by Paty Jager
Chattering Blue Jay
A Gabriel Hawke Novel
Book 4
Paty Jager
Windtree Press
Hillsboro, OR
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chattering Blue Jay (Gabriel Hawke Novel, #4)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
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Also By Paty Jager
This is a work of fiction, Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
CHATTERING BLUE JAY
Copyright © 2019 Patricia Jager
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Windtree Press except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Windtree Press
Hillsboro, Oregon
http://windtreepress.com
Cover Art by Christina Keerins
CoveredbyCLKeerins
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Published in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-950387-65-6
Chapter One
“And then when I spotted a small limb had been snapped off at the right height...”
Gabriel Hawke tuned out one of the other instructors at the National MRA Spring Conference in Boise, Idaho. Hawke would have preferred working over giving a workshop at the Search and Rescue Conference. However, his lieutenant, at the Oregon State Police, told Hawke at the beginning of the year, he would appreciate Hawke’s cooperation in attending more Search and Rescue conferences to learn more about the latest technology that was being used, and he wanted Hawke to make contacts with the search and rescue groups on the Idaho side of the Snake River. The lieutenant’s exact words, “You never know when we’ll need to ask for help from across the river.”
“I bet Hawke would have found that missing family faster than you did,” James Newton, with the Wallowa County Sheriff’s Department and head of the county’s Search and Rescue team, said.
Hawke rolled his eyes and sipped his beer. A small contingency of the conference presenters had ended up in the bar after registering with the conference coordinator. Most attendees arrived Thursday night to be ready for the first workshops in the morning. He’d wanted a beer before heading up to his room and had found a table away from the growing crowd standing around the bar.
“Is that so?” Sean Sheridan, a master tracker with the Idaho Search and Rescue, shoved away from the bar and sauntered over to Hawke’s table. Sheridan had been the one talking up having found a family by his tracking prowess. He pulled out a chair at Hawke’s table and plopped down without asking if Hawke wanted company. “I remember not that long ago a little girl outsmarted Hawke, the great Indian tracker.” The man had already had more than his share of liquor. Sarcasm dripped from his comment.
Hawke didn’t flinch at the accusation he couldn’t track a child or the slur on his heritage. He’d met other trackers who couldn’t claim the heritage he could who were as good or better than him. His teacher had been his Nez Perce grandfather who knew old ways of tracking. The old man had also taught him qualities that the trackers who were taught at conferences, like this, didn’t learn. And it had been a cunning child who’d outsmarted him several times and who made him smile every time he thought about her.
He ignored the jab at his ancestors and said, “Kitree didn’t want to be found and tried multiple times to cover her tracks.” Hawke sipped his beer. He stared into Sheridan’s glazed over eyes. “A good tracker knows to not drink more than he can handle to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
The others who’d gathered around the table, laughed and commented. “Oooo, he got you there,” and “You might want to ease up on the juice if you’re teaching in the morning.”
“I could out track you even with a hangover,” Sheridan boasted, peering at Hawke with glassy eyes.
Hawke finished off his beer and stood. He’d had enough chitchat for the night. He preferred to stay to himself, give his workshop, and sit in on the subjects of interest. Dropping a tip on the table, he started for the door.
The head of the Idaho Search and Rescue and chair of the conference strode into the bar. His height gave him an advantage as he scanned the conference attendees. His gaze locked onto Hawke, and Henry Childress covered the distance between them.
“I need to talk to you,” Childress said, motioning for Hawke to come with him.
Without a glance around, or a comment, Hawke followed the man to a seating of three chairs in the hotel lobby.
“Wait here.” Childress disappeared into the bar and returned with Sheridan in his wake.
Hawke didn’t care for the other tracker, but out of respect for Childress, he kept his thoughts to himself and his face remained blank.
Sheridan smiled smugly as he plopped into a chair.
Childress leaned toward Hawke. The man’s broad shoulders loomed over his beach ball stomach stretching the button-up shirt. He glanced at Sheridan as if he remembered the man was there. “You’re both going to have to bow out of your workshops tomorrow.”
His comment didn’t hurt Hawke’s feelings, but Lt. Titus wouldn’t be happy. “Have you called my Lieutenant?”
“I spoke with him. He’s cleared you.”
“Cleared me?” This meant they needed his help as a State Trooper. He glanced at Sheridan. The man had better sober up quick if they had to work together. He didn’t care to babysit a drunk. He’d done that enough in his life with his stepfather.
“We had a murderer escape our maximum-security prison near Boise. We have reason to believe he is headed to Hells Canyon. It’s where he grew up, and where he committed the murders that put him in prison.”
Sheridan leaned forward. “No shit! White got loose?”
Hawke noticed the gleam in the other tracker’s eyes. This would be another story he’d embellish at a future conference.
“When did he escape?” Hawke calculated the distance from Boise to the canyon. “Was he on foot or did he get a vehicle?”
“We believe he escaped sometime this morning. No one noticed until the mid-day meal and then it was an hour or so after that before they’d confirmed he was missing.” Childress shook his head. “We think a woman he’d been corresponding with is involved. She didn’t turn up to work this morning and no one can find her, either. A description of her car
is out statewide.”
Childress held out a map. “This is the area where we believe he will try to hide.”
“I know where it is,” Sheridan boasted. “I was with the team that found the bodies.”
Hawke studied the area that was circled. He gave a low whistle. “That’s rough terrain.” He studied it some more. “This is where he grew up?”
“Yes. There’s a small valley, gap, whatever you want to call it, with a spring and an old homestead. The Goodwin family purchased it five years ago while White was in jail on assault charges. When White got out, he headed back to the homestead, killed the family and a man who’d come to the homestead to visit with the Goodwins.”
“There was blood everywhere and bodies...” Sheridan stood and hurried toward the restrooms.
“Nasty piece of work, it sounds like.” Hawke thought of all the boaters and hikers in that area who, if they came across a madman like White, could end up dead. “I take it you’re pairing me with Sheridan?”
“He does know the area, but I want you to keep a handle on him. He tends to do stupid things, thinking he’s a hero.”
“Thanks a lot.” There was nothing worse than babysitting a rogue cop when there was a job to do. This time it was a rogue tracker who didn’t have to obey orders from a law enforcement officer. “We’ll drive to Saw Pit Saddle and start from there. Any chance a command center can be set up in that area?”
“We were hoping you’d pick that point. There is a team already headed that way,” Childress said.
Hawke stood, glancing toward the restrooms. No sign of his partner on this job. “Do you think the woman is in danger?”
“I haven’t heard from the authorities what they think about that.” Childress stood. “Be careful, White is dangerous. Just find him and the woman. Let the rest know where they are and they will move in and apprehend. Do you need supplies?”
“I’ll have my dog flown to Big Bar airstrip along with my pack. I’d prefer to go after this guy with just me and my dog. White sounds unstable.”
Sheridan stumbled out of the restroom.
“And so does Sheridan.” Hawke strode to the hotel elevators and rode up to his room.
He called Lieutenant Titus, filled him in, and asked him to contact Dani Singer of Charlie’s Hunting Lodge and ask her to fly her helicopter to Prairie Creek airport in the morning to pick up his backpack and dog and fly them to the Big Bar airstrip. Then he called Herb Trembley, his landlord, and asked him to grab the already packed backpack in his apartment and Dog and deliver them to Prairie Creek airport early in the morning.
“Why do you need me to take them to the airport?” Herb asked.
“I need them for a tracking job.” Hawke didn’t want to tell his landlord what he was doing. Wallowa County was like most small communities. What you said to one person could spread to the whole county in a matter of a few hours.
“Who am I meeting?”
“Dani Singer. The woman who owns Charlie’s Lodge.”
The man chuckled. “You sure you aren’t just using this conference as an excuse to run off with that pretty lady?”
Hawke groaned. If only he were running off with Dani and not going after a killer with an overzealous tracker. “Sorry, but you can’t start a rumor like that. She’s just transporting the items I need. Talk to you when I get back.” He ended the connection and shoved the few toiletries he’d set out on the bathroom sink into his duffel bag, made a quick scan of the room to see if he’d taken anything else out, and exited.
Out in the hall, Sheridan stepped out of his room, a large pack over his shoulder. It was curious the man had the right gear for the job.
“Guess we’ll find out who is the better tracker.” Sheridan’s eyes had lost some of the liquor glaze as he stared at Hawke.
“This isn’t a contest. We’re to find an escaped convict and let the authorities know.” Hawke kept on walking.
“Sure, sure. But it will be interesting to see who picks up his trail first.” Sheridan thudded down the hall behind him.
Hawke ignored the man as he waited for the elevator.
“Don’t you feel the adrenaline of being the only two out of the fifty other guys here who we were picked over?” Sheridan placed a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.
“We aren’t partners or better than the other trackers here. I’d say our workshops were less needed than the others.” Hawke shoved the man’s hand off his shoulder.
The elevator doors dinged and Hawke stepped in. Sheridan followed. It took all of Hawke’s control to not put out a hand and stiff arm the man off the elevator. He’d already made up his mind they weren’t driving together. He couldn’t put up with the man’s mouth and attitude for two hours.
Hawke pressed the lobby button and drew in a deep breath. The faint mint of mouthwash lingered between them. It was evident the tracker didn’t want to lose his chance at this operation by having the person in command smell booze on his breath.
The only thing going for Sheridan was he knew the area and where the man might be hiding. If he were by himself, there was no telling how long it would take him to find a man who knew the area better than him. Hawke knew a lot about the Oregon side of Hells Canyon but this would be his first time actually exploring the Idaho side. If it had been for any other reason, he’d have relished the time spent walking the craggy tops of the rocky canyons and sliding down basalt and shale tailings. If he were alone. With the attitude and mouth on Sheridan it would be a trial.
“You take your vehicle and I’ll take mine. I’ll meet you at Saw Pit Saddle. From there I’m meeting up with my gear and dog at Big Bar air strip.”
“That will put us off track of heading to the homestead,” Sheridan said.
“I’m not going after White without my gear and my dog.” Hawke climbed into his pickup and turned the ignition. He didn’t care if his getting the proper equipment stalled their going after the man. This hike could be a matter of life and death and he planned to be prepared.
Chapter Two
Lt. Titus called Hawke before he lost cell service. He’d contacted Ms. Singer and his pack and dog would be picked up at the Prairie Creek airport and delivered to him.
At the end of the road at Saw Pit Saddle there were half a dozen vehicles and tents set up. He cringed, thinking this was a sure way of letting the man they were after know they were on his tail.
Hawke walked over to the group who appeared to be the ones in charge. “Hawke. Childress said I was to coordinate with you.”
“I’m Sheriff Barnes and this is Deputy Mathews. He and his group will be tailing you. You’ll stay in contact with him and let him know when you have your eyes on White and the woman.” Barnes was a tall, thin man of around Hawke’s age. Mathews was in his thirties, fit, and had a no-nonsense attitude about him.
Sheridan arrived right behind Hawke. “Barnes, Mathews.” He slapped the two officers on the back and started talking with them.
Hawke returned to his truck and pulled out a small daypack he always carried when traveling. He checked the contents: water bottles, jerky, flashlight, knife, and a first aid kit. Opening the vehicle’s glovebox, he grabbed his holster and Glock. He strapped that on over his T-shirt and pulled on a long-sleeved shirt. He grabbed an old denim jacket that was stuffed behind the seat. It was the beginning of June and the nights could still get cold. A quick shake tossed the worst of the dirt off the garment. He shoved his arms into the jacket and slipped the backpack over his shoulders.
His worn, dusty, brown felt cowboy hat hung from a rifle rack across the back window of his pickup. He flicked the dust off by slapping it against his leg and shoved the hat on his head.
He walked back over to the group gathered at the makeshift command center. “I’m headed to Big Bar airstrip to pick up my pack.” He leaned over the map they had spread out on the table. “Sheridan, you can meet up with me here. The rest can follow you in and be behind us as we near the homestead.”
“That sounds l
ike a plan.” Barnes nodded to Sheridan, who started to open his mouth and clamped it shut.
Mathews agreed, they’d be there.
Hawke walked over to the trail that would take him toward Myers Creek. From the map Childress gave him, it looked like the best route to Big Bar airstrip. He’d watched small prop planes and helicopters land on the airstrip several times while patrolling the Snake River in his capacity as Game Warden, keeping an eye on fishermen.
It was the middle of the night. If the quarter moon had shone more light, he wouldn’t need the flashlight to illuminate the trail. The lights of the command station would have kept White away from this path into his hideout. That meant White could have driven farther north, perhaps to throw the authorities off his trail or he didn’t plan to head to his childhood home.
What little he knew of the man, Hawke had a suspicion White would go back to the home he knew and where he’d committed murder. If the Idaho criminal system believed he’d go home, they had to have a good reason. Knowing so little about White made trying to outguess him hard. All Hawke could do was hike the two-and-a-half miles to the airstrip, get Dog and his pack, and read everything Titus sent him before he took off toward the homestead and met up with the others.
He kept a steady downhill trek on the faint trail. If he was lucky, he’d get to the airstrip with a couple hours to sleep before Dani arrived.
«»«»«»
The thump of helicopter blades roused Hawke. He slid his hat back on his head, letting the sunshine slowly seep into his eyes. His body twitched awake as he stretched and watched the helicopter make two circles above the airstrip.
He stood, showing his upper body above the bush he’d used as cover while he’d slept. The airstrip was a good fifty yards from his sleeping spot. Picking up his daypack, he strode toward the rough strip used by sport fishermen and hunters as well as people who lived in the canyon.
The helicopter gently settled on the cleared path and the rotor blades slowed to a stop.
Hawke walked up to the aircraft as Dani opened the door.
Dog leaped out, landing on Hawke’s chest. “I don’t blame you boy, she’s a scary pilot.” He wrapped his arms around the tri-color, wire-haired mutt for a moment then set him on the ground.
