The Tamarack Murders

by Patrick F. McManus

  Angie thumbed through a notebook on her lap. “Yesterday morning a man stepped up to the manager just as he got to the bank door and stuck a gun in his ribs. They walked into the bank together. The manager did as he was told. The robber yelled for everybody else to lie down on the floor and shut their eyes. The vault was still open. Some of the employees peeked and saw the robber step into the vault and sweep blocks of cash off a counting table into a big black plastic trash bag until it was over half full. Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out the door. Several employees jumped up and saw an old tan-colored car, probably a Datson, roar out of the parking lot. One of them got a partial plate number and called your office with a description. There were two people in the car. We don’t know yet exactly how much cash he got, but it was a lot.”

  Tully turned south on Highway 95. “Sounds like the guy was a pro all right. On the other hand, I can’t believe the guy at the bank was the guy killed on the mountain. You have any idea how tall the robber was?”

  “The manager claims to be six feet tall himself,” Angie said. “The robber was shorter. He estimated about five eight.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “A red-and-black checkered mackinaw, black pants, boots, a gray wool cap with an attached wool ski mask he pulled down over his face.”

  Tully glanced at her. “Definitely not our vic on the mountain. My guess is our vic was left in the car to keep it running. Sounds as if our robber in the bank had done this sort of thing before, doesn’t it.”

  Angie nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

  Tully turned onto Culver Road, bounded on each side by small farms, the fields now covered with stubble and weeds. Some of the farms had long rows of Christmas trees in various stages of growth, some tall enough to cut and be hauled off to market. Maybe he should grow Christmas trees on his place. Might involve work though. When he was a kid, he and Pap would drive up into the mountains and chop their Christmas tree out of the national forest. Farmers back then would have thought you were crazy if you suggested they grow Christmas trees to sell.

  Angie said, “So what do you think?”

  “Christmas trees could be a lot of work.”

  “Are you listening to me at all?” she snapped. “I asked what do you think about how tall the robber was!”

  “My robber? If the guy who robbed the bank was five foot eight, our vic couldn’t be the robber. Vergil was almost six feet tall. I just don’t think he could handle a robbery, anyway. The guy who did it sounds like a pro to me. Vergil no doubt was the guy left in the car to keep it running. Since he had worked in the bank, he probably gave the real robbers the inside information.”

  Angie stared out her side window. “Would you mind explaining something to me again, Bo?”

  “Always glad to oblige a pretty lady. What do you want to know?”

  “Explain the Blight way to me once again, would you?”

  “Sure. Let me think a second.” He scratched his jaw and frowned. “Well, the Blight way goes like this. It’s pretty simple. Instead of going by all the pesky rules and regulations that govern a person’s life, you simply do what feels right. As a law enforcement person, of course, I don’t recommend the Blight way as a proper course of action.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  They came to a wooded area: jack pine, fir, and tamarack scattered sparsely about on each side of the highway. Tully slowed to check names on mailboxes.

  They passed one with “SHANKS” printed across the side in large black letters. He stopped, backed up and turned into a driveway that wound in and out among the trees.

  Angie gasped. “Good gosh, Bo, this driveway is fantastic! It looks like the yellow-brick road in The Wizard of Oz!”

  “Tamarack trees,” Tully said. “This time of year they turn quite a few roads around here bright yellow with their needles. One of them turned our vic up on the mountain a bright yellow, too.”

  “Back East we call them larch.”

  “Larch is too wimpy for Idaho,” Tully said.

  “Tamarack has a much more masculine sound. It’s the classic firewood of Idaho. When I was a kid, we burned nothing but buckskin tamarack. There’s one over there.”

  “Oh!” Angie cried.

  “Yeah, it’s a big old buckskin tamarack snag. Haven’t seen one like it in years. ”

  “I’m not gasping over your stupid firewood, Bo! A woman just ran out of the house, got something out of a car, and ran back in.”

  “So?”

  “She was stark naked! She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothes!”

  “Whoa! And here I was looking at a stupid tamarack!”

  “You missed something all right! She was gorgeous!”

  “Now my day is ruined!”

  The house was built of logs, probably taken from the property by the owner himself. Tully pulled up in front of it and turned off the engine. “Let’s go knock on the door and hope the lady will answer it the same way. With my luck we’ll get the wizard.”

  The door was made of thick slabs of wood and appeared more appropriate for a fort, as if someone might attempt to batter it down. Well, good luck with that. A lady opened the door. She was indeed gorgeous, even wearing a housecoat, which barely contained her voluptuous figure. He sensed she wore nothing under it.

  “Oh no!” she gasped. “Sheriff Tully! I just ran out to get something out of the car and didn’t notice you drive in.”

  “I missed you, too. I guess I was too busy admiring your buckskin tamarack. I assume you’re Mrs. Shanks.”

  She seemed relieved. “Yes, I am. I suppose you’re here to see my husband.”

  “We are. This lady is Angela Phelps. Miss Phelps is an agent with the FBI.”

  “The FBI! My goodness! Well, whatever it is, Grid didn’t do it!”

  Angie said, “He’s not a suspect, Mrs. Shanks. “We only came to ask him a few of questions.”

  “He might be back soon. Maybe. I’m actually not sure. I never know about Grid. One time he had just planted a new lawn when a friend stopped by to invite him out for a beer. When he got back, the grass was six inches high. So I never really know when he might be back.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy,” Tully said.

  Angie smiled. “So you’re telling us your husband doesn’t keep regular hours.”

  Mrs. Shanks laughed. “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m telling you. Say, I was just about to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Would you all like some?”

  Angie glanced at Tully. “I would love a cup.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  “Great!” Mrs. Shanks pointed to a kitchen table sturdy enough to hold a tank. “Grab a seat. I just made some banana bread. It’s still warm. Could I interest you in some?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Tully said.

  Mrs. Shanks set three sturdy cups on the table and filled them from a massive coffee pot she took from a massive wood stove. Everything about the Shanks seemed massive.

  Tully glanced into the living room. One whole wall was filled with books. On the wall opposite was a rack of rifles and shotguns.

  He nodded at the books. “You must be quite the reader, Mrs. Shanks.”

  “Oh, please, call me Sil. Well, actually I’m not a great reader, Sheriff. They’re all Grid’s. He’s very smart. He’s read every one of them. Every supper he lectures me about philosophy and history and literature, and I don’t know what all. I tell you, Sheriff, if you want to be bored stiff you should come over for supper sometime.”

  “I may take you up on that, Sil. I’m kind of a book person myself. You mind if I take a look at Gridley’s library?”

  “Look all you want. You can even take some home with you, if you find something you like.”

  Tully walked over and checked the books. A lot of philosophy, science, and literature. He squatted down so he could see the bottom shelf. “Wow!” he said, glancing over at Sil. “What a collection of bird books! One of you must be quite the birder.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, my goodness, yes! Grid got into bird watching a few years ago and became fascinated with it. He had to drag me along on his outings to look for birds, and pretty soon I got interested in them myself. We’ve gone all over the country, working on our life lists. I think Grid knows every kind of bird in the whole country by sight. I get a little bored with it at times, but it gives us a wonderful excuse to travel. Are either of you a birder?”

  Angie shook her head. “Not me, Sil. “Maybe someday, though.”

  “I kind of am,” Tully said. “For the first time in my life I saw a mountain bluebird a few weeks ago, after looking for half my life. The mountain bluebird in Idaho almost got wiped out fifty or so years ago when some government agency sprayed its nesting area from a plane, but I think it must be coming back. Mostly now when it comes to birds I’m partial to fried grouse.”

  Sil laughed. “I’m with you there, Sheriff! But I’m afraid Grid has got me excited about birding. Maybe it’s the travel. I’m one of those people who need an excuse to travel.”

  Angie finished her slice of banana bread and smiled. “Sil, that is the best banana bread I’ve ever eaten!”

  “Why, thank you, Angie. We eat lots of it. Here’s the strange thing. Whenever the bananas turn slightly brown, Riker’s Grocery dumps them out back to be picked up by the garbage man. Grid swings by at five o’clock every Tuesday morning and picks up enough fruit and vegetables to last an army for a month. He drops most of it off for poor families he knows. Grid does the same thing with Helman’s Bakery. They sell day-old bread for twenty-five cents a loaf. Any bread you buy from a store is almost a day old anyway, at least that’s what Grid claims.”

  Angie, undeterred by learning the source of the bananas, munched a second slice appreciatively. “How many children do you have, Sil?”

  “None, I’m sorry to say. Grid has two from another marriage, both of them smart as whips. They live with Grid’s ex and her husband, both of them nice people. That’s where Grid is right now. Little Grid just started first grade. He already knows how to read, but him and his teacher haven’t been getting along. So Grid went over to the school to get everything straightened out.”

  Tully walked back to the table. He had just sat down and bitten into his second piece of banana bread when he heard a car pull up outside. He wasn’t sure how Shanks would respond to a sheriff sitting at his table munching his wife’s banana bread. The door burst open. If Genghis Khan had ever been recreated and stood well over six feet tall and been shaped like a steel splitting wedge, he might have looked a good deal like Gridley Shanks. Tully imagined little Grid at three feet tall but the same shape. The image made him smile. He stood up and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Shanks, I’m Sheriff Bo Tully.”

  Shanks shook his hand. “I know who you are, Sheriff. Everybody in Blight County knows Sheriff Tully. When I saw the sheriff’s car out front, I figured I was in big trouble.”

  “Not at all. Oh, this lady gobbling down your wife’s banana bread is FBI Agent Angela Phelps.”

  Angie stood up, smiled, and stuck out her hand.

  “FBI! I must be moving up in the world.” Shanks shook Angie’s hand.

  “How did it go at the school?” Sil asked.

  “That first grade teacher is a mousy creature and didn’t have a clue about handling little Grid. So I had a chat with the principal, and he moved the boy up to second grade, even though he’s just turned six. That second-grade teacher has some steel in her, and she and little Grid hit it right off. I think I’m done with that problem. You got any children, Sheriff?”

  “No, my wife died ten years ago, and I never remarried.”

  “Sorry. I knew that and forgot. So what brings you out here to the wilderness?”

  Tully sat back down and took a sip of coffee. “A piece of flagging tape we found tied to a tree not too far from a murder victim.”

  “Oh, oh. What did the murder victim look like?”

  “A young fellow. Vergil Stone by name. Lost his job a while back. We think he was involved in the bank robbery, but we can’t be sure.”

  “What about the flagging tape brought you out here? There are strips of the stuff strung all over the county.”

  “This one had your fingerprint on it.”

  Sil sucked in her breath.

  Shanks frowned and thought for a moment. “I’ve got pieces of property all over Blight County. But I don’t mark them with flagging tape. Hey, this tape didn’t happen to be hanging from a tree limb out on Canyon Crick Road, did it?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Shanks laughed. “That tape does mark some property I own. A couple fellows I met the other night asked if they could hunt elk there. I told them they could. I own about two hundred acres on the side of Chimney Rock Mountain. I put up the piece of tape to show these fellows the middle of my property, which reaches up to the crest. I told them to make sure they hunt that part of the mountain, because the owners on either side of mine get a little upset with trespassers. Anyway, there’s a game trail up near the chimney. Elk use it sometimes, when they get run out of the canyon on the other side of the ridge. If these two fellows went over the ridge and dropped down into the canyon, they would be on Forest Service land. It’s a hellhole down there and the elk love it. Just about anybody could shoot an elk there, but it would take a real hunter to pack it out. These two talked the talk of real hunters.”

  “You think they might have been hunting on the mountain yesterday morning?”

  “That was the plan. I ran into them the other night over at Slade’s. That’s a bar on the north side.”

  “I know it well,” Tully said.

  “I bet you do, Sheriff. Anyway, we got to talking elk, and I told them a herd had been hanging around my property. They asked if they could hunt it. I don’t have anything against elk, mind you, but I told them they could hunt there and that I would mark the middle of my land with flagging tape. And that’s what I did.”

  Tully said, “If they were out there yesterday morning, they might have noticed something useful to us. We don’t have much. Those two hunters, they hang out at Slade’s on a regular basis?”

  “Don’t know. The other night was the first time I’ve seen them there. Only talked to them the once. They’re not from around here, but I don’t recall they mentioned where they did come from. They said they would see me back there tonight to let me know how the hunt went.”

  “Maybe you could meet me there and arrange an introduction, if the two of them show up again?”

  “You buying, Sheriff?”

  Tully laughed. “No, Grid, the county’s buying.”

  “Excellent! I’ll get the use of some of my tax money. I think they planned on hunting for the whole week.”

  Tully dug out his pocket notebook. “Can you give me their names?”

  Shanks leaned back in his chair and peered up at the ceiling as if the names might be written there. “Oh boy, I’m terrible at names. Let’s see, the big one was Beeker and the shorter one, Dance. Horace Beeker and Ed Dance.

  Tully helped himself to another piece of banana bread.

  Gridley smiled. “I heard some talk today about the robbery, but it never occurred to me I might be involved. I try not to think too much about things that don’t involve me.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Tully said. “Seems as if just about anything that happens in Blight County involves me.”

  “That’s what you get for being sheriff. Now me, I hang out mostly with lowlifes. Hear lots of chatter about what’s going on in the criminal world. If ever I can be of any help, Bo, just let me know.”

  “Thanks. Any help you can give me will be much appreciated. By the way, Grid, I understand from Sil you two are quite the birders.”

  Shanks face lit up. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that term ‘birder,’but I guess I am one. I love it. We’ve traveled all over the country looking for the little rascals, and I’ve life-listed every one in the country except, I think, the ivory-billed w
oodpecker. It’s supposed to be extinct, but a couple of fellows down in Arkansas claim to have seen one. One of these days we’re going to head down to Arkansas, Sil and me, and see if we can find one. You a birder, Sheriff?”

  “Sort of. I go through periods of enthusiasm and even have a life list.”

  “Any other hobby?”

  “Yeah, I do, but I’m afraid it doesn’t involve birds.”

  Shanks laughed. “Enough said.”

  Tully thanked Sil for the coffee and banana bread and stood up. “It’s already getting pretty late. How about if I see you at Slade’s about ten tonight, Grid?”

  “You bet, Sheriff.”

  Angie got up and joined Tully at the door. She thanked Sil and shook Gridley’s hand.

  “By the way, Mr. Shanks,” she said, “what do you do for a living?”

  Gridley thought for a moment. “Not all that much, ma’am. I’m what folks around here call a hustler. I buy cheap and sell cheap and pick up everything free I can. But I don’t steal, at least if there’s any other way. I get old cars and fix them up with parts from other old cars. Make a little profit. Mostly, I try not to need money. An awful lot of life is wasted in the pursuit of money, and I try to avoid that. Someday, though, I’m taking Sil on a trip around the world.”

  Angie smiled at Sil and said, “I’m going to cruise around the world someday myself, Sil. Maybe we’ll meet up out there.”

  Sil smiled back at her. “I hope so, Angie.”

  As they stepped outside Tully noticed that Grid had parked a bright red Cadillac sedan next to the Sheriff Department’s battered Ford Explorer. It had been a long while since he had seen tail fins.

  “I see you’re admiring my Caddy,” Grid said from behind them.

  “Yes, indeed. Haven’t seen one like it in thirty years.”

  “Yep, not many of them around anymore. I picked it up from a classic little old lady who got herself too old to drive. It wasn’t in much better shape than she was, but I restored what wasn’t. On the car that is. Less than ninety thousand miles on her—the car, not the old lady. Come to think of it, she’s probably got at least that much on her too.”