Jessup shook the ice in his empty glass. “Can I get a dividend first?”
“How remiss of me.” Taking the glass into the kitchen, Logan splashed some more vodka into it and gave it back to Jessup. The ranger took a sip, paused a moment, looked around the room, and then—after taking a deep breath—started to talk.
5
“Over the last three months,” Jessup began, “two hikers—backpackers—have been killed not far from here.”
Logan waited, listening.
“There are a lot of similarities between the two killings. Both men were young and extremely fit, knowledgeable about forestry issues and the park. And they were both members of the Adirondack ‘Forty-Sixers.’?”
Logan nodded his understanding. This was the group whose membership was limited to those who had climbed all forty-six Adirondack peaks over four thousand feet. The requirements included both mountains with blazed trails and the trailless peaks, and, as he recalled, at least one winter ascent. He and Kit had once, years back, entertained hopes of joining the elite club—before reality intervened.
“Both were savagely mauled to death,” Jessup went on. “Both were killed in roughly the same remote location—and both, as it happens, during a full moon.”
“What remote location, exactly?”
“West of the Five Ponds Wilderness.” Jessup paused a moment, and night sounds from the open window—the rustle of leaves picked up by a stray gust of wind, the hoot of an owl—filled the silence.
“These hard-core backpackers are a breed apart,” Jessup said. “No achievement, no matter how hard-won, is ever enough. So once they’ve bagged all forty-six peaks, some of them go on to score other bragging rights. Three mountains seem to be favorite.” He pulled a leatherbound journal from a breast pocket, leafed through it, studied a page for a moment. “Avalanche Mountain, number sixty-three—close to higher and more famous mountains and an obvious choice. North River Mountain, number fifty-six, just shy of four thousand feet and coveted because the official state surveyor, Ebenezer Emmons, climbed it immediately before his famous 1836 ascent of Whiteface Mountain. But the most coveted prize is Desolation Mountain. At only thirty-two hundred feet, it’s not even in the top hundred.” He replaced the journal. “But its claim to fame, and what makes it such an attractive target, is its remoteness. The Desolation Lake area is probably the wildest and most isolated section of the entire park—even more so than the Silver Lake Wilderness or Wilcox Lake. Not only that, but the terrain there is terrible for hiking—no access roads and few motorized lakes, covered with blowdowns, outwash bogs, all sorts of other hazardous conditions. Unless you know what you’re doing, and you’re incredibly motivated, it’s almost impossible to reach. The climb itself is the easy part.” He laughed almost bitterly, shook his head. “That’s why it’s known among the ADK climbing elite as ‘heartbreak forty-seven.’?”
As quickly as it came, the laugh died in Jessup’s throat. “Both hikers were found in the vicinity of the mountain. As you can imagine, there’s not a lot of traffic through there, and by the time the bodies were discovered each was in an advanced state of decomposition. As a result, the autopsies were somewhat inconclusive, but given the violence inflicted on the corpses, the verdict in both was mauling by a rogue bear.”
Jessup took another sip of his drink. “We’ve tried to keep details of the story quiet—places like Cloudwater here, for example, need that kind of publicity like they need a hole in the head. But rumors spread, and the locals all know.”
“I’m sorry to hear about it,” Logan said. “But why the urgency to tell me?”
Again, Jessup hesitated. “I told you the official conclusion of the autopsy. But the fact is, a few of us rangers aren’t so certain. Black bears—the only kind found in the park—aren’t numerous, nor are they known to be vicious. A single death by mauling is very rare, but two…” His voice trailed off.
“There’s a long history of wild animals turning aggressive toward man,” Logan said. “Look at the Tsavo lions.”
“I know. And that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But you have to remember, I spent a lot of summers here growing up. I heard my share of the local rumors and fables. Most visitors here stick to the tamer locales like Lake Placid. Domesticated, populous. They don’t know there are millions of acres out here—not that far of a drive, either—that aren’t like that. Some places to this day have never seen a man’s footprint, or echoed with the chop of an ax.”
“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Logan said gently, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Jessup grinned a little abashedly. “I suppose you’ve sent search parties through the area where the bodies were found, looking for the animal?”
“A brief one. It yielded nothing.”
“Anyway, it sounds like you aren’t satisfied with the official story.”
“I’m not sure I’d ever admit to that,” Jessup said quickly.
“But you think there might be more to the story. That something else might be going on.”
“You know what Emerson said. ‘Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them.’?”
“I knew you’d get around to Emerson eventually. But why bring it to me? I’m no Natty Bumppo. The last trail I set foot on was Newport’s Cliff Walk, which doesn’t even count.”
“It’s not that kind of skill I’m looking for. I can’t say why exactly, but the peculiar circumstances of these deaths…something feels wrong to me. And I say that as someone who has policed these forests for many years. But I’m too close to this—both as a ranger, and as a resident. I need someone with your objectivity…and your, um, unusual skill set.”
So that’s it. Logan felt dismay settling over him. Although he’d never admit it to his old friend, this was the last complication he needed right now. It was going to be hard enough just summoning the intellectual energy to finish his monograph—what more if he had to traipse around the vast park on a nebulous errand he wasn’t qualified for?
“Look, Randall, I can understand your concern,” he said. “If I was in your position, I’d feel the same way—”
“It’s not that,” Jessup said, a faint hint of stubbornness creeping into his tone. “I don’t feel responsible for these deaths—there are many areas of the park so remote we don’t even try to patrol them. I just feel that if I asked you to take a brief look into these deaths…well, then I’d have done my due diligence. And I’d sleep better at night, knowing that.”
“You say something feels wrong. What, exactly?”
“I don’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you for counsel. But I just can’t seem to shake the premonition that something bad is going to happen again…and soon.”