by C. E. Nelson
“Was Big Pine having an impact on Roger’s business?”
“Not that I heard. Al has made a few improvements but Big Pine has been around for a long time.”
“Did you talk to the guests that got into the fight?”
“They were all gone, but I got their contact information. I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”
It was apparent to Dave that his deputy worked at his own pace and was letting him know it. “See if you can reach them tonight. We need to gather as much information as fast as we can on this.”
“But I talked to the camp owner and the manager and they told me the whole story,” Danny protested.
“It’s always best to get your information directly from the parties involved. Give them a call when we’re done here,” replied Dave with a stern tone, looking his deputy in the eye.
“Right,” Danny replied as he stared back at the sheriff in defiance, obviously tired of getting grilled. The previous sheriff had showed little interest in Station 30 and had let the deputies operate autonomously, with Danny giving the orders to the other two when necessary. The new sheriff in town made it clear who was in charge now.
“And what about the other two that were causing issues with the campers?”
“I found them both over at the Last Resort feeling no pain,” Meline replied. The Last Resort is as close as you could get to a sports bar in the area; it was about three miles east of the Channel Inn. It has a u-shaped bar lined with pine logs and about a half dozen tables scattered over a dirty brown linoleum floor with one big projection television in the corner. There are a couple pay pool tables with not much left of the felt. Guides and locals that weren’t working occupied the seats at the bar leaving the tables for occasional groups of visiting anglers or hunters.
“These two are not the brightest bulbs sheriff. They couldn’t remember where they had been day before yesterday, so I asked Jenny who reminded them that they’d been in the bar drinking since noon.”
The owners, Jenny and Ross Tatum, had been known to smuggle a little dope over the border now and then, with Ross doing six moths in a Canadian jail a few years ago when he tried to cross the border after sampling some of his goods. They’d also been known to let each other have it in the middle of the bar when one of them didn’t care for what the other was or wasn’t doing. No one had ever seen them come to blows and there was no agreement over who had the largest swearword repertoire.
“Did you confirm that?”
“Yeah, Bud Daley was in there and he said they were pretty lit up.”
Dave assumed Bud was a local, but he wasn’t someone he knew. It irked him that Danny made no attempt to identify who Bud Daley was. Should he bother to follow up? Danny had no reason to lie, other than he didn’t want to do any more work, which was a distinct possibility. He’d have to let it go for now. There was a killer or killers on the loose and time was moving too fast for Dave, almost as fast as when he was fishing. Soon the people who relied on the tourist business for a living in this area, which was just about everyone, would be joining Rosemary Thiel’s push for results. Why had he taken this job?
“What have you got Kyle?”
Baumann rubbed the bristles on top of his head as he looked down at his notes. “Not a whole lot. We had one camper drown last spring when he decided to go for a midnight canoe ride after drinking a fifth, and then we had three prospectors go missing, one last year, the other two the year before that.”
“They just disappeared?” Dave feigned ignorance and tried not to get upset that his deputies had not mentioned the disappearances at the afternoon meeting.
“It sure seems that way. They all worked for big mining outfits. According to the reports by the mining companies, all three were out on assignment and never reported back. The camps of each man were located but there was nothing at any of them that said there was any trouble. Planes searched each area but nothing was ever found. These guys set up camp and then go off in the woods taking samples,” he added looking up. “There’s no telling which way they went. They could have got lost, got injured, who knows? Maybe the wolves got them. We never found blood, bodies, clothes, anything.”
“Wouldn’t their companies know where they were looking?”
“The permits the companies got covered hundreds of square miles. They’d know the general area but these guys were pretty much free to check out whatever looked promising.”
Dave felt as if he was missing something. “Where were their camps located?”
Kyle referred to his notes again, flipping through the pages and answering as he read. “One was over on Little Bear, another north of Basswood, and the last one northeast of Knife.”
“How many companies were involved?”
“Um, looks like each man was with a different outfit. With the rush for gold and diamonds up here, we’ve had half a dozen poking around at any one time, at least at first. After last year the number of permits has been way down.”
Dave had read about the mini gold and mineral rush in northern Minnesota, and how the prospecting had now moved farther north above the border after results in this area had not been promising. Still, he had to wonder if some of the companies hadn’t given up on the area after finding it hard to get qualified geologists to come here. This kind of work was hard but it paid well, just maybe not well enough to risk your life for it. It was possible that competing interests had tried to scare each other off, but then why kill the anglers? No, it made more sense that someone here didn’t want anyone from the outside in the area for some reason, and they were willing to kill for it. He’d pass this along to Don.
“Thanks Kyle. Send me copies of the mining company reports and any contact information you have for them if you will. Also, I want you to talk to Charlie Raven and get a list of Billie Whitehead’s relatives in the area. Then, you need to contact each and see if they’ve heard from Billie.”
“You think those cases are related to the killings yesterday?” asked Danny.
“Don’t know but it’s worth looking at. Tony, you notice anything new at the murder scene?”
Clark looked a little nervous; like he was taking an oral exam he wasn’t ready for. “No sir. Place sure gives you the creeps though. You want me to send you the pictures I took?” he said as he held up his camera.
“Why don’t you just give me the camera? I might as well save you the time and look at them while I’m here.”
Clark seemed surprised by the sheriff’s request. “It’s no problem. I can email them to you.”
Dave wondered why the man was now eager to help. “No, you gentlemen head home. I’ll take a look later.” He reached for the camera as Kyle reluctantly pushed it across the table to him. Dave said he’d lock up and headed upstairs to his office. The creaky wood floors and bare walls made it easy to hear his staff move about the old house as they shut down, the banging of the door downstairs telling him they had left. It was now approaching nine but the sunlight still made its way through a massive Norway pine into the window in his office. He walked over and watched as the last of the trucks left the parking lot and then sat down at his desk.
Dave flipped on his computer and then realized he should have asked for a cable. In the first drawer on his left, however, was a neatly arranged assortment of cables and he soon found what he needed to hook up the camera. While waiting for the program to load, he sat back and folded his arms over his chest, wondering what he was doing here. There was a real loneliness to working late, even in his old office that was staffed 24/7. It was the political headaches that had lead to his departure, but the continual late nights had also taken a toll.
Perhaps if he had had someone to come home to things might have been different. Over the years he had come close to marrying two times, only to have the women break it off when they realized that he was already married to his job. Dave had gone so far as to purchase a dog with one of his fiancés, but the dog ran away and the woman did shortly after. Maybe a dog wouldn’t be a bad
idea? It would be nice to have someone waiting at his place and to have a fishing companion. The trouble with dogs was they were such a mess, especially puppies. Maybe a cat?
The program opened and Dave scrolled through the images. He often found it was good to look at the scene in images. While you missed the feel of what was there by being on sight, you were without any outside distractions, and could focus on just one piece of the scene at a time.
Kyle had actually done well with his shooting, nearly as well as his brother. He framed his shots well, and got pictures of broad areas before focusing in on smaller sections and details. It was apparent he took the first images from the boat before he stepped on shore. From there he had moved down the shore to the lunch spot. Upon reaching the kill site, he had taken a shot that would have been facing the man as he ate his lunch, not knowing it would be his last.
Dave was again amazed that someone had come up from behind this man without being heard. It would seem almost inconceivable that someone could travel that far in the open without attracting attention. But he had seen the footprints across the beach. Was it possible that there was something happening in the opposite direction that had captured the victim’s attention? Had he seen someone there? Dave kicked himself now for not spending more time on that end of the beach. He had told his deputes to check it out but he should have done it himself. That was careless, something he had never been on the job before, and it bothered him as much as the fact that there was now the possibility that two people were involved in these killings.
Further review of the images of the site of the first killing again made Dave unhappier with his police work. The wide-angle shot of the scene made him wonder if there wasn’t someone on top of the cliff to distract the victim while the killer approached from behind.
He leaned back in his chair thinking that maybe he should never have gotten back into this. He had a hard time tolerating sloppy police work from his staff, but when it was his own fault, he had no forgiveness. Don would scream and cuss at himself, and probably throw something, and then he was over it. Dave held it all inside and it would eat him up, sometimes sending him into a funk for days. He could feel himself sliding down, starting to question what else he might have done wrong in the last few days.
Dave was considering taking the boat back to the island when a crack of thunder startled him from his thoughts. “So much for that idea,” he said out loud as he looked to see the wind begin to push the pine branches against his window. He had been lost twice when boating at night and wasn’t fond of it, but boating with lightening in the area was not an option. A quick check of the radar on his computer showed the storms would be in the area for a good time, possibly into the morning.
It was past midnight by the time Dave reached his cabin, rain running in sheets off the porch roof as he ducked underneath. He cursed himself for not finishing the wiring for the light on the porch yet as he felt for the lock on the door, unsuccessfully trying to guide the key into the lock, feeling a building panic with each unsuccessful attempt. He was about to turn to go back to his vehicle and point the lights at the porch when he tried the door and found it unlocked. “That confirms it. I am an idiot,” he said out loud shaking his head.
He flicked on the entryway light before removing his wet jacket and hanging it back outside on a nail next to the door of the covered porch, then removing his wet, sawdust caked shoes on the mat inside the door. Dave stopped at the doorway to the dark kitchen and listened to what he knew was only the rain before reaching around the doorframe for the light. He looked back at the front door thinking he always locked his door. Was he spooking himself now? Still, he checked out the kitchen for any sign there may have been someone else inside before he popped some leftover lasagna into the microwave and then opened a beer as he sat at the island.
Dave stared blankly as the rain seemed to be trying to break the window over the sink, now a river running over the glass. He thought it might be hail and walked over to the sliding door, pushing on the lights that lit up the deck overlooking the lake. The rain hit the wet tabletop on the deck like bombs exploding, but he could see no hail.
A feeling of intense loneliness settled on him like a heavy weight and he knew what was coming but could do nothing to stop it. His beer went to his lips as he thought about how he would spend another night alone because he was a failure. A failure at relationships. A failure with women. He never fit in, never knew what to say, would never be close to anyone. Dave continued to internally berate himself as he worked at his beer.
Dave had been to a few sessions with a psychologist when he was a teenager. His mother had caught him thinking about cutting himself and had forced him to go, but he never felt comfortable talking about his feelings and had quit. His feelings of lack of self-worth had lessened as he grew older, as he learned that if he kept things in order, and stayed out of relationships, he would minimize the events that triggered his depression. It meant he often came off as grumpy and aloof, but it worked for him…most of the time. But now things were moving out of control. A killer was in his backyard, a ghost that was showing every sign of killing again, and soon.
The microwave ‘dinged’ but Dave just stood and listened to the sound of the rain. It was coming in waves now, pounding on the roof, testing it at every inch. Tomorrow would be another long day Dave thought. He had lost his appetite.
Chapter Twelve
The Sentry had gone to bed with the others in the cabin, nearly two hours ago, but could not drift off. They were all tired from a long day and would be up by sunrise, but the voices in the Sentry’s head had been loud, much too loud to sleep. He padded quietly down the hall and through the main room of the building, removing his rain jacket from a peg by the door before quietly slipping out. The Sentry stood under the eaves of the lodge trying to stay dry but the hard rain ran off the lodge roof like a waterfall, splashing him as it hit the ground. He didn’t mind. When he was outside he felt at home. And the Sentry was good at waiting.
On his first hunt as a young boy his grandfather had taught him the importance of patience. The Sentry and his grandfather were crouched behind a blind of ash and poplar branches they had made the day before, watching the woods across the clearing in front of them. For the two hours they had been in the blind they had seen nothing. He stood to walk and stretch his legs but his grandfather admonished him, roughly pulling him down, telling him to be still and quiet. The boy was bored and wanted to be with his friends but his grandfather said he must stay. He must be patient.
Half an hour later the sun was setting and there was now a definite chill in the air. The young hunter’s stomach rumbled and his fingers and toes were cold. He turned to his grandfather to beg him to leave when his grandfather pointed. The boy turned back and at first saw nothing, then, a doe magically materialized on the edge of the clearing. The boy could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he raised his rifle for the shot. He was startled when his grandfather grabbed the barrel of his rifle and whispered in his ear, “patience.”
The Sentry had no idea what is grandfather was talking about. Did he think the deer would come closer and he could get an easier shot? They were only thirty yards from the animal and his grandfather had watched him put shots in a small circle on a target at a much greater distance than this. He was about to ask why he should be patient when his grandfather again pointed, releasing his hold on the gun. The boy turned to where he could now see the doe grazing in the clearing when an eight-point buck emerged from the woods just behind her.
He watched in amazement as the large animal took a few steps into the clearing and then the boy turned to his grandfather. He wanted to ask how had he known the buck would be there but his grandfather simply smiled and nodded. The Sentry raised his gun and shot.
The screen door of the lodge pushed open under the porch light and two men emerged. The Sentry felt for his knife as the men stood for a moment looking at the rain running off the roof before bowing their heads and making a run
for their cabin. They splashed through puddles, leaping over the two steps to the porch outside their cabin. The shorter of the two men, Dan Robinson, had just pulled open the screen door, Dave Anderson right behind, when both sensed a presence on the porch to their left.
“Hello, hope I didn’t scare you guys,” said the Sentry. “Darrel’s not feeling well so I may be taking you out tomorrow. I’m wondering if you could take a look at the lake map for a few minutes so I could plan were we might go?”
Robinson looked at Anderson who shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, come on in.”
Both men placed their shoes in the boot tray just inside the door and the Sentry followed suit. Robinson went to the cooler by the table and pulled out a beer, offering it to the Sentry, who refused. Robinson handed the beer to Anderson and then reached in the cooler to grab one for himself. Anderson removed his wet t-shirt before he pulled a chair away from the pine plank table and sat, Robinson grabbing the chair next to him and doing the same.
The Sentry removed the folded lake map from his back pocket and then leaned over the table opposite the men, smoothing the map in front of them. He asked the men if they could show him where they had fished. Anderson pointed to a bay on the south side of the lake saying they had been there the day before. Robinson pointed to another spot and was about to say something when the Sentry stopped him saying it would be easier if he stood behind them so he wouldn’t have to look at the map upside down.
The Sentry walked around the table and behind the men, his hand on the knife handle, thanking his ancestors for giving him this opportunity as he moved. The thunder boomed and the rain suddenly began to pound on the roof like it was going to break through. Both men at the table looked towards the door of the cabin while the Sentry moved behind the shorter man with the black hair and silently drew his knife from the sheathe. It was time.
