In the Woods (5 page)

‘Me? No. I'm a civilian.'

‘He was a contractor. Consulted the military.' Harper sat on a rock, stretched her leg muscles.

‘Is that how you got injured? Consulting the military?'

Hank looked down the steps at him; Harper looked up from the rock.

‘You seemed to have trouble walking.'

‘I had an accident. At home. Nothing to do with the war.' He lowered the bear bag, opened it. Took out some snack bars. Unlocked the cooler and got some drinks, handed a bottle of iced tea to Harper, offered some to the men. He'd relocked the cooler and was repositioning the bear bag, tying the rope to the trunk of the tree when a woman burst out of the woods.

‘Oh, thank God!' Her hair was loose and tangled, her clothes muddy. ‘Help me!' Her voice was raw. ‘Please, help me! I can't find Phil—'

Captain Slader stepped over to her. ‘Ma'am? Are you all right?'

‘No, I'm not all right.' Her eyes darted from Slader to Harper to Hank to Daniels. She panted, pushed hair off her face. ‘Phil – my husband – he's missing …'

‘Missing?' Slader glanced at Daniels.

‘He was supposed to meet me at our tent and he hasn't shown up – you haven't seen him, have you?' She gulped air. ‘He's about five foot ten, sandy hair—'

‘Hold on a minute, ma'am.' Again, Slader exchanged glances with Daniels. They now had a dead man and a missing husband. One and the same? ‘Why don't you sit down a second? Got any of that iced tea?' He held his hand out; Hank handed him a bottle. ‘Now, take a drink. Settle down a minute.'

The woman perched on a tree stump near Harper's rock. She drank Hank's iced tea but she wouldn't relax. Her body was taut, ready to take off.

‘What's your name?' Harper asked.

‘Angela. Angela Russo.'

‘I'm Harper Jennings.' Harper reached out, shook her hand. ‘This is my husband, Hank. Ranger Daniels and Captain Slader from the Philipsburg police.'

Angela looked at each of them in turn.

‘So tell us what happened?' Harper made her voice soft.

‘If you're ready.' Slader glared at Harper, hands on hips. This was his territory. He alone had the authority to ask the questions.

‘See, Phil never hunted before.' Angela gripped her iced-tea bottle, addressed Harper. ‘I shouldn't have left him on his own. I thought he'd be okay, though. He'd practiced his aim, and he was only going for small game. He was hoping to bag a rabbit.' She smiled sadly. Mud was smeared across the freckles on her cheek.

Slader had a notepad out. ‘What's your husband's name, ma'am?'

‘Philip Russo.' Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh God. Something's wrong. I just have a feeling.'

Harper reached over, put her hand on the woman's arm. She had a feeling, too. ‘What was he wearing?'

Slater scowled, took an official stance. ‘Do you remember what he had on?'

Angela nodded. ‘Khaki coveralls. And his blue plaid flannel shirt.'

Slader and Daniels looked at Harper for confirmation. Harper gave a slight nod. She closed her eyes, saw the body at the edge of the field. Its blue plaid flannel shirt. Damn. Hank stepped over and put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against his arm. No question. The body had to be Phil's. And his poor wife was the only one there who had no idea.

Angela kept talking. ‘I don't know where he can be. I went back to the clearing where I left him. I looked all over. Called his name. Whistled – we have a certain whistle, just for us to signal each other.' She demonstrated a piercing three-tone sound. Shook her head. Folded her hands. ‘Maybe he's just lost. But I shouldn't have left him. It's my fault because I thought he'd be okay by himself, just hunting small game, and I wanted to go off by myself because this year, I want to bag a bear.' She looked at Daniels. ‘I come out here every year. I've bagged deer and elk. Pheasants. Almost everything but bear.'

‘Season just opened.' Daniels crossed his arms. ‘You have time.'

‘Daniels.' Slader rolled his eyes.

Daniels' ears turned red. He looked at his shoes.

‘Here's what we're going to do.' Slader tucked his notepad into his pocket. ‘Mrs Russo, you'll stay here with Ranger Daniels. The rest of us will go look for your husband.'

‘No, I need to go with you.' Angela stood.

‘No. For now, you need to catch your breath. I promise we won't leave you for long.' He nodded at Harper and Hank, indicating that it was time for them to lead him to the body.

Harper gave Angela's arm a squeeze. Then she stood, trying to feign hopefulness, even smiling and giving a thumbs-up as she led the way to the body of the man wearing a blue plaid shirt.

The path led right to him. The body was right where she'd remembered it, and this time, Harper saw no sniper fire or explosions. This time, she simply saw a man sprawled out face-down under a tree, the back of his shirt stained with blood. No flashback. Also no onslaught of bugs or coyotes, no voracious vultures circling above. In fact, the scene was extremely still. Disturbingly still.

Harper shivered, put her hands in her vest pockets, held onto her lemon.

Captain Slader smoothed his mustache as he walked around the body to get a look at the guy's face.

‘Aw, shit.' He stooped near the guy's head. ‘This guy's her husband?'

‘Looks like it.' Hank stepped around the dead guy's feet, gazed at his face. ‘He's wearing a blue plaid shirt.'

Harper watched them but didn't go close. She had no desire to see another face frozen by death. She stared at a mottled tree trunk, dreading giving the news to Angela. The poor woman was back at their tent, waiting. Hoping for good news. For her, Phil was still alive. She pictured the captain, telling her. Angela collapsing in grief, wailing.

Stop it, she told herself. Think about Chloe instead. Maybe she's at the playground. On the swings …

‘Thing is, I know this guy.' Slader frowned, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I've seen him before.'

‘Didn't his wife say she came up here a lot?' Hank squatted, looking at the guy more closely. ‘So probably he's been with her.'

Slader pursed his lips. One of the guy's vest pockets was exposed. He reached in, retrieved a pack of tissues, an Almond Joy. No information.

‘I should wait for the medical examiner,' he sighed. ‘But that poor woman's waiting. Let's roll him so I can get to his pockets.'

Hank took his legs, Slader his shoulders. They turned him over.

‘My my,' Hank said.

Harper followed his gaze. The guy's fly was open, his privates partially exposed.

‘What the Sam Hill?' Slader looked up at them, shaking his head. ‘Guy got shot with his junk out?'

Harper opened her mouth, closed it. She looked at Hank. No way was she going to answer that question.

‘Maybe he was taking a leak?' Hank suggested.

‘And they shot him in the middle? Hell of a thing.' Slader gazed up at the trees. ‘So, in that case, he'd be standing still. Hard to mistake him for a deer.'

‘Wait. So you think it wasn't an accident?'

Slader didn't answer. He scowled, stood beside a tree, took his pocket knife out, and dug a bullet out of the trunk. ‘Thirty caliber.' He stuck it into his pocket. ‘I'll have to confirm back at the office.'

Harper glanced at Hank. Slader hadn't bagged the evidence, had just popped it into his vest. Was that police procedure around here?

Slader returned to the body and rooted around in the guy's vest pockets. Finally pulled out an ID.

‘Damn. This says “Albert Rogers”.'

Harper stiffened. ‘But Angela's husband's name is Phil—'

‘Well, like I said, this isn't him.' Slader looked at the guy's face again. ‘But now I know why he looks familiar.'

‘Why?'

Slader held up the ID card. ‘Albert Rogers worked for an energy company. He was a pipeline walker.'

Harper looked at Hank.

‘They walk along pipelines, checking for leaks,' he explained. ‘They look for stains or dead vegetation, and they sniff around for odd odors.'

‘I never heard of that,' Harper said.

‘A lot of the pipeline controls are centralized now, done by computers.' Slader stood, let out a sigh. ‘But there are over two hundred thousand miles of pipelines in this country. So they send guys like him out to eyeball them.'

‘The pipeline here – it's natural gas?'

‘Oh, yes, ma'am. It goes right through the forest preserves. And they've been doing the fracking right near here, too. You heard of the Marcellus Shale?'

Harper nodded. She waited for Hank to explain that he was a geologist and that he was taking soil and water samples to test for fracking pollution. But Hank said nothing. She wondered why.

‘So what now?' Harper turned to Slader. ‘What do we do now?'

‘Now?' Slader gave her a blank look. ‘You go on back to Ranger Daniels, and I get on the radio and do my job.'

‘What about Angela Russo?' Hank asked.

‘I'll talk to her when I can. I got to deal with this first.'

Hank took Harper's hand and they walked in step back down the path. She didn't want to face Angela Russo. Didn't want to tell her that they'd found a man, just not the man they'd been looking for.

On the bright side though, they wouldn't have to tell her that her husband Phil was dead.

By mid-afternoon, they were back at Ranger Daniels' office. Angela Russo sat slumped in the corner, holding a Styrofoam cup with a tea-bag string hanging out.

Daniels said Harper could use the office landline to check on Chloe. Harper made the call, but Trent's voicemail answered. At the beep, she left a message, her voice overly cheery, saying that she missed them and hoped they were having fun. She hung up with a knot in her chest. What was she doing out in some dark state forest, finding a dead man? She should be home with her little girl, taking trips to the playground and the library. She closed her eyes, picturing Chloe, trying to recreate the sound of her laughter.

‘No luck?' Hank asked.

She opened her eyes, took a breath. ‘Nope. I left a message.' She forced a smile.

‘It's okay, Harper. She's fine. And you'll be back in two days.'

Two days. It sounded like a prison sentence, not a vacation.

Daniels ordered sandwiches from the snack bar. Harper was halfway through her Italian hoagie when a short, brawny guy stomped in, unshaven, his reddish hair disheveled, demanding to talk to the police.

‘Jim. So sorry about Al.' Daniels went over to the man, tried to embrace him, but the man pushed him away.

‘What the fuck happened? Can somebody give me a straight answer?'

‘Jim, come sit down—'

‘Fuck no. I won't sit down.' Spit flew from Jim's mouth. He turned in a circle, running a hand over his head, his gaze passing over Angela, Hank and Harper. He pointed at Daniels' chest. ‘Where's the cops?'

‘Captain Slader's on his way over—'

‘Fine. Where? Because he better tell me what happened. How is it possible? Al's dead?'

‘When did you last see him?'

‘Last night. This morning, I wake up and he isn't there. I wait a while and try him on the radio, but I can't reach him. So I go looking for him and I'm freaking out. And then I get a radio call from our supervisor. He's saying that Al's dead and the police need me to identify the body. So tell me, Daniels, what the fuck happened to him? It was that damned survivalist militia, wasn't it? Those people who hate the pipeline? I bet they shot him.'

Daniels was taller, broader than the man, but he didn't use his size to intimidate him. He let the guy shout and gesticulate and stamp his feet. When he finally quieted down, Daniels went to his desk and took out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured some into a coffee mug.

‘You buying, Ranger Daniels?' Angela perked up. ‘I could use some of that.'

Daniels smirked, held the mug out. Jim was wild-eyed, breathing fast. He eyed Daniels, then the mug, then Daniels. He took the mug, downed the Jack.

Daniels put an arm around him, led him to the table where Harper sat with Hank. ‘Have a seat, Jim.'

‘Don't want to sit.'

‘Sit anyway.'

Jim sat on a folding chair near Harper.

‘This here's the woman who found Al.' Daniels nodded at Harper. ‘That's her husband.'

Harper gave the kind of smile that indicates sorrow. ‘I'm Harper Jennings. This is Hank.'

Hank reached over, shook hands.

‘Jim Kinsella,' the man said. ‘I'm … I was Al's partner.'

Harper nodded.

‘So what happened, ma'am? How'd he die?'

‘He was shot, Jim,' Daniels answered. ‘Might have been a hunting accident.'

Jim glanced at Daniels, then back at Harper. ‘He was shot?'

Harper nodded.

‘They were searching for my husband, Phil, because he's gone missing,' Angela called from the corner. ‘But they didn't find Phil. They found your friend instead.'

It wasn't exactly what had happened, but Harper didn't correct her. Dead was dead.

‘Where was he shot? In the head?' Jim looked at Harper, pointed to his head.

Harper hesitated, not sure what she should tell him.

Ranger Daniels intervened. ‘Jim, it's been a rough day for Mrs Jennings. When Captain Slader gets here, you can ask him everything—'

‘Was he shot in the head?' Jim kept his eyes on Harper. ‘Was it execution style?'

‘Now Jim, let her be—'

‘Because you and I both know it wasn't a hunting accident, Daniels.' Jim was on his feet again. ‘These locals have to be stopped. Al and I complained to Slader and we talked to you. We told you that sooner or later something would happen—'

‘Jim, calm down.'