Page 78 of What Happened to Nina?

They finished the piece with a short interview with Simon. He was talking to someone off camera, telling them what a great climber Nina was. How they’d been each other’s best friend. How he couldn’t sleep. How he’d never stop thinking about her.

I turned the TV off. I couldn’t stand to watch it. Lee was right. Whatever happened between Simon and Nina in Stowe, he was never going to be forced to tell the truth. He was never going to answer for what he did. All this bullshit online wasn’t happening in a vacuum. I may not be book smart, but I’m not a fool. Simon’s parents were wrapping their boy up in lawyers and money, and when all of this was done he’d just move on with his life. I sank the whiskey and poured another. I changed the channel until I found an old basketball game, and then I stared at the screen. I was like Lee, staring at something and taking in nothing. Was this our future? The two of us broke, like zombies, while Grace... what? What would happen to Grace? If we couldn’t fix this, she’d be better off staying with Craig and Sophia. At least that way she’d have a chance. The day drifted by. I thought about making dinner and decided there wasn’t any point. I thought about everything and nothing. I felt sorry for myself until I just about made myself sick.

It was late when I started to come out of it. I’d poured myself another drink—was it my third, or my fourth? I’d lost track of that, and of time. I got up and went to the kitchen and poured the drink down the sink, and the contents of the bottle too. I went upstairs to check on Lee. She was sleeping. Almost before the plan had taken shape in my mind, I started preparing. I put on an old pair of black work pants, a navy thermal shirt, and a sweater. I took my gun from the safe in our room. I held the box of bullets in my hand, feeling the weight of them. I could leave them in the safe. I had no intention of shooting anyone that night, and if I left the bullets where they were, I could make sure of that. On the other hand... if I wanted to get answers from the boy I might have to frighten him into talking. I might have to make a show of strength. I slid the magazine into the gun, double-checked the safety, and put the gun in my pocket.

My jacket was hanging in the mudroom by the kitchen. I rubbed Rufus on the head on my way through, put on my jacket, and opened the door. It was a cold, dark night. There was snow in the air. I could feel it. They were forecasting four inches, and another four the next day. I went to the barn and without turning on any lights, I got out Lee’s day pack and put in my headlamp, my binoculars, an extra layer, and my water bottle. I moved the gun to my jacket pocket and zipped it securely, then I set off for the back of our house and the trail that ran from there. I didn’t know for sure whether the press were still at our gate, waiting. It was cold and dark and they might well have gone home to whatever inn they were staying at, but I couldn’t risk driving. It would be a two-hour hike to the Jordans’ place, based on my calculations. I’d get there just after midnight, which would be as good a time as any to try to find Simon’s bedroom and drag him out of there at gunpoint.

I wasn’t going to hurt him. I’d promised myself that, and I was going to keep that promise. Maybe our girl was dead. It cut me in half to admit that was a possibility, but she’d been missing for a week now, and I couldn’t keep pretending that she was okay. So I tried to accept the possibility that she was gone. I knew that Lee was convinced that Simon had killed her. And Julie Bradley was a good, smart kid. Julie thought that Simon was hitting Nina, and I believed her, and if he was capable of raising his hand to Nina then I had to believe that he could kill her. But the idea was like a sharp knife to the gut. If Simon had killed her, then I’d missed it. All the times Simon came by to pick her up. All the times I’d waved them off with a smile, like a fucking fool. There must have been signs, that’s all, and I’d missed them all.

I wanted to believe he hadn’t done it, because I am weak, and I didn’t want to accept that it was my fault that my girl was dead. But I couldn’t fool myself any longer, because I knew for sure that Simon was lying. At the search, when he’d delivered his bullshit line about breaking up with Nina and about how maybe she hadn’t wanted to come home right away because she hadn’t wanted to bump into him, I’d seen the lie in his eyes. And I wasn’t going to allow that. Whatever it took, I was going to make him tell the truth.

I made good time. Once I was in the trees I fell into a steady jog. I’d hiked most of these trails at one time or another, with Leanne and Rufus. The ground got a little tougher when I got closer to the Jordans’. The trail turned off to the north and I had to hike cross-country. I followed a deer track, but the land dropped away into a deep gully with a fast-flowing stream. It took me some time to find a safe crossing point, and climbing up the other side was hard going in the dark. Even with the headlamp, it was a challenge to make sure that I didn’t lose my footing and plunge backward to the rocks below. So my progress was slower. At some point it started to snow, but it weren’t much, just a little light flurry that dusted the trees. Things got easier on the other side. There was a game trail that was going the right general direction and I followed that, and then had only a short hike through light country until I reached the back of the Jordans’ house. By then I was tired. I took some time to eat a protein bar and put on another layer and my wool hat. I would cool down fast once I stopped moving.

I reached the tree line behind the Jordan house. I found a position I liked, with a real clear view of the house, and I took out my binoculars. In the trees I could watch the house and wait for my moment. They had those huge windows, and I could see right inside. It was coming up on 1:00 A.M.—the hike had taken longer than I’d expected. Everyone should be fast asleep by now, but I would wait and watch and be sure, and then I would make my move. I’d overheard Nina talking to a friend once, about how Simon’s room opened directly out onto the pool patio. I let my binoculars play over the back of the house and found a set of double doors right by the pool. That must be his room. Would he lock his doors at night, or leave them open? If they were open I could get inside and have my gun to his head before he could so much as twitch.

They were making it easy for me. That enormous house, with so many windows, and all the drapes and blinds wide open. There were lights on inside, not full-on bright, and not in every room, but enough so I could see inside. I focused on what looked like the main living area, a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows. I zoomed in with the binoculars and saw a figure lying on the couch. It was too dark in the room to see features clearly, but I thought that figure was probably Jamie Jordan. There was a bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of her. I thought about her hard face, about the way she’d treated my wife, and looked away.

I scanned the second floor of the house. There were drapes closed on only one set of windows. My best guess was that that was the master bedroom. Rory might be asleep there. My binoculars wandered back to Jamie. If only the light was a little stronger. I wanted to be a hundred percent sure that it was her.

I was so focused on Jamie that I very nearly missed the moment when Simon Jordan crept out of the house. I swung the binoculars away just in time to catch him as he closed the door to his bedroom and walked away across the patio. He was dressed for the weather, and he had a full backpack on his back. He moved quickly through his parents’ yard. He was coming toward me. If he kept on walking and didn’t change his course, he would pass within ten yards of my hiding spot. His sudden appearance threw me. I crouched low and moved back deeper into the trees. I hid in the undergrowth and watched as he walked right by me and kept moving, toward the mountain. His face was pale in the moonlight. He looked real young, and desperate and determined.

He was running away. It was the only thing that made sense. I could stop him. I had the gun. I could grab him right now, put the gun to his forehead, and scare him into telling me the truth. But I did nothing. Suddenly everything seemed too real. Seeing Simon’s face, I felt like a crazy man. What was I doing, hiding in the woods with a gun in my pocket? That made me some kind of guy. I thought about the man who’d been hanging around at Grace’s school and felt a little sick. Except that... Nina was gone. That was a fact. And Simon was running away. Really, truly running away, and I was letting him do it. Christ almighty.

I set off after him, but I couldn’t see him and I couldn’t hear him. I had waited too long. My headlamp was in my pack, and I couldn’t risk taking it out and switching it on. The clouds had broken up a little and there was some moonlight, but not enough, and I stumbled over the ground but kept on moving, as quickly as I could, and I listened hard. Simon was young and fit and he hadn’t just jogged cross-country for the better part of three hours. He moved much faster than I did. I would lose him. He would hike to a car he’d stashed somewhere and then escape forever, taking whatever answers he had with him. Where could he go from here? Not north and not east. I knew enough of the country to know that it was real hard going from where we were, and that there was no quick and easy way through. The trail we were on was dropping away to the west. If we kept following it, where would we end up? He must have a car stashed somewhere, waiting for him. That was the only thing that made sense.

I started to run. I had to catch him before he got to the trailhead. But I was making way too much noise. He would surely hear me coming. At every corner I expected to see him waiting with a tree branch in hand, but before I knew it I burst through the cover of the trees, into a clearing and then onto a dirt road. I was at a trailhead. There was a signpost on the opposite side of the road, marking the beginning of a marked trail. I whipped my head around, looking in all directions for Simon. There were no cars parked anywhere, and I hadn’t heard an engine. I would have heard one, even from a mile back, on this cold, quiet night. I fumbled for my headlamp, put it on my head, and turned it on. There were footprints in the snow. Mine, coming from the shelter of the trees, but another pair too, leading across the road, past the wooden sign that marked the entrance to the marked trail. HEDGEHOG BROOK TRAIL, the sign said. I knew it. It was a steep, three-hour hike to the summit from here. I followed the footprints, moving more slowly and more carefully than before. I could hear running water. The brook, just ahead. Had he crossed it? The footprints sure made it seem that way.

Once he crossed the water, if he continued on the trail, it would be all uphill from there. And there was nothing but wilderness after this point. My boots were waterproof, my pants were not. It didn’t matter. The footsteps led the way, and I followed, stepping down into the water, which soaked my pants and got into my boots. It was real cold, not deep winter cold, but close. I moved quickly, climbed out the other side, and set off again, this time uphill. I thought about switching my headlamp off but decided not to. I was taking a risk. Simon might see the light and realize that someone was following him, but hiking without the light on this trail was too dangerous—it was too steep and the trail floor was a mass of slippery tree roots. The moon was hidden behind heavy cloud, and it was very dark. All the time I climbed, I thought about where Simon might be going and why. Hedgehog Brook Trail connected with the Long Trail, which you could follow all the way to Canada, if you wanted. From here it was a hundred miles to the border, at least a week’s hike. More, probably, even for an experienced hiker like Simon. Was he carrying a week’s worth of food in his backpack? He could be. But why would he do it? There were easier ways to run away, surely, than hiking out, but maybe that was why he’d chosen it. It wasn’t the obvious way to go.

I stopped worrying about where he was going and started thinking about where he might stop. It was obvious now that he was far ahead of me. I could still see footprints in the new snow, but I hadn’t heard a sound. I needed him to stop. He might be well supplied, but I wasn’t. I could hike a full night without rest or food, probably, but what would that get me? The sun would come up and I would be somewhere deep in the backcountry, maybe lost, and with no supplies.

I reached the top of the trail. There was a scramble over exposed granite. The snow was heavier up here, and there were clear signs of Simon’s passing. I stood at the summit for a moment. The clouds parted and the stars came out. The wind was lifting little drifts of snow, and the cold bit at my cheeks. It was completely silent. I turned to look back at the valley. There were lights down there, a sprinkling of them, houses dotted among the trees, but up on the mountain, I was in a different world. The Long Trail led north and south from where I was standing, but Simon’s footprints led south. Which didn’t make sense if he was trying to get to Canada. I set off after him. For five minutes I followed the trail south, and then I smelled woodsmoke. I stopped walking, my head up, trying to figure out where it was coming from. And then I remembered—there was a hiker’s hut on this route. Actually, more than a hut, a cabin. Most of the hiker’s huts on the Long Trail were three-sided log lean-tos. You could set up your tarp and a sleeping bag inside and they would keep most of the rain off, and sometimes there was a pit toilet, but that was about all the comfort on offer. The cabin up ahead was different. I’d never had reason to stop and use it, but I’d seen it a couple times. It was fully enclosed, with a tin roof, a glass window, and a small wood-burning stove. There were even jerry cans of water that the rangers tried to keep topped up. It was a good place to overnight on the trail or to warm up for a few hours.

I switched off my headlamp and slowed down as I approached the cabin. It was in a small clearing. The door was shut, there was a glow from the window, and smoke came from the metal chimney. I crouched down and debated whether I should go straight for the door or risk looking in the window first. I chose the window, crept forward, and looked inside. The cabin was exactly how I remembered it. The bare timber floor, the little stove, a timber bed frame. Simon was there. He was hunched over the stove, feeding wood into the flames, his back to the window. He’d already rolled out his sleeping bag on the bed frame. He was heating water in a small pot on the stove.

I dropped back into a crouch, unzipped my pocket, and took out the gun. I was afraid. That I would fuck it up. Chicken out. Let Leanne down. Let Nina down. Let Grace down. This was a perfect chance, the only one I was going to get. Simon knew the truth, and I wanted it. It was up to me to take it from him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Andy

I didn’t wait. Waiting would only give me time to talk myself out of what needed to be done. I went straight to the door and wrenched it open, then took two quick steps inside, my gun raised and pointed at him. Simon was crouching in front of the fire. He turned around fast at the noise and froze when he saw the gun. The stove was still open, and he still had firewood in one hand.

“Close it,” I said. I motioned with the gun. “And move back.” There was steam coming from the pot on the stove. I didn’t want him to throw it at me. I kept my distance, but he didn’t move. “Close it,” I said again.

He put the firewood on the floor, slowly closed the stove, and started to stand.

“No. Stay where you are.”

He’d taken off his hat and left it on his pack, and he still had the mark from the wool on his forehead. His hair was standing up in all directions. It made him look younger. He did what I said. He sat on the ground and scooted back away from the stove.

“Mr. Fraser,” he said. He looked nervous, but not scared. Memories came into my mind, one on top of the other on top of the other. Memories of Nina growing up, and Simon right there beside her. For every picture we had in our home of Nina at school plays, at dances and graduations, the Jordans would have one just the same. Simon was part of us. He was part of our community, part of what made us what we were. That was all true. But... he was also the guy who’d met Grace in the woods. And I believed Julie about the bruises. I really did.

“You got a gun with you, Simon?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t you lie to me.”

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