With electric peak to the northwest, bunsen Peak to the east, and Swan Lake ahead on her left, Demming's tires sang on the thin strip of roadway across the meadow with the peculiar, discordant note that came from the chips of sharp black obsidian that had been mixed into the asphalt by a long-agoroad crew that probably included her husband, Lars. It was twilight, twenty minutes from Mammoth and home. She was headed north; it was an hour past the end of her shift but she wouldn't claim the overtime because she didn't want to explain to anyone why she was running late.
Her laptop was on the seat next to her in the cruiser, filled with downloaded videotapes from the West and North entrance gates. She hoped Joe had been as successful.
Because she was driving the only car on the road, she goosed up her speed to fifty, five miles over the park speed limit. The brilliant flashes of white on the leaden surface of the lake ahead were, in fact, trumpeter swans. Thus, Swan Lake. She'd be good at interpretation, she thought. She noticed things.
Like the black SUV with the smoked windows ahead of her. It was headed north also, and she could feel her heart race as she slowly closed the gap between them. She hadn't seen where the SUV came onto the road, and could only assume the driver had seen her because he was careful to keep to the speed limit as she neared.
There was no way to determine if this was the black SUV she had seen the day before, other than the fact that the hairs on her forearm and the back of her neck were standing up. She got closer.
Wyoming plates, County 22. Jackson Hole. On closer inspectionshe could see a sticker on the back window from Hertz. A rental. So the driver could be from anywhere and likely chose Jackson since it had the biggest airport of the park gateway cities and the most arriving flights.
When the last shafts of the sun hit the SUV just right she could see two people in it. Men. She recognized neither of them by profile, but noticed the driver had his head tilted up and to the right as he drove. He was watching her approach in the rearview mirror. She wished she could see his eyes or part of his face but the glass was too dark.
She slowed to maintain a cushion of a hundred feet and plucked the mike from its cradle on the dash. She tried to speak calmly.
"Dispatch, this is YP-twenty-nine, requesting backup. I'm in visual contact with a black SUV that matches the description of the vehicle reported yesterday near Biscuit Basin. I think it's the same one we issued the BOLO for yesterday. Repeat: requestingbackup. I'm northbound to Mammoth at Swan Lake. I'd like to pull it over and see who's inside."
"Roger that," the dispatcher said. "Backup is on the way."