Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

  An Illegal Search?

  October 30: Dusk

  It was dusk when I pulled into the yard by Billy’s trailer. There was barely enough light to see the yard. I had made up my mind. I would break in, search the wastebasket, and find out just what the two men had been talking about. Then, I'd slip out, hopefully, without leaving a trace. Unlike in the mountains, there was barely any new snow here. But in the snow there were many new tracks. And what looked like dark stains in the dying light. Blood?

  I looked up at the windows. No light was visible inside. Had Nate and Bobby come here? I still had rubber gloves in my coat pocket and put them on. I pulled my Casull and made my way carefully to the door, keeping an eye on the windows of the trailer as I did so.

  Just as I reached for the doorknob, I stopped. The knob and the side of the trailer next to the door were covered in something dark. The stain by the side of the door looked like a handprint. I reached into my pocket with my left hand and pulled out a small Maglite. With a push of the button, the stain was revealed to be a bloody handprint.

  We had probable cause. I turned the Maglite off and put it back in my pocket. I holstered my revolver and got my flashlight from the Jeep. With my flashlight on the doorknob and stain, I took three photos with my iPhone. Then, I clipped my phone to my chest and set it to record.

  I put the flashlight under my left armpit and drew my Casull. Then knocked on the door with my left hand. "Sheriff's Department," I called out loudly. "Open up!"

  There was no reply. I repeated myself. The only thing I heard was a gust of wind and silence.

  Carefully, so as not to disturb the bloodstain on the door, I tried turning the doorknob with the fingertips of my gloved left hand. It turned. Lifting my gun in my right hand, I pulled the door open with my left and stepped inside.

  I sniffed the air. The trailer had a faint locker room-like smell. Keeping the flashlight away from my body, I swung it first to the right. I saw what appeared to be the kitchen area and no one appeared to be hiding there. Then I swung the light to the left and saw a corridor to the far end of the trailer. This quick look showed me no one was standing in the open in the trailer. I pointed the beam of the flashlight down on the floor. Droplets of blood gleamed in the light and seemed to be leaving a trail to the left. Moving to the left, careful not to step in the blood, proceeding sideways, I made my way down a narrow corridor toward the bedroom at that end of the trailer.

  There was a door coming up on my right. I kept looking both left and behind me, as well as ahead, just in case someone popped out from hiding. I stopped next to the door which I assumed was a closet. I pushed the door open with my flashlight with my gun ready.

  Shirts, pants, and jackets hung on plastic hangers. A pair of dress shoes sat on the floor, next to some old sneakers. The closet smelled musty. No one was hiding in this closet.

  The next door down would be the bathroom, which I thought the most likely place for someone to hide. The bathroom door was closed, and there was a bloody handprint on it. The trail of blood drops turned here and ended at the closed bathroom door.

  I moved down to the bedroom after checking behind me again. I wanted to make sure no one could surprise me as I entered the bathroom.

  The bedroom was a mess. Someone had tossed clothes from a chest of drawers on the floor. Whoever had been bitten was looking for clothes?

  Satisfied the bedroom was empty, I moved in the other direction. I stopped just before I was abreast of the bathroom door. From the hallway, I had a pretty good view of the open kitchen area. I had only given it a quick look before. Now I noticed one bloody glass on the counter next to an empty pint of Canadian Whiskey, and a wooden knife rack beyond it. The slot for the largest knife sat empty. Was the knife in the kitchen sink? Or did someone in the bathroom have it?

  If the receipt the two men had been looking at was still there, it would be in the bathroom wastebasket. The door opened outward into the hallway. I held my breath and listened for thirty seconds. I heard nothing. I put my flashlight back under my left armpit, raised my gun, turned the knob with my left hand and swung the door open. No one stood in the open doorway. I transferred the flashlight again to my left hand and moved it about, keeping the gun in my right hand ready.

  In the light from my flashlight, I first noticed there was much more blood on the floor than there had been in the rest of the trailer. The shower was to my right, and the shower curtain closed. I kept my gun on the curtain and pointed the flashlight directly at it. The curtain seemed to be covered in blood but from the inside. There was too much blood on the floor to enter without disturbing it. But the curtain was close enough that I could reach it with my flashlight. I leaned in, gun ready, and eased the curtain back with the tip of the flashlight. Bobby Wesley’s naked body sat slumped in the bottom of the shower stall amid some bloody towels. Gaping flesh hung open at his neckline. With his right hand, he held a bloody towel near his crotch.

  I took my phone out and called Goldstone. As soon as he was on the line, I said, “I’m at Billy’s trailer.”

  “I told you we needed a warrant to search that trailer!” Goldstone shouted over the phone, angrily. “Do you know what you just did?”

  “I had probable cause,” I said.

  “What probable cause?” Goldstone demanded, unbelieving.

  “I stopped on the chance the suspects were here. There was blood on the door handle and a bloody handprint on the wall next to the door. I took photos and video as I entered the trailer.”

  “Oh,” Goldstone said.

  He was silent for a long moment. “You should have waited for backup,” Goldstone said, back to his normal tone.

  “I’m betting you didn’t find any doctors or a hospital that treated a man for a bite to the privates?”

  “No,” Goldstone said, his voice indicating he knew what I was going to say next.

  "I found Bobby Wesley in the shower. He’s dead.”

  “Damn,” Goldstone cried. “Hanassey is not going to leave any witnesses.” He was quiet a moment. “Were you able to get to the waste basket?”

  I looked at the bathroom floor. "No. I don't think I can get to it without stepping in any blood."

  “Then don't. Wait there for forensics.”

  “Did you touch anything?” Glenn, the forensic team leader, asked an hour later. He was a tiny man who had come from Laos. He was very good at what he did.

  “No. Did you find a receipt in the wastebasket?” I asked.

  Glenn nodded. He held up a plastic bag so I could read a receipt. "This is the only thing I found in the wastebasket other than tissues and toilet paper wrapping."

  It was a receipt for a battery-powered hoist. Unless Nate and Bobby had taken the receipt they had been talking about with them, it had to be the one. But what hint could an electric hoist large enough to lift a moose off the ground have given them?

  To Dream

  October 30: 9 p.m.

  I did not want Rylee to learn about Yash and Ken from the newspaper or some other way. I had ridden in their van with them. I had sat next to her and felt part of the group for a short time. The bad news should come from me.

  Still, I felt a little funny about being the one who told her about her friends. I realized that part of me wanted to see the young woman again, see a young woman who might be as much as fourteen years my junior, just because she looked like my Lo.

  I unbuckled my gun belt, left the gun behind the driver’s seat, and locked the Jeep. The temperature had gone up. The air felt almost balmy as I knocked at the white door of a blue house by the base of Mount Sentinel. Streetlight gleamed off the frozen snow and puddles in the street. A small cat door had been set in the center of the door.

  With a creak the white door opened. Rylee stood in the entryway wearing a yellow sweater and cutoffs. As the realization that it was I at the door registered, the broad smile she was wearing dimmed a bit. She stepped out of the door and looked down the street in the direction that we both k
new Yash and Ken lived. When it registered that the van wasn’t there, she looked up at me with a question.

  “Was there an accident?” she asked. Her body seemed to be shaking. Her eyes were pleading with me to make the news not too bad.

  I was tired and not thinking all that clearly. I wanted to get it over with. “I am afraid that they both have been murdered,” I said.

  She seemed to take this in and then began to fall. I grabbed her even before I was consciously aware that she had fainted. Lifting her in my arms, I carried her into the house closing the door behind me. I found myself in a dining room with a table large enough for six. This room was dark with open doors to darkness running off from it. The living room was lit up, so I headed there. There did not seem to be anyone else home.

  There was an old couch on the wall facing Mount Sentinel with an old coffee table in front of it. Some text books, a notebook, and pen were open on the coffee table.

  I lay Rylee down on the couch. I knelt down next to her. I didn’t know what to do. In all my training I’d never had a lesson in what to do with a woman who fainted. I began stroking her forehead and her cheeks.

  After a few minutes, she began to stir. She opened her eyes and looked into mine. “I got them killed, didn’t I? Because I didn’t tell you that those men saw us?” she asked.

  “No, you didn’t,” I said after a moment, trying to calm her.

  She began sobbing.

  I put my arms around her and held her close.

  I don’t know how long she cried. I just imagined for some of the time that it was my Lo I was holding. And held with all the tenderness I’d felt for my wife. I continued to hold her until she’d stopped sobbing.

  A Sleeper Awakens

  October 27: 9:22 a.m.

  Cassie woke to a voice shouting in the darkness a few feet away from her. She reached out and grabbed her headlight from where she had left it next to her sleeping bag. But for the moment she did not turn it on.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  The young man was finally awake.

  “Help! Help!” he cried even louder. “Dad?”

  Cassie remembered she had cried out for her father when she first woke.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “But your Dad isn’t here.”

  “Who are you?” the boy cried. Cassie liked to think of him as a boy though she knew he was actually a young man. His voice was slurred. He might be awake but whatever had been given to him had not completely worn off yet.

  “Where are my boots and gloves? Did you take them?”

  “No, I did not take them. And I’m Cassie,” Cassie said as she turned on her headlight.

  At the light, the boy threw his hand up covering his eyes. Cassie realized the light could be blinding in the small room, and she lowered it to the floor near her feet so he could see she was also shoeless.

  “Whoever put us in here took my boots and gloves, too. My father and I were in an accident, and I woke up here. I don't know what happened to my father. Have you heard anything about a truck being in an accident?”

  Billy shook his head. "I took the first week of hunting season off and was hunting. I haven't heard any news."

  "You were hunting with your Dad?"

  He looked at her for a moment. "No, my Dad died years ago."

  Because he looked embarrassed, she looked away before she said, "Anyway when I woke my gloves and boots were gone. But I wouldn’t have anything for my feet at all if I hadn’t found some mittens in this sleeping bag that was left a day after I was put down here.”

  The boy looked at her in wonder. "You're saying someone trapped us in here?

  She nodded. She realized whatever he had been given was making it hard for him to make sense of things.

  "What is this place?" he asked looking around.

  "I think it's an old mine."

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Three or four days I think. It’s hard to keep track of time.”

  “What have you been eating?”

  “The person who imprisoned us has left food and water,” Cassie said and pointed the light at the new supplies piled at the side of the chamber. The plastic bottles of water gleamed in the light. “They left more when they dropped you off. It’s a good thing since I was almost out of water and food.”

  The boy kept looking at the pile of food and water.

  “I smell smoke. Did you have a fire?”

  “Yes, I can make one if you want,” Cassie said. “There’s a packrat nest over there.” She pointed her headlight toward the crevice where sticks still protruded. “I’ve been taking the sticks and building a fire.”

  The boy looked thoughtful for a moment. He shook his head. “I feel very groggy.”

  “I think you were doped.”

  He looked at Cassie for a long moment. “Have you tried to find a way out?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but the entrance is blocked with a heavy grate.” She looked at him for a moment and then realized there were now two of them. “Maybe together we can lift it,” she cried.

  Then she realized he might still be weak from what happened to him. "But if you want to rest first?"

  "No," he said. He rose unsteadily to his feet. "We may as well try."

  She rose and pointed the flashlight in the direction of the way to the entrance. “Come on, follow me.”

  Cassie had already rounded the curve in the passage before she realized the boy was not right behind her. She walked back a few paces and called out. “Hey, are you coming?”

  “Yeah,” he cried back. "I can’t see where I'm going.”

  Cassie pointed the light into the passage. A moment later the boy came up, moving slowly.

  “I stubbed my toe.”

  “Sorry,” Cassie said. “By the way, what should I call you?”

  “Billy,” the boy said. “My name’s Billy.”

  “Well, this way, Billy.” She turned back to him a moment later. "I'm Cassie, by the way, Cassie Carew."

  Billy stopped, held out his hand. "Billy Wesley."

  Cassie took his hand. His hand was ice cold. He gave her hand a weak shake then let go.

  Twenty-two seconds later they both emerged in the entrance. There was enough light to see, so Cassie turned off the headlight. “That big grate is too heavy for me to lift. Maybe together we can lift it.”

  Billy looked up at the snow-covered grate, then down at his feet. He lifted one bare foot then the other.

  “God, the snow here is cold.”

  “Snow is usually cold,” Cassie said. “Come on, let's try to lift the grate, okay?”

  Billy looked up at the grate and then at Cassie. “Okay, where do you want to try this?”

  “Let’s try here first,” Cassie said, pointing to the part of the rectangular gate furthest from them. “I think it hinges up that way,” she said, pointing behind her.

  “Okay,” Billy said, stepping up next to her. Taking his hint from her, he put his hands on the bottom of the grate.

  “And lift,” Cassie said. She pushed with all her might. She looked at the Billy, and he seemed to be pushing as hard as he could, too.

  The grate did not budge. Finally, her hands began to hurt too much from the cold. She stopped.

  She looked at Billy, and he seemed to be still pushing. “Stop. You can stop now.”

  Billy stopped. He shook his hands and put each one under the opposite armpit.

  “That hurt,” he cried. "But I think I could do better."

  Cassie nodded. “Come on, let’s get back inside. I can build a fire.”

  “How much wood does this packrat's nest have?”

  “I don't know. I've been using it since I've been here. It seems to go back quite a ways.”

  Minutes later, as Cassie began gathering sticks from the packrat's nest, Billy suddenly began dry heaving. Cassie rushed over and guided him to the wall away from the fire and sleeping area. He seemed to stop but then began again. What he brought up was mostly
saliva.

  When he finally seemed to be done, Cassie offered him a newly opened water bottle.

  "Sorry," Billy said in a hoarse whisper, before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a tentative drink.

  "Come over here and lie down," Cassie said. “Whatever they gave you must still be in your system.”

  She led him to the sleeping bag and helped him into it.

  She soon heard him begin to snore.

  In The Morning

  Halloween: 8:31 a.m.

  My mind rose reluctantly from sleep, slipping away from a dream in which I held Lo close to me, to the scent of lilacs. In my own bed, the view of my ceiling is that of smooth, lacquered log rafters that Lo had peeled the bark from after I had cut them, and we had put in place together. Now I was looking at a white stucco type ceiling with cracks. I tried to turn and realized I was twisted up, alone, on a couch too small for me.

  My phone began to ring, and I knew I had to take it. As I turned to the phone which was on the floor, a longhaired, white cat jumped up on top of me. It shook itself, and I was sprayed with ice-cold droplets.

  “Persia!” Rylee cried. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom in a fuchsia bathrobe. Pajama pants the same color extended below the robe.

  “Were you out in the snow?” she said coming over. As she picked up the cat, it got one claw in me. “Your phone’s rung a few times,” she said to me. “But I didn’t know if I should wake you?”

  The call was from Goldstone. He had a number of things to say.

  Bobby Wesley had suffered a bite to his penis that had caused a great deal of damage. In addition to the receipt for the electric winch found in the bathroom wastebasket, they’d found a laptop computer in a burn barrel out in back of the trailer. The entire thing had very recently been erased before someone tried to burn it. Falling snow had put the fire out. The techs might be able to recover what was on it, but it would take time.