“He’s my son!”
“What about your wife? She needs you, too.”
Martin thins his lips. For the first time, his anger breaks. Beneath it is something far more awful to see. “I can’t help her anymore,” he whispers.
Nemeth frowns.
“She’s reaching the end. She and I both know it. It’s just a matter of time now.”
None of us know what to say. Even Nemeth is clearly shocked. He recovers first. “Patrice is dying, and you’re a thousand miles away in the woods?”
“Yes! And this is exactly where she wants me to be, fulfilling her dying wish! You think I don’t want it to be otherwise? That I haven’t begged God to take me instead? But in case you haven’t been paying attention, God isn’t listening to me these days. Or maybe he listened too well the first time around, when I promised him anything if he’d just let my wife live. But I didn’t mean my son. I never meant our son.” Martin’s voice breaks. He whirls away from us angrily, stalking back several steps.
It all makes more sense to me now, Martin’s relentless drive over these past few days. All obsession comes from pain, but Martin’s anguish isn’t just the five-year-old grief over losing his son, it’s his current agony over losing his wife. Where there was once a family of three, soon there will be only one.
“I’m staying,” Martin repeats, his back still to us.
“If he’s continuing his search, then we still need to take care of Neil,” says Scott.
Nemeth turns to Bob. “Then you go with Luciana and Frankie. Get back to town, contact Sheriff Jim Kelley. He’ll know what to do.”
Bob sighs, a massive rumble in his chest. “I can’t.”
“What the hell—”
“I only take orders from my boss. And that’s him.” Bob points to Martin. And finally I get it. What I’d been missing all along.
“You’re no biology teacher in real life!” I sputter. “You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? Wait, who brings his own PI on a wilderness hike? Unless . . . Oh shit! You two, start talking. Now!”
* * *
—
Martin’s still not in a speaking mood, but he nods at Bob to do the honors. He reveals that Martin hired him a few months ago, after a string of disturbing incidents.
“First, his house was broken into. These things happen.” Bob shrugs. “But it’s not so common for the thieves to take mostly sporting goods equipment, including camping gear.”
Martin’s pack is in excellent shape. I’d figured he owned top-of-the-line products, given his passion. I didn’t realize the piece is also brand-new.
“Then he got a series of anonymous e-mails, telling him to stay away from Ramsey. The locals didn’t want him there anymore—he was bad for business. Martin first hired me to trace the e-mails. I couldn’t, as they’d been bounced all over global servers. I’ve seen Russian hacking jobs that were less sophisticated. Which seems out of character for a bunch of small-town shop owners.”
Nemeth nods his agreement.
“Then Martin’s car died a few weeks ago. Turned out someone had poured bleach into the gas tank, destroying his engine with corrosive rust. Cars can be repaired, but it takes time and money. And when you’re a guy whose wife is dying and you’re trying to organize a final search party to find your son’s remains . . .”
“Someone wanted to make it too difficult for Martin to come,” I fill in. “Make him abort the trip.”
Bob nods. “We think so. I am BFBob from the online forums,” he tells me apologetically. “And I do have a fascination with Bigfoot and a passion for working cold cases. I don’t want you to think it’s all been a lie.”
I give him a look. Too little too late.
Bob concedes with a shrug. “Either way,” he continues, “it’s been clear for a matter of months that someone hasn’t wanted this expedition to happen. Who, however, I haven’t been able to determine. To be honest, I was wondering about Josh, given he’s always been the most reluctant participant. Now, after that story the three of you gave last night . . .”
“How sick was he?” I ask abruptly, glancing from Martin’s back to the college buddies. “When you took him the hospital, he appeared to have the DTs. But could he have been faking it?”
No one seems to know what to say to that. “Was he shaking and sweating and trembling?” Miguel speaks up at last. “Sure. You all saw that. But could he have been faking it, or maybe have taken something . . . ?” He looks at Scott and Neil for confirmation. “Honestly, I have no idea.” Scott shakes his head, clearly taken aback. “But even if it was Josh, are you thinking he followed us up here? How? You were there for the hike up. Not exactly a hop, skip, and jump. Let alone . . . why would he be attacking us? We already know what happened that night, and we’ve never told anyone.”