“So what the fuck was this all about?”
Wink Rector exhaled. “Pappas thinks it’s tied to his theory of the perfect serial murderer. Apparently he developed the notion early in his career and took a lot of shit for it.”
Service thought about this for a moment. “If he was Marcel, he’d know about what Frankie Pey had done.”
“Possibly,” Rector said.
“He picked game wardens because we’re both the easiest and the most difficult. We work alone and where there aren’t witnesses. ”
Rector nodded. “Could be.”
“Maybe he realized his perfect killer notion wasn’t being bought so he used Royant to reveal the first group—an attempt to make some believers.”
Service wished they knew more, but he knew from experience that the end of a case was often less than complete, as was justice. Unless his gut was wrong, one of the killers was dead, this thing was over. For him, though, it would never be over. Nantz and Walter weren’t coming back.
He and Tree spent all morning working with a chain saw on fallen trees near his camp. He had not worked seriously on the camp for three years, and it needed attention and care, including a wood supply for the stove for winter. They had split wood by hand ax and enjoyed the sweat. Since the death of Tatie Monica, he had gone back to working out with weights every morning. The small amount of fat he had accumulated was gone; all that remained was muscle, and he felt strong.
After a three-hour drive they were at the end of a long, pocked, and twisty two-track, staring at a camp gate. A sign on a tree said north of nowhere.
As Bowie Rhodes had promised, Service’s code opened the lock. Newf bolted ahead of the truck as they drove a quarter-mile along the edge of a cedar swamp up onto a finger of hard ground that pointed north. The cabin was tidy and small and glowing orange in the afternoon sun. They parked the truck and began to unload. “You think there’s fish here?” Tree asked.
“Bowie Rhodes wouldn’t have a camp where there wasn’t fish,” Service said.
They got their gear into the cabin and Tree climbed up into the loft. “Two beds,” he called down.
“Floor down here is good for me,” Service said.
They filled their fishing vests with trapper sandwiches—peanut butter, jelly, honey, and oatmeal, assembled their rods, and started north into the swamp, the dog leading the way, sniffing everything. Service had talked to Rhodes at the memorial.
“Walk north along the wall of cedars,” the writer had said with a teasing smile.
They walked for nearly twenty minutes, saw a line of trees that looked like they had been planted, and stopped. Service heard moving water. Another fifty yards on they came to a small, deep creek. Tree moved to the bank and looked down. “Lordy,” was all he said as he stripped line off his reel and roll-casted against a log up stream.
A brook trout struck on the first cast; not just any brook trout, but a fat, foot-long fish, gleaming with fall spawning colors, orange and blue and red and green.
Service said, “I’ll be right back.”
Treebone caught two more fish before his friend returned, carrying the ashes of Nantz and Walter.
“What’re you doing?”
“Nantz and I talked about death only once, and she told me to sprinkle her ashes in the most beautiful place I saw.”
“This is it?” his friend asked.
“No, but if I sprinkle a little of them at every beautiful spot I find, they’ll be able to enjoy all of them and not be stuck with one view.”
“You need serious professional help,” Treebone said, holding out a beefy fist.
Service tapped his fist against his friend’s and grinned.
“Don’t it bother you, leaving some of their ashes here? Who’s gonna look after them?”
“You are,” Service said.
“Me?”
“It’s your camp.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Bowie sold it to me, and I’m giving it to you. For everything we’ve been through together. Now you got a place to give Kalina some space.”
“North of Nowhere,” Treebone said quietly, tears in his eyes.
It was a term game wardens used to describe their typical situations: off the grid and alone, a place without specific reference, but with meaning for every man and woman who had ever worn green and gray.
Grady Service made a cast, caught one fish, released it, got the ashes, and sprinkled some from each box in the spot.
Treebone stood next to his friend with his head bowed as the ashes fluttered to the water and were absorbed into the flow, which would carry them north.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Part I: Madstones and Devil’s Smiles
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part II: Michissippi
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part III: Green Bear Island
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
Strike Dog Page 37
