Serve & Protect

by L. J. Breedlove

  Mac filed that all away. He took it with a grain of salt: there were coworkers who would describe him the same way. Maybe he’d see if he could find Bryson. “You two have been divorced for two years. Has it been going on that long?” Mac asked with a frown.

  She nodded. “Since before his re-election,” she said. “I hear things. Sounds like it’s gotten bigger. They tapped into the Seattle market. And it’s boomed since then.”

  Maybe there was another man, then, Mac thought.

  “You ever hear them refer to Sensei?” he asked.

  “Like in martial arts?” She frowned. “No.”

  “Did your husband spend much time on Facebook?”

  “My husband?” Her tone was incredulous. “He’s barely able to use his cell phone.”

  She looked at the clock. “My boys will be home soon,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here when they get here. Kids talk.”

  Mac nodded, thanked her, and they were out of there in minutes.

  “Let’s find that bar,” he said. “You drink. We dance. I shoot some pool. We pick up talk. I’m the designated driver home. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, troubled.

  “There was a tell,” he guessed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “But nobody tells the truth all the time.”

  “The kids aren’t on their way home,” he said. “But I’d guess someone is coming over. A man-friend.”

  “An ex?” she wondered.

  He raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. “I like your brain, girl,” he said with approval. “Shall we swing around through town, looking over the sights, and maybe see who is parked out front?”

  She laughed. “Works for me,” she said. “It’s too early to hit a bar anyway.”

  “Your dad make any bar recommendations?” he asked as they drove slowly through town. Streets were full of tourists, this being the last weekend of Tulip Festival. People seemed to be wandering from bar to bar, drinks in hand. Was that legal? He wondered. Angie asked to be let out, and she wandered down the street, camera in hand. Well at least that part of the assignment wouldn’t be a bust. He waited for her at the other end of the center square and watched the people. He knew if he were out in it, he’d have threat assessment running in the back of his head the whole time. And everyone would give him space. Angie mingled. Even with a big-ass camera and a flash going off, people just smiled at her. Sometimes she stopped to chat, or to get a name, he thought, smiling as he watched. Once, she knelt down to talk to shy child, a girl, he thought, hard to tell at that age and at this distance. Then Angie took the child’s picture with the tulips the kid was carrying. He laughed.

  “Thanks,” she said, hopping back into his car. “That was fun.”

  “No problem,” he said. “You’re fun to watch.”

  “Yeah?” she said, dimpling up.

  “Yeah,” he said. He drove past Anne Norton’s house. There was a car parked in front that hadn’t been there. It wasn’t a sheriff’s SUV, and it wasn’t the car he thought belonged to Norton. Angie jotted down the license plate for him. “Any unusual numbers on it?”

  “No, looks like a regular plate,” she answered.

  “OK, then let’s find a bar.”

  Turned out that had been one of Angie’s questions to people as she walked around town. They were looking for a local’s bar she’d heard about, so it took some questioning. But she’d thought she knew of a place. “Probably the place your aunt made you go,” she teased.

  “Probably,” he said. “She has a way of knowing those things. Kind of like your dad.”

  And sure enough, they pulled into the same parking lot full of trucks, SUVs, and a fair number of bikes. He groaned, mostly for show. “Country western,” he said. “And yes, it’s the same one. Couldn’t have found it, but this is it.”

  Angie laughed.

  He locked his bag and her camera bag in his lockbox in back, and they walked in with his arm around her shoulders.

  Chapter 11

  Breakfast with the sheriff was interesting, Mac thought. Angie might have been a touch hung over and was clutching her coffee mug as if her life depended upon it. Norton was in a good mood. Got laid last night, Mac speculated. He hadn’t, and he’d been tempted. Really tempted. But he had some loose ends to tie up at home first. Nor did he want to harm what was developing into a good work partnership. But they’d danced, and she got snuggly after a few drinks. It made him grin.

  Breakfast was at an old-fashioned restaurant that served a lot of food, good coffee, and the waitress called people ‘Hun.’ Well, not Norton. She called him sheriff. Mac wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or dislike.

  The three of them had a corner booth, apparently the one the sheriff always sat in. Mac sat in the middle, which made him antsy, but he wasn’t going to make Angie sit between him and the sheriff, not when Norton was so obviously disdainful. Mac felt trapped.

  The sheriff was chatty. Mac grilled him about the constitutional sheriff’s association, and what that all meant. He was taping the interview, recorder in plain sight, and he taped his request to tape as well. But eating, interviewing, and taking notes? Nobody was that good.

  Constitutional sheriffs had hot buttons, Mac knew. Besides guns, public lands were a big one. And 50 percent of the land in Skagit County was federal land. “Do you have a problem with how federal land is run in Skagit County?”

  “Federal land shouldn’t even exist,” he said with a snort. “That’s not in the Constitution. That’s part of the socialist influence from the 1920s. It should all be in private control.”

  “Wouldn’t that eliminate people’s usage of it?” Mac asked. “I want to be able to go hiking in the mountains.” Well, he didn’t, but for discussion sake?

  “So, let private owners charge for it, and people can pay to go,” he said. “But truth is, you can’t go there now. It may be the people’s lands, but there are permits and regulations. Well, not under my watch. If the National Parks Service wants to enforce that stuff, they can staff it. We don’t enforce any of it.”

  Mac took a sip of coffee and a bite of heavily buttered toast. “How do the rangers feel about that?” he asked.

  “They shout at me every now and then,” he said laughing. “But that’s not going to get us out there. And the last time they got too nasty, someone took a shot at one of them. And we didn’t answer that call either. So, they backed off.”

  “So, your message was you’re on your own? And if you don’t like it, we won’t come when you really need us?”

  “Something like that,” Norton agreed. “We don’t have time to worry about ATVs churning up the trails. More power to them. We can either answer serious calls — like someone taking a shot at someone — or we can worry about their stupid regulations. Can’t do both.”

  Mac wanted to find some of the park rangers to talk to after this. “What about your wilderness trips? Those on federal lands?”

  “Mac, half the county is federal land,” he said. “Of course, they are.”

  “What about the tribes?”

  Norton grunted. “They wanted autonomy, they got it.”

  “What does that mean?” Mac asked.

  “It means that they can call their tribal police department if they have problems, not me.”

  “OK,” Mac said, leaning back in his chair, and sipping his coffee. “You tell me, why are you a constitutionalist?”

  “Why? Because that’s how the Constitution is written,” he said. “Have you read it? I mean really read it?”

  Mac shrugged and nodded. And had to take a constitutional law class in college, he thought, but didn’t say.

  “Then it’s obvious that much of the regulation that interferes with our pursuit of happiness isn’t in there, Mac,” he said earnestly. “People aren’t happy. They feel betrayed. They think everyone gets a break but them. And they’re hardworking people. They deserve to own their homes, and without excess taxation for services they don’t want. They shouldn’t be pa
ying taxes at all! They should be able to carry a gun, hunt when they want to, go to church and worship without people telling them they can’t believe a certain way.”

  Mac frowned. “Wait, who’s telling them they can’t believe a certain way?”

  “All these freaks who think it’s OK to be queer, or gay, or whatever they’re calling it these days? It’s not OK, the Bible says it isn’t,” he said. “Same with all these women who have to be treated equally. Where does the Bible say that? For that matter, where does the Constitution say that?”

  “Let’s stick with gay rights, for a moment,” Mac said slowly. “Churches can believe what they want, but they can’t tell another person what to believe or how to live their lives. You think that’s a problem?”

  “Hell, yes, it’s a problem! They get laws passed that say the Constitution protects their ways, but that’s not true. That’s why we’ve got to take back the courts,” Norton said vehemently. “Pretty soon we won’t have any control of our lives left.”

  “Sheriff?” Angie said with a frown. “Who’s we? Who won’t have control?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I’m curious too,” Mac said. “You say the Constitution doesn’t protect a gay man’s right to live his life the way he wants, but then you say if we don’t stop the courts from giving him that right, we won’t have any control left. Who’s we? White men?”

  “We built it, Mac,” Norton said. “We should be running it.”

  Mac shrugged. “Looks to me like we are. Most wealth is in the hands of white people. Most of Congress is white, most state government is white.”

  “And look who we have for a president,” Norton said. “We’re heading toward a day when white people won’t be the majority of people in this country. And we’ve got to have the powers to remain in control or we will be some kind of banana republic run by...,” he hesitated and looked at the tape recorder, “Black people and Mexicans, and gays and everyone but God-fearing white people. That’s not going to happen in this county. I enforce the Constitution. And it gives the power to God-fearing white men, and that’s how I run this county.”

  He got up, tossed a couple of 20s on the table. “That enough of an interview?”

  “It helps,” Mac said evenly. “I’ll call if I have more questions when I start writing.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Mac lifted his coffee cup and a waitress came over and refilled both cups. “You don’t mind him,” she said. “Sheriff gets hot-headed. He means well enough. And mostly? The deputies respond to calls, not him. They take care of the people.”

  “So why did he get re-elected?” Mac asked. “Good coffee.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She shrugged. “Power and money get you elected,” she said. “And his church has both. So, people learn to live with it.”

  “Thank you,” Mac said sincerely. He left her a big tip when they got up to go.

  “But be careful,” she cautioned as they walked out. “He can be vindictive.”

  Mac nodded. “I will,” he promised. He was always careful. Didn’t push worth a damn, but he was careful.

  “His church?” Angie asked.

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “And I want to find us some National Park folks. Did you notice his comment? How the last time the Park rangers got too demanding someone took a shot at them? As if the two items were linked?”

  Angie nodded. “He’s a piece of work. I don’t know if they were linked. If they were, he’s probably guilty of attempted murder. Or he’d like us to think he’s got that much power, in which case he’s nuts. Bragging to a reporter like that?”

  Mac thought, or both. And wasn’t that scary?

  “Check and see if you can find a Park Center that’s open on a Saturday in April?” he asked, as he got into the driver’s seat, and started the SUV. While she looked, he called Anne Norton and asked about their church.

  “First Baptist when we were married,” she said. “But after we separated, he started going to New Life, it’s an evangelical church — one of the largest in the county. Lots of influential people out there. A bit too radical for my tastes.”

  “Radical?”

  She laughed without much humor. “Yeah, and I’m going to a Baptist Church,” she said, a bit obscurely for Mac. “But New Life seems to combine an anti-government, pro-gun message with evangelicalism. They were preaching against Obama’s re-election, for instance. That made the newspaper even. They said he was the Antichrist. Weird mix if you ask me. But you can see why Pete would like it.”

  When he hung up, Angie had located a ranger station, up Highway 20 a bit out of town, so they headed that way. They wandered through the North Cascade Park Services building — it was a welcoming place, full of exhibits, and handy maps. Mac collected all the freebie stuff. He thought they might find a good person to ask about the wilderness trips too. And maybe about dead bodies. Turned out that wasn’t hard to introduce as a topic at all.

  After they’d seen everything the museum and gift shop had to offer, Mac found the information desk and explained who he was. Asked to talk to the head ranger, if he was available for a story he was working on.

  “Can I tell him what the story is about?” the woman asked. She was an older woman, no-nonsense, well-groomed, and fully capable of making sixth-graders settle down with a raised eyebrow. Mac had just watched her do it.

  He hesitated. “Doing a profile of Sheriff Pete Norton,” he said.

  She laughed. “Yeah, he’ll have a few words to say,” she said. “Wait a moment.”

  If the woman out front reminded him of his eighth-grade English teacher, the man in the back office looked like former military. Former by 20 years, he’d guess, but he hadn’t lost the haircut or the cleanshaven look, or the posture. Mac was tempted to salute.

  He wondered if Pete Norton had served. He would have mentioned it wouldn’t he? Mac frowned. Why had he left California?

  “Profile on that crazy asshole?” he said. His name was Edward Peabody. Mac figured ‘sir’ would work.

  “You’re not his biggest fan, I take it?” Mac said, laughing a bit.

  “Got that right,” he said, then gestured to the seats in front of his desk and sat back down with a sigh. “Should be more diplomatic,” he admitted. “But I don’t know why. He’s already made it clear he’s not going to help with enforcing regs out in the park. Nor is he going to answer a call when my officers need help. So, I don’t see what I’ve got to lose.”

  Mac set out his recorder and got permission.

  “So, you’ve had problems getting backup from the sheriff?” he asked.

  “He’s made it quite clear I shouldn’t bother to call,” Peabody said. “But I insist we do. I’m not giving him an excuse that no one called. And, to be honest, if one of his deputies gets the call, they will often come by. If he’s not there to stop it.”

  Mac raised an eyebrow in surprise. “It’s that bad?” he asked, trying to picture deputies undermining a sheriff like that. Then he thought about the Jorgensen situation where he hadn’t backed up his own deputies. Maybe they’re not disloyal — maybe they’re just pragmatic.

  “Someone has been taking potshots at my rangers,” he said. “We report it, they do nothing. Thankfully, so far no one has gotten hurt.”

  He started to say something, glanced at the tape-recorder, and shook his head. Mac thought he suspected the sheriff knew who was doing it. Or was the sheriff taking the shots?

  “How often?” Mac asked.

  “Couple of times a month,” he admitted. “I’m pretty sure it’s to spook my rangers. That they’re not actually intending to hit them. But one ranger got hit by some rock on a ricochet. Took a chunk out of his arm, and when he called into dispatch, no one was available. He was able to reach me, and I came and helped him get out. Had an ambulance waiting. He lost some blood. Miracle he didn’t lose an arm,” he said grimly.

  “That a problem around the country or just here?” Mac asked.

  “It
’s a problem if you’re dealing with a constitutionalist,” he said. “And Norton is proud of it. So, no secret. But you get men here who are one step away from disappearing into the mountains, and then you have a sheriff who announces he’s anti-federal control of lands and won’t be assisting? Incidents go up.”

  Peabody hesitated, then shrugged. He’d decided to tell them whatever was bugging him, Mac thought.

  “About 10 days ago, we got a report of a missing hiker,” Peabody said slowly. “So, we called the sheriff’s department for a search and rescue mission. We have equipment and skilled people, but we don’t have the numbers. With their reserves, they have the numbers. We were shut down by the sheriff himself. He said his people were busy with the Tulip Festival and we’d have to handle the search ourselves since it was on land that didn’t recognize his authority.”

  Mac frowned. “And?” he said slowly. Ten days ago? A survival weekend?

  “We found him eventually,” Peabody said, his eyes shadowed. “I’m not sure what killed him, we’re waiting on a coroner’s report, but he’d had a rough time before he died.”

  “Time of death?” Mac asked.

  “We don’t know that,” Peabody said. “We found him that Sunday afternoon. He had fallen into a ravine. Dickens of a time getting the body out.”

  “Foul play?”

  “Maybe? The body was in bad shape. Maybe he just didn’t see the ravine in the dark, fell in and died there,” Peabody said, but he sounded doubtful. “I’m hoping the coroner can tell us something. But the thing is, if we’d gotten more people out looking on Friday when he went missing? We might have found him before he ended up in that ravine.”

  Mac studied the man. Sorrowing, angry, and disturbed. Really disturbed. “Is this the first one of these types of hiker fatalities?” he asked slowly.

  Peabody shook his head. “We lose two or three hikers a year,” he said. “The North Cascades is rugged territory and untouched by man. Not many roads. Hikers think they’re skilled enough to handle it, and they’re not. No one should hike alone, to start with, no one. But some try it, no matter how much we preach.”