The Tamarack Murders

by Patrick F. McManus

  The Tamarack Murders

  The Tamarack Murders

  A Bo Tully Mystery

  by

  Patrick F. McManus

  Skyhorse Publishing

  Copyright © 2013 by Patrick F. McManus

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Skyhorse Publishing books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

  Skyhorse® and Skyhorse Publishing® are registered trademarks of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.® , a Delaware corporation.

  www.skyhorsepublishing.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  ISBN: 978-1-62087-634-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Blight County Idaho Sheriff Bo Tully scanned the ridge above him. A string of six elk trotted over it next to the vertical column of rock that served as the peak and namesake of Chimney Rock Mountain. The elk moved diagonally down the slope away from him. Something had spooked them, probably hunters. It was the third day of elk season. The fall’s first snow had dusted the ridge white. Tully automatically recorded the number of points on the bull’s rack. Eight. A royal. The bull followed the line of five cows, in case they could be headed for danger.

  Tully wasn’t hunting elk. He was hunting a man. A person anyway. He should have been hunting elk. Anyone with a halfway decent job would have been hunting elk. He signaled to Deputy Brian Pugh to move up the slope. Pugh shook his head and pointed up the mountain and off to their left. Tully leaned around the tree in front of him and caught a movement fifty yards up. It might be Deputy Ernie Thorpe. He looked back down the slope. Thorpe was below him, standing next to a cedar stump gray with age and the size of a small house.

  Tully pointed in the direction of the movement he had just seen. Thorpe nodded. He slowly and quietly jacked a shell into the chamber of his rifle. He had seen the movement too. Tully shook his head. Thorpe nodded again. The movement above Tully could have been made by a hunter. He didn’t want anyone killed today, including the bank robber. Or one of his deputies. Typically, bank robbers were desperate rather than greedy or simply lazy. Desperate didn’t rule out greedy or lazy, but it made them more dangerous.

  He checked his wristwatch. Ten thirty-five.

  As Tully watched, a man stepped from behind a large tamarack, the tree bright yellow and glowing in the morning sun as if on fire. He wore a black overcoat that stood out sharply against the bright yellow of fallen tamarack needles on the steep slope of the mountain. Not the attire of a hunter or of a bank robber either, for that matter. Fifty yards above the man, the trees thickened into a dense patch of woods, mostly tamarack mixed with evergreens. If the man made it to the woods, he might get away. Tully glanced over at Pugh. The deputy nodded, indicating he had seen the man. He patted his chest, indicating the man could be armed with a handgun. Tully stepped out from behind the tree and shouted. “Hold it, pardner! We’ve got you covered! Take another step and you’re dead!”

  The man seemed to sag. He turned and held his arms out to the side, apparently to show he didn’t have a weapon.

  The shot came from the woods higher on the mountain. It slammed the man face-down on the ground. Tully glanced at Pugh. The deputy shook his head. Thorpe had climbed up behind Tully. “It wasn’t me, boss.”

  Tully shouted at Pugh. “Stay under cover!”

  Pugh nodded.

  Thorpe said, “Who shot him, Bo?”

  “Don’t have a clue. Could be a hunter. But the guy certainly doesn’t look much like an elk. You never can tell. Idiots hunt too.” Tully thought hunting license applications should state, “Put an x in the square if you are an idiot.”

  “What shall we do?” Thorpe asked

  “I don’t know, Ernie.” Tully felt short of breath even though he hadn’t moved for ten minutes. “I don’t want any of us killed too.”

  “It could be some freelance vigilante,” Thorpe said.

  “Yeah, but how would he know this guy had just robbed a bank?” he yelled at Pugh. “You and Ernie cover me, Brian. I’m going to go up and check on the guy.”

  Pugh yelled back, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, boss!”

  “You’re right, Pugh. You go!”

  “It was your idea, boss!”

  Tully stepped out from behind the tree and moved up toward the body. There were plenty of people around who wouldn’t mind killing him, and he hoped whoever shot the man wasn’t one of them. He watched the woods for any sign of movement. He had long ago taught himself to see in past the tree line. If anything moved in there, he was ready to drop flat on the rocky surface of the slope and hope that Pugh and Thorpe missed him when they laid down a covering fire. For a second he thought he heard the sound of a motor on the other side of the ridge, but he knew there wasn’t a road over there. The shooter could have retreated up the ridge behind the cover of trees and then escaped on an all-terrain vehicle of some kind.

  Tully came to the body. It was lying straight down the slope on its stomach. The shot had hit him squarely between the shoulder blades. Blood soaked through the back of the black overcoat. He wore slacks, a white shirt, and gray wool, knitted gloves with leather faces, possibly to warm his hands but more likely to keep from leaving fingerprints in the car. The coat and slacks were weirdly out of place up here on the mountainside, to say nothing of the white shirt. The shoes were shiny black oxfords, well-worn and no doubt polished numerous times. Not great shoes for climbing a steep mountain slope. He appeared to be fairly young, no more than late twenties. Tully pulled on a pair of of latex gloves, knelt down and went through his pockets. Nothing. Neither was there a bag of bank money anywhere in sight. He began to get the uneasy feeling this wasn’t the bank robber. He took out his phone and called the office. His secretary, Daisy Quinn, answered.

  “Daisy, we’re out here above Canyon Creek Road on the side of Chimney Rock Mountain. A man’s just been shot and killed.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Not one of us, Daisy, and we didn’t do it. I don’t know who it is or who did it. We think it’s the guy who robbed the bank, but there’s no sign of the loot. He left the getaway car in the ditch and started climbing the mountain. We’d been in pursuit of the car and got here a few minutes later. Three department Explorers are parked around the vehicle so even our people can’t miss it. Right now we’re a quarter way up the mountain. I need the Unit up here.”

  By “Unit” he meant his Crime Scene Investigations Unit, namely one Byron Proctor, possibly the homeliest man in the world but also one of the smartest. Tully had nicknamed him Lurch.

  “You got it, boss,” Daisy said. “I’ll get him on his way.” Tully beeped off and dialed the medical examiner’s office. The secretary answered.

  “Ginny, this is Sheriff Tully. Is Susan in?”

  “Yes, Sheriff, but right at the moment she’s busy doing a—”

  “Skip the gory details, Ginny. Just get the M.E. on the phone.”

  A moment passed. He could hear a door open and close. Susan came on. “Hi, Bo. What’s up?

  “I’m on the side of a Chimney Rock Mountain off Canyon Creek Road. We’ve got a shooting vic here, pro
bably a bank robber.”

  “Dead?”

  “That’s my guess. His chest is practically blown away.”

  “That’s usually a clue. How do I find you?”

  He told her. “You can’t miss it. There are three red department Ford Explorers parked near a car in the ditch.”

  “We’ll be right out.”

  “Call Lurch, Susan, and tell him you’ll pick him up. He’s throwing his CSI kit together. Tell him to bring his metal detector. Maybe he can find the bullet that killed the guy.”

  “Got it, Bo.” She hung up.

  Tully motioned for Pugh and Thorpe to join him. The deputies moved cautiously up the slope, both of them watching the grove of trees. Pugh came up next to Tully, looked down at the body, and shook his head. “Guy seems pretty young and clean-cut to be robbing banks.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tully said. “I guess bank robbers don’t come in a type that fits all.”

  Thorpe came up, his rifle at the ready.

  Tully frowned at him. “If you don’t mind, Ernie, click that safety back on. It’s too early in the day to get my head blown off, not to mention some other valued part.”

  “Sorry, boss.” Thorpe clicked the safety on.

  “Keep an eye on those trees up there, Ernie. I think our shooter is long gone but just in case.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Tully turned to Pugh. “Brian, you’ve hunted this mountain. What’s on the other side of the ridge up there?”

  “Another mountain. The other side of the ridge drops off steep down into Rattle Creek Canyon. It’s a real hellhole down there, great tangles of brush and downed trees with the crick running through the whole mess. Elk love it.”

  “I imagine. Did you see that little herd cross over a bit ago?”

  Pugh laid his rifle down on the tamarack needles, jammed his hands in his pockets, shuddered, and hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Yeah, that was a nice royal bringing up the rear. Something must have spooked them out of Rattle Creek. I figured we’d hear some shooting from where they were headed down the mountain. But nothing.”

  Tully took out his phone and dialed Daisy. “Good point, Brian. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Daisy answered. “Sheriff’s office.”

  “Daisy, see if you can get ahold of Dave Perkins over in Famine. He’s probably at his restaurant.”

  “Dave’s House of Fry?”

  “Yeah, try there first. Tell him I need a tracker over here pronto. I’ll meet him at my car which he can’t miss if he takes the Canyon Creek Road.” He beeped off.

  Tully slid the phone into his pocket and turned to Pugh. “I thought I heard a motor on the other side of the ridge a few minutes ago.”

  Pugh gazed up at the ridge. “I don’t think so, boss. There’s no road over there, just an old a pack trail of sorts. I think maybe outfitters used it years ago as a mule trail to supply that Forest Service lookout up on that far peak.”

  Tully squinted at the distant tower, a tiny speck perched on a massive slab of rock. Some of its wraparound windows glistened in the sun. “The Forest Service kept that one and a few others but burned down most of the towers. I think they rent what’s left to people who want a wilderness vacation over the summer.” He turned his attention to the ridge. “You think an ATV could make it up that old pack trail, Brian?”

  “Maybe. It would be a rough ride, though. Why?”

  “The guy who killed our friend here, that’s about the only way he could get away. Do you know who owns this property?”

  “Nope. There’s never been any No Trespassing signs on it, so I figure it’s okay to hunt here. Could be state land.”

  Tully squinted at the ridge. The dusting of snow along it was the first snow of the season. “Now here’s what I want you two guys to do.”

  “I hate to hear this,” Thorpe said.

  “Me too,” Pugh said. “It’s not as if we’re dressed for this cold, boss.” His breath misted in the air.

  “Quit whining,” Tully said. “We could get a lot of snow any day now and all sign would be wiped out. There’s already a skiff of snow along the ridge. There might be some tracks in it if the shooter crossed through the snow. He had to get off the mountain some way. You two go up there and see what you can find. Be careful where you step. I’ve got the tracker coming in, and he gets upset if we disturb anything.”

  “Maybe you should hire Dave full time,” Pugh said.

  “Hiring Dave would be too expensive. This way he works for nothing.”

  “Dave Perkins is rich off that restaurant of his anyway,” Thorpe said. “He’s probably killed more people with his House of Fry’s chicken-fried steaks than all the murderers we’ve put in prison.”

  Tully smiled. “And they’re not the only ones he’s killed. If you find any kind of evidence, leave it for Lurch and Dave. Lurch knows how to make casts out of even tracks in snow.”

  Pugh shivered and stared up at the ridge. “What if we freeze to death while we’re waiting for Lurch and the tracker?”

  “We’ll give you really nice funerals. Dave won’t be here until afternoon. You’d definitely freeze if I made you wait for him.”

  “You’re going soft, boss,” Thorpe said. The two deputies slogged off toward the ridge.

  Tully watched them go, then broke some small dead branches off the tamarack, made a little teepee of them, and held the flame of his pipe lighter to them. Although he no longer smoked, he still carried the lighter for just such occasions. As the flames leaped up the teepee he added more twigs and finally some dead branches. Soon he was squatted down warming his hands over the fire. He could hear the distant sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. Rubbing his hands together over the fire, he glanced at the dead man. “Too bad one of us didn’t think to bring sausages.” The tamarack was sprinkling the body with needles, turning it bright yellow.

  His radio squawked. It was Thorpe. “We found some tracks crossing the skiff of snow, boss! Just one set coming up from below.”

  “Great, Ernie! The Unit is on his way. Mark the tracks so we know they probably belong to the shooter. I’ll send Lurch up as soon as he gets here.”

  He dialed the office again. “Daisy, call the State Patrol. Ask them to have their officers check any cars headed out of Blight County on the main highways, particularly those towing an all-terrain vehicle. Get IDs for passengers and drivers. Tell them the guys we’re after are dangerous, that they’ve robbed a bank and murdered a man.”

  Daisy asked, “How long do you want the State Patrol checking cars?”

  “A couple of hours. After that we’ll know the bad guys are hiding in the county somewhere. One last thing. Send out a wrecker to tow the getaway car into the department garage. I’ll send Lurch back in with it.” He beeped off.

  His radio squawked. It was Pugh. “We found only that one set of tracks crossing the skiff of snow, boss.”

  “Good, Brian. Those tracks have to be from the shooter. The Unit is on his way. Make sure he makes casts of the right tracks. I’ll send him right up. You find anything else?”

  “Yeah. There are all-terrain-vehicle tracks in the snow going down the trail. None coming up. That’s probably the motor you heard. In a bare spot next to a tree we can see the ATV tracks both coming up and going down. They show up in the dirt pretty clear.”

  Tully thought for a moment. “That’s weird. If the shooter drove the ATV in, that means he had to get here before the snow.”

  “Sounds about right,” Pugh said. “The only human track in the snow is the one coming up the mountain. Except for ours that is.”

  Tully beeped off and put another broken branch on his fire. “Boss?” It was Thorpe on the radio. “Can we head back down now?”

  “Pretty soon, Ernie. I hear some sirens. The M.E. and her people are on the way. I take it you didn’t find any evidence of the shooter in the woods.”

  “Nothing, boss. Not so much as a gum wrapper.”

  “Ok
ay, you and Thorpe come on down.”

  Chapter 2

  The medical examiner and the Unit plodded up the slope followed by two of Susan’s assistants carrying a folded stretcher between then. Susan lugged two of her black M.E. cases, with her tan shoulder bag bouncing and twisting. He knew she carried a gun in the bag. Lurch had brought his metal detector. Both Susan and Lurch were panting when they got to him. Susan dropped both her kits on the ground and squatted next to the fire, holding her hands over the flames. “Looks like a picnic,” she said.

  “Aside from the fact I’m half frozen,” Tully said. He nodded at the corpse. “My friend here is in even worse shape.”

  “I can see that. It’s almost beautiful. A bright-yellow corpse. Looks almost like one of those gold statues they find in Egyptian pyramids.” She turned the body up on its side. “Wow! You’re right. He was hit really hard!”

  “Can’t be hit much harder,” Tully said.

  She lowered the body. “You think it was a hunting accident?”

  “Could be, but he was standing in an open area, and the shot came from that patch of woods up there.” He pointed. “As you can see, he looks nothing like an elk. I have no doubt he was killed on purpose.”

  “You get a line on the shot?” the Unit asked.

  “Yeah. It knocked him straight down the slope. Sight along the body, Lurch, and that should give you the line. The bullet came from a big-bore rifle, no doubt about that. The bullet may have gone almost down to the road.”

  The Unit groaned. “Great! I just climbed up from there.”

  “Stop whining, Lurch. By the way, take some photos of the body while you’re here, before Susan starts messing with it.”

  Susan put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I’m not messing with it! I assume you can give me the exact time of death, Bo.”

  “That I can. I checked my watch just before he was shot. Ten thirty-five.”

  She wrote the time in her notebook. “That saves you from some of my messing.”