Banner Elk Breeze

by Ed Robinson

  Of course, we didn’t talk about current events or sports or about most of the things two men always discuss. We talked about weather, fish, and the mountain. Pop told me a little about how he lived completely off the grid. He didn’t let me know where he slept, but he described it to me. Early on he’d found a deep depression in the side of a hill. It had a rock overhang at the entrance, which was behind a tangled marl of rhododendrons. It wasn’t as deep as a true cave, but he had slowly added vegetation in front of it to totally conceal its existence. He’d fastened a tarp on the ceiling to keep the drips off his bedroll. He caught the clean water runoff in a jug for drinking. When the creek ran calm and clear, he drank from it. Heavy rain muddied the water for a day or two, but he always had a reserve due to his tarp collection method.

  Inside he had enough room to lie down and to store his meager belongings. He cooked with a cast iron skillet over a low fire, and only at night. That’s why I never saw smoke up there. He had a sleeping bag, extra blankets, and some extra winter clothes. Now he had a fly rod. On rare trips to civilization, he’d bring back some paperbacks. Once he finished reading them, they became kindling to start his fires with. He liked regional stories about the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains. He also enjoyed reading the history of the area. He was well-versed on the legends and lore of North Carolina and Tennessee.

  As I got to know more about him, I determined that his father’s death had been the trigger for his ultimate escape and shunning of normal society. Even though they hadn’t gotten along, something profound about his daddy’s suicide drove him over the edge. I could understand. My wife’s early death had caused me to snap. I too had run away from society. I’d hidden in the mangroves and back bays of Florida for almost a decade aboard an old boat. Even now, though my life was more civilized, I was on the fringes. Our cabin was our sanctuary now instead of a boat. I dreaded going to town for supplies. There were too many people in the real world, most of them assholes. Brody had attempted to temper my dislike of social settings, to little avail. Instead, she’d become more like me, content to be alone together. She jokingly blamed me for turning her into an antisocial homebody.

  I continued my treks up the mountain to visit with Pop. Twice a week I’d find him, or he’d find me, and we’d go fishing, water his plants, or just sit and enjoy the day. I’d make these excursions in dirty clothes, not having showered, and using no deodorant. Pop always sensed me coming somehow. I worked hard on my smoke walk, hoping to one day catch him off guard.

  Instead, the day came when I found him dead.

  Three

  I was high on a rugged mountain with a dead body and no cell phone. The coldness of Pop’s body told me that the killer was likely long gone. The pot plants were untouched. They weren’t ready for harvest yet. Someone would come for them before the first frost, or soon thereafter. Someone would probably come to check on them and give them water. I couldn’t worry about that now. I’d have to deal with it later.

  If I left him there to go down the mountain in order to notify the authorities, some predator would find him before the cops arrived. If I took him away, I’d be disturbing a crime scene. The pot plants would also incriminate Pop. I shouldn’t have cared, but I didn’t want the police to know that he was growing dope up here. I also wanted the plants to remain so I would have a chance at identifying his killer. They were the bait.

  On the other hand, carrying his literal dead weight down the mountain seemed impossible. I wasn’t sure I could do it. Think, Breeze. I looked around me and assessed the situation. What I wanted to do was find the place the killer fired from, look for a shell casing or footprints. They’d used a high caliber rifle like a mountain deer hunter or bear hunter would carry. There were any number of vantage points nearby, but a longer shot might have been possible if Pop had been visible to the shooter from a distance. That didn’t seem likely. Pop was careful. He was almost invisible until you were on top of him, but he would have known someone was there on his mountain before they got very close. I didn’t have time to work out the dilemma.

  I had to try to get him down the mountain and make up a story on the way. I knelt beside him and put one arm under his leg and his arm over my shoulder. I stood up, lifting him into a fireman’s carry. I hefted him into a comfortable carrying position. He couldn’t have weighed much over a hundred pounds. As I started my descent, I thought I could do it, but with each step he got heavier and heavier. I only made it five hundred yards before I had to put him down and rest.

  I looked around again, studying the hillside. No shooters appeared. I spotted a thin fallen log and got an idea. I stripped the shoots and branches off it with my knife and looked around for another like it. Once I had two poles, I used Pop’s jacket and my own shirt to fashion a drag sled for the body. I took his shoelaces to tie up the sides. I put him in the sling and lifted one end of the poles with both hands. I dragged him a few feet, turned around so the poles were behind me, and began a slow, steady march towards the cabin. I got jammed up a couple of times on rocks and roots but managed to clear the obstacles and continue downhill. My progress was slow. I tried to think what I would tell the police. I needed to keep them away from the dope, but not incriminate myself. I’d be their first suspect.

  I wondered how competent they would be and how thoroughly they’d investigate. A good detective would see the drag marks and follow them back too close to the initial scene. There was probably some blood along the way too. My own footprints were all over the weed farm. Pop was a vagrant though. How hard would they work to solve his murder? No one would miss him, except maybe his sister.

  I had his blood all over my filthy clothes. I hadn’t showered in three days and my face sported a five-day stubble. They’d put me in cuffs the minute they saw me. I’d have to be evasive if they asked the right questions. I could always tell the truth and hope they overlooked my help on the weed farm, but my trust in justice wasn’t strong. I still wasn’t sure what to do when the cabin came into view. I stopped and put down the litter carrying Pop’s body. It, too, was evidence. They’d know I moved his body, but I could explain that. Would they listen?

  I knew I should be grieving the loss of my only friend, but I’d gotten tangled up in a preposterous event so quickly. I needed to work things through before I freaked Brody out with a corpse on her doorstep. I slowed my breathing and tried to concentrate. What did I know? There’d been a murder on my mountain. I reflexively wanted to solve that murder. In the process, I may have incriminated myself. The coming actions of law enforcement were unknown. Brody would be pissed. I was about to bring unwanted attention to our presence. Richard and the inhabitants of the other nearby cabins would be curious and suspicious.

  Blood and gore had soaked the material holding Pop’s body. It was a thick goo, quickly coagulating. I decided to let him lie there while I went the rest of the way to the cabin. I wouldn’t leave him there overnight, but I was coming up with an idea. I removed his makeshift deer hide shoes and put my new hiking shoes on his feet. I put on his shoes. I walked in a circle around him to verify that I made no tracks. If and when they found my own footprints up at the weed farm, they’d assume they were Pop’s.

  I hustled the rest of the way down the hill to my front door. Brody was startled at my appearance.

  “I’m okay, “I told her. “But Pop Sutton is dead.”

  “Holy shit, Breeze,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him clean through,” I said. “Up at his pot farm. I’ve got his body. It’s just up the hill.”

  “We’ve got to call the police,” she said.

  “Can’t yet,” I said. “I can’t leave him up there, but there are some things I have to do first.”

  “What are you wearing on your feet?” she asked.

  “Pop’s homemade shoes,” I said. “He’s wearing mine.”

  “You traded shoes with a dead man?” she asked. “Son of a bitch, Breeze. We’ve been here a month and you’ve already gotten
into some shit. I hoped that was all behind us.”

  I explained events as best I could remember. I told her what I was thinking when I made the choices that I’d made. There was no turning back now. She thought it over. She didn’t yell. She composed herself asked what I planned to do next.

  “I’ll claim I found him where he lies,” I said. “I can sit with him until the cops arrive to protect the body. They’ll search the general area instead of the pot farm. They won’t find anything. But first I have to track back and make sure I erase any signs of my presence further up the hill. I need to clean up the real crime scene in case they ever find it. It’s going to take a while.”

  “I hope you don’t want me to guard him while you go back up the mountain,” she said. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll wrap him up in something and put him in the garage. When I get done I’ll put him back.”

  “You’ll have to get cleaned up before we call the police,” she said. “You look what I imagine a mountain murderer would look like.”

  “I need to get rid of these clothes too,” I said. “Probably shouldn’t go up there looking like this.”

  “Take them off by the fireplace,” she instructed. “I’ll burn them while you’re gone and throw the ashes in the creek.”

  I got two big contractor bags and slipped them over Pop’s body. I carried him down the hill and put him down on the garage floor. I spread oil dry all around him in case he leaked any more fluids. I cut the cloth from the litter and threw it in the fireplace before undressing and throwing my own clothes in. I took the two wooden poles I’d fashioned and laid them behind a pile of split wood further down the hill. I put on some new clothes before going outside to cut a leafy branch from a low tree to use as a broom. I grabbed a folding shovel from the garage and my sidearm from the house.

  “Be careful, Breeze,” she said. “I’ll make my displeasure further known when you get back.”

  “Stay with me,” I said. “I’ll cover my tracks, put him back, and then we’ll call the cops.”

  “I’m a bit worried about that,” she said. “But I’m more worried about what you’re going to do after.”

  “I’ll identify the killer,” I told her. “I’ll collect the evidence to bring about his arrest and hopefully conviction.”

  “No killing,” she said. “Promise me that.”

  “That is behind us now,” I said. “No killing.”

  I wore Pop’s shoes for my trip back up the mountain. I was in a hurry, but that didn’t prevent me from moving like smoke. I was a ghost on a mission. I made it to the crime scene in record time, undetected. I shoveled up the blood-soaked earth and transferred it to the creek far from the weed plants. I used my natural broom to erase any trace of my presence. I carefully retraced my steps downhill, looking for blood spots and drag marks. I erased everything I found. I’m sure I missed a few things, but a random blood spot would be hard to find, especially for some investigator who had no idea where to look. I worked quickly, but quietly. The air was cool and the moon gave off good light. I was gone for hours. Brody was alone with a dead guy in the garage. She was pissed that I’d brought trouble to our door. I thought I was doing the right thing and it was too late now to change course. I’d removed evidence and tampered with a crime scene. I had to stick with my current plan.

  I returned to the cabin and transferred Pop back to the new crime scene that I’d created. There wasn’t enough blood on the ground, but I couldn’t make him bleed anymore. It would have to do. I showered, shaved, and threw my second set of clothes in the fireplace. When they finished burning, Brody cleaned the firebox and disposed of the ashes. I built a new fire, to hide the fact that it was freshly cleaned. There was nothing more to do. We walked together to Richard’s cabin and made the call. I returned to the body and waited for the police to show up.

  They came slowly, with no lights or sirens. One car with two men crept down the driveway from the main road. Brody met them and directed them to me. They were deputies with the Watauga County Sheriff’s Department. They each shone their oversized flashlights on poor old Pop. The lead guy was a big man with a big belly. He had thick arms and broad shoulders, like a high school football player gone to pot. His partner was smaller, thin but wiry. He acted nervously, like this might be his first dead body.

  “You know the victim?” the big one asked.

  “It’s Pop Sutton,” I told him. “Popcorn Sutton’s son.”

  “I didn’t know he was still alive,” he said. “Or living around here.”

  “I ran into him a couple times, hiking by the creek,” I said. “Don’t know where he lives.”

  “He don’t look like much of a hiker,” he said. “Except for them hiking shoes.”

  “From what I could tell he was a bit of an eccentric,” I said.

  “Vagrant clothes, dirty, with hundred dollars shoes on,” he said.

  “I don’t know much about him,” I said. “Just met him in passing.”

  “Hear any gunshot?

  “No, sir.”

  “What time did you find him?”

  “Just a bit before we called you,” I said. “Didn’t have a phone. Had to run back down to the neighbors to make the call. Maybe an hour ago.”

  “You don’t have a cell phone?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No house phone, nothing?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We’re up here to get away from it all.”

  “Until you stumbled across a dead man,” he said. “We don’t get much of this out here in the country.”

  “No offense or anything, officer,” I said. “But does your department have a detective?”

  “No point in trying to find much in the dark,” he said. “I hate to say it but a dead vagrant isn’t a high priority. Someone will be in touch. We’ll get the meat wagon up here to take him off your hands.”

  “He’s got a sister somewhere nearby,” I said. “I think she may have helped him out occasionally.”

  “I’ll look into that,” he said. “Be good to have a next of kin. I’m going to have to get some ID from you folks too. Standard procedure. Won’t bother you long.”

  “Would you men like a cup of coffee?” asked Brody. “I’ll go start a fresh pot.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the big one said.

  He instructed his partner to stay with the body until the ambulance arrived. He came with us to the cabin and wrote down our information. I knew what would happen. My background check would raise some eyebrows down at the Sheriff’s Department. Depending upon how deep they dug, Brody’s history would sound some alarms as well. Our peaceful refuge was about to be invaded by nosey investigators.

  Four

  It took a while for the ambulance to arrive from Boone. There was no need to hurry. We were told the body would go to the morgue for examination by the Coroner’s Office. The officers followed the ambulance up the driveway. We were alone.

  “We’re about to receive a bunch of unwanted attention,” said Brody.

  “Maybe I should have just left him up there,” I said. “Not called anyone or done anything.”

  “I’m sure the killer was expecting the bears to clean up the evidence,” she said. “They’ll be surprised when they realize someone found the body.”

  “Which will make them extra cautious,” I said. “Won’t be easy to get the drop on them when they return.”

  “I want you to think about this long and hard,” she said. “You can always just forget it ever happened. Ignore the weed and whoever comes for it. There will be enough scrutiny of us as it is.”

  “I know you never met him,” I said. “But he was my friend. Up there when I found him, at that moment, I vowed to find his killer. I’ve got to follow through.”

  “Typical Breeze,” she said. “Never leaves well enough alone.”

  “I suppose not,” I said. “I can’t bring him back, but I can bring somebody to justice.”

  “You just
want a new adventure,” she suggested. “Get that rush. Pump some adrenaline.”

  “Maybe so,” I admitted. “But this is my mountain now. I can’t turn my back on what happened.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But we’ve got the law to deal with first. You’ll have to wait until the initial excitement dies down.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings. We’ll take it from there.”

  Tomorrow brought the big guns. The Watauga County Sheriff himself, along with the Deputy Director of the FBI. The Sheriff, Tom Watts, introduced us to David Bowdich from the FBI. Brody knew him. They made some small talk before his phone rang. He stepped back outside to take the call. We talked freely in front of Watts.

  “What do you know about him?” I asked. “What can we expect?”

  “David has my respect,” she said. “He started his career as a real cop, not a lawyer with a gun and badge like most of them. Moved up through SWAT. Made some real inroads into gang violence in California. Straight shooter. Follows the book. Takes no bullshit.”

  “Why do you think they sent him here?” I asked. “Sheriff?”

  “I was curious about that myself,” said Watts. “When we ran your records, Miss Brody here set off a red flag in Washington. The FBI has no jurisdiction in this case. No one crossed state lines in the commission of a felony. It’s a local matter, but the Bureau insisted they send a man down. Never thought they’d send the top brass.”

  Brody had been an FBI agent. She was once assigned to track me down in Florida. I was on the run and determined not to be found. After a shooting incident, she took an indefinite sabbatical. She used her free time to continue to hunt for me, even though I’d since been cleared and was no longer a wanted man. It bothered her that I’d escaped. She wanted to prove to herself that she could find me. She bought an old trawler and frequented my known haunts. She questioned people who might know me. Eventually, she succeeded. Her skill and persistence intrigued me. The twinkle in her eyes was irresistible. We fell in love and she never returned to her job in Washington.