In the Woods (6 page)

‘Uh-uh, no. Not this time. It was them – what do they call themselves? The Hunt Club? I know it was them. It wasn't enough for them to leave us threatening notes or mess with our gear. Not enough to vandalize our truck. No, they had to go and take Al's life. They fucking killed him, and you know it as well as I do.'

Ranger Daniels took a wide stance, crossed his arms and gazed down at Jim. ‘Until we know that anybody deliberately killed him, it was an accident.'

‘Not if he was shot in the head, execution style. Was he?'

‘No, as a matter of fact, he wasn't.'

‘Where then?'

Daniels flashed a look at Hank.

Jim walked up to Harper, bent over and put his face in front of hers. ‘You found him. Tell me. Where was he shot?'

Harper hesitated. Hank got to his feet, put a hand on his shoulder.

‘With all due respect and sympathy for your loss, sir, I think it's best you step away from my wife and wait to get your information from the police captain.'

‘Really. And if I don't?' Jim wheeled around, facing Hank.

‘In the back,' Angela's voice was flat. ‘They said he was shot in the back.'

For a moment, everyone froze. Then, like air from a deflating balloon, the tension eased.

‘So. They did it.' Jim's shoulders sagged. ‘They chased him down and shot him like a fucking rabbit.' He sank onto a folding chair and stared at the floor.

Harper sat, too. Hank handed her a can of Dr Pepper.

They all sat quietly until, some minutes later, Captain Slader stepped back into the office.

Before Slader could say anything, Angela began talking to him. ‘Captain, what about my husband? We still need to find him.'

Jim started at the same time, talking right over Angela's words. ‘What are you going to do about these locals, Slader? That Hunt Club – or whatever they call themselves – they've gone too far this time—'

‘Do you think the people who killed that pipeline worker shot my Phil, too? Oh, God. Please, you need to go back out and find him.'

‘—because, trust me, the pipeline company's not going to put up with their employees being murdered. They'll send out investigators and security – there are going to be repercussions. You better make it clear to these people—'

‘Hold on, both of you.' Daniels had his hands up again, trying to quiet everybody down. ‘One at a time.'

But Captain Slader ignored all of them. He went to the coffee pot, poured himself a mug. Added some creamer. Took a long swallow.

Angela and Jim kept jabbering, competing for attention. ‘Back off, asshole. My husband's missing—'

‘“Back off”? A man's been murdered—'

‘My Phil might be hurt—'

‘My partner's dead. Dead takes priority—'

Harper stood beside Hank, holding his arm. Angela's ragged voice jangled her. As Jim and Angela squabbled, she looked up at Hank. ‘You okay?'

He sighed, met her eyes. ‘You?'

‘Keeping my lemon ready.'

He leaned over, kissed the top of her head. ‘We should be out of here soon. We can—'

‘Okay,' the captain bellowed. ‘Listen up, everybody.'

Angela and Jim quieted, their eyes fixed on Slader, his blue eyes glaring under thick wild eyebrows.

‘Nobody talks till I'm finished, okay? Here's the situation. Al Rogers' death is being investigated like any other shooting. Clearfield County coroner's examining the body, and forensic evidence is being gathered. But you're right, Jim, I'm sure the pipeline company will send its own people down here. Thing is, that's going to cause a whole new round of resentment among the locals—'

‘You mean the ones who killed him—'

‘Did I say I was finished?' Slader's eyes darkened. ‘Keep your yap shut until I say you can open it.' He waited a beat, jaw rippling.

Harper gave Hank's arm an uneasy squeeze.

‘You ought to know by now, Jim. These people don't like outsiders messing around their land. Doesn't matter who it is or why they're here – the pipeline or the gas company or the government – anybody bringing in more outsiders is only going to rile up more Hunt Club trouble. I'll deal with that and make sure nobody gets hurt—'

‘You mean, nobody else.'

Slader raised an eyebrow. ‘What I want, Jim, is for you to lie low. Stay the hell out of it. If – and I said
if
– local people or anyone in their organization are involved in Al's death, we'll figure it out and deal with them. But, meantime, there's no sense making assumptions and stirring up trouble. All that'll do is start a confrontation.'

‘What are you talking about?' Angela interrupted. ‘What people?'

‘The Hunt Club,' Jim said. ‘It's a militia group.'

‘Not necessarily,' Slader said.

‘Well, whatever they say they are, they're armed and preparing for a war with the government, the gas company, the pipeline, frackers, tourists, hikers, hunters – anyone and everyone.'

‘Come on, Jim.' Daniels spoke up. ‘They're not that bad. They just want to live their lives in peace. If you don't bother them, they won't—'

‘Bull fucking shit, Daniels. Somebody bothered Al, didn't they? And I promise you, he wasn't bothering them.'

‘Wait – you think this group – that Hunt Club – hurt my Phil?' Angela's hand went to her throat. ‘You do, don't you? You think they killed him the same way they killed that other man? Oh, dear God.' She swooned.

Harper dashed to her, helped her into a chair. Hank got her a bottle of water. The men continued arguing about the locals.

‘Besides, it's not a militia,' Daniels insisted. ‘They're just regular citizens, prepared for any disaster. I prefer to think of them as survivalists.'

Jim sputtered. ‘Survivalists don't shoot people.'

‘Doesn't matter what you call them.' Slader eyed Jim. ‘It's best not to mess with them. You hear me, Jim? Let the authorities investigate and work this out. For what it's worth, I personally doubt that Hunt Club members had anything to do with Al's death.'

‘Because?'

Slader blinked slowly, bit his lip. ‘Because I know these people. And that's what I think.'

Jim pursed his lips, nostrils flaring. ‘I'll tell you what, Captain. I'm not about to let this go and neither's my employer. If I were you, I'd do my job and catch Al's killer quick, before the big guns bring the wrath of God down on you.' He paused, met Slader's eyes. ‘Anyone needs me, I'll be back at our – at my campsite.' He turned and marched out of the office, banging the door behind him.

Slader's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. Before he could speak, Angela started up again.

‘Can I just point out that nobody can help this dead guy, but my Phil might still be alive and saved? Can we please get back to looking for Phil?'

Daniels reminded her that he had two teams and a number of volunteers out looking for him. ‘We've got a few more hours of daylight. I'm heading back out myself now. Want to join me?' He looked at Hank and Harper, who looked at each other.

‘You up for it?' Harper asked.

‘If you are.'

‘I'm coming, too,' Angela insisted. She stood and joined them.

Daniels gave them each bottles of water, excused himself to exchange a few words privately with the captain, and led the little search party back out into the woods.

Damn damn damn damn! This shooting was bad news. Those idiots. What were they thinking?

The sector chief paced, lit a cigarette. Finally, he used his landline to contact his number-two man who was probably out picking pumpkins for his kids and didn't pick up. He left a message, still steaming.

‘Do you know what the hell is going on? Campers found one of those pipeline walkers shot this morning. Nobody said anything about shooting anybody. Now they're going to send in state cops and industry people, maybe Feds. The woods will be crawling with who knows what kinds of badges—'

In the middle of his sentence, Hiram picked up. ‘What was that, Chief?

‘Oh, you're there. Did you hear what I said?'

‘I heard you say a pipeline walker got shot. Which one?'

‘The dark-haired one. Named Al Rogers.'

‘Shit. He wasn't so bad. It's the other one who's the pain. You ever run into him?'

The chief blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘What's wrong with you, Hiram? Don't you see what's going to come down now? Cops. Investigators. The pipeline company'll send an army—'

‘Don't get your panties in a knot. People get shot out in the woods every now and then. What's the big deal?'

The chief took a drag on his cigarette. Hiram sounded way too complacent. ‘Hiram. What do you know about this?'

‘Nothing. This is the first I've heard about it.'

‘Seriously? A man gets shot in these woods and you know nothing about it? You expect me to believe it? You have eyes and ears every-damn-where. And when I'm not around, you're supposed to keep a handle on these people.'

Hiram was quiet for a breath. ‘I'm not in charge of anybody.'

‘Bullshit. We have a shared interest. We've agreed to agree on any action –
any
action – before implementing it. If you know something about this, Hiram—'

‘I don't. I'd tell you. All I know about is the thing Josh has been doing.'

‘You're shitting me.' The sector chief sat, leaned on the desk. ‘He's up to that again? You didn't stop him?'

‘I tried to reason with him—'

‘But I told him – we all told him – that will backfire. He's more likely to bring more tourists than to drive them away. Damn fool.'

‘I know.'

‘When did he start up again?'

‘As far as I know, last weekend. He got some newfangled hi-tech legs.'

The chief snuffed out his cigarette, turned to look out a window. The leaves glowed golden, red and orange in the afternoon sun. This land was God's bounty, and it was his duty to protect it.

‘We need a meeting. Everybody. Tonight.'

‘Tonight? I don't know if I can get all—'

‘Hiram, we got a dead guy and Josh is going rogue. We better get ourselves together. We're about to be swarmed by cops and investigators and who knows who all, and we've got no plan.'

‘Right.' Hiram sounded less than enthusiastic. ‘I'm on it.'

The chief hung up and rubbed his eyes. His chest was tight, blood pressure rising, and his stomach felt like soup. Not that he was scared, though. No, he'd been preparing for decades for a confrontation with the government. He'd trained with his neighbors in everything – weaponry, marksmanship, strategy, survival techniques. They had their arsenal, and they were ready, all of them. Even so.

He stood up, walked to the window, and watched a couple of wrens flutter by. The weather was crisp, clear. His sons were out there, hunting pheasant today. Life wasn't bad, over all. He and the ex-wife mostly got along, and Mavis wasn't giving him grief. His pants were a tad snug at the belt from some pounds he'd gained this last year, which was good because he tended to be skinny. Thing was, though, he wasn't young any more. He needed reading glasses, and his sideburns were almost silver. Now that the showdown he'd been preparing for was finally coming, he'd lost a lot of his fire.

He stared out at the colors, the bright light, the shadows, and he considered the jokes of life. One in particular was that by the time life finally let you have what you wished for, you just might not want it any more.

But it was no use philosophizing. Thinking too much never got anybody anywhere.

Bob climbed the rocky slope, pushing through vines and branches. Up ahead, where the ground leveled off, he saw what appeared to be an abandoned skeleton of a building. He let out a whoop. They'd been hiking for three hours, trying to follow the map, getting lost, reorienting themselves. And now, finally, they'd found it: the old campground.

‘What?' Pete called. ‘You see something?' He was tired, trailing behind Bob.

‘I think this is it.'

Pete joined him, peered through the trees at what was left of a burned-out structure. The roof had caved in, but the frame was still recognizable.

Bob pulled out his frayed old map. ‘This has got to be the main building. Yeah, look …' He walked closer to the ruins, pointing to the left. ‘Those stones? See how they're laid out in squares? Those must be what's left of the cabins.'

Pete looked at the stones. The sides of the squares were at most five feet wide. ‘Wouldn't cabins be bigger?' He scratched his hands.

‘Maybe not.' Bob scanned the area. ‘Besides, when they laid the pipeline, the workers probably moved things around. They must have cleared a road for their equipment. Everything would be dug into and moved around.'

‘I don't know.' Pete peered at the map. ‘Are you sure this is the right spot? Because the map shows that the old campground had a trailer lot. I don't see a trailer lot. And the main building didn't look as big as this place. It looks smaller, same size as the cottages.'

‘So? They dug up the lot when they laid the pipeline. And that map is just, like, a sketch. A plan. It shows the locations, not the exact actual structures.' Bob pointed to a row of boxes on the map. ‘See? These things are those squares. We're here.'

Pete studied the map again. Saw only one other building in that area of the woods, a hunting lodge located a few miles from the old campground. And this sure didn't look like a hunting lodge. This place was deserted, in ruins. It had to be the old campground, torn up to make way for the pipeline.

‘Okay.' He referred to the map. ‘So if those are the cottages, then the pipeline must be buried over there, behind them.' Pete took five giant steps and stopped, turned to face Bob, and raised his arms. ‘Right underneath me.'