by Robin Lamont
“Where’d you hear that?” repeated Mayhill. She absently picked up a pencil and began to tap it against her palm, playing out her discomfort with the subject.
“If I must say, it was from the mother of the boy herself.”
“Kylie Harrington?”
“Yes, that was her name. She was kind enough to give me directions the other day. And we got to talking, and she told me what happened. The whole incident must still be weighing on her, you know?”
“I imagine.”
“So you can understand my concern that our guests might step on one of these and get sprayed by cyanide, which I have to say is not a remote possibility should this … Wildlife Services become somewhat lax about posting warning signs.”
“They’re supposed to, but sometimes the wind blows them down, or people take them down.” Tap, tap, tap.
Jude didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that Sal was no fan of Wildlife Services, and she took the opportunity to dig further. “But that’s not what happened for Kylie’s son and her dog,” she said. “This was on her own property, and she told me she never saw any signs.”
“What’s your stake in this?” Sal asked sharply.
“Well, first and foremost, the use of these devices would make EO Travel hesitate to bring hikers and tourist trade to the area. But I was also moved by Kylie’s situation, especially since she was apparently stonewalled when she tried to get some answers from Wildlife Services. They must have known who set that trap. They must be required to keep records of that sort of thing. I mean, there has to be some accountability, and if something like that happened to one of our clients, well…” Jude let the thought drift, and then said, “Between you and me, I think what happened to Kylie Harrington’s boy and her dog is pretty horrible.”
Sal sucked in a deep breath as if trying to bottle up what she really wanted to say. Finally, she released it with an audible sound, adding, “Yes, it was pretty horrible.”
Jude plowed ahead. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but for all we know it was Craig Eberhardt who set the M-44 that killed Kylie’s dog and poisoned her son.”
Sal’s tapping abruptly ceased. “You’re skating on thin ice there, Miz Harris,” she warned. “Nobody knows who placed that trap.”
Looking down demurely, Jude murmured, “Maybe someone does.”
“Yeah, like who?”
“Well, I learned that Craig Eberhardt not only kept a field diary, but was meticulous about writing everything down. And I mean everything.”
“Where’d you learn that?” Sal’s eyes flashed. It was clear to Jude that she was conflicted. She was reticent to discuss Wildlife Services or Craig Eberhardt, but her interest had been piqued.
“If I tell you, will you please keep it to yourself, because it was said to me in confidence. It was another Wildlife Services guy, Orin Cashman. We were on a date, of sorts.”
“Does he know where it is?”
“No, but somebody should, right?”
“The police looked,” Sal blurted out. “They figured it might tell them what he was doing just before he was killed. But as far as I know they never found it.”
“That’s kind of unusual considering it was a work journal kept in the regular course of his job.”
Sal lowered her voice conspiratorially though no one was within hearing distance. “Unless the killer took it or maybe destroyed it because something in the journal might reveal his identity.”
“Oh, my! Is that what the police think?”
“I really couldn’t say.” She hesitated. “I do hear, though, that they’re working with the FBI on the murder, and there are signs that point to animal activists.”
Jude raised her eyebrows. “Animal activists? Gee, Stanton’s got a lot more going on than I thought.”
* * *
Sal’s theory seemed plausible, even more so knowing how extensively Eberhardt had recorded his non-target kills. Had the diary itself gotten him murdered? Jude now knew that it wasn’t in an evidence bag somewhere. That was something. She had just stepped out of Fielding’s into the damp, gray afternoon, when CJ called, sounding quite pleased with himself.
Skipping the preliminaries, he jumped right in. “So I’m doing some research for Gordon on the AETA hearing next week, and I found something you might be interested in.”
“I’m listening,” said Jude.
“The guy who’s pushing the amendment is Scott Olander, and as a high ranking conservative, he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. One of them is the Department of Agriculture’s Subcommittee on Livestock and Rural Development, where he’s the chair. Late last year when a whole lot of bad publicity on Wildlife Services came out, one of the House members proposed a bill that would have made the agency more accountable.”
“Was that when they ‘lost’ twelve million dollars?”
“Yup. The bill demanded more oversight regarding the agency’s expenditures.”
“Yeah, and…” said Jude with a frown.
“It never came up for a vote. Olander buried it. And as the committee chair, he’s got the power to stall the bill indefinitely.”
“Why do you think?”
“How about Scott Olander and Lindsay Dahl are good buddies. They go way back to when they were both on the board of Marshfield Industries, your favorite pork producer. Small world, hunh?”
“Are you kidding me? Lindsay Dahl is the head guy at APHIS,” Jude noted incredulously.
“Which oversees Wildlife Services. And if I’m right, it gets even uglier,” CJ said. “You wanted to know if John Tripp was at the ALEC conference in Houston? The answer is yes. And so was Scott Olander. In fact, Olander is an advisor to the ALEC agricultural committee along with Tripp.”
Jude took all this in before replying angrily, “It’s all the same story, isn’t it CJ? The Tysons and Cargills and Marshfields make the laws in this country. And even as they scream about regulations, they have a chokehold on the federal agencies. Profit is their god, and if farm animals are tortured in factory farms and our country’s wildlife is wiped off the face of the earth so everyone can buy cheap meat, so be it. And now Olander is trying to put more teeth into the anti-terrorism statute to make sure that those of us who want to help the animals are silenced and thrown in jail.”
“Welcome to twenty-first century capitalism.”
Jude thought for a moment. “Remind me when the hearing is,” she said.
“Next Friday.”
That gave her less than a week to dig up more dirt on Wildlife Services and hopefully find the diary. Olander was going to further criminalize the fight for animal protection? Block any oversight of Wildlife Services? Not if she had anything to do with it.
Chapter 21
Ben heard tapping against the rear slider to the deck and looked up. Colin was standing with his shoulders hunched against the cold, his face in the shadow of his hooded jacket as dark as the lowering clouds behind him. Ben got up from his chair and walked a bit shakily to the door to unlock it.
“Hey, Dad,” said Colin, letting in a gust of damp air.
“What’s the matter with the front door?” his father asked. His gruff tone belied the flash of happiness he felt at seeing his son.
“There’s a government car parked at the bottom of the driveway.”
Ben grunted and cast his eyes uneasily in that direction. “I guess they didn’t believe me. You, uh … you want some coffee?” At his son’s hesitation he added, “We’ll hear them if they drive up to the house. And you can go out the way you came.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve only got instant, that alright?”
“Sure.”
As Ben shambled into the kitchen, Colin noticed how loosely the clothing hung on his withering frame. Yet he had taken the time to dress as if he had plans. His shirt was laundered and his trousers n
eatly pressed. Even if all he could do was sit and think and wait for the medication to work, he had his pride. No slippers for Ben; he’d put on shoes, shaved, and carefully combed his thinning hair.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, fine as can be expected, I suppose.” He put a kettle on the range and took out two mugs, spooning a teaspoon of granules into each. “David and his wife are expecting again,” he said, blocking further discussion about his health.
“No kidding. Rachel must be nearly three now, right?” asked Colin, referring to his niece.
“Cute as a bug. Smart, too.”
“I’m going to try and get out there to see them. Soon.”
They waited for the water to boil, the air still thick with bottled up feelings. Finally, Colin blurted out, “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Oh, them?” Ben waved disdainfully in the direction of the presumed FBI agents. “They’ll go away eventually.”
“Not that. I mean, yeah, I’m sorry the cops are bugging you. But I wanted to say…” Colin took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. You and Mom. You know, I tried to get a furlough to make it home for the funeral, but I was in a max security unit and they wouldn’t go for it.” After a pause, he continued, “And it’s not just that. I wasn’t the easiest kid to live with, which you know. I … I was just born in the wrong place, I guess. Idaho? Hunting capital of the world? If only we’d lived in Cape Cod or something.”
Ben sniffed. “You probably would’ve bitched about the fish.”
“Probably. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I see animals differently than you do, than most people do. I believe they live with us on the planet, not for us. And the way you would never want to see a dog suffer, like Far Away or Hoop or Oona, I can’t accept us thoughtlessly hurting other animals who feel pain and fear as much as a dog. I just can’t stand by when they’re suffering.” Colin saw his father’s hands begin to shake. “I didn’t come here to upset you, though, Dad. I came because I wanted to clear the air, you know? I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Slowly Ben poured hot water into their cups and stirred up the dark brown liquid. “Sugar?” he asked.
Colin shook his head, partly in dismay. They’d been down this road before.
“Sit down,” said Ben gently. They brought their coffee into the living area and Ben took a seat in his favorite chair. “You may have a couple of things to apologize for, son. But you don’t have to apologize for being who you are. I won’t apologize for who I am either. People don’t always see eye-to-eye, not even in families – maybe especially not in families. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel for each other.” He cleared his throat. “You know, you came along right after we’d moved here. I was nearly forty and wanted to fit in as much as anyone. It meant adopting a new culture … huntin’ deer, carrying a rifle … being a man in the American west. I honestly saw your alliance with animals as being against me somehow. When you got older, I thought your activities were just an expression of hostility. The protests against the war and the global warming stuff all seemed so … un-American, it angered me.”
“My activism about animals wasn’t aimed at you, Dad. And not against this country, per se. It’s aimed at a culture and an economic system that profits from abusing animals.”
“I know … I know that now. And I’m beginning to think that maybe you and your animal comrades love what this country stands for more than the rest of us because you want to hold America to a higher standard. We have First Amendment rights here, but when they prosecuted you as a terrorist, they had to change the meaning of that word. If you committed a crime, prosecute you for that crime. But terrorism? No, that’s totally different. And then to put you away in a maximum security prison, I couldn’t see it as anything other than the government trying to shut you up and send a message to your buddies that they better not mess with big business. That’s not the America I know.”
“Jeez, why didn’t you tell me, Dad? If I’d known how you felt…”
“I was angry. Angry at the prosecution, angry about what was happening to your mom, and I got some kind of strength from it, I suppose. You might have a bit of that in you, too.” When Colin started to protest, his father continued, “But I shouldn’t be trying to draw parallels between us, I’ve got too much to reconcile about myself. It’s just … looking back I think that if I’d let go of some of my anger, I might not have wasted all those years.”
“Wasted?”
Ben stared out the window for a moment before answering. “I spent a lot of time trying to turn us both into people we weren’t. Now, it’s time to do what we’ve got to do on our own terms. You know what I’m saying?”
Colin didn’t quite, but said, “It’s not too late, Dad.”
Smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in his trousers, Ben replied, “I’m afraid it is. You’ve got to move on, Colin. Those fellas at the bottom of the driveway would love nothing better than to pin a murder on you, if only to justify branding you a terrorist.”
“I appreciate the thought, Dad. But they’re going to catch up with me sooner or later. I’ve got something I have to do in a couple of weeks, but then I’m coming back. When all is said and done, they can’t connect me to Eberhardt. And I know a good lawyer. I’ll give her a call. Whatever this cancer is, we’re going to see it through together.”
* * *
Jude sat at a table with a stack of newspapers in front of her. The hushed atmosphere of the library was broken only by the intermittent buzzing of a malfunctioning fluorescent light in the corner of the reading room. She had six days until the hearing to dig up something concrete about Wildlife Services. As her inside source, Cash was still her strongest lead, and she’d called him to accept his invitation to Tripp’s Christmas party. She’d see him tonight. In the meantime, she wanted to find out everything she could about Craig Eberhardt. An internet search hadn’t given her much, so she turned to the local Stanton paper, hoping that accounts of the murder might open a door.
The police were quick to link the fact that Eberhardt’s leg had been forced into a trap to the recent rash of dismantled traps in the area. “We’ve had numerous reports from local residents of missing or broken traps,” said Sergeant Wheeler of the Stanton PD. “We have reason to believe it’s the work of violent animal activists who will apparently break the law to advance their agenda. And I can promise that if they are responsible for the murder of Craig Eberhardt, they will be brought to justice.”
In the next day’s paper, Jude read a reporter’s interview of people who knew Eberhardt. “I saw him at Fielding’s that day,” said one. “We were looking at coil spring traps what with wolf season underway.” The article went on to discuss Eberhardt’s work with Wildlife Services and his extensive trapping expertise. He was not scheduled to work the day he was killed. He told someone that he was going hunting – a pastime he enjoyed on his day off.
Jude leaned back and digested that last piece of information. Eberhardt’s day off. She surmised that if he wasn’t working, he wouldn’t be carrying his field diary. And if he didn’t have it on his person, his killer couldn’t have taken it from him … all of which negated Sal’s theory that the killer fled with the diary because it contained clues to his or her identity. But that the cops hadn’t found it in his car or at home had to mean that Eberhardt stashed the diary in a place no one would look. Jude let the thought linger for a moment then went back to the article. A minute later, she was sorry that she had.
Two officers responded to the call and Mr. Ferrow led them to the body of Craig Eberhardt, which was partially covered by the three-inch snowfall of the previous night. The victim had been shot and his leg apparently placed into a large steel-jawed trap. A full investigation is underway. Residents of the Lake Freedom area are being asked to cooperate with the police.
Jude caught her breath and hastily flipped through the rest of the p
aper where news of the killing continued. The body of Craig Eberhardt, found less than a mile from Lake Freedom… That’s where Colin’s cabin was.
Chapter 22
The Tripp Ranch was lit up like a gilded castle. Candles ensconced in glass were reflected in the gleaming honey oak floors; the decorations on the twelve-foot Christmas tree in the foyer twinkled with white light and gold ornaments. The atmosphere exuded warmth and wealth.
Jude handed her parka to a woman in a housekeeping uniform who gave her a numbered receipt and disappeared into a walk-in closet. Grateful that she’d packed a “just in case” black dress, Jude turned to join the other dinner guests. She’d put her hair up and added a touch of mascara and blush, about the only makeup she ever used, and wore a pair of silver earrings she’d bought at a craft shop in Stanton. She was hoping she would fit in tonight, and from a few of the smiles she received, apparently she did.
She strolled into the study where the cathedral ceiling magnified the voices and the clinking of ice. Couples mingled, the men wearing sport coats and wide-brimmed Stetsons, the women wearing satin and rhinestones, their perfume mixing with the wood smoke from the fire. A server with a tray of canapés approached. Jude smiled and shook her head, not even bothering to look at what the tray held. It was bound to be something she wouldn’t eat. She made an effort to look relaxed, but since learning that Eberhardt’s body had been found at Lake Freedom, her mind had been a jumble of thoughts, none of them happy.
Lake Freedom. Too coincidental. Had Oliver killed him? If so, Colin had to know. What a lame story about a piece of wood hitting him in the face. Then again, it could have been Laurel. Hadn’t thought of her, but why not? She’s small but surprisingly strong. Nearly tore my arm off behind the bookstore. Remember how angry she was at Wildlife Services for killing wolf pups? The possibilities fermented inside Jude all afternoon.
“Why, there’s my gal,” whooped Cash, coming up behind her. As if they were lovers reunited, he took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. “Don’t you look pretty, real pretty.”