grinds up flowers and herbs and spices and citrus and wood chips and leather. Sometimes he uses scents from the kitchen. Like vanilla and almond oil. When he’s done, he mixes the stuff into alcohol. Except we haven’t bought him ethyl alcohol. So Vince lets him use his vodka. It’s a brand with very little smell.”

  “He sounds like a serious young scientist,” Street said.

  Brie nodded. “Perfume science, computer science. Jon is quite brilliant.”

  “Do you think this will be his future career?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Vince said. “He wants to be a doctor. I’m giving him as much reinforcement for that as I can.”

  Brie didn’t comment.

  “I see he’s also into rollerblading,” I said.

  “Yeah. He’s got more pairs of inline skates than I can count. It’s our largest financial extravagance. He likes to say that blading isn’t a sport, it’s transportation. When there isn’t snow on the ground, he goes everywhere on his blades. He has a backpack that’s sized to hold a pair of blades, so when he gets somewhere, he switches to his shoes and puts the blades in his pack. He even keeps a pair in the tool lockers of each of our pickups. He’s never without his blades.”

  Brie said, “Vince, didn’t you say he can go faster than you now?”

  “Oh, yeah. He blew past me over a year ago. No way could I catch him now.”

  “What an interesting kid,” Street said. “He makes perfume and he’s into exercise.”

  Vince nodded. “I’m very proud of his focus on inline skating. It’s the one real boy-type thing he does.”

  “You also said he’s interested in computers.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah. Although it’s kind of funny that his interest is not as high as his ability. I’m not sure how to say it.”

  “You just did very well,” Street said. “Aptitude doesn’t always correspond to passion.”

  Vince was fidgeting. He looked at me. “What about the climb tomorrow?” he said. “You said we should use arm signals.”

  “Yes. You and I need to have some long-distance communication. You’re going up on the mountain in the morning, so right now would be good time for me to show you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “These hand and arm signals you mention, is this something police use?” Vince asked.

  “Some of them, yes, especially when they’re sneaking up on a suspect in hiding. There’s a wide range of specialty signals that different organizations use. I like the Army Field Manual signals. I’ll teach you some critical ones. The thing we need to remember is that this will be a one-way communication. You can signal me, but I can’t signal you. And you won’t know if I’m receiving your signal.”

  Vince thought about it. “So if I want to communicate something, I need to use a signal in a way that the men won’t realize what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, that’s critical.”

  Vince nodded. “Got it.”

  I said, “I’m going to find a place in the forest where I’ll be largely hidden but have a view of the mountain summit. So remember that you have to be visible to me when you make any signal.”

  “How will I know when I’m visible?”

  “The key will be to stand in a place where you can see Lake Tahoe stretched out to the north. If your view is unobstructed, then I’ll be able to see you. And I’ll be in place by the time you get to the summit. Try to keep moving when you are not going to make a signal. Then, when you have something to communicate, put one hand on your hip and then hold still for a few moments first. That will be my clue that a signal is coming. I know a photographer who has a spotting scope that I might be able to borrow. But looking through a scope can be very fatiguing. I’ll have to look away now and then to keep my eyes from glazing over. So it’s easy to imagine you giving a signal at a moment when I’m not looking through the scope. But if I see you standing with your hand on your hip and holding motionless for a bit, I’ll know a signal is coming, and I’ll keep watching until you give it.”