“Stop them if you can,” Walt said. “We’re on our way.”
He called to Fiona, and a moment later they were off at a run.
The couple were in their late twenties. The granola set. He wore a red bandana over his hair; she carried a CamelBak and backpack. They had a bitch Labrador that got along well with Beatrice. The dogs chased each other around the woods, throwing pine straw and growling.
“Just the one night,” he answered.
“We got off late this morning,” she said. “We’re going to circle around the end of Greenhorn and head out that trail.”
“And in what condition did you find the campsite?”
“The litter wasn’t ours,” the man said. “We burned what we could—”
“And I packed out some,” the girl added.
“But there was just too much of it,” the young man complained.
“Can I see the trash you packed out?” the sheriff asked.
The woman surrendered a plastic bag and Walt dumped it and rummaged through it. She stared long and hard at Fiona.
Brandon said, “Have you seen anyone in the last day or so? Single male?”
“No,” the man answered.
“Wildlife?” Menquez asked.
“Nothing bigger than a squirrel,” the woman said. “What’s this about?”
“When you arrived to the campsite,” Brandon said, “what condition did you find it in? Did you get any sense for how long it had been abandoned?”
“Not long,” Walt said, holding up a single-serve soy milk box on the end of a stick.
“I packed that out because it’s lined with some kind of foil and doesn’t burn well,” she said. “We found a bunch of that melted stuff in the fire ring.”
Fiona ran off a series of photographs at Walt’s request. Walt had pushed the melted globs into their own pile.
“Very conscientious of you,” Menquez said. “Wish more campers had your sense of responsibility.”
“Expiration date,” Walt said, “is November.”
“Juice is usually six months,” Fiona said. No one questioned her. “It would have sold in late May or June.”
“But not July?”
“Iffy,” she said. “It’s possible, but that’s a popular brand. I doubt it stays on the shelves that long. You could check.”
“The Berkholders,” Walt said, speculating.
“Soy milk’s irradiated. Could be a pantry item,” Fiona said. “Why not?”
“What’s going on?” the woman camper repeated. “Are you looking for someone?” She met eyes with her partner, who appeared anxious.
“We could use some help,” Brandon said.
“Hey,” the woman said, addressing Fiona, “I know where I know you. Aren’t you . . . ? Didn’t you save that kid, that drowning kid?”
“Anything you can tell us,” Fiona said—Walt making note of her choice of pronouns—“will be kept strictly confidential, and could really help us. This is important. This is the county sheriff. He’s out here personally, just to give you some idea. Think about that.”
The woman checked with the man again. He shook his head nearly imperceptibly, but Fiona caught it.
“What?” Fiona asked. “Please. Help us.”
“I was,” the woman said. The man shook his head more vehemently, cutting her off. “We’re all grownups here,” she clarified. “I was sun-bathing. No shirt. You know,” she said to Fiona. “It was a glorious afternoon. One thing led to another. Jimmy and I . . . we enjoyed the fresh air together. Out there in the middle of the clearing. On a Therm-a-Rest. I may have gotten a little vocal, I think.” She blushed. “The point being that both of us . . . we both thought we heard something. Up the hill. We were still . . . and I . . . you know . . . I didn’t want to . . .”
“Stop,” said Jimmy.
The woman laughed nervously and shrugged.
“But we both heard him,” Jimmy said.
“It was probably just a deer,” she said.
“Was not!” said Jimmy. “And you know it.”
“This is yesterday afternoon?” Walt said, clarifying.
“Four o’clock maybe,” the woman said. “The sun was still very hot.”
“He was returning to the campsite?” Walt proposed to his team.
“Maybe he’s rotating between two or three,” Menquez said. “We see a lot of that. With the five-day limit, they stay clear of us by moving every five days. Not much we can do about it.”
“Him?” Walt asked the man.
“She won’t admit it now,” Jimmy said, “but she was the one who said it felt like someone was watching.”
The woman looked a little sheepish. She looked at Fiona. “Sometimes you just get this sixth sense, you know, that someone has their eye on you. You know what I’m talking about. And it always gives me the creeps. Or nearly always. I felt it yesterday, and