Black Sun Descending (5 page)

“I don't know what I'm more afraid of: that this
is
Penelope, or that this
isn't
.”

IN THE MORNING SILAS WAS
given a prescription for potassium iodine and told to see his family physician in two weeks in order to monitor any damage from exposure to radioactive material. He still had two hours before he'd been told to report to the Grand County Sheriff's Department, so he decided to visit Red Rock Canyon Books, which he owned but hadn't opened in nearly a month.

Silas parked under the sweeping cottonwood tree that shaded the old adobe building that housed his on-again, off-again business. In the Moab business community he'd earned the reputation as the operation in town trying the
least
to succeed. At the doorstep he retrieved the mail from its ceramic pot and then unlocked the door. He stood for a minute there, feeling a peculiar sensation. The morning was quiet and calm on this residential street a few blocks from the main drag. He could hear a chicken in one of his neighbors' backyards, and somewhere a dog barked. He turned around and looked up and down the street, wondering what made him suddenly feel as if he were being observed. He shook his head and dismissed the uncharacteristic bout of paranoia as the side effect of a sleepless night.

Inside the bookstore, Silas switched on the row of pot lights that ran the length of the narrow building. The room was warm and smelled a little like books that had been packed in cardboard boxes for too long, which many of them had. Silas left the door open and closed the screen against insects and spiders. He walked to the back of the building, dropped the mail on his desk, and switched on the air conditioner. In a moment it was blowing icy air into the room so he walked back and pulled the front door shut. Before he did, he looked up and down the street once more. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The book business had been slow during the winter months. But he had the shop open for a few weeks around Christmas and, to his surprise, several local residents had come in to purchase gifts for their friends or family. It had astonished Silas not because his selection was poor—the books were, after all, from his own personal library, moved from his and Penelope's home near Flagstaff after she disappeared and he relocated to the Castle Valley—but because people actually seemed to enjoy searching through his collection of rare and used volumes of contemporary western literature. If he wasn't careful, he might actually find himself running a legitimate business. His months of restless searching this spring had left his shop in disarray: dust had settled over the volumes and spiders had set up house in the dim corners of the century-old building.

Silas sifted through the mail, recycled the junk, and stacked the bills to deal with later. He turned on his aging desktop computer. Fidgeting in his chair, he opened an email browser. There was a note from his oldest son, Rob.

Hey Dad,

Hope all is well in the Canyonlands. Was thinking of you recently, imagining that you're up to your old ways, prowling around in slot canyons and on the mesas. I want you to take care of yourself. I know that what happened last summer was really tough. Jamie and I are thinking about you. If you're not careful one of us is likely to show up there and start crawling around on hands and knees looking under juniper trees with you! I'm not kidding: I am thinking about a trip to Utah sometime. It's been too long, and it seems unlikely that you're coming to Vancouver anytime soon. Jamie is well, he's back in college again, studying what they call liberal arts. I'm thinking about taking a job with the
RCMP
! Can you believe that? It's a good position, working in their Forensic Identification Services division, but it's in Ottawa so I'm not sure if I want to move. I'll keep you in the loop.

I know things have been difficult and that you think that Jamie and I didn't like Penelope, but that's not true. We were just young, and didn't understand why you left Mom. But that's all water under the bridge, and we want to help. Or at least I do. Jamie will come around. So let's talk about getting together sometime. Maybe do a river trip, or go for a hike.

Love, Robbie

What the hell was he doing? He should get on a plane tomorrow and fly to Vancouver. It had been more than four years since he'd seen his sons. Maybe it was time to move on.

He was startled by the chimes that rattled when someone opened the door. The sign on the door read,
OPEN WHEN I'M HERE. CLOSED WHEN I'M NOT
. He was about to tell whomever had gotten lost and wandered into his store that he wasn't really open when Silas recognized the bearded face of Josh Charleston, the young man who referred to himself as Hayduke. He felt the dueling emotions of gratitude toward this scruffy environmental activist and dread.

“Hey, you open! Holy shit, I haven't seen you in . . .” Charleston seemed to be counting in his head, “seven months!”

“Hi Josh.”

“It's still Hayduke, man.”

“I'm not really open. I just stopped in before I . . . before an appointment.”

“It's really good to see you!” Charleston crossed the distance and reached across the desk to give Silas an awkward hug. Silas could smell body odor and wood smoke on the man's clothing and in his matted hair.

“It's nice to see you too,” said Silas, pulling back from the embrace. “Where have you been?”

“You know, all over. I spent some of the winter down on the Baja coast. Did you know Ed Abbey spent time down there? I met some folks who knew him. It sounds like it was pretty crazy. And I camped down in the Sups near Tucson. You know, the Superstitious Mountains. Old Cactus Ed liked it there too. I found his fire lookout. It was a great winter.”

Two things Silas hadn't forgotten about Hayduke: his feverish passion for Edward Abbey and his frenetic energy. Silas couldn't contain his smile. “Sounds like you had a good time. You didn't have trouble getting across the border?”

“You mean because of that business on Comb Ridge? Shit no. There was no problem. The feds didn't give me any grief. Hell, I'm a war vet! People treat me like royalty at the border. But I was just down in Blanding, getting ready for a trip into the Abajo Mountains, when I heard the news.”

“What news?”

“
The
news, man! That you found another body.”

“That was on the news?”

“Shit, don't you have a
TV
or get the internet on that thing?” Hayduke pointed at Silas's computer.

“I haven't been online today.”

“It's all
over
the news, man. The media are running wild. I bet they're camped outside your place again.”

Silas's heart sank. All he wanted to do was go home and forget about Edward Abbey and bodies. “So, Hayduke, what brings you by the bookstore? I haven't been here in weeks, and here you are.”

“I was looking for you, you know, when I heard the news. I thought I'd stop by and say hello.” Silas considered the young man as he watched him stroll along the aisle scanning the spines of the volumes. Charleston seemed less gruff than Silas remembered, less like the persona of George Washington Hayduke—the Edward Abbey character—and more like a late-twenties kid. “Do you have any idea who this body might be? Was this another one of your dreams?”

Silas rubbed his face. He quickly recapped the events so far.

“Holy motherfucker,” Hayduke said. “You don't think this might be Penny?”

“I won't know for a while. The
FBI
is assisting with the forensic identification. Now, I don't want to sound rude but I have to get to the sheriff's office.”

“What's up?”

“I'm being charged with trespassing.”

“Those fuckers. You do them a favor, and they charge you for it. Figures.”

SILAS LOCKED THE
door behind him and watched as Hayduke, waving and promising to be back soon, crossed the road and got into his Jeep. Spinning his tires, he headed south.

Silas drove the four blocks to the Grand County seat, the center of government of the county. Ken Hollyoak was waiting for him dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a sports coat, his shirt open at the neck, revealing the top inch or two of the scar that tracked his sternum.

They entered the building together. Ken presented himself at the reporting desk and soon Sheriff Willis appeared. He shook hands with both Silas and Ken. “Do either of you want coffee?”

Ken looked at Silas, puzzled. “No thanks, Sheriff.”

Willis opened the door to the office and the men followed him to the conference room. This was where, the previous summer, Silas had first met Katie Rain and had been told the body he had found in Arches National Park wasn't his wife's but that of a young Navajo woman. It had been the start of a harrowing experience, and he had the feeling of teetering on the edge of a cliff as he stepped inside.

The assembled group did nothing to calm his anxiety. Dwight Taylor, Eugene Nielsen, and Dr. Rain were in the room, but there was no one present from the Grand County District Attorney's office. Once again Ken and Silas exchanged glances.

“What's going on here?” Ken remained standing.

“We have some news for you, Dr. Pearson,” started Taylor. His deep voice seemed to fill the room.

“Before we go any further,” Ken held up a hand, “my client has the right be notified if charges are forthcoming. If so, he has to be informed.”

“Ken,” Sheriff Willis said in a weary voice. “I've convinced the Department of Energy not to press trespass charges.”

Silas felt a wave of relief wash over him. Taylor continued. “We have an
ID
for the body you found. Dr. Rain was able to do quick work with dental records and we were able to compare these to missing persons files from across the region. This was not your wife, Dr. Pearson. We had her dental records on file. We have identified this body as that of Jane Vaughn. The deceased was thirty-five years old and a resident of Flagstaff, Arizona. Her records were also in our database.”

“The feds are taking over.” The sheriff didn't try to hide his displeasure at this information. “The body appears to have been transported across state lines. That makes this a federal case now.”

Silas was silent. He felt the blood draining from his face.

“Dr. Pearson, did you know Jane Vaughn?” asked Taylor.

Silas tried to clear his throat. It felt as if his words were getting stuck in a patch of blowing sand there. He reached for a glass of water and took a drink. “Yes, I know her.
Knew
her. Not as well as my wife did. They were friends. They . . . worked together. They were working on things together before Penelope disappeared.”

NIELSEN CLEARED HIS THROAT. “HOW
well did you know Ms. Vaughn?”

“I didn't know her well at all. I met her a few times at our—mine and Penny's—home in Flagstaff. She was at a meeting my wife hosted there for the Grand Canyon Preservation Society. I think she was over for dinner once or twice, but I don't really recall.”

Taylor looked at his notes. “The Grand Canyon Preservation Society was the environmental group Ms. Vaughn worked for. What was your wife's involvement with them?”

“She supported them. Wrote them a cheque every now and again. She hosted a meeting once or twice.”

“Did you know Penelope was on the board of governors for the
GCPS
, Dr. Pearson?” asked Agent Nielsen.

Silas looked doleful. “I didn't.”

Both Taylor and Nielsen were silent for a moment. “When was the last time you saw Ms. Vaughn?” Taylor finally asked.

“I don't know. Before my wife went missing, when Jane was over for coffee. They were at the kitchen table discussing something. I was in my office. I didn't really chat with her.”

“How would you characterize your relationship with Ms. Vaughn?” asked Taylor.

“This is starting to sound like an interrogation, Agent Taylor,” the attorney protested.