“Ronnie, how ya doing?”
“Good, how was the drive up?” the foreman replied, as they shook hands.
“Not bad, the road’s in good shape,” Zach answered.
Ronnie Tillman was the foreman of the construction project in Hawthorn. He had worked for Zach for several years and the two were close friends. He had proven loyal and dependable and Zach could always count on him. When Ronnie had called two days earlier about vandalism at the work site he suspected it was probably a one-time thing with some drunks that happened to have stumbled upon the place. It was a good hour away from town and there were no houses anywhere near the location. The only way that anyone would have found the construction site was through one of the workmen or by pure chance. When the vandals hit a second time last night, Ronnie called his boss immediately after calling the sheriff’s office.
Zach continued as the men walked over to inspect the damage to the office, “I got here as soon as I could. Has the sheriff been out yet?”
“When I called they said he would be out here sometime this morning so I figure anytime now,” Ronnie answered.
When the foreman had come in to work early that morning he found that the tool shed had been broken into and the mobile office where they were now standing had been pillaged. One end of the small mobile trailer was knocked off the concrete blocks that held it up and level. The back door had been ripped off and the office had been ransacked and torn apart.
The two men were looking at the damage and mulling over who could have done it when they heard a vehicle coming down the road. The two men went back out to meet the new arrival.
Sheriff Blaine pulled up, parked beside Zach’s truck, and stepped out.
“Sheriff, thanks for coming. This is my foreman Ronnie Tillman,” Zach greeted him.
“Mister Blanchard, how are you, sir? Glad to meet you, Mister Tillman.”
Nick shook hands with the two men and Ronnie filled the sheriff in on all the details he could. When the foreman arrived at the work site that morning he had noticed the damage to the tool shed immediately. It was a large metal pole-barn building that housed the tools used on the site such as welders, torches, generators and tools for working on the heavy machines. The door had been ripped open and the contents inside had been thrown about the building. A large steel cage built to keep explosives had also been torn off the hinges.
“Sheriff, I’ve gotta tell ya - I’ve never seen anything like this before. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of vandalism on work sites during my years, but this is a little weird to me,” Ronnie said.
“How so?” the sheriff asked.
“For starters nothing was taken!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Everything was just thrown around and busted up, and the really strange part is in the office. The petty cash funds are all there, albeit all over the floor, but still there. That’s over five hundred bucks that we keep on hand in case a fuel card doesn’t work or we need to send someone out for something. Just scattered all over the floor, but every penny accounted for!”
“Hmmm,” the sheriff began, “Environmentalist maybe? Protesting the development or something, I wouldn’t think they would steal money. Could explain why they left it behind.”
“Not sure about that. Could be I suppose, but we’ve never had anything like this happen, it’s just real strange,” Ronnie said.
The three men walked over to the tool shed and the sheriff took photos of the damage. A large welder had been tipped over and other tools had been thrown about the building. Nick took photos of the metal door that had been torn off the hinges and the contents of the tool cage had been scattered.
Ronnie said, “When we came in this morning and saw all of this, we didn’t try to straighten up or anything just in case you needed to see it, but we did check the acetylene and oxygen tanks that were lying on the floor. The caps were still on tight and there didn’t seem to be any damage, but we stood them back up. That’s all we did though.”
“That’s fine. So nothing is missing?” Nick asked the men.
“Not a thing, Sheriff,” Ronnie replied. “I keep a detailed inventory.”
Nick continued taking photos of the building and made some notes then he asked the foreman to show him any other damage. Ronnie pointed him toward the office trailer, and let them over to it. The trailer rested on cinder blocks and was anchored down with metal straps. As Ronnie led them around to the back of the trailer he pointed out where two of the straps had been ripped completely off the trailer and the cinder blocks were scattered beneath. Unfortunately, the work crew had walked all over the site inspecting the damage so there were no tracks or signs distinguishable from theirs.
“How’d they do this I wonder?” the sheriff asked.
“That took some real effort I’ll tell ya,” the foreman said. He motioned to the ground and pointed out that there were no tracks or ruts where a vehicle rammed into it or pulled on it from any direction in order to pull the anchor straps loose.
Ronnie said, “Those metal bindings are ratcheted down tight and designed to hold up to 2,000 pounds each.”
“I take it that you don’t have a night watchman?” Nick asked.
“Haven’t needed one until now,” Zach said, as he turned to his foreman, “Ronnie, have a couple of the men take shifts until I can get someone up here. Why don’t you have another trailer brought up and set it up for a security office?”
Nick turned to look at Zach and said, “Good idea, Mister Blanchard. I think I have everything I need. I really don’t know what to make of it just yet to be honest. No tracks, no graffiti, nothing taken, no evidence left behind. It’s a little puzzling. All I can do right now is to file a report. I do think it would be a good idea to hire a security guard to keep an eye on the place. I will have my deputies make a run up here every so often. Season’s in full swing though and we’re always short staffed.”
“I understand, Nick. Anything you can do at all is welcomed and appreciated.” Blanchard said.
“If you need a copy of my report it for insurance, it’ll take a couple of days.”
“That’s fine, Sheriff. I’ll walk you to your truck.”
The two men left the trailer office and slogged back through the snow and mud to the trucks. The weather was beginning to turn again and the sun was disappearing behind the gray haze of another winter snow. Nick climbed in and started his truck then rolled down his window to say his final good byes when Zach asked him to hold on a minute.
“Sheriff, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve got something to show you before you leave,” Zach said, as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through several photographs before coming to a series that he showed to Nick.
“I didn’t want to say anything about this in front of the men, and to be honest, I’ve not told anyone about this until now. I thought you might like to see this,” Blanchard said.
Zach Blanchard was a well-respected man around Hawthorn and the sheriff had no reason to suspect he would make any false claims. When he told him about his experience, it was something that Nick took very seriously.
“I don’t scare easily, Nick, and I’m not much on myths and legends, but I know what I saw that day. I know these photos aren’t proof of a damned thing, but I’ve lived in these parts long enough to know the difference between a bear and that thing!”
“Do you think this is what broke into your buildings?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know, but it may be. The men had walked around the trailers so much that if they had left any tracks in the snow, they were completely trampled down. I know that thing was huge, and could have easily done this. Also, nothing was missing, just busted up. I’d think that if a bunch of drunks, kids messing around or even protestors would have been up here, they would have at the very least taken the money.”
“Can’t argue with you on that. Mind sending me those photos?” Nick asked. “I won’t say where they came from.”
“Sure, I don’t mind. They’re just pictures
in the snow.” Zach said.
They spoke a few more minutes before the sheriff put his truck in reverse and headed back to town pondering what Zachariah Blanchard had just shared. Definitely a new development, he thought, as he began piecing together the parts of Troy’s story that he had all but dismissed.
Chapter 22
Troy lay on a thin mattress in the county jail reading a magazine. It had been weeks since he had been arrested on murder charges and he was growing restless. He would read for a while forcing himself to remain calm, yet pace the floor much of the time like an animal in a cage. He knew no one would believe his story of a Sasquatch attack except maybe the sheriff who seemed to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was a small sliver of hope, but, nonetheless it was still hope.
His cell was small and smelled of mold, but it was warm and quiet. Nothing that a fifth of vodka couldn’t fix, he thought. The county jail was also where all of the municipal offices were located, including the courthouse. It was an old stone building of a neoclassical design. Tall columns in the front that stood the entire height of the three story design culminating with a triangular pediment that housed a frieze of the liberty scales. A large dome capped the elegant building. The sheriff’s offices were located on the back side of the main building in a separate wing. There were only twenty-two cells located here, but just across the street another building held more cells.
Troy’s lawyer had visited him earlier that morning to let him know that his hearing date had been pushed back another week because the District Attorney had broken her leg in a skiing accident and needed some time to recover. There had been no further news on the search for Phil. The judge for the case refused him bail at this point because he had only lived in the area for a short time and posed a flight risk.
He had very few friends and one of them was missing and another had been killed on the mountain. He had no visitors the entire time of what he hoped would be a temporary stay other than his attorney. His editor had called him a couple of times to check on him and even offered to fly out and see if he could lend assistance, but Troy refused his visitation citing the fact that the weather was always iffy. He didn’t want to impose on him when there really wasn’t much he could do to help anyway.
From his cell, Troy could see the main office and interact with the deputies if the hallway door was kept open, which it usually was. There were a few other offenders being held here until they were arraigned, but he kept to himself mostly. Once a day, a deputy would escort him to an area out back where he could walk around and get some fresh air. The deputy never paid very close attention to him and he often thought about taking off. He had no idea how he would get back to the mountain and the sheriff would know exactly where to find him anyway, but it was still something that he played out in his mind as a good distraction to pass the time. He knew that he would be exonerated one day soon so he dared not do anything stupid that would foul that up.
He looked up from his magazine when he heard the door open. He saw that it was the sheriff walking straight back to his cell. The sheriff unlocked his cell door, walked over to the bunk where Troy was sitting and took a seat across from him.
“What is it, Sheriff? Did you find Phil?”
“No. Not yet. Sorry,” the sheriff said as he sat down across from him, “Tell me again, what did this monster look like?”
+++
Lindsey sat at her desk answering phone calls and posting photos on Facebook, when Nick exited the cells. She watched him walk straight back to his office and close the door without a word. She knew that look well. The sheriff had something on his mind and wanted to get to the bottom of it. He was on a mission. A few seconds later the red light on the switchboard lit up indicating he was on the phone. She turned back to her desk.
“Norm? Nick Blaine here. Has Pete been around? Need to talk to him.”
“Yeah, he’s over at the diner now. Went to go get some lunch he said.”
“Okay, thanks Norm.”
The Blue Rose Diner had been in operation for more than thirty years and sat just off the highway ten miles outside of town. A greasy spoon diner mostly frequented by locals. It was a wonder how it was still open since the new highway that was built a year ago bypassed it completely. Only one customer was there when Nick walked in. The sheriff slid into a seat across from the odd looking patron.
“Pete, how ya doing?”
“What do you want from me, Sheriff? I ain’t done nuttin!” Pete spat out indignantly.
The man seated across from the sheriff was a strange looking fellow with long, stringy, salt and pepper hair that looked as if it hadn’t seen a thorough washing in weeks. He wore a faded green feed store baseball cap, jeans tucked into buckskin moccasins that were muddy all the way up to his knees and a heavy down-filled blue coat that looked two sizes too large. The thick bottle-cap Government Issue glasses completed the motley ensemble. The sheriff knew him well because Pete had been cross with law enforcement on several occasions. Never for anything more than petty misdemeanors, but Pete certainly wasn’t a completely honest and upstanding citizen either.
“Troy Turner, ever met him?” Nick asked.
“No. Never heard of him. Why are you asking me?” Pete replied.
The sheriff watched Pete closely, “He bought old man Reed’s place last summer.”
“Yeah? So?”
Nick asked, “Ever been out to his place on Hawthorn Lake?”
“Nope. I have no idea where his cabin is.”
“Cabin? I never said it was a cabin,” Nick said.
“Okay! So I’ve been there. Just once though. I thought the place was empty and I just wanted to check it out. I didn’t take nothing. I swear!” Pete exclaimed.
“Calm down, Pete. I never said you took anything. I’m not here because you’re in trouble, but I am here looking for answers,” the sheriff explained. “Tell me what you know. Have you ever seen anything strange out there?”
“There wasn’t anyone around when I was driving by on my snowmobile one day awhile back and I thought I’d take a look around. I went in the garage for a minute, but once I saw that someone was actually living there, I left. I swear, Sheriff. I didn’t take anything. Broke a good pocket knife too, but I didn’t steal nothing. I just got back on my sled and left. Never saw nuttin’ strange.”
“Calm down, Pete, I believe you. This fellow that bought the place, he had two friends come up awhile back and now one is dead and the other one is missing. I have Turner locked up in town on murder charges now,” Nick said.
Pete stared Nick in the eye with contempt, “What’s that got to do with me? I haven’t been back to that place since the day I told you about. I don’t know anything about any of that. Surely you don’t believe that I had anything to do with that?” Pete asked with an incredulous look on his face, not divulging whether he knew anything about the murder or not.
“No. No I don’t, but you did just admit to breaking and entering. It may not have anything at all to do with you, but I think that does make you a definite suspect don’t you think?”
“Wait a minute, Sheriff…” Pete trailed off with a look of shock on his face. He sat back in his seat a little more.
“No, ‘YOU’ wait a minute, Pete. Look here, there’s some strange things going on and I need answers and you may have ‘em!” Nick said sternly leaning forward from his booth seat. He motioned for Pete to do the same. Speaking in hushed tones, the sheriff explained what he had heard from Troy Turner about the giant, hairy beast. He watched Pete’s face carefully as he told him about the three hunters.
When he finished, Pete replied resolutely.
“Sheriff, I tried to tell you two years ago that there was something up there, but you just blew me off. Didn’t believe me!”
“Pete, Where were you last night?”
“I was at the garage all night working on my truck. Why?” Pete answered.
“Was anyone there with you?” Nick asked.
“You mean a witn
ess to my whereabouts?” Pete asked.
“Exactly!” Nick replied firmly.
“Yeah, Norm was there. We were working on the truck and drinking beer. I passed out on the shop couch about two this morning.”
“Were you up at the construction site on route fourteen at any time?” Nick asked.
“Hell no I wasn’t! I haven’t been up there since Blanchard first started moving in heavy equipment and clearing land. And besides, I told you we were working on my truck. Transmission’s out. There’s no way I could’ve been there.”
“How’d you get here to the diner? Its two miles from the garage,” Nick asked.
Pete replied nervously, “I rode my sled. I see that look on your face, Sheriff, but you know as well as I do that the tank on my snowmobile isn’t half big enough to get me there and back. And why are you even asking about that? Someone steal one of ‘ol Blanchard’s dozers?”
Pete was clearly getting agitated at the questioning so the sheriff let up. He sat back in his booth seat and relaxed a bit more. After a few seconds of allowing Pete time to calm down, he continued.
“No, Pete, nothing like that at all. And it’s not that I didn’t believe you before about something being up there, but there was no way I was going to believe that it was a…a Sasquatch. I still don’t believe it. A bear maybe, but a Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti…whatever. No! Stories are made up to get in the papers or scare little kids around a campfire all the time. Who would believe it if they’ve never seen it for themselves? I’ve lived here all my life and never seen anything like that,” Nick said.
Pete leaned forward and with an obdurate look said, “That thing ripped my camper apart with me in it! I shot it with my 12 gauge right in the chest not once, but twice! Those were solid rounds! You know when I aim, I don’t miss and I only managed to piss it off! It was at least nine feet tall and strong enough to pick my camper up and throw it down the mountain into the river! I barely walked away with my life! Sheriff, I came to you when I knew you wouldn’t believe me and sure enough you blew me off! I never should have even told you about it in the first place.”
Siege at Hawthorn Lake: Murder on the Mountain Page 18
