Beneath a Winter Moon

by Shawson M Hebert

  “Well, Mr. Tucker,” the constable half-yelled, still stooping low though he was already far from the rotors. “I see you decided to ignore my orders.” He stopped in front of Alan and shook his head as if he were very sad.

  “Well, I…”

  “Save it, Mr. Tucker,” the constable said, waving away the efforts to explain. “It’s not good. Not good for you at all.” He paused. “But, since you are here…I’m going to need you to tell me what you have seen or found…and maybe we can figure out just how badly you have screwed up this possible crime scene.”

  Alan hesitated, unsure where to begin. He did his best to explain the events, omitting Travis’s shooting incident and finally, he motioned toward the cabin. “Can I just show you?”

  By this time, two police officers and one man dressed in civilian clothes had reached them. The one not in uniform was carrying a satchel and had a large, ugly, black camera hanging around his neck. The two uniformed men were not the same corporals that he and Craig had met at their office, though he thought he had seen them around town before.

  “This is Mr. Tucker,” the constable said to the plain-clothed man. “Alan Tucker. He is one of the men who made the report.” The constable stopped and motioned toward Alan’s plane at the dock. “Is the other fellow with you? The photographer?”

  “Yeah. He came with me,” Alan sighed. “And so did a friend of mine. Should I go and get them?”

  “No, just lead on for now…before we lose the light. I’d rather just one of you show me. I imagine there has been enough trampling of the scene for one evening.” He motioned to the two corporals. “Go ahead and bring up the two lights and stands, and bring flashlights too. I suppose we will need them pretty quickly.” The two young men nodded and turned back to the helicopter.

  Constable O’Reilly turned back to Alan and smiled, gesturing toward the man with the camera. “This is Jafferty Roberts…we call him Jaffey. He’s our forensic man on-call. I suspected I might need him…just had a gut feeling, you know.”

  The man nodded a greeting to Alan.

  Alan glanced toward his Cessna as he guided the constable and Jaffey over to the front porch. Craig sat on the passenger seat with his arms folded while Travis looked on from the rear seat. Alan was surprised they had not walked up by now. When O’Reilly and Jaffey reached the porch, Alan expected to hear the same amazed reactions that he and his companions demonstrated, but neither of them showed any signs of awe, amazement, or excitement. Instead, O’Reilly ordered that the remnants of the door be photographed and blood samples taken. Realizing there was no need in directing Jaffey, he sighed, then said, “I guess you know what to do, eh Jaffey? Been at this for how many years now?”

  “Sixteen, sir,” Jaffey answered.

  “Carry on then, Jaffey. I’ll let you know of anything special. Have you been inside, Mr. Tucker?” The constable asked.

  Alan sighed, “Yes, sir.”

  “Of course…and your two friends as well, I suppose?”

  Alan sighed again, lowering his gaze to the bloodied floorboards. “Yes, sir.”

  O’Reilly made a clucking sound and shook his head. He stepped around Alan and into the cabin. Just as he did, one of the two corporals, a young, fit man in his late twenties, stepped up on the porch, danced around the blood stains and the door, and entered the cabin. He handed a headlamp and a flashlight to the constable.

  “Thank you corporal Seffert.”

  “Want me to stay with you, sir?”

  The constable shook his head as he switched on the flashlight. “You and corporal Elmert set me up one of the big lights right here, facing toward the kitchen. Once you have that done, please assist Jaffey however he needs it.” He paused, looking back toward Alan, who stood where he left him.

  Alan retraced their steps for O’Reilly. The constable didn’t say much, just nodded or shook his head as he listened and observed. When they finished, the constable gave Alan some instructions.

  “You go and gather your friends and find a spot to sit down outside. Preferably somewhere off the porch where you cannot further contaminate the…scene.” He paused. “And be sure that your friend unloads his weapon and leaves it in the plane. I’m giving you all the benefit of the doubt. I happen to know Travis’s mother. She cooks a great steak over at Pierre’s steak house and I don’t want things to get ugly with her son.”

  Alan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Craig was okay with coming back to the cabin, but Travis flatly refused, saying that he would take his chances on whatever Constable O’Reilly’s punishment would be for not obeying the instructions. Alan was not about to try and drag the man out, so he reluctantly left him inside the Cessna.

  As Alan and Craig walked up the hill once more, they saw bright light shine through the cabin windows. The light fixture that corporal Seffert set up was powerful and the glow reminded Alan and Craig that there would only be a few more minutes of light left.

  “Where’s the other one?” The Corporal Elmert asked. The man was tall and lanky…knock-kneed. Alan had a flashback of Ichabod Crane from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

  “You must be corporal Elmert?” Alan had asked.

  “I’m the bloody tooth fairy. Now, where is the other guy?”

  Alan wanted to grin at the corporal’s sarcasm…thinking it was not quite the manly reply that he thought it had been…to suggest that he were any type of fairy.

  “His name is Travis Salmon. He won’t come out of the plane.”

  “He won’t?”

  Alan shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Well, I guess he will come out. You two have a seat right there,” he said, pointing at the steps on the far left side of the porch. “And don’t you move a muscle. In my opinion, you should already be in handcuffs, and if you move, I promise that you will be.”

  Craig looked glum as Alan nodded and insisted that they would not move. Both men sat down on icy steps. They had a clear view of the dock and watched Elmert walk toward the plane, wondering what the next few minutes would bring.

  “Shit,” Alan said.

  “What is it?” Craig asked.

  “I didn’t think to tell the corporal about Travis’s gun and he wasn’t with me when I told Constable O’Reilly what happened. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

  Craig groaned, “Too late, now.”

  They heard the corporal yelling at Travis to get out of the plane. Apparently, Travis still refused. The corporal, after a moment, yelled that Travis had a weapon and called for Corporal Seffert, who came out of the cabin promptly and started to run to Elmert, but then stopped in front of Alan and Craig.

  “Hey, Seffert…Travis is harmless. He’s just scared…”

  The corporal sneered. “Did anyone search you two?” He asked, ignoring Alan’s words.

  “No, but we are not armed. Craig here has a camera back on the passenger seat of the plane, but that is it. Travis brought the gun for protection. He is not a threat.”

  “Humph. We will be the judge of that.” He looked at them, and then the corporal who stood on the dock, arms held out in a questioning gesture.

  “Be there in a second,” Seffert yelled. He looked down at Alan and Craig. “Don’t move. We’ll search you when we get back with your friend.”

  He hurried down toward the dock.

  “A lot of good that would do if we had guns and wanted to shoot them, eh?” Craig asked in a shaky attempt at humor. “We will search you when we get back,” he mocked.

  Alan turned toward the cabin and saw the constable stick his head out of the front doorway. He looked toward the plane, then at Alan.

  “So much for that.” he said, dryly.

  “Constable…he is just scared. He doesn’t want to leave the plane because of what we saw. He’s…well…superstitious.”

  Jaffey’s camera flashed and flashed inside the cabin.

  “Mr. Tucker…please…come inside. You,” he pointed at Craig, “Stay there.”

  “Please�
��call me Alan.”

  The constable huffed and said nothing.

  Alan stepped inside. A skinny tripod was set up about waist high. A large battery sat on the floor beneath the tripod legs. Wires connected the battery to a large halogen light surrounded by a shiny stainless steel dish-shaped refractor. The room was so bright that he had to adjust his eyes.

  “At this point, Alan, though it pains me,” he paused, “and it really does pain me to do so…I must inform you of your rights. You are under arrest for suspicion and interfering with an ongoing police investigation. Please ask your friend to step inside?”

  Alan wanted to protest, but knew it was useless. He damned himself for coming…and double-damned himself for bringing Travis. This was by far the dumbest thing he had ever done and he wondered if he would go to jail for it.

  Craig, who overheard everything, came to the door.

  The constable told them that they were formally under arrest. He read them their rights, and treated them with mild disdain. He said that he believed that they were no threat, but that they would have to be handcuffed once the corporals came back with Travis. He asked the men if that was going to be a problem. Surprised that he would ask, both men looked at each other, then down at the floor. They shook their heads.

  “I didn’t suspect so…else I would zip-cuff you right now. As it is, I am waiting on the corporals so that we can use our normal cuffs.” He paused, seeing Alan’s puzzled face. “They are more comfortable, Alan. They don’t tear into the wrists.”

  Alan sighed.

  “Now,” the constable said, “are you willing to answer questions without counsel? Do you want to help?”

  “Absolutely,” Alan said. Craig did not answer.

  The constable cocked his head sideways at Craig, who still seemed unsure. Finally, Craig stammered, “I’m an American citizen.”

  The constable raised his eyebrows in mock fascination. “No!” He exclaimed, and then leaned forward close to Craig. “Well, good for you.”

  “I don’t know what I should do,” Craig said, the honesty in his voice almost palpable.

  “If you are not guilty of whatever crime has occurred here, then you have nothing to worry about. Still…the decision is entirely yours. The law is the same for you…with the exception that you can ask to see the consulate when we return.”

  Craig finally nodded. “I’ll help. We came here to help…”

  His voice was cut off by a loud ruckus outside, mostly Travis’s loud voice as he shouted curses at the two corporals.

  They had dragged Travis to the cabin and now all three men were exhausted and angry, cursing at one another.

  “Stay here, gentlemen,” the constable said as he left Alan and Craig, stepping out onto the porch.

  Alan and Craig stayed right where they were…but could not resist turning to peer out the door. They saw Travis sitting on the ground in the snow. He was handcuffed and disheveled, obviously having resisted. The two corporals apparently had resorted to half-carrying, half-dragging their captive up the hill.

  Corporal Seffert stood behind Travis’s back, a knee bracing against him as he grasped a handful of Travis’s hair, trying to keep him from moving. Elmert turned to look at the constable. He reached around and pulled Travis’s Desert Eagle from his belt and held it up for the constable to see.

  The constable nodded. “Get him into the helicopter and read him his rights. Do whatever is necessary to settle him in. I don’t care if you have to chain him to the skids.”

  Travis yelled for the constable to go to hell…calling it “Hades” as if he were trying to avoid cursing at the constable…but the two corporals, however, were fair game. He spit at one of them and told him that if he was eaten tonight, he would haunt them for the rest of their days. The two young men looked at their commanding officer, puzzled.

  “Eaten…” said the constable thoughtfully. “We suspected a bear right off….until we saw the bullet-holes, Mr. Salmon. Your friends say you shot at a raccoon…but how am I to know that you aren’t a raving murderer returning to the scene of his dastardly deed?” He leaned forward and laughed at his taunt. “Easy, son. Can you confirm for me that a bear did this?”

  “Bear my ass…” Travis spit, not realizing how amusing those words were. “If that was a bear then you are the damned King of England.”

  The constable turned back to look at Alan, who stood in the doorway. “Is he always like this?”

  Alan shook his head. “Never seen him like this. He has it in his head that whatever did this…and whatever killed the horses, is a…” He hesitated, not wanting to anger or mock his friend. “Well…that it isn’t a bear.”

  “I understood that.” He turned to look at Travis. “Okay, Mr. Salmon. You are going into that helicopter, regardless of what you say or do. Thus far I have been inclined to limit the charges you all are facing…subject to change upon further investigation of course…but if you so much as lift a finger toward my men again, I swear I will see you locked up, not for a month…not for six months.” He paused for effect. “Your resistance right now carries a minimum three year sentence, and that is not counting assaulting an officer of the law. Just your spit counts as one assault charge. Imagine the charges your kicking and squawking will render…”

  He stepped closer and leaned down so that he looked into Travis’s face. “Three years, Mr. Salmon…and I have not lost a criminal case in eleven years.”

  Travis started to protest but the constable cut him off. “Not a word.”

  Travis’s shoulders slumped. He started to stand, but needed help. The constable nodded to Elmert, who reluctantly helped Travis to his feet.

  “Please don’t chain me to the skids?” Travis asked, looking as if he would cry.

  The constable nodded at his corporals. “Put him in the helicopter, read him his rights, and tell the pilot that he will need to have the aircraft ready for takeoff in one hour.”

  The two corporals flanked Travis and each one held an arm as they escorted him toward the helicopter. He didn’t resist.

  Alan shook his head and sighed. “The damned idiot.”

  “You said something killed the horses, Alan? You didn’t say, someone, you didn’t say bear or wolf or even some animal. You said, thing.”

  Alan nodded at the constable. “You will have to go inside the stables and see the tracks for yourself.” He shook his head. “But never mind the horses for now, please, constable. Like I said…we didn’t look in the woods or at that burn pile. I think that a body was burned on that hill….maybe five meters into the wood line.” He paused. “Please check it out before snow begins to fall again?”

  The constable motioned for Alan and Craig to come outside, then called to Jaffey, who had been upstairs laying markers and photographing the area. Alan knew the constable was going to ask him to go to the stables and to point out where they had stepped and what they had done and seen—followed by a trip to the location of the burn pile. And it was completely dark now. He shivered.

  The three men stood at what Alan had long ago dubbed ‘the burn pile.’ Only when they were within a few feet did the smell of burned flesh hit them. Alan gagged but the constable seemed unphased and poked at them with a long dead branch.

  Elmert and Seffert held large powerful searchlights aimed at the pile. Seffert’s beam of light landed directly on what looked like a thigh-bone protruding from a twisted and half-burned torso. No one said anything for a moment. They all gasped.

  “Whoever tried to burn the body had to have known the fire wouldn’t do it without a good fuel source,” Alan offered after a moment. “Maybe if he’d stayed around here and kept dousing it with fuel or something…”

  “I don’t think he was interested in burning it to ash,” the constable said. He kneeled down and poked into the pile again, this time making a concerted effort to force something out of the ash.

  “Good God,” Seffert said as he shone his light on what the constable had brought to the edge of the pile.
It was a hand, missing three fingers. It appeared that only the wedding finger and the pinky were left.

  On the wedding finger was what looked like a class-ring still in amazingly good condition.

  “Recognize it?” the constable asked, looking up at Alan.

  Alan grimaced. He had recognized it instantly as Kyle’s. He nodded. “It’s his…I believe it’s Kyle’s.” He pointed at the ring, trying to block out the vision of the grisly, charred fingers. “See that it is a mix of yellow gold with sterling? It’s an odd ring because of that. They were the colors of his High School…gold and silver. I’d have to see it close to be sure, but from here it looks the same.”

  The constable grunted and stood up. He looked skyward for a moment, then turned to Seffert.

  “You are staying with us.” He pointed at Elmert and began snapping orders. “You fly back to the airfield with Mr. Tucker’s two companions. Place them in cells for now, but do not give them a hard time. I mean it, and you can tell Jeanice the same. He should be waiting. Get in touch with Lena while enroute if you can. Either way, have her prepare a complete crime-scene kit and ask her to place the Air Rescue unit on standby on my authority. Have Jeanice wake up Brad Samson and get him to the airfield, quickly, with his very best dogs. He is to tell Brad that we will be going after a man on horseback.” He paused. “Also, you get in touch with the on-call from Wildlife Management and ask that they put a team together to track a Grizzly. Offer our helicopter to them if it is needed” He sighed, and then continued, “The first trip back here is to bring the kit and Brad. We will get everything else afterward. Got all that?”

  “Yes sir,” Elmert said, excitedly. This was undoubtedly the young man’s biggest case, and his eagerness was only outdone by his huge grin. “I’ll double-check it all as we get airborne.” He referred to the small, portable radios that they each had hooked to their belts.

  “And rifles,” the constable said after a pause. “I want Brad to bring his own, and I want rifles for you and for Seffert. Not the autos…well…bring one auto and bring the aught-six.”