by Paul Doiron
On my radio I called in to the dispatcher to tell her I was 10-8, on duty and available to respond. Then I tried Detective Soctomah.
“What can I do for you, Mike?” he said, polite but not friendly.
“Remember I told you about that bald guy my dad knew at the Dead River Inn two years ago? Well, I just saw the Bangor paper and there was a picture from the public meeting. It’s him, Vernon Tripp.”
“We spoke with Mr. Tripp yesterday.”
“So he’s also a suspect?”
In his silence I sensed his disapproval as clearly as if I’d seen his face. “We’ll keep you up to date, Mike-as events warrant.” I thought he was going to hang up on me then, but instead he said, “Does the name Brenda Dean mean anything to you?”
“I don’t think so. Who is she?”
“She works at Rum Pond Sporting Camps. She’s says she’s your dad’s girlfriend.”
“That’s what she thinks. She’s probably one of ten.” I tried to sound lighthearted, but Soctomah wasn’t in the mood for humor.
“Your father never mentioned her?”
“No. Do you think she’s the woman I heard on my message machine?”
There was silence on the other end.
“Detective?” I said.
“We’re all set here, Mike.”
“I know the sheriff doesn’t want me up there, but-”
“You don’t have to call me again,” said Soctomah. “Not unless you remember something else important that you left out of your statement.”
“I understand.”
“Good,” said the detective.
To occupy myself I decided to check the culvert trap. I followed the rutted dirt road down through the hemlocks and cedars to the old cellar hole at the edge of the swamp. As I neared the trailer, I saw that the trapdoor had fallen shut. Because of the liquid shadows beneath the trees I couldn’t see what, if anything, might be caught inside.
The sound of an animal thrashing about was the first thing I heard when I got out. I moved slowly, but the animal heard me coming and fell silent at once. Slowly I circled around to the gateend of the trap to have a look.
“For Christ’s sake,” I said aloud.
Inside the trap was the fattest raccoon I’d ever seen. Fat like a furred basketball. A stomach swollen with doughnuts and bacon. Heavy enough to trigger the door when it clawed at the bait bag.
I opened the door and stood aside, waiting for the raccoon to come out, but it seemed content to huddle at the gate-end, as if it had decided to take up residency inside the trap. Finally, I had to go around to the opposite end and poke a stick at it through the grate to get it to move. The gluttonous animal edged out of the culvert and plopped heavily to earth.
I came around the side of the trailer. The coon glanced over its shoulder with an expression that showed its disdain for me and then waddled down the dirt road toward the swamp. As it wobbled away, I was reminded of a very drunk man making a last shaky effort to preserve what remained of his battered dignity. I knew exactly how it felt.
14
The only thing I could do was work, so that’s what I did. I patrolled my district from end to end. I checked fishing licenses and boating registrations. I responded to a call about a possibly rabid fox that had disappeared into some cattails by the time I arrived on the scene. The day got hotter and hotter until every road was shimmering with mirages.
Somehow I managed to miss lunch at the Square Deal.
The call finally came late in the afternoon. It was Lieutenant Malcomb. I pulled over onto a sand shoulder to speak with him. He said, “They found the ATV. It was hidden outside a camp in Eustis. The owner claims the place was broken into sometime last night. She says lots of stuff was missing-camping supplies, food, a rifle. She says your dad stole a car, too.”
“So he could be anywhere,” I said, trying not to sound relieved.
“We have an APB out on the vehicle. The Canadians say he hasn’t tried to cross the border today, but I doubt he’d try Coburn Gore or Jackman. He’d cross on foot in the woods.”
“Are they still holding Wally Bickford?”
“Yeah, they’ve got him over at Skowhegan, awaiting a bail hearing.”
I didn’t answer.
“Stay away from this, Bowditch,” he said. “You’ve got the sheriff pissed off enough as it is. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Focus on doing your job. It’ll get you through this. It always does.”
His advice was easier said than done. The rest of the afternoon was a blur. I chased my thoughts down every back road in the district and accomplished exactly nothing.
If I were my dad, where would I run? He’d already managed to slip past the roadblocks, and with the kind of head start he’d had, he might be in New Hampshire, Vermont, or even Massachusetts by now. The town of Eustis was less than thirty miles from Canada, but there was no chance he’d risk the official border crossing at Coburn Gore. He’d ditch the car soon, knowing it would be reported stolen. Which meant he’d have to find another vehicle or at least a secure hiding place.
By the time I turned toward home, the light had softened to a shade of almost purple, and the fireflies had begun their slow dance in the fields along the road. I switched on my headlights for the drive back to my rented house on the tidal creek.
Sarah was waiting for me when I got there. Coming up the dirt drive through the pines, I saw her little red Subaru parked beside my Jeep. It was all I could do not to pull a U-turn.
On the June day when Sarah moved out we’d both told ourselves it was for the best. She was on the edge of tears that whole rainy afternoon, and if her sister Amy hadn’t come along to help, she might even have changed her mind. But Amy was resolute. She was convinced her gorgeous little sister could do better than a loner like me. And she was certainly right.
Now, after nearly two months of giving Sarah the space she’d said she wanted, I found her sitting on the back steps of the house we’d once shared. She was looking out at the tidal creek slowly dissolving into the dusk. She was wearing shorts and a baggy green T-shirt, and she’d taken off her sandals and set them beside her bare feet.
She slapped her leg, flattening a blood-swollen mosquito. She looked at her hand in disgust. “One thing I certainly don’t miss about this place is the bugs.”
“Just let them bite you. That’s what I do.”
“Always the stoic.” She stood up, appraising me, uncertain at first whether to attempt a hug and then deciding no. “You weren’t going to call me, were you?”
“No.”
“That’s what I figured.” Her short blond hair was cut even shorter since the last time I’d last seen her. “Have you heard anything about your dad?”
“They’re still looking for him.”
I motioned to the door. “Do you want a beer or something?”
A big smile broke over her face. “God, yes.”
We went inside and sat down at the kitchen table. She glanced around at dust-covered countertops, and the bare walls stripped of all those bright paintings she loved. “This place looks worse than I imagined,” she said. “It’s pretty pathetic, even for you.”
“Let’s not get into my cleaning habits.”
“All right. I thought you were going to offer me a beer.”
I opened a bottle for her, then excused myself to go change clothes. She called after me: “You’re really strict about that, aren’t you? Not drinking in uniform, I mean.”
“It’s the law.”
“You’re in your own house!”
I came back, barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “How’s summer school?”
“They’re little monsters, but I love them.”
Sitting across the table, she studied me as she sipped her beer. “You look tired.”
“Yesterday was a long day.”
“When I saw your dad’s face on the news I felt like somebody had punched me. It still doesn’t seem real.” She leaned for
ward across the table. “Mike, what the hell is going on?”
Sarah never made a secret of her curiosity; she thought nothing of asking total strangers the most direct, personal questions. Usually, during our conversations, she acted the role of irresistible force. I was the immovable object.
“A deputy named Twombley went out to Rum Pond yesterday morning to talk to my dad. I don’t know what information he had, but there was a fight, and Twombley arrested him. On the way back to Skowhegan, the cruiser went off the road and my dad escaped.”
“The search-what they showed of it on TV-looked like a military operation.”
“I was up there last night until late, but they sent me home.”
“What for?”
“Because I’m the fugitive’s son and they don’t want me fucking up the investigation.”
“But you’re a game warden.”
“I’ve also been telling people my dad’s innocent.”
“Oh.” She began chewing on a troublesome cuticle. “Why do you think that?”
“My dad’s no terrorist. You met him. Can you picture him getting involved in some plot to murder a police officer and intimidate Wendigo Timber?”
She looked doubtful. “You have to admit he’s violent.”
“He’s a bar brawler. He doesn’t care about politics. All he cares about is drinking and hunting and getting laid.”
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“None whatsoever. And I don’t really care, either.” I felt my face warm with blood. “I’m just trying to do my job and go on with my life.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“So don’t. I don’t even know why you came over here. It’s hard enough seeing you again.”
“How do you think I feel?”
“You’re the one who left, Sarah.”
She took a breath and put her palms flat on the table. “I didn’t come over here to fight with you.”
“So why did you then? Morbid curiosity?”
“Maybe I was lonely,” she said. “Did that ever occur to you? I was thinking a lot about you even before this. And with your dad in the news now-it made me scared for you.”
“Scared?”
“It’s your dad, Mike. You can pretend like he’s just some stranger, but you can’t fool me. I know what that man did to you.”
“What are you talking about? He didn’t do anything to me.”
She made a face. “He abandoned you. He broke up your family.”
“My mom did that.”
“But you blame him.” Sarah wasn’t crazy about my mom-she thought she was way too concerned about appearances and material possessions, ironically enough, considering her own tastes in shoes-but she liked my dad even less. After Sarah met him, she was convinced he was responsible for everything bad that had happened in their marriage.
“I think I’d rather fight with you than have you psychoanalyze me.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“If you’re going to lecture me, yes.”
From the tightness of her jaw, I could see she was fighting to keep her emotions in check. After a long silence she said, “Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?”
“You know where it is.”
After she left, I noticed how dusk was seeping into the house. The kitchen was practically dark. I got up and snapped on the light, but it was too bright, so I shut it off again. I didn’t really want her to leave, but I didn’t want her to think she could just breeze back like nothing had changed.
When she came back from the bathroom she said, “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t know why I’m lecturing you. It’s just really weird being back here. It feels familiar and strange at the same time.”
“I know what you mean.”
She lifted her beer bottle, but it was empty. “Do you want to go get some dinner? We could go to the Square Deal.”
“I’ll cook something.”
She grinned, a certain, mischievous grin I only ever saw when we were alone. “You’ll cook something?”
“I’ll make us some sandwiches,” I admitted.
We sat around in the dark eating roast beef sandwiches and drinking beer and talking about our college years. It seemed the safest subject. After a while we moved to the scratchy sofa in the living room. She had three beers, which was one more than her limit, but I didn’t even think to stop her. I just watched her body loosen and a smile settle across her lips. I was trying to convince myself that we were back in the past, when she was still the happiest person I knew.
“Do you remember that outing club trip to Great Pond?” she asked, her voice a little too loud.
“The one where Ted and Lisa hooked up?”
“And they rolled around in poison ivy.”
We both started laughing. “I’m surprised that never happened to us.”
“I need another beer,” she said.
“I’ll get you one.”
We both stood up at the same time. She laughed, and I laughed, and then I kissed her. She pulled away at first, but I leaned my body against her and wrapped my arm around her waist. Suddenly she started kissing me back. Her hair smelled of faded perfume and of hours spent in the August sun. When we stopped kissing, she maintained eye contact.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, but there was no certainty in her voice.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
I reached my hands up under her T-shirt and felt the warmth and softness of her skin and then I unfastened her bra and she leaned back to pull the shirt over her head. I cupped her breasts in my hand, first one, then the other, and pushed my head forward to kiss each nipple, feeling each one harden in my mouth.
She stood up then and unbuttoned her shorts and stepped out of them and her underwear, too. Standing before me, she pulled my T-shirt over my head, and I kissed her flat stomach above the dark golden triangle of hair. She took my head in her hands and tilted it back and kissed me again, hard. I stood up, kissing her all the time, and felt her fumbling with the button of my pants.
She pressed me naked back onto the couch cushions. Then she straddled me and guided me inside her. I felt the warmth of her and the surprising wetness and I trembled and groaned so loud it surprised us both. She smiled and gripped the back of the sofa and leaned forward so that her hair was in my face. As she moved, her breathing became audible, and her back became slick beneath my hands. She lifted her eyes and kissed me again with her mouth wide open, and I slid my hands beneath her thighs and stood up from the couch.
With her legs wrapped around me, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. I was above her now and lunging into her. She put her arms out for me to hold. She wanted me to pin her to the bed, and I did. Her eyes were closed tight now, and she was biting her lip, and I felt the muscles of her body tensing and tensing, and I pressed on harder until a shudder ran first through her, then me.
Afterward, she curled herself against me, pressing a hand flat on my chest, with a leg thrown over mine. We didn’t speak. I thought that I would surely fall asleep first, exhausted as I was, but soon her breathing slowed, and I knew she was fast asleep.
The moon was out now, and the light through the open window made Sarah’s blond hair appear to be touched with frost. I watched her for a long time and thought how beautiful she looked lying there and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me that I’d let her slip out of my life. The smell of pine needles drifted in through the window screen, and outside I heard the orchestrations of the crickets in the cordgrass of the salt marsh. After a while, I rolled over and shut my eyes and tried to sleep. But it was no good. In the morning she’d just end up regretting everything she had done when she was drunk. What we’d done tonight would just make it harder for both of us to say good-bye again.
The phone rang just after midnight. Sarah moaned but didn’t wake. I padded out into the living room and just managed to pick up before the answering machine
did.
“Hello?”
“I need you to do something,” said my father’s voice.
My heart began to flutter. “Dad, where are you?”
“Canada.” The fuzz of static told me he was speaking on a cell phone.
“How’d you get across?”
“Never mind that.” He paused, as if listening to something on his end. But I didn’t hear anything. “I’m being set up, Mike. They’re trying to pin it on me, but I wasn’t anywhere near that place. You ask Brenda.”
“Brenda Dean?”
“Yeah. She’ll tell you I was with her the whole time.”
“Who’s setting you up? Is it that guy Tripp?”
“Maybe. Him and somebody else. I’ve got my suspicions.” There was a silence on the other end. “Is your phone clear?”
“What?”
“I thought I heard a click. Jesus, are they tapping your phone?”
“You’ve got to give yourself up, Dad.”
“I didn’t do anything! They set me up!” He was terrified. I’d never heard fear in his voice before.
“You assaulted that deputy, Twombley.”
“He attacked me.”
“Your face is all over the news. You have hundreds of police officers looking for you, and they all think you’re a cop killer. They’re not going to take you in alive. You’ve got to give yourself up. If you’re innocent, you don’t have any reason to be afraid-”
“I am innocent! Talk to Brenda.”
“We’ll find you a lawyer.”
“A lawyer.” He practically spat out the word. “Yeah, right.” Then he hung up.
Moonlight had leeched the color out of everything inside the room: the walls, the furniture, the floors. Even the skin of my hands looked gray. It was as if I had woken up inside an old black-andwhite movie, a film noir.
Except that this was no dream. I crossed into the kitchen and snapped on the overhead light. The sudden brightness made me wince. At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face and rubbed it along the back of my neck until the hairs stood on end. I filled my mouth with water and spat it out. Then I braced myself against the countertop and faced my reflection in the window above the sink.
