The Never Game

Standish took over. “The hostage won’t have shoes. He may’ve made covering for his feet, but I don’t think he’s gone very far.”

Shaw added, “And he was brought here unconscious, so, for all he knows, he’s in the midst of Yosemite or the Sierra Madres. He’s not an outdoorsman, so I don’t think he’ll try to hike out. I was him, I’d look for water and shelter in place.”

Standish: “Secure the scene first and then we look for him. You probably gathered Mr. Shaw here’s done some tracking work. He’ll help us. He’s a consultant with the Task Force.”

She then asked Shaw where the logging road was. He glanced at the map and turned and pointed.

“He and I’ll go this way,” Standish said, nodding. “The unsub wouldn’t’ve dragged the vic that far — the ridge where the fire was. He would’ve left him near the road. Mr. Shaw and I’ll look for that scene and secure it.” She looked at them all in turn. “You good with that?”

Nods all around.

“Questions?”

“No, Detective.”

Standish started in the direction of the logging road while Shaw reviewed the map, deciding where would be the most logical place for the Whispering Man, playing Level 2 of the game, to have abandoned Henry Thompson.

The Dark Forest...

The officers clustered, talking among themselves, presumably selecting who wanted to go with whom. Someone barked a brief laugh. Shaw folded the map carefully and walked over to them. As he hadn’t known who’d spoken the words he’d just heard, he let his eyes tap them all. He nodded.

They nodded back. Discomfort settled like fog.

“I don’t know if Detective Standish’s a lesbian or not,” he whispered, having heard their infantile comment. “I’m pretty sure if you’re not part of the team you don’t say ‘dyke.’ I know for a fact that ‘nappy-headed’ is just plain wrong.”

They looked back, their eyes various degrees subzero. Two then examined the ground carefully.

He’d thought it would be the big one who’d push back; he had “bully” written in his furrowed brow and bulky arms. It was the slightest of the officers who said, “Come on, man. Doesn’t mean anything. The way it is in Tactical. You know, combat. You joke. We live on the edge. Burn off steam.”

Shaw glanced down at the man’s pristine weapon, which they both knew had been fired on the range only. The officer looked away.

Shaw scanned the rest of them. “And I do have a little Native American blood in me, my mother’s side. Great-great-grandmother. But you know my name. And it’s not Geronimo.”

The look of disgust on several officers’ faces was meant to convey that this untidy incident was Shaw’s fault for not playing along. Shaw turned to follow Standish, to look for the nest where the unsub had left Henry Thompson to escape if he could.

Or to die with dignity.

42

By the time he’d caught up with her, he glanced back. The teams were deploying along the routes he had set out.

Beside him, Standish said, “I get it some.”

“You heard?”

“No, but I saw you turn back. Was it about being gay or about being black?”

“A bit of both. Wondering if you’re gay. And your hair.”

She laughed. “Oh, not ‘nappy’ again. Seriously? Those boys.”

“Struck me as odd, them saying it. It was about something else?”

Standish, still smiling. “You got that right.”

Shaw was silent.

“I moved in from EPA police direct to the Task Force, I was telling you. Moved up to gold shield fast. And I mean months.”

“How’d that happen?” Shaw was surprised.

She shrugged. “Ran some ops that ended okay.”

The modesty told Shaw that they were big, critical operations and they ended much better than okay. He remembered the commendations on the credenza behind her desk, including some actual medals, on ribbons, still in their plastic cases.

“Got me twenty K more salary.” She nodded toward the other officers. “You probably figured, Shaw, there’re two Silicon Valleys.”

“You’re from north of the 101. They’re from the south.”

“That’s it. They’re soccer dads who play golf when they’re not out at an air-conditioned gun range. Barbecues and boats. God bless ’em. Never the twain shall meet. They don’t want to take orders from somebody like me. And it doesn’t help I’m younger than the youngest.” She glanced at Shaw; he could feel her eyes. “I don’t need protecting.”

“I know. Just can’t help myself sometimes.”

A nod. He believed it meant she was exactly the same.

“Was that your partner? The picture on your desk?” Shaw had seen a photo in her office of Standish with a pretty white woman, their heads together, smiling.

“Karen.”

Shaw asked, “How long you been together?”

“Six years, married four. You were probably wondering about the name. Standish.”

Shaw shrugged.

“I took her name. She and I have something in common, you know? The rumors are that Karen’s family came over on the Mayflower. You know, Myles Standish?”

“That Standish? What do you have in common?”

“My ancestors came over on a boat too.” Standish couldn’t restrain her laugh. Shaw had to smile.

“Kids?”

“Two-year-old. Gem’s her name. Karen’s the birth mother. We’re going to—”