Death Canyon (16 page)

When he parked at St. John's, he saw the National Park Service truck.
Damn
.

He hoped Noelle hadn't already ruined his chances of seeing the Frenchwoman. The sight of the vehicle made him both sigh and chuckle—the surviving victim was clearly the next best step in determining what happened in the Tetons that day. Any investigator would pursue the witness's story as soon as possible. If she was badly injured, who knew if she could bite the dust at any moment. In death, her story would be lost forever.

So Noelle was sharp but not particularly tractable. From his experience, Jake knew this was the worst type of partner.

Jake had less trouble than Noelle getting through the reception area. He was better versed in the language of deception. He referenced a nonexistent division of the NPS that he made up on the spot and slid straight through. He didn't like to do this—to deceive and feign authority to get his way—but it had its uses.

He noticed the name Giroux on the tag hanging from the room number plaque. Jake had taken high school French and remembered
a surprising number of words, but this wasn't exactly “How do I get to Notre Dame?” He had no idea how to say “murder” or “bear,” or even “attack,”
en français.

“
Cómo está?
” Jake asked halfheartedly as he entered, a weak attempt at an already lame joke. Even worse, it came out in a more high-pitched tone than he expected. Noelle looked surprisingly attractive—vibrant—in the drab hospital room, like a blossom in the desert. This momentarily stunned Jake.

“
Bien, bien!
” Noelle replied without missing a beat. She smiled. Jake knew just enough French and Spanish to realize that this response was acceptable in either language.

She's clever.

The fifty-something Adelaine Giroux lay on the hospital bed looking frail and confused, but conscious. Her hair was somehow both frizzy and matted. It hadn't been washed since before the attack.

“How is it going?” Jake asked, pointing toward Adelaine.

“Not very well. You aren't fluent in French by chance, are you? Or is it just legalese?” Though he was already more than a little smitten with her, Jake found it surprising that she didn't apologize for breaking her promise to help exonerate him at her first chance. She didn't even mention it.

“Unfortunately not,” Jake replied. “But the hospital must have a translator.”

Noelle objected—“Don't you think that's a bad idea? Shouldn't we lay low?”

Obviously there was
some
means by which the woman was communicating with her caregivers. Otherwise, how would she explain her pain to them, her allergies, her needs?

“Don't worry about it.” He hadn't taken this much pride in his
espionage skills since the last time he came across a pretty woman.
It's strange how character flaws, like ego, reveal themselves in the presence of women.

“Before you go up there, you should know that I told the receptionist I was Adelaine's niece . . . It was the only thing I could think of at the time.”

“Um. Okay, no problem,” Jake said, trying to decide just how big of a problem this would be.
Probably a significant one
. He left the room without a real plan, trusting that something would come to him before he arrived back at the reception area and had to face the skeptical nurse.

“Hello again . . . I've got a bit of a problem here . . .” Jake said in his best cop voice—smiling and with his hands folded across the counter in front of the woman, who was pretty and plump. “I came to interview the bear attack victim, the Frenchwoman, to get some specifics on the attack . . . species, etc. . . .”

“Didn't Ranger Harroup cover that yesterday afternoon? I figured you had something else to ask her. Wouldn't have let you in, she doesn't need the stress,” the woman interrupted. She was bright. And protective.

Uh-oh,
Jake thought.
Maybe Noelle's story isn't so stupid after all.
He had talked himself into a trap with his first sentence. He would try to work with it, though, think on his feet; he used to do that for a living.

“I know.” Jake needed more time to think, but that wasn't an option. “We were just hoping to get some more complete answers this time, by having her niece ask some questions, rather than a cop. Less intimidating.” He tried his most charming smile.

“Problem is, the niece—that Noelle woman—she can't even speak French. I need a translator. You must have someone here
who is helping her communicate with the doctors and nurses?” Jake should have known that the park service would have investigated the incident for a myriad of reasons.
Why didn't Noelle know about this? Hell, why wasn't she the one who conducted the questioning?

“Why wouldn't she be honest about the attack?”

Jake paused. “Wha . . . ?”

The nurse spoke again before he could.

“And of course we have someone here who can translate. How do you think the first guy you sent out here questioned her? That person is
moi
.
Enchanté.
”

Figures.

The nurse held out her hand. Jake took it and pretended to kiss the top, just behind her knuckles.

Great.
The prying, but flirtatious, nurse was the translator, too. It would have been a hell of a lot easier if there had been some break in the chain of deception.

Now he had to carefully manage the questioning so as not to arouse her suspicion. He felt certain that the police chief wouldn't appreciate his presence here at the hospital with the victim. If things went awry, it might even get him arrested again.

He was getting ahead of himself, though. The first obstacle was avoiding a disaster immediately upon entrance. After all, Noelle had no idea about the scam he had fed to the translator. If Noelle indicated that she knew Jake at all, or that she worked for the park service, the jig was up.

“You were running late this morning?” the woman asked. “Her niece was here bright and early. About to knock down the door.”

“I'm sure she was just anxious to make sure her aunt was okay.”
Jesus,
Jake thought,
I thought I was going to do the questioning today. One problem with small towns is the inquisitive people.

“It's this one, isn't it?” Jake said, motioning toward the plain wood-grain door as they approached. Noelle had shut it.

“Yeah, that's it.”

When Jake entered, he hoped Noelle would make eye contact with him first, giving him the opportunity to maybe convey some kind of hint about the lies he had told the nurse-turned-translator. She didn't even seem to notice him enter.

Oh well; telekinesis was a long shot anyhow.

“Hello and
bonjour,
” the nurse said with what sounded to Jake like an authentic accent. The folks who lived in Jackson never ceased to impress him. Many had lived completely separate lives before they made their move, and
all
of them had an interesting story or two.

Some of them liked to tell the stories, but most wouldn't speak a word of their past lives. Jake knew plenty of people around town who never revealed that they were successful physicians, businessmen, academics, or politicians in a previous life. Sometimes Jake recognized the names, but he never brought it up. It would have embarrassed them.

The injured woman, who had pepped up noticeably, began speaking in rapid French. From her physical cues, Jake could discern that the two were exchanging pleasantries and discussing the woman's health.

Jake tried to think of all the French words he knew.
Decepage
he remembered from law school, although he had forgotten its meaning.
Something to do with the conflict of laws? Voir dire
was another one, and this one he knew well. The term referred to the jury selection process in a trial.

Not exactly helpful.

While the two women conversed, Jake and Noelle exchanged nervous looks. If the nurse mentioned Noelle or, worse yet, referred to Noelle as the injured woman's niece, their plan would fall apart.

Finally, the nurse fell silent and turned to Jake and Noelle.

“Okay. Fire away.”

Jake and Noelle started to speak at the same time. The nurse's vision scanned back and forth between them, suspicious, but Jake quickly quieted himself, yielding to Noelle.

He shouldn't have stopped talking; it was clear that Noelle was unprepared to lead.

I'm supposed to be the interrogator.

He stared at her, but too obviously.

“What is
up
with you two?” interjected the nurse. “You were both strange on your own, and now that you're together, it's downright weird.”

There was a pause, a long one. Too long.

The question was hanging in the air. Jake was out of practice. His instincts told him to tell the nurse the truth. Hopefully it would be enough to avoid a call to the police.

“We used to be lovers. I haven't seen him in years. This was unexpected,” Noelle blurted out. “To say the least.”

The hell?
Jake looked at Noelle again.
What kind of explanation is that?

“Sorry I asked.” The nurse didn't seem sorry. She still eyed them with suspicion.

“Yeah, well, it's a bit awkward. I'll let Jake do the talking; he
always
wanted to be the boss.”

Jake was momentarily speechless.

What a ridiculous turn.

Now he had to rescue the situation. At least the lie had worked, for the time being.

Speak slowly and cut the sarcasm.

Jake ignored her slight. “Mrs. Giroux,” Jake started, “I want to first express my sympathies for your loss. I'm sorry to bother you. We will keep the questions short and to the point.”

The nurse translated smoothly and quickly. Jake hoped that she had imparted the same sympathetic message that he intended to impart in English, and that she wasn't cutting corners. He did feel sympathy for the woman; she had just lost her husband in a horrific attack and now she was stuck in some hospital thousands of miles from her home and family.

Except for her niece,
Jake mused to himself.

Jake was relieved that his apathy toward the victims of trauma had faded over the years. He was turning back into a human. He always shuddered when he recalled the deposition of a widow whose husband had, according to the widow's complaint, died in a hundred-foot fall at the defendant's amusement park. Jake and his client had held the position that the deceased had committed suicide and thus the widow was not entitled to any damages.

The experts all agreed based on the trajectory of the body and the way the man landed. He didn't even try to get his feet under him. Jake asked the woman if her husband had ever expressed any thoughts of suicide. The woman said no, but Jake sensed otherwise from her woeful demeanor. All he could think at that time was:
She's lying.
It was a disgusting way to think about such a tragic event. He regretted it every time it popped into his mind.

The nurse was waiting for Jake. He continued. “Just recall the attack as best you can.” Jake should have brought a pad of paper. It would have been helpful for his true purpose and to sell his cover
as an investigator. As it was, he just sat with his hands folded on his lap.

The nurse translated and the victim responded with a short burst of French.

“She says that she didn't really see much of the attack. It all happened very fast.”

Great.

“Okay, thank you. Could you ask her to please recount the moments before the attack?”

More talking; this time the woman responded more thoroughly: “She was walking quite a distance ahead of her husband so that she could turn intermittently and take photos of him on the trail.”

The translator stopped and Mrs. Giroux spoke again.

“She says twenty meters or so. When they neared the overlook, she heard a scuffling, a shuffle of feet, and then a muted groan. She asks us to keep in mind that the distance and wind was such that it was difficult to hear clearly. When she turned to see what the noise was, her husband was on his knees and blood was on his chest.”

Jake asked the obvious: “She didn't see the animal?” There was another short exchange between Giroux and the nurse.

“She saw something, a shape, forcing its way into the forest behind her husband. Branches and leaves moving.”

A shape?

“What happened next?”

“Her husband was looking around in a panic, bleeding and shaky. Then she was attacked herself as her husband watched.”

“Could she try to recall what the attack felt like or what she saw, if anything? Could you kindly tell her that this is important to our investigation of the attack?”

“She says that she recalls being violently struck—
pummeled
would be the closest translation—and that her husband yelled, ‘Stop, stop!' at the animal. She lost consciousness after that.”

Jake thought for a moment and then asked: “Wait. Her husband yelled ‘stop' in English or in French?”

“Hold on.” The victim said only one word. “Both. First in French, then in English. He knew some limited English, she says. He was the one who made all their travel plans: got directions, got them through customs, and the like. Why do you ask?”

Jake ignored the nurse's question. “Does she remember anything else?” Jake asked this mainly to tie up the session; he was pretty sure he had the answers he needed.

“She can't remember anything else, she says. Is that
all
the questions you have for her?”

Again, Jake ignored the nurse's question.
She isn't here to inquire, she's here to translate.
“Please tell her that she has been very helpful. I appreciate her recounting such a tragic event. My condolences again.”