Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [155]
Things moved in the dark recesses of the swamp. Things Kimberly never saw but felt like whispers in the wind. Deer, bear, bobcat? She couldn’t be sure. She just knew she jumped at the random, distant noises and was aware of the hair rising at the nape of her neck.
It had to be over a hundred degrees out. And still she battled a chill.
Mac led their little party. Then came Kimberly, then Ennunzio. Mac was trying to work a rough grid, sweeping between two unpaved roads. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Thickets and dense trees often made passage impossible, however, so they started having to veer a little more to the right, then a little more to the left. They had to take this detour and then that detour. Mac had a compass. Maybe he knew where they were. From what Kimberly could tell, however, the swamp now owned them. They walked where it let them, passed where it let them pass. And increasingly, that path was taking them to a dark, decaying place, where the tree branches grew denser, and they had to round their shoulders to fit through the tight, cramped spaces.
They didn’t speak much. They slogged their way through the hot, wet vines, searching for signs of broken twigs, scuffed ground, or bruised vegetation that might indicate recent human passage. They took turns issuing single blasts on their whistles or calling out Tina Krahn’s name. Then they heaved themselves over giant, lightning-felled trees. Or wriggled between particularly large boulders. Or hacked their way futilely through dense, prickly thickets.
While they downed more and more of their precious supply of water. While their breathing became hard and panting, and their footsteps grew unsteady, and their arms started to tremble visibly from the heat.
Kimberly’s mouth had gone dry, a sure sign she wasn’t drinking enough water. She found herself stumbling more, having to catch herself on tree limbs and tangled brush. The sweat stung her eyes. The yellow flies constantly swarmed her face, trying to feast on the corners of her mouth or the tender flesh behind her ears.
She didn’t even know how long they had been hiking anymore. It seemed as if she’d been in the steaming jungle forever, pushing her way through thick, wet leaves only to encounter another choking eternity of vines, briers, and bushes.
Then, all of a sudden, Mac held up his hand.
“Did you hear that?” he asked sharply.
Kimberly stopped, drew in a ragged gasp of air, and strained to hear: There, for just an instant. A voice in the wind.
Mac turned, his sweat-covered face at once triumphant and intent.
“Where is that coming from?”
“Over there!” Kimberly cried, pointing to her right.
“No, I think it’s more like over there,” Mac said, pointing straight ahead. He frowned. “Damn trees; they’re distorting the sound.”
“Well, somewhere off in that direction.”
“Let’s go!”
Then, a new and sudden realization sucked the last of the moisture from Kimberly’s mouth. “Mac,” she said sharply. “Where is Ennunzio?”
CHAPTER 46
Richmond, Virginia
11:41 A.M.
Temperature: 101 degrees
“I’M TELLING YOU, THE FOURTH GIRL, Tina Krahn, has been abandoned somewhere in the Dismal Swamp.”
“And I’m telling you, you have absolutely no authority in this case.”
“I know I have no authority!” Quincy started yelling, caught the outburst, and bitterly swallowed it back down. He had arrived at the FBI’s Richmond field office just thirty minutes ago, seeking a meeting with Special Agent Harkoos. Harkoos wouldn’t grant him permission to come to his office, but instead had grudgingly agreed to meet with him in a downstairs alcove. The blatant lack of courtesy was not lost on Quincy. “I’m not seeking authority,” Quincy tried again. “I’m seeking help for a missing person.”
“You tampered with evidence,