by Paula Munier
“I’m fine. I can shine the flashlight for you.”
Troy looked doubtful but she knew he would choose to believe her so that he could do what needed to be done for the investigation.
She watched him go through the vic’s wallet just as she had done. He snapped photos with his phone and secured the crime scene with quiet efficiency. She did feel better, but then she had Elvis and Susie Bear on either side of her, bolstering her up, the furry ballast she needed to maintain her balance. Troy shooed away the scavengers, more effectively than she had done, and covered the corpse with a plastic tarp from his pack. He roped off the scene with duct tape, then turned to her.
“Anything else you’d like to show me?”
“The rest of the compound. I took a look around, but I wasn’t too steady on my feet. I might have missed something.”
“You?” Troy laughed. “Impossible.”
She flushed.
“I need to examine the area anyway,” he said. “And I’m sure between the two of them, our sniffer dogs will find whatever can be found. Even if we miss something in the dark, odds are they won’t.”
She stepped forward to lead the way and tripped over a branch. Troy caught her again, and though she tried to wave him off, he insisted on helping her.
“Just hang on to my arm,” he ordered. “You don’t need another bump on that head.”
“Yes, sir,” she said lightly.
“You are one stubborn soldier.” But he didn’t let go and she didn’t shake him off this time.
She hobbled through the compound on his arm, shining the flashlight and pointing out the areas of greatest interest like some woodlands tour guide. She felt ridiculous but tried not to let her pride hamper the investigation.
They let the dogs go, and they bounded ahead, following their respective noses. She and Troy made their way around the encampment, and in and out of the first two tent cabins. As they explored, she briefed him on the activity she’d witnessed before she’d been knocked out.
Susie Bear loped around with her usual good cheer, covering the ground within the fence from end to end. Elvis circled the compound in his own aggressive fashion, stopping at several spots, including where the truck had been parked and loaded. He headed for the Quonset hut and sat on alert at the door, while his Newfie companion settled in front of the third tent cabin, the one which had housed Amy and the baby.
Mercy and Troy checked out the tent cabin first. They congratulated Susie Bear on finding the baby bottle, slipped her a treat, then joined the shepherd at the Quonset hut. The shaggy black dog sat next to the elegant Malinois, two energetic canines on alert.
The door was shut, the padlock in place.
“This is where the steel trunks are?” he asked.
Oops. She hoped that was a rhetorical question. Maybe he wouldn’t connect the dots.
“It’s locked,” he said.
Uh-oh. She didn’t know whether to lie and say the lock wasn’t there earlier when she went in or to come clean. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to let a game warden know she went around picking locks at crime scenes. Even one who seemed to be on the side of truth and justice.
“There weren’t any locks on the tent cabin doors,” Troy went on. “There must be a reason they locked this one.”
Mercy pulled away from him, whistling for Elvis. She watched as the sleek shepherd raced toward her.
“What do you think?” He regarded her with amusement.
“Huh?” She had a feeling that playing dumb with him wouldn’t work. You couldn’t fool a good cop, and even though he spent most of his time in the woods Troy Warner was still a good cop.
“You picked the lock, didn’t you?”
She felt her face flush, but she met his look head-on. She was a good cop, too. Or at least she had been once upon a time. “Maybe.”
“Two working dogs have alerted to this building.” He grinned. “That’s probable cause. Let’s see you in action.” He held up the flashlight for her.
Mercy picked the lock quickly and handed him the open padlock.
“Outstanding,” he said.
She stepped aside and the dogs barreled into the steel building, heading straight for the trunks that lined the rear wall. Troy nodded toward the locks that protected them and she picked those, too. She showed Troy the packing material and metal shavings and the pebbles and the short piece of det cord.
“Is that our explosives alert?” He looked at Elvis, who sat at attention at her side.
“It must be.”
“It’s not much.”
“They could have more with them.”
“Or they could have used it to take down trees to clear the area. Loggers use it out here all the time. Or maybe it’s all that’s left from Wolfe’s days blowing up logging trucks.”
“Maybe.”
“I need to get to a place where my sat phone will work.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“I found something in the woods, just outside the perimeter.”
“Okay, let’s see it.”
Mercy led the game warden and the dogs to the snipped section of the barbwire fence and drew it apart.
“I guess that’s how you got in,” said Troy with a smile.
Through the opening they all went, trailing her as she trudged to the art installation in the trees, spotlighted now in the bright beams of both flashlights.
“What is it?”
“It’s one of those natural sculptures that Dr. Winters told us about. You know, the art that Adam Wolfe was making instead of the bronzes of her.”
“Okay.” Troy ran his hand along the arch made of stones, then stepped back to view the entire piece again, from the dry riverbed of fractal rock patterns to the crown of the arch itself. “I like it. It’s kind of ingenious, the way it melts into the landscape.”
“I know.”
“But what’s this got to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure,” Mercy said. “But I feel like we’re missing something.”
“We’ve got three dead bodies and a disappearing mother and child and the possibility of explosives. I’d say we’re missing about everything so far.”
She showed him the Greek lettering. “I hope your Greek is better than mine.”
“It’s not.”
“It must mean something.”
“I’m sure it does, but probably only within the context of the artwork itself.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“What else could it mean?”
“I don’t know. But I think this piece is trying to tell us something.”
Troy looked at her. “I think you got hit in the head and need medical attention.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mercy.” He took her arm gently. “We need to go. Now.”
“Okay.” She knew he was right. Not about seeing a doctor but about getting back. “What about Amy and Helena? I’m worried about them. If the vic was right, they’re in real trouble.”
“We’re doing everything we can to find them.”
“Okay.” Still, she wanted to get out of here so she could look for them herself. “But they need to know that Amy is trying to save her baby, not abandon her.”
“Understood. Do you think you can make it back to my truck?”
“I can drive myself.”
“Not a good idea.” Troy frowned. “Besides, someone slashed your tires. You’re not going anywhere in that Jeep for a while.”
“Seriously?” In her frustration Mercy shook her head, then winced. Her skull still ached when she moved too fast.
“You need to get that injury checked out. I’ll arrange a tow for you as soon the crime scene techs have come and gone.”
The man didn’t miss a trick.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Let’s let Patience be the judge of that.” He smiled at her.
Smart-ass, she thought. Invoking her grandmother’s name was not playing fair
.
But she smiled back at him anyway.
They put the dogs on their leads and left the compound through the entry gate, setting off down the logging road. Mercy insisted on proceeding on her own steam, without the game warden to lean on. He shrugged and kept on walking, but she knew he was moderating his speed on her behalf.
She was grateful to him for that.
“This case is getting crazier by the minute,” she said, hoping to engage Troy and distract herself from the pain.
“I know.”
“So many pieces to the puzzle.”
“That’s assuming it’s just one puzzle.”
“It’s got to be connected,” Mercy said, wincing as she stumbled over a large root. “Think about it. In the past couple of days, Amy ran away with the baby from a Vermont Firster’s compound and three guys with Vermont Firster sympathies turn up dead.”
“True, but that doesn’t explain the twenty grand we found in Walker’s recliner or the guy who broke into your house.”
“And shot Elvis.”
“And shot Elvis,” he repeated.
The shepherd barked as if he were protesting the very bullet that grazed him. Maybe he was.
“And what’s Dr. Winters got to do with it?” Mercy asked.
“Maybe she’s a Vermont Firster, too.”
She laughed. “The only Vermonter she’s putting first is herself.”
“Thrasher would agree with you. He says she’s a piece of work.”
“Amy says her boyfriend has a lot of groupies. I guess she could be one of them.”
“She did call him a genius.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t really fit the groupie profile.”
“Which is?”
“You know, adoring young women who’ll follow rock stars anywhere.” Mercy rolled her eyes, and even that small facial movement hurt her head.
“Sounds more like Amy.”
“Yeah. And look where that got her.” Mercy sighed. “God, I hope she and Helena are all right.”
“From what you say, she’s pretty sensible for a teenager.” Troy slowed down some more and took her arm. This time she let him. “She’s probably just lying low somewhere with the baby.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I agree that Dr. Winters is not a groupie,” said Troy, bringing the subject back to the professor in a sweet if obvious ploy to ease her mind.
“I bet she has her own groupies.” Mercy smiled at him. “Impressionable young college students hanging on her every word … while they wonder if she’s wearing any underwear.”
Troy colored, and she laughed. “She’s the kind of woman who collects men.”
“The south of France.”
“Exactly.”
“Which brings us back to the Vermont Firsters,” said Troy. “What a weird group.”
“We’ve got the activist and artist Adam Wolfe, the lowlife Donald Walker with the tattoo, and the belt-buckle guys.”
“The body in the woods aka Wayne Herbert, and the bird-watcher from Canada.”
“Right,” said Mercy. “And that guy Max, who was at the compound. And who might be the guy who broke into my house.”
Troy raised an eyebrow.
“I can’t say for sure,” she admitted. “Amy says Max is Adam’s best friend. She’s scared of him.” Mercy was getting tired, and her head pounded with every step. Elvis stayed close by her side, nudging her hand with his nose as they plodded along.
“So far, the compound is the common denominator.” Troy still held her arm, helping her over the roughest patches of the trail. “Not much farther now.”
“I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “The compound is where Elvis alerted and we found the det cord.”
“Wolfe has been in trouble for blowing up logging trucks. Maybe he’s planning on blowing up more.”
“That doesn’t explain Max or the truck or its unknown contents. Contents that Elvis alerted to. We need to figure out where that truck was going.”
“And why.”
“It can’t be a coincidence that all this has happened in the past few days.”
“Things do appear to be coming to a head.”
They reached her Jeep just as she was sure she couldn’t take another step. She sighed at the actual sight of her slashed tires and leaned against the hood to rest for a moment. Troy excused himself to call Thrasher.
She waited, brooding over the evidence they’d found so far: the explosives, the truck, the timing.
The timing.
Timing was everything.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SHE PULLED THE “SAVE THE TREES” flier from her pocket, the one she’d found at the compound. She scanned the Northshire Fourth of July activities listed on its B-side: fun run, parade, concert, fireworks, and so forth. By the time Troy got off the phone with Thrasher, she knew what they had to do.
“I keep thinking about the timing of all this. Maybe there’s a reason it’s coming to a head right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s staring us right in the face, and we’ve been too blind to see it.” She handed the flier to him. “The Fourth of July. Independence Day. The perfect time for the Vermont Firsters to make their move.”
Troy nodded. “I can see that.”
The dogs danced at their side, ready to move on. Mercy ignored them. “It’s got to be the parade. Lots of hotshots will be there, including the senator.”
“I thought the senator was going to be down in Bennington for the Fourth, with all the real big shots.”
“I guess he’s making a pit stop in Northshire first.”
“If the senator’s going to be there, they’ve already got people in place for the parade. They know what they’re doing.” He turned those warm brown eyes on her. “Besides, you need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. That’s why you’re so eager to go the last mile here to my truck.”
Mercy stood up straight. “I was just taking a little breather while you talked to your boss.”
“Right.”
“Let’s get going. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can check on the prep for the parade.” She barreled down the trail, trying not to let her fatigue show. Elvis and Susie Bear ran past her to take the lead.
“It’s mostly speculation, you know.” Troy strode beside her. “But I’ll let Thrasher know.”
“You need us,” she told Troy. “I’m the only person who’s seen Amy and that guy Max. And you’re going to need all the bomb-sniffing dogs you can get.”
“Even I’m not really supposed to be there,” said Troy. “It’s the local PD and staties’ show. The Feds could be there, too.”
“The parade is open to the public. Elvis and I are the public. We’re going, even if we have to steal my grandmother’s car to get there.”
They argued all the way back to Troy’s truck. She was determined to wear him down, concussion or no concussion. “I know that Amy and Helena are in trouble.”
“Not your problem. None of this is your problem. You’ve done enough. Time to let the professionals take over.”
She knew what he was thinking: she was just another civilian now. But she couldn’t accept that. Not as long as Amy and Helena were unaccounted for.
“You nearly got yourself and your dog killed. I don’t understand why you are doing this.” He leaned in toward her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Mercy backed away and climbed into the passenger seat. She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting sound of the dogs scrambling into the backseat, followed by the slam of that door and then another as Troy took his rightful place behind the wheel. But he did not turn on the engine.
“Tell me,” he said.
He was more perceptive than she thought. She sighed. What’s more, she knew he was right. She was holding back. And she knew that he would wait her o
ut. Because that’s what she would do.
She might as well tell him everything. “We were doing a house-to-house in a small village several miles outside the wire. We’d built a school there, the first in decades. The Taliban torched it. The teacher—just a teenager herself—and her baby had gone missing the morning of the fire.” She stopped, unable to go on, her head pounding.
“I take it back. You don’t have to tell me,” Troy said gently.
She opened her eyes. “It’s okay. You should know. Maybe then you’ll understand. Maybe then I’ll understand.”
“Okay.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Go on.”
“We searched every house in the village. Nothing. We finally found the teacher in an abandoned field, bound and gagged and beaten, her baby left to die beside her. But they were both alive. Just barely, but alive. The mother was scared for her little girl. I told her everything would be all right. We got them to the hospital as quickly as we could, and I stayed with them as long as I could. I held her hand, like you’re holding mine.” She looked down at his large hand covering hers. “She begged me to stay, but I finally had to go. Another mission outside the wire.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“By the time I got back, it was too late. The little girl was dying, and the mother was so upset they had to sedate her to save her. I held the baby for her, and she died in my arms. The mother survived, but a week after she left the hospital, she hanged herself.”
They fell into silence for a moment.
“It’s the ones with kids that haunt you.” Troy looked past her, at something only he could see. “We had a little girl go missing a couple of years ago. Wandered away from her family’s campsite at Grout Pond. Her parents were frantic. Seemed like nice people, an accountant and his wife from New Hampshire. We pulled out all the stops—grid search, sniffer dogs, dredging—and forty-eight hours later we found her, drowned, in the lake.”
Mercy felt feverish, whether from his sad story or her sad story or the blow to her head, she wasn’t sure. “That’s terrible.”
Troy looked at her, his jaw tight. “Dr. Darling did the autopsy. The little girl—her name was Madison—had drowned, but the doc’s examination revealed a number of broken bones as well as old and fresh bruises. She’d been systematically abused her whole life.” He hesitated. “By her own mother.”
