~ Cold File ~

by

Michael Murphy

Adam held his wrists out and Sam cut off the duct tape. He stuffed the knife back in his pocket and shifted the gun into his left hand.

When Sam flexed the fingers in his right hand, Adam drove his shoulder into Sam’s chest, as he had seen Garrett demonstrate to his football team.

Sam collided with the Jeep’s rear view mirror and pulled Adam to the ground. The gun clattered to the ground beneath the Jeep.

Adam scrambled to his feet as Sam crawled under the Jeep for the gun. Adam took off toward the rocky incline, knowing the farther he got from Sam the less accurate the revolver would be. He should be able to outrun the old man climbing over a rocky ridge in the rain.

Pumping his arms, Adam leaped onto the rocky slope and began to climb. The storm had ebbed, but the rain still made the climb slippery. Halfway up, his leg slipped. He banged his knee and blood oozed beneath his pant leg.

On his hands and knees, Adam clamped his eyes shut from the pain. A rock shattered to his left and he heard the shot an instant later. He struggled to his feet, leaned forward and ran up the slope, not wanting to look back.

Adam reached the top and skidded to a stop. He stood at the edge of a round boulder and looked out over a broad ravine. A sandy riverbed lay fifty feet below.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sam halfway up and getting closer with each step. Adam’s mouth went dry as he faced the ravine. He looked around for an escape. All he could see was the sheer drop two feet ahead.

Adam moved forward with tiny steps. He leaned over and saw a small outcropping of rock, a three-foot half-circle at least ten feet below the boulder. Covered with rocks and pebbles, the small ledge looked slick with rain. Below the ledge, a collection of jagged rocks and a long sandy strip that might provide an escape if he could leap that far.

Sam’s laughter climbed toward him. “I’ll give you a chance, city boy. The only one you’ll get from me. Jump.”

Could he land on the ledge without tumbling over the side? If he missed and the fall didn’t kill him instantly, he would die a horrible death slowly, perhaps as coyotes or javelinas finished the job. If his remains were ever found, there would be no evidence of homicide. He didn’t have time to analyze the odds. His foot slipped when he jumped.

Adam banged his elbow as he slid off the boulder. He landed on the ledge below. He waved both arms and tried to gain his balance as he teetered at the edge of the ravine.

Recovering his balance, Adam pressed against the rock wall. His breathing came in gasps as rain spattered his back. He turned and leaned back against the rock.

Adam set his feet apart for balance and kicked a fist-sized stone off the ledge. It clattered and banged against jagged rocks and onto a narrow sandy slide that angled down toward the bottom of the ravine forty feet below.

If he could reach the stretch of sand, Adam might be able to slide to the riverbed and escape. Sam was too old to climb down. His revolver would be less accurate if Adam reached the bottom.

The sand slide might be too far away. If he couldn’t make the jump, Adam faced a four-story plunge to his death.

A shot cracked and a shard of rock chipped off inches from his head. A sting sliced across Adam’s face as the rock cut a gash in his cheek. Adam brought a hand up and touched a sliver of blood. Glancing up, he saw Sam move to the left. Adam flattened his back against the rock and eased to the right. A second shot sailed even closer to his head.

Sam had missed twice, perhaps from the wind and rain, and the angle of his stance. With a quick glance down at the riverbed, the old man braced himself for a third shot.

Facing the sandy slope, Adam stood at the tip of the ledge. He launched himself into the air while a third bullet grazed the rock wall behind him.

He landed on wet sand and rolled onto his back. Adam slid down the slick surface angling toward the sheer drop. In desperation, he clutched at rocks, shrubs, and cacti trying to stop his slide.

Adam’s legs slipped over the side and he hurtled into the air. He landed and rolled through a splash of muddy water. His leg smashed into a large barrel cactus. His ankle snapped with a loud crack.

~ * ~

The wind buffeted the car as Holly eased the SUV down the slick narrow road to Marion’s ranch house. She glanced at Harry, who silently clutched the seat cushion and the door handle. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t take your Vette now?”

Harry nodded silently. The shower turned into thick sheets as Holly parked in front of the house. “Damn.” She didn’t see Adam’s station wagon.

Running toward the porch, Holly and Harry ducked beneath a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder.

Marion Wilson swung open the screen door. Holly hurried inside and Harry followed.

“Land sakes,” Marion said. “Why are you out in a storm like this?” The old woman closed the door and turned away, but not before Holly saw the worried look on her face.

Marion stopped beside an antique buffet. On top sat an empty glass and a pint of Scotch. She opened a drawer and removed two more glasses. “If this isn’t an official call, I could get you two a drink. Warm you up some.”

Holly glanced at Harry and ignored the offer. “We thought Adam Quinn would be here.”

“Haven’t seen him.” Marion answered quickly. She poured a half inch of Scotch and downed the liquor in one gulp. “Monsoon storms make me jittery.” She faced them looking calmer and more composed.

Worry threatened to overwhelm Holly. For the past two days, Adam had been just out of reach. Had he come to the ranch, or merely driven back to Phoenix? “We have reason to believe Adam headed here.”

“Who’s this?” Marion studied Harry.

Harry shook Marion’s hand. “Harry Kendall, Special Investigations Unit. It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

“Why would Mr. Quinn come here?” Marion appeared to be hiding something, even more than she had on the previous visit.

Holly didn’t have time for Harry’s charm. “Adam learned something about your son’s relationship with Heather.”

Marion set her jaw.

To find Adam, Holly needed to shatter Marion’s mask of secrecy. “Your son fathered Heather’s baby. He raped Brianna. But someone else shot Heather.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.” Marion rapped her cane on the floor. “When the storm lets up, leave. I’m calling my lawyer.” She returned to the buffet, picked up the phone, and flashed Holly a withering scowl.

Marion slammed the receiver down. “Damn, phone lines.” She poured herself another drink. She drank the Scotch and slid open a drawer beneath the phone.

“Mrs. Wilson, forgive my friend, Holly.” Harry shook his head and laughed. “She wants to discover your granddaughter’s killer, but her real concern is, well, more personal.”

Holly’s head snapped toward Harry.

“See, she’s got a thing for Adam and is worried about him. If you ask me, the man took off just to keep one step ahead of her, you know what I mean?” He winked at Marion then looked at Holly and shook his head.

The glass shook in Marion’s hand and her head began to tremor. Harry was good. He had rattled the woman.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he stared past Holly’s shoulder. He nodded toward the couch.

Following him across the room, Holly picked up three legal pads and turned them over. Adam’s notes on Heather’s murder. You lied, Mrs. Wilson. Holly slowly turned to face Marion.

Marion stood beside the open drawer of the buffet. With steely eyes, she aimed her father’s Colt .45 at them.

Holly felt like someone had kicked the breath from her stomach. She stared at the weapon, but another image floated before her--Adam, instead of Mason in the bloodstained white shirt, mouthing words noiselessly.

Eyes filling with tears, Holly blinked rapidly. A wave of nausea swelled in her throat. She fought to hold back the attack as it threatened to overpower her.

Holly clenched both fists. Not this time. Ignoring the gun aimed at her chest, she took a step forward and demanded. “What have you done with Adam?”

~ * ~

A flash of pain, then a surge of panic.

Adam couldn’t breathe. He raised his head from a muddy puddle, spit brown water from his mouth and coughed. Rolling onto his back, he saw that he had dropped nearly fifteen feet off the sandy slope. He looked to the top of the ravine. Where was Sam?

Adam quickly checked for injuries. He wiggled his fingers then moved his hands and arms. He tried his neck then the left foot. When he moved his right foot, he felt as if it were stuck in cement. He looked down and saw the swelling ankle.

After he wiggled his toes, Adam tried to rotate his foot. He had a severe sprain but no fracture. Maybe he hadn’t broken anything, but most everything felt bruised and battered from the past two days of playing homicide detective.

Adam raised himself to his hands and knees and caught his breath. Before he could stand, stings peppered his back like a swarm of attacking bees. A shower of white pellets struck the ground around him. Hail.

Pulling himself upright, Adam hopped across the soft sand toward the wall of the ravine. He pressed his face against the rock away from the marble-sized hail.

Within minutes, the hail stopped and the rain slackened. He tested the right ankle by taking a step and nearly fell. He hopped on his left foot then gingerly eased his right toe down and surveyed the surroundings.

Adam stood at the edge of the riverbed, directly below the large boulder. Streams of water dripped off the rocks onto the sandy floor and formed large muddy puddles. He couldn’t see Sam and hoped Sam couldn’t see him. If he kept to this side of the riverbed, Adam might be able to make his way up the dry bed and away from danger before Sam located him.

What would Sam do? Did he think Adam fell to his death? If Sam returned to the ranch house, Adam could make a slow route back, slip into the barn and drive away in the station wagon. He felt his empty pockets. Damn, why had he left his keys in the ignition?

Adam shook his head. Sam wasn’t the type to give up without knowing he’d completed the job.

Adam hopped twice. He looked around unsuccessfully for a tree limb or anything he could use as a crutch.

Hobbling, Adam avoided the soft sand and puddled water as he struggled along. When he came to a rocky overhang, he leaned against the wall of the ravine to catch his breath.

He wished he’d paid more attention to his father’s enthusiasm for the Arizona outdoors. Adam never liked camping or spending time away from the city. His idea of roughing it was his cabin. He now found himself in an unfamiliar environment, but determination drove him forward.

Shivering from the wind and rain, Adam hobbled away from the rocks and looked up. No way could he climb. He gazed up the riverbed and hoped the terrain improved.

Adam looked back and groaned when he saw the rain-filled footprints he had left. He tested the ankle again. The swelling had immobilized the damaged ankle. He found he could put some weight on the foot and take small steps. Trying to step on rocks and avoid the sand, Adam hobbled up the ravine. He came to a flat rock shielded from view by two Pinyon pines. He sat and rested as the storm let up.

Shivering from the cold rain that had soaked his flannel shirt, Adam clutched his arms and rocked. After catching his breath, he saw a tall scrub oak that stood in a narrow bend of the ravine. Beneath the tree lay a pile of bagged garbage, lumber, shingles, and two weather-beaten wooden doors someone had dumped, or perhaps the trash had washed down from a previous storm.

Adam hobbled to the pile. As he drew closer, he smelled the stench of decay. He looked through the material, ignoring the rotting carcass of a cat, and grabbed a two by four. It wasn’t long enough for a crutch but made a workable cane. He tested the board against his palm. He might need it as a weapon if he saw Sam again.

As the rain slowed to a stop, he ripped open a black plastic bag and sifted through a collection of old but dry clothes. Cold and wet, he pulled out a girl’s pink sweatshirt with the word: Who’s your Daddy on the front. Removing his wet shirt, he slipped into the dry shirt relishing the soft warmth of the material in spite of the fit and the sleeves that came just paste his elbows.

His progress improved as the wood supported Adam’s weight. With renewed confidence, he continued down the riverbed at a faster pace. He paused only to listen for the sound of Sam’s Jeep.

He still hadn’t found a way to the top, but he forced himself to be patient in spite of the harsh weather. Breathing a sigh of relief, he glanced ahead and saw an opening in the side of the ravine where it looked like he could climb out of the riverbed.

For a moment, Adam thought he heard Sam’s Jeep. He felt a low rumble behind him. The roar grew louder.

Adam realized the danger before he saw it. He scrambled to the side of the riverbed and tried to climb up the slippery wall of the ravine.

One hand reached a solid rock outcropping. He pulled himself up and managed to climb higher. His foot slipped and his swollen ankle banged against the rock. He grimaced but gathered a foothold. Without looking back, he climbed half way up. The rumble intensified and sounded like an onrushing locomotive.

Gasping from exertion, Adam pressed against the muddy side of the ravine. He glanced back. The brown wall of foamy water surged toward him, carrying along debris. He looked down. He wasn’t nearly high enough. The flash flood would sweep him away in seconds.