Tahoe deep, p.19
Tahoe Deep, page 19
part #17 of An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Series
The concept was possibly far-fetched. But if the pickup hurried, the driver or the driver’s companions could grab the old blind man and get away before Spot and I got there. We’d have to run back to where we’d parked. The delay would make it impossible for us to catch the pickup.
I sped up my trot to a full run. Spot, of course, thought that was fun. The human was running full out. But humans were so slow…
I knew I couldn’t maintain a sprint for the entire distance. It was too far, and I wasn’t in that kind of shape. But I could try.
The traffic was heavy. I had to stay on the shoulder to avoid being hit. In places, the road edge dropped off to a slope too steep to get decent footing. Gravel is hazardous on a slope, like running on ball bearings. I veered down to where the ground was less steep only to have to slalom around trees and manzanita bushes. Spot kept glancing behind to gauge my direction, easily anticipating my movements.
My lungs were at their limit of pain, gasping for breath, trying to keep up my fastest run. We emerged from the forest edge at the upper edge of the parking lot. I rushed onto the asphalt, dodging through cars, both parked and moving. There was a maroon pickup over near the entrance to the lot. It was cruising slowly along the gravel shoulder.
I couldn’t see Daniel. But if the pickup driver had wanted him and had already found him, he would have raced off.
The pickup stopped. The passenger door opened up.
I pushed faster, pumping my legs beyond what I thought I could do.
I still couldn’t see Daniel. The boulder was to the side of the entrance, not far from the pickup. Even if I saw someone come out of the pickup, I couldn’t send Spot after him. If Spot doesn’t have a scent and hasn’t witnessed previous aggressive behavior from a suspect, and if there are lots of other people in the vicinity, there is no effective option.
When I got closer, I yelled, “Hey! You with the pickup!”
Maybe someone saw me. Maybe not. The passenger door closed. As I ran closer to the boulder where I’d left Daniel, the pickup made a 180-degree turn and started moving forward. When it cleared a group of people walking along the highway toward the parking entrance, it sped away, tires squealing on the pavement.
“Daniel!” I shouted. “Daniel! Where are you?!”
I spun around to the back side of the boulder. There he was, sitting on the ground, leaning back against the boulder.
“Right here,” he said. “I’m right where you left me.”
“Good.” I was breathing hard.
“Where’s your dog?”
“Over there. Sorry. About twenty feet to your right.”
“I don’t want him on me. You’ve obviously been running. All this excitement. I’ve read about that. Dogs, when they run, they can fall into pack behavior. It might stimulate his prey drive.” Even though his sunglasses hid his eyes, Daniel looked very worried.
“No, it won’t. But I’ll get him.” I walked to Spot, took hold of his collar, came back.
“What’s wrong?” Daniel said.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Daniel said. “I may be blind. But I can still tell you’re lying. You don’t want me to lie to you.”
“You’re right,” I said between breaths. “I’m sorry. I had to drive well up the highway to find a place to park. As Spot and I were walking back, I saw a maroon Chevy pickup driving up the highway, the same way we’d come. It looked just like a pickup I saw down the street from your house as we left. Maroon is not a common color for a pickup. As soon as the pickup went by us, it made a fast turn and rushed back to this parking lot. That made me worry. What if someone wanted to grab you, away from your house, someone who might think you still had more to say about the sinking of the Steamer. That person could see Spot and me trotting toward this lot, and they could figure out I’d left you waiting here alone.”
“You were worried I’d be kidnapped. I’d set the world’s record for the oldest kidnap victim.”
“Yeah.”
“Are they gone now?”
“Yes. The pickup left as Spot and I ran closer. Maybe they saw us and that caused them to leave.”
“Or there could be no connection,” he said.
“True. It could be coincidence.”
Daniel shifted both of his canes to his left hand. “Help me up? I can still get down on the ground without hurting myself. But I can’t get up off of anything lower than a chair.”
I took his free arm and gently lifted. When he was standing, he switched the white navigation cane to his right hand and kept the support cane in his left.
“Can you hold your dog with your left hand while we walk down the path to the castle? Because then I could hold your right elbow. I don’t want to be next to your dog.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Then you could hold my support cane as well?”
“Yes.”
Daniel handed me the cane. I held it in my right hand with my arm bent. Daniel held onto my elbow. I took Spot’s collar with my left hand. We started across the parking lot and headed down the asphalt path. Daniel was very deft with the navigation cane, moving it gently back and forth in front of him. He walked without hesitation. Although that may have been partly because he assumed I would steer him away from obstacles.
Mostly, I had to steer Spot away from the passersby who wanted to pet him.
After we’d gone a few hundred feet, Daniel said, “I can walk faster. It’s a mile down to the castle. At this speed, we won’t get there until tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I sped up a bit. “You’re a very good walker.”
“One of the only things I’m good at,” he said.
At the faster rate, Daniel limped with every step of his left foot.
“Your foot is hurting?” I said.
“Leg.”
“Should we slow?”
“No. It just takes a bit for someone my age to get moving. Find a car or a building or anything else my age, it will have lots of mechanical problems.”
“No doubt. Have you done this hike recently? It’s a good mile down, and another back up. The elevation gain coming back up is substantial. Especially when the parking lot is close to seven thousand feet above sea level.”
“You’re wondering if my mechanics will hold out?”
“I just don’t want you to have any regrets.”
We walked for a hundred yards without talking. Daniel still limped. But he moved at a fast pace.
“You should know that, at my age, every day, every hour has a potential for regret,” he said. “Most times, something won’t go as I hoped. But even when it does, my brain starts worrying over something in my past, and the regrets are a flood. I’m not the easiest person for me to spend time with.”
I had wanted to develop a comfortable conversation before I started asking questions about his assailant and threats and suspects. But it wasn’t going especially well. I tried a new subject. “Daniel, you’ve often referred to things you’ve read, books and articles. That makes me curious. Are all those available in Braille?”
“Some are. Braille books can be very expensive, so I get them from the library. Some are books on tape. I used to listen to lots of those. But it hasn’t been tape for years. It’s CDs. The library also has special machines for listening to books. I’ve even been listening to this mystery series set in Tahoe. They come from Nevada Talking Books. And ever since Mae moved into my rental, she’s been getting me audiobooks on downloads. She gets the downloads on her computer, puts them on a player, and I listen to them that way. And it’s not just books. She gets articles and other things that are like radio shows. I forget what they’re called. Pods or something.”
“Podcasts.”
“That’s it. I go over to Mae’s house. She looks on her computer, and she tells me the different choices. I pick what I want. Biographies. History. Novels. Current events. More than I could ever listen to in my lifetime. Which, of course, at my age, could end any day.”
Daniel slowed and then stopped walking. He tilted his head as if listening. It reminded me of the way dogs tilt their heads to focus on a particular sound.
“Must have been warm last night,” Daniel said as he resumed walking.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“The roar of the falls is especially loud. That means a warm night that melted more snow than normal. More water over the falls.”
I listened. “That’s cool,” I said, “sensing last night’s temperature with your ears.”
“I would think anybody would do that,” Daniel said.
We continued walking.
“You said the pickup’s color was maroon,” Daniel said. “What does the color maroon look like?” Daniel asked. “I’ve heard the word, but I never really knew what it was.” Daniel said.
I smiled. “It’s rare that someone asks you a question that you’ve never thought of before. Thank you. Let me think. Maroon is a dark reddish color.”
“Like purple?”
“No. I would think of purple as red mixed with blue. Maroon is red mixed with a bit of orange. Except that adding orange would make the red lighter, and maroon is darker than red. So maroon must have some brown in it. Although if an artist heard me describe maroon, they would probably wince. But I think I’m going in the right direction.”
“What’s maroon feel like?”
That stopped me. “Well, it’s a rich tone, more presence than, say, a brown of the same darkness.”
“Can you name some things that are maroon? Other than bad-guy pickup trucks?”
“Well, I should probably point out that pickup trucks are rarely maroon. They are usually silver or white or black or sometimes dark green or red.”
“Colors men like,” Daniel said.
“Yes, exactly. You won’t see many pickups that are baby blue. That wouldn’t look macho enough. Okay, things that are maroon… Leather furniture is often stained maroon. Lots of woods are stained maroon, and some woods, like mahogany or manzanita, are naturally maroon. Often fabrics are maroon. Especially in elegant surroundings. Banquet tablecloths in hotels. The big curtain in theaters and showrooms.” I paused. I thought of dried blood, but I had the sense not to say it. “This is fun. Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Daniel said.
“Were you ever able to see colors?”
“When I was very young. Three years old, I think. But the only color I have a memory of is yellow. I had a stuffed monkey that was yellow. Don’t ask me why. But it was my favorite toy. Yellow with black eyes that were shiny smooth. Like rocks. His name was Felix. My family had come up from the valley to vacation at the lake. One day I was at the shore, spinning in circles, swinging Felix around, and I lost my grip. Felix flew into the water and floated, gradually moving out away from the shore. So I ran after him. I didn’t think about it. Maybe I assumed I’d float too.
“The neighbors at the cabin next door had a dog. The dog ran into the water and grabbed Felix. I was horrified. But as I charged into the water to save Felix, I didn’t float. I sank. My last memory of that incident was that dog racing away with Felix in his teeth and me about to drown. The next thing I knew, my sister Nora yanked me out of the water. She held me up and patted my back. I coughed water. Nora saved my life. But I cried for Felix. Nora said they’d find Felix. But they never did. That dog ate him. Or buried him in the forest. Or maybe just left him to drown. I don’t know. I’ve been terrified of dogs and water ever since.”
We walked in silence.
“Nora was a fair amount older than you,” I said.
“Yes. Eleven years older. She was my protector and my vision guide and my support. My parents did the basics. Food. Shelter. Clothing. But Nora was the person who gave me emotional and intellectual sustenance.”
“Nora isn’t still alive.”
“Oh, God no. She’d be one hundred and - let me think - one hundred and six or so. No, Nora died young. In her twenties. A terrible tragedy.”
The way Daniel said it, I did not dare ask about it. Instead, I said, “Were you born blind? No, of course not. You just described Felix as being yellow.”
“I was born with normal vision.” Daniel’s words were slow and measured.
I didn’t respond.
“I had a bad accident that ruined my eyes.”
He also said that in a way that made me think that was the end of that subject.
Daniel tilted his head again. “A hawk,” he said.
“I didn’t hear one. Did you hear a call?”
“No. It’s the Steller’s Jays. Listen. Three of them. Sending out their alarm call.”
Only after he said it, did I hear it.
“That call means raptor. There are a few possibilities, but I’m thinking Goshawk. They nest around here.”
“Are they the main raptor that nests at Emerald Bay?” I asked.
“No. There are lots of raptors around here. Eagles and ospreys. But Steller’s are medium-sized birds, favored food for Goshawks or the larger falcons like the Peregrine. If the tiny birds were sounding alarms, we’d look for small falcons.” Daniel paused, lifted his head toward the sky, a few puffy clouds reflecting in his aviators. “There. Hear it. A keee-rrrr sound. That’s the bird that’s even more feared than the Goshawk. A Red-Tailed Hawk.”
I looked up toward the sky. But I saw nothing.
“I’m impressed,” I said. “You sense temperature with your ears. Now, you predict hawk species by listening to Steller’s Jays. Is there anything else you can do that the rest of us, handicapped by our vision, cannot?”
I said it as a bit of a joke. But Daniel remained serious. He made a little shake on my arm and then spoke in a soft voice. “There are several things that legally blind people notice that normal people do not. Remember, I can see vague shapes. That allows me to observe movement in a way that you probably don’t. For example, a few decades ago I was an independent consultant doing gait analysis.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means looking at the way people walk. They called me a kinesthetics expert.”
“What’s it for?”
It took several seconds for Daniel to respond. It seemed as if he was looking down the path, toward the trees and rocks and lake in the distance.
“Do you see those people coming up the path toward us?” he said. “There are three of them, right? No wait, maybe there’s a fourth person behind them.”
It was obvious to me that the group was four people, two women and two men. One of the men trailed behind a bit, huffing his breaths, trying to get enough oxygen in the high-altitude air.
“Yes, it’s a group of four,” I said.
“Look at the man who’s going to come closest to us as we pass by them.”
I looked. “What makes you think that’s a man? The person is short and has a feminine shape, albeit overweight, and the person is wearing a large sunhat. I think that’s a woman.”
“I can’t see those details. I just see the movement. I know he’s a man because he walks like a man.”
“What does a man walk like?” I asked.
“It’s not my specialty to describe it in words. I just know it by the look. Men and women have differently-shaped pelvises, right? Maybe that’s the difference. All I know is that he walks like a man.”
“Okay. I believe you. Why do you bring him up?”
“Because…” and now Daniel lowered his voice even more. “Because he’s in the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease.”
For some reason the statement shocked me. “You think that based on the way he walks?”
“I know it. I did a study for IBM. They were trying to figure out a better way to analyze future company medical expenses. They hired me to put together a study that would analyze the way people moved and identify motor-control diseases that would impact the company’s bottom line ten or more years out. Basically, I sat in the building lobbies as employees streamed in on their way to work and streamed out when they left to go home. IBM had an early closed-circuit TV system that would record the flow of people. I had a button that I clicked when a person with motor dysfunction came along. I also had a note-taking system so I could record where they were in the crowd and what gender they were. If any questions arose, they could go through the TV tape and double check which person I was referring to.”
The concept seemed outlandish to me. We were about to pass the group of four people. I spoke in a soft voice. “So if I walked up to that person approaching us and asked him, he might admit that he has Parkinson’s?”
“Oh, no. This is early stage. Almost for sure, the person doesn’t know it. His spouse has, no doubt, recognized changes in his movement. But it probably isn’t significant enough that he’s agreed to go to the doctor about it.”
“Wait a moment.” Now I was even more surprised. “It sounds like you’re saying you know when a person has Parkinson’s before they know it.”
“Yes, of course.” Daniel was matter-of-fact about it. “That was my job. Years down the road, IBM’s analysis proved that I was right. All the people I identified from their gait eventually were determined to have Parkinson’s.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I don’t think so,” Daniel said. “It’s a devastating and heartbreaking disease that strikes even the most physically fit people. Because I’m able to focus on movement, I can see the hints that some other people miss.
I watched as the group went past us. The person Daniel was referring to showed no distinctive movements that I could see. He - assuming it was a he - was in his late sixties or early seventies. He obviously did not have an athletic walk. But it wasn’t a halting or difficult walk, either.
After we passed them, I said, “How did you learn to recognize a Parkinson’s patient by their walk?”
