The Dark (A Detective Alice Madison Novel)(9)

Madison adjusted her ankle holster and shoved her small camera and the rest of her kit into a light backpack. She adjusted the straps on her shoulders . . . and suddenly she was adjusting the straps on the ballistic vest Nathan Quinn had just pulled on, her hands trembling from cold and dread, Quinn looking away. She had practically forced him to wear it that night, when she still thought Harry Salinger would come after them with something as mundane as ammunition.

Madison shrugged her shoulders, settled her pack on her back, and headed inside. The park ranger she approached, a foot taller and two feet wider than Madison, looked her over.

“You understand the file is with the Jefferson County authorities, Detective,” he said.

“I know. What I need is the location, that’s all.”

It was a pleasant office, with a large window onto the forest and maps on every wall.

“You’re hiking to the spot?”

“I’m planning to, yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to make a few notes, for what it’s worth.”

“Jumping the gun a little?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my day off.”

The ranger smiled. “Let me make a couple of calls.”

“Thank you.”

Madison gave him some space and wandered over to the wall of maps. She traced the network of hiking trails with the tip of an index finger: many she had walked, some she had seen in every weather, and most she knew at least a little.

The map told her one thing clearly: one of the men who had kidnapped the boys must have known the area very well. Someone had picked the clearing where the boys had been tied up; someone had picked the isolated spot where David Quinn had been buried, not to be discovered for over two decades. Late-August hikers had likely abounded at the time of the crime, and yet no one had seen them.

Madison followed the winding route of the Upper Hoh Road, almost parallel to the river. The kidnappers had known exactly where to go and how to avoid gate-crashers at their private party.

Rugged Ridge, Indian Pass, Owl Creek—the trail lines crossed and weaved across the terrain.

Madison was so absorbed by the topographical map, she barely heard the ranger approach her.

“I’ve spoken with my boss. I’ll take you,” he said.

For a moment Madison didn’t understand what he meant.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to take up your time. I’ll just—”

“I’m coming off my shift, and there’s a weather front closing in. If you want to get there before it, I’m taking you. It’s no bother.”

Madison didn’t quite believe that but accepted the offer with thanks.

The ranger—late thirties, fair hair, and blue eyes—led the way. They would drive a short while and hike the rest of the way into the woods. He introduced himself: Ryan Curtis. He sounded like California with ten years of Pacific Northwest on top. He drove a pickup truck that made Madison’s old Civic look city smart.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said as they drove west on the Upper Hoh Road.

Madison turned. She was sure they had never met before.

“I was on duty that night, led the SWAT team to where you guys were.” Ranger Curtis turned sharply into a side road, the paving ending almost immediately. He didn’t give her time to reply. “A lot of things will have changed in the last twenty-five years—trees, shrubs, terrain shifted by rain, roots, water runoff, what have you.”

He engaged the hand brake with a sound like crunching metal and looked at Madison. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but this is not a garden; this is not as if they found the remains in someone’s backyard. You don’t get bears and cougars in your backyard. It’s a miracle they were found in the first place.”


The air was clammy and surprisingly warm for January. In spite of his size Curtis moved lightly and quickly through the undergrowth. Any semblance of a trail had disappeared half an hour earlier, and Madison had realized why he had offered to take her: where they were going, there was no friendly path and pretty views over a stream, no photo opportunities for weekend hikers. This forest did not want to be visited, and it did not want to be photographed.

Curtis did not make allowances for Madison: he said at the start that she should follow his steps exactly and then had just pressed on. He was probably part elk, Madison mused, because she needed the joke to distract herself from the coppery scent she knew wasn’t really there.

They proceeded under the spruces and the multilayered tree canopy, changing direction often to go around boulders and ravines. Low branches snagged her pack, and the ground grew more uneven; jagged rocks protruded through the dirt and tested her footing as the light changed and the silence deepened.