“Ain’t no misunderstanding. You’re trespassin’ on my property, and I got a right to defend myself. Now get outta here.”
Kyle didn’t want to come across as argumentative, so he waited a beat as if considering Tucker’s demands. The second step was to build a sense of camaraderie, an us-against-them attitude. “You’re right, Mr. Tucker. It is your God-given right to defend yourself, and I’m here to make sure that no one takes that away from you. But I can also assure you that there is nothing to defend yourself against right now. I just need to ask you a few questions—that’s all.”
There was no reply.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Tucker finally shouted, “What kind of questions?”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we could talk face-to-face like civilized adults?” Kyle tried to phrase it so that Tucker would agree with him.
There was no answer.
Kyle took a tentative step forward. “Wouldn’t it be better if you came out here so we don’t have to shout at each other?”
“You just want me to come out so you can shoot me in the back. I ain’t no idiot. I know what happened at Ruby Ridge.”
Damn. He kept underestimating the man’s level of distrust. “I just want to talk with you—that’s all.”
“You wanna talk, you come in here,” Tucker called out.
Kyle knew going in there was not a good idea, but he was making progress. He took another step forward.
“What are you doing?” Marasco whispered, but Kyle’s attention was focused solely on Tucker.
“We’re just going to talk, right?”
“That’s what you say.”
“How do I know you will let me leave when we are done?”
It was quiet for a moment as Tucker mulled it over.
“I give you my word.”
“Yeah, right,” muttered Marasco.
It may have seemed foolish to Marasco, but Kyle took it as a sign of progress. Men like Tucker tended to have an inflated sense of pride and honor. A man like that did not give his word lightly in a situation like this. He also knew that trust was a two-way street, and if he wanted Tucker—who already had an overt distrust of the government—to trust him, he would have to show Tucker an equal level of trust.
Kyle took another step forward. “All right, Mr. Tucker. I’m taking you at your word.” He reached behind his back and took out Lewis’s gun. He held it out where Tucker could clearly see it. “I’m unarmed,” he announced, dropping the gun for effect. “I’m coming in. Just to talk—that’s all.” Kyle eased forward a few more feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Marasco whispered. “You can’t go in there. Get the fuck back here.”
“We’re just going to talk—that’s all,” Kyle repeated as if it was some sort of mantra. He knew he sounded like a broken record, but it was all he could do to keep from being completely overwhelmed with fear. He just hoped it had the same reassuring effect on Tucker.
He took another step forward. The cabin door creaked as it was pulled ajar. Inside, he could see nothing but darkness.
“Kyle, get the fuck back here,” Marasco hissed from behind, but it was as if he were a million miles away.
Kyle took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves. “I’m coming in,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky to them as it did to himself.
He stepped inside.
CHAPTER 17
“Shut the door behind ya.”
His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, but Kyle could tell from the sound of the voice that Tucker was in the corner behind him. He could practically feel the barrel of the shotgun in his back.
The cabin was musty. The smell of damp wood and wet dogs and something more disconcerting—it reminded Kyle of spoiled hamburger meat—filled the air. An image of rotting corpses stacked in the next room sprang into his mind, and he suddenly realized how vulnerable he was. He wanted to turn and run, to get the hell out while he still could, but he knew that would end in certain disaster. Instead, he slowly shut the door as directed, careful not to make any sudden movements. A dog growled and scratched at the door across the room to his left. He tried to take some solace from the fact that Tucker had put the dog away, but it didn’t help much.
“Sit down.”
There was a rickety wooden table before him in the center of the room. On each side was a tubular metal chair that looked like something from a fifties’ diner, except that the sparkly padded seats had long since disappeared, leaving just the wooden bottom. The metal legs and backs were splotched with patches of rust.
Kyle sat down and placed his hands on the tabletop where Tucker could see them.
“How come you people trespassin’ on my property?”
“The deputies were just coming to ask you some questions—that’s all.” Kyle said, trying to sound calm. “But when you threatened them with a gun, they called us in.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Have you heard about the four men who were killed in a cabin on Hungry Horse reservoir?”
“I heard ’bout it,” he nodded.
“Well,” Kyle continued. “We have learned that those four men came into the store you worked at. The manager says you had a dispute with one of them.”
“You’re talkin’ ’bout that nigger I wouldn’t wait on.”
“Yes,” Kyle said. “He was one of them.”
“Ain’t no law says I got to wait on no nigger,” Tucker growled. “That cowardly store manager done fired me for it, but there ain’t no law against it. I know my rights. Ain’t no law says I got to serve no nigger.”
“You’re right,” Kyle said, trying to calm Tucker back down. He took a breath, considering what he was about to say. “There’s no law that says you have to wait on a nigger. To be honest, I can’t say I blame you.” Kyle hated the sound of the words coming from his mouth, but it was the only way he knew to try to gain the man’s confidence. “The problem is that nigger turned up dead along with three of his white friends a couple of days later. There were several witnesses at the sporting goods store who overhead you threatening that nigger. Some of them think you might have gone to that cabin and killed him and the other men.”
“I didn’t kill no one,” Tucker growled.
“No one is saying you did, Mr. Tucker. But you see, I need your help to prove you didn’t. I need you to let me bring in some men to search your place. We have a warrant that says we’re looking for any weapons that might have been used to kill those men. That’s all. Nothing more. If you’re innocent like you say you are, allowing us to perform this search will help prove your innocence.” Kyle knew it was risky to tell Tucker about the search. If Tucker had killed the men and the weapon was still in his possession, he might panic. But it was also likely that he would have dumped the weapon somewhere before he had returned to his cabin. All Kyle wanted was for Tucker to allow them to perform a search of his cabin. Most people didn’t realize how much forensic evidence could be gathered against a suspect without the murder weapon ever being found.
Tucker stepped over to the table and sat down across from him. Kyle’s blood ran cold as he noticed Tucker wasn’t holding a shotgun, but a black M16 fully automatic with a large bayonet attached. It appeared as if Tucker was ready to go to war.
“I didn’t kill no one,” Tucker repeated. He looked Kyle straight in the eye when he said it, drawing Kyle’s attention away from the M16. They remained silent, staring at each other for several long moments, each trying to gauge the other’s sincerity.
“But I seen somethin’ out there one night not long ago,” Tucker finally continued, nodding out the window. His vision seemed to shift focus, as if he were looking at something far away. “Never got a good look at it in the dark, but it’s out there all right, blacker than the night itself. And from time to time, I heard a screeching off in the distance. Sound that’ll make your blood run cold. Like the Grim Reaper hisself a wailin’ in the night.”
At first, Kyle
began to worry that he was witnessing the ramblings of a madman. Tucker’s appearance, with his long, greasy hair and wiry beard, certainly fit the part. But his eyes, which were blue and clear, didn’t look like the eyes of a madman.
“Are you saying you know who killed those men?”
Tucker chuckled. “Ain’t sayin’ that at all. Ain’t got no idea what it was. All I’m sayin’ is, it wasn’t me.”
“Then let me bring in our men. Let them look through your things. When they don’t find anything, we’ll leave, and we won’t bother you anymore.”
“And if I don’t?” Tucker raised the bayonet in front of him and pointed it at Kyle. As he stared at the finely honed edge of the bayonet, Kyle remembered the murdered men’s arm and head had been cleanly severed by something like a sword or a machete … or perhaps a bayonet?
Kyle didn’t like where the conversation was heading. Again, he found himself wondering how he could have made such a big mistake. “Then those deputies will stay out there until you run out of supplies,” he said. “And don’t think you can get away. They have the place surrounded.”
Tucker stared at him as if trying to judge his response by the look in his eyes. Kyle stared back, trying to appear confident and unflinching, but inside, his guts were churning.
“How do I know you’re tellin’ the truth?” Tucker asked.
“Trust,” Kyle said.
“I ain’t had good experience trusting the government,” Tucker said and then spat on the floor. “Dropped me in the middle of Nam when I was just a kid. Left me there to rot as a POW.” He looked away from Kyle and ran his finger along the edge of his bayonet as if testing its sharpness.
If Tucker was trying to frighten Kyle, his actions were having the desired effect. He didn’t know what to expect from the man. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Then trust me—same way I trusted you when I came in here unarmed,” he said, trying to appeal to Tucker’s sense of honor among men of similar character, not as an agent of the government. He wasn’t sure what else to do.
Tucker sat silently for a moment, still staring at the bayonet, but his eyes seemed vacant. Instead of focusing on the sharp steel, it was as if they were seeing something else far away.
After several long moments, Tucker blinked and turned his eyes back toward Kyle. “I spent nearly three years in a cage in Nam. No one’s gonna put me in no cell again.”
“If you don’t come out, this cabin will become your cell,” Kyle pointed out.
“I ain’t going back into no cell,” Tucker repeated adamantly.
“As long as you didn’t kill those men, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“So you say. What about the warden?”
“The warden?” Then Kyle realized Tucker was probably trapping or poaching illegally. “Is that what you’re worried about? The game warden’s not out there.”
“How do I know they won’t arrest me anyway?”
“That’s not what we’re here for. If I get them to commit to you that you won’t be arrested for poaching, will you come out?”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “You get them to promise me that, and then we’ll talk,” he said with a nod.
“All right,” Kyle said. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped to the door and yelled, “I’m coming out,” so the men outside wouldn’t shoot him as he emerged.
Thirty yards outside the cabin, Kyle was joined by Marasco, now holding Lewis’s gun and the bullhorn. He didn’t say anything as the two made their way back up over the hill.
As soon as they came into view, Lewis came forward quickly and grabbed Kyle by the front of his coat. “What the fuck were you doing back there?”
“What?” Kyle asked, confused. “I got him to talk. He wants to come out.”
“What you did was give him a hostage,” Lewis barked.
“I told him not to go in there,” Marasco said.
Lewis wheeled on Marasco. “Then why didn’t you stop him?”
“What the fuck did you want me to do? Tackle him and have the guys blast Tucker with the flash bangs? I’d like to see you explain that one away.”
Lewis was silent, but Kyle knew he was furious. He could see the bulging veins in his temple.
“Look,” Kyle said. “He says he didn’t kill the men. He wants to come out. All he wants is a commitment that he won’t be arrested for poaching.”
Lewis didn’t say anything for a moment.
He looked at Marasco and took his gun back. Then to Kyle he said, “Go tell him.” He took a pair of handcuffs from behind his back and handed them to Kyle. “Don’t go back in there. You get him to come out to you. And cuff him before you walk him back.”
After Marasco used the bullhorn to commit to Tucker that he would not be arrested for any other crimes, Kyle walked back up to the cabin. The door opened a crack, but he did not go inside. “Are you satisfied?” Kyle asked.
“No,” Tucker called out. “But I ain’t got much of a choice, do I?”
“Not really,” Kyle admitted.
“I have to chain ol’ Blue to the tree. He don’t take kindly to strangers.”
“Okay,” Kyle said. “But once you get the dog chained up, I have to handcuff you, for your own protection as well as mine. We want to make sure there aren’t any accidents.”
There were sounds of rustling and banging and a chain rattling around. “Get down,” Tucker snapped. The door was slowly pulled open, and he emerged with a large, mangy beast in tow. The dog didn’t look anything at all like its name implied. Its head came to Tucker’s waist, and its muscles rippled beneath matted, gray fur. It snarled at Kyle, its black lips curling back to reveal long, yellow fangs. It looked more like a wolf than a dog. Kyle immediately thought of the hand found out back of the cabin. Certainly, a beast like that was capable of taking a man’s hand off at the wrist.
Kyle stepped back, careful to keep his distance from the thing. He waited while Tucker tied it to a thick pine at the corner of the cabin, the trunk of which was scraped and scarred where the chain had been tied previously.
Once done, Tucker walked over to Kyle and turned his back. Kyle placed the handcuffs on him, careful not to get them too tight. Seeing this, the dog went crazy, barking and straining against the chain. As Kyle led Tucker away, he found himself hoping the chain was a strong one.
Marasco and Deputy Johnson came forward to meet them. Together, they escorted Tucker back where he was seated in one of the sheriff’s vehicles. With Tucker safely situated, Kyle made his way farther down the line of trucks to where Lewis and the sheriff waited.
“Tell the forensics team they can go in,” Lewis said to the sheriff. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
The sheriff nodded and walked over to where Davidson and his assistant waited with their cases. Lewis waited until everyone was out of earshot and then turned back to Kyle.
“Look, it was my fault,” he sighed, the anger slowly leaching out of him. “I shouldn’t have sent you up there. The good thing is you got him out of there without anyone getting hurt or killed, especially yourself. But next time you ask me before you go and pull some stupid shit like that.”
Kyle just nodded. He had fucked up. There was nothing else to say.
“And as far as SAC Geddes is concerned, it never happened. You walked up there, and you talked him out without ever going inside, got it?”
“Got it.”
“All right.” Lewis turned and walked off. He had gone about twenty yards when he stopped and turned back around. “Well, come on, cowboy. Let’s go see if this crazy bastard is our killer.”
Kyle went with him. He still felt foolish, like an imposter trying to play the part of an agent but one who didn’t know all his lines. As they stepped inside the cabin, Kyle was again assailed by the stench of the place.
“God almighty,” Lewis swore as he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and covered his mouth with it.
“It’s worse in here,” said a muffle
d voice from the room to their left.
They followed the voice into the next room. Kyle almost became sick as they stepped inside. The remains of a butchered carcass hung from a chain wrapped around one of the wooden beams. It took him a second to realize it wasn’t human but that of a deer or an elk. Thin strips of filleted venison dangled from wooden hangers all around the ceiling. There was no floor, only hard, packed dirt in the center of which was a small fire pit lined with stones. A pile of smoldering embers sent tendrils of smoke curling up through a small pipe in the roof.
Davidson, the portly forensics tech, wore a surgical mask as he set up a klieg light in the corner. “Hell of a playroom, ain’t it?” he said, hooking up the leads to the battery. There was a small spark, and the light sprang to life. The smoke-filled room lit up with a silvery glow, the carcass casting dark shadows across the wall. In the corner was a blood-stained workbench littered with tools and traps and knives. To Kyle, the whole thing looked like some demented stage set for a Nine Inch Nails or Marilyn Manson video, only this was real flesh and blood. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t human. The sight of it still made him feel sick.
Lewis stepped over to the bench and surveyed the array of traps and cutting and rending tools. Marasco stuck his head in and whistled. “This guy should be the poster child for PETA.” Marasco seemed back to his old self again, the earlier conflict seemingly forgotten. Kyle supposed he should have expected that from him, being a New Jersey Italian. He called things the way he saw them and then moved on, whereas Kyle had always tended to take disputes more personally, keeping them all bottled up inside where they festered for long periods of time afterward.
Everyone jumped as someone yelled outside. The dog went crazy again, barking and jerking against the chain.
“Hey, guys, come out here. I think I found something,” the voice said. It came from behind the cabin.
They hurried outside, Davidson trailing behind, careful not to step within reach of the dog. Past the back corner, they found one of the deputies who had been searching the perimeter.
Shadow Dragon Page 8
