by Robin Lamont
Jude dropped to her knees, ready to be taken, grateful that she could rest now. A large, dark animal whined and pushed her over. A raspy tongue licked her cheek. It was not the sight of him or the sound, but his smell that Jude, in her disoriented state, finally recognized.
“Finn?” she whispered. Was she only hoping it was Finn?
But there was his scent, warm on her face, dog-like, familiar. She wrapped her arms around his neck. And it felt like … home. His strong, noble face swam into view.
“Oh, Finn. Good boy, good boy.” Her face was so cold, her lips so dry, she could barely form the words.
If it was an illusion, she clung to it. Using Finn’s bulk, Jude pushed herself to her feet. He danced at her side, a three-foot piece of leash hanging from his collar dragged on the ground. She grabbed hold of the end, but it slipped through her useless fingers. She reached for it again and wrapped it around her hand, letting Finn take control.
One step at a time. With Finn. One step at a time.
She didn’t know how far they’d gone, but he finally stopped. He was crouching and pawing at the ground in front of a huge tree that had toppled by its roots. The root ball rose from the earth like a wall, creating a protected hole, and branches from another tree taken down in a previous storm formed a kind of canopy. Finn was now on a mission, exploring the space underneath, seeking out any other animal that might be living there. Finding none, he wriggled on his belly into the tree cave and whined at Jude to do the same. She collapsed next to him and inch by inch worked her way into the protected darkness where there was room for the two of them. The ground was damp, but soft with layers of leaves and pine needles. And they were out of the wind.
Jude folded her frozen body around her dog. With trembling fingers, she removed her wet gloves and buried her hands in the ruff of Finn’s neck. Slowly, slowly, they began to regain sensation. His body heat was perhaps enough for the two of them. When she thought she could manage it, she eased off her boots and wet socks, replacing them with the pair in her pocket. Then she dug her toes under Finn’s haunches and drifted into a cold, light sleep.
At one point she was aware of Finn moving. She woke long enough to find that he had placed himself at the entrance to their little cave, lying with his head down, but his eyes and ears alert. She pressed herself against her protector and allowed herself to be pulled back into unconsciousness.
Chapter 27
Her fingers throbbed. Unclenching them slowly, Jude smoothed down her skirt, the bandages scraping lightly on the fabric. She was three rows back from the witness table where Gordon was undergoing questioning. Next to him sat Elizabeth Crowley, The Kinship’s attorney and Gordon’s lover. Jude always felt slightly dog-eared next to Elizabeth (no one called her Liz) who everyone considered breathtakingly lovely and wickedly smart. She’d been nicknamed the Vegan Goddess by a few of the investigators, and although she waved them off, Jude thought she privately liked it. Facing them on the dais was the congressional panel. Something had gone awry with the sound system and while they fixed it, the members talked among themselves.
One of the congressmen kept glancing in Jude’s direction, and she couldn’t miss the malevolence in each sideswipe of his eyes. Scott Olander was prepared to take Jude apart when she testified. He’d been filled in by John Tripp; he knew who Jude was and what she was likely to say. Despite the time she spent with Elizabeth going over her testimony, Jude felt her confidence draining by the minute. She was scared of being attacked by a congressman, scared of messing up. Ever since the night in the woods, she was having trouble concentrating, as if the deep freeze had numbed her ability to think. She’d find herself explaining something to Gordon as her thoughts drifted to Colin or re-lived the terror of being lost, only to realize that her boss was waiting for her to continue. And there was still the ongoing ache in her feet and hands, though it was nothing compared to the agony of what they’d called “rewarming” in the emergency room. Many of the people at the subcommittee hearing had removed their suit jackets, but Jude kept hers on, wondering if she would ever feel truly warm again.
She and Finn had crawled out of their makeshift shelter at first light. Mercifully, there was no wind, but she knew they had to keep moving. She told him to “go find home” and prayed he would lead her to civilization. He did. It wasn’t long before she heard the rumble of a snowplow, and she slid most of the way down an incline to where a road was being cleared. The plow operator called an ambulance while she and Finn began to thaw in the cab of the plow.
The next twenty-four hours dissolved in a haze of pain medication. Jude suffered superficial frostbite that left blisters on her feet and hands. The tips of nearly all her fingers turned a mottled blue and the sensation that returned to her extremities came back as burning and throbbing, making her wish for the numbness again. But the doctors said that in time she would be fine; she was fortunate that she’d worn layers underneath her parka, and even more fortunate that she had Finn. All the nurses came around and wanted to meet the dog that saved her life.
As word spread, Foster Dunne came to the hospital and offered to take Finn back to the Aspen to care for him. Gordon flew out as soon as he’d heard, bringing Lucas with him. The brightest moment of her hospital stay was when Lucas arrived, bearing an armload of warm vegan burritos. A fellow investigator and her closest friend at The Kinship, he was to drive Finn back cross country in Jude’s car, while she flew back to Washington with Gordon.
Not all her visitors were friendly faces. Two FBI agents arrived to interview her. They’d asked in a variety of ways if she knew Colin, if she knew where he was, if she knew his friends… She mostly told the truth. She knew him from college days, she’d seen him in Stanton, but didn’t know where he was. Beyond that, she’d followed Elizabeth’s advice to say as little as possible. They promised another visit and, as they had done with Oliver, threatened a grand jury investigation, but so far they’d taken no action.
When she returned home, the first night in her apartment nearly crushed her. The loneliness was worse than the frostbite. Lucas and Finn were still a day away and no matter how she tried to distract herself, she couldn’t stop thinking about Colin. Elizabeth told her in no uncertain terms not to contact him – even if she knew how. Jude’s thoughts, too, drifted to Ben. She believed he would turn himself in and hoped that at trial – if his body held out that long – the jury would feel compassion for him. Perhaps some jurors might think about how they loved their own dogs, sometimes as much as they loved another human. Love was love, wasn’t it? Yes, but the law was the law. Ben had killed a man and would go to prison. Until she knew that he had shown up at the police station, however, being the keeper of his confession was a torment. Jude hadn’t said anything about him, not even to Gordon.
Finally, there was the lingering fear. Was Cash or someone else on Tripp’s payroll going to come after her again? Before she’d left the hospital, the Stanton police had picked him up, but the D.A. was reluctant to prosecute. Cash claimed he’d followed Jude to apologize for being drunk the night before and was going to give her a ride home. She jumped off his ATV – what could he do? He tried, but couldn’t find her. Her word against his. And in light of her being an animal activist posing as a travel agent, her credibility was already in question. The cops had retrieved Eberhardt’s cooler, but they seemed to shrug it off. So he kept pieces of animals he trapped – no harm there. Gordon thought that Jude’s best protection was to tell her story to The Washington Post. A reporter interviewed her, but later got blanket denials from John Tripp and Wildlife Services. With just Jude’s statement and a handful of dog collars that Eberhardt could have found somewhere, he felt he didn’t have enough to run a story about Wildlife Services.
Jude was left with the chance to appear before the subcommittee. In his efforts to bolster the provisions of the anti-terrorism statute, Scott Olander planned to bring in an FBI agent to testify that it was the agen
cy’s belief that Eberhardt’s murder was the work of animal activists. Once they did that, Gordon was able to pressure the committee chair to let Jude speak.
“You’re up,” Elizabeth was gently shaking her shoulder.
Jude wanted to climb under her seat. “I don’t think I can,” she said to Elizabeth.
“Of course you can,” replied the attorney, unmoved by her anxiety. “Here, maybe this will help. It was just delivered by messenger.” She handed Jude a padded envelope that for security reasons the guard had insisted on opening at the door. Jude reached in and pulled out an old blue dog collar and a notebook wrapped in black plastic. Elizabeth glowed with a jubilant grin; she knew what it was.
Jude turned the package over in her hands, her heart beating so fast she could scarcely breathe. It was addressed to her at The Kinship, and the return address drew a big smile. It was from “John Tripp” in Stanton … Colin’s sense of humor. All at once, she didn’t feel cold anymore and the pain in her fingers didn’t matter. She clutched the package to her chest and limped up to the table to take a seat.
* * *
Sal climbed out of her rubber boots for the third time that morning. Two hunters, one trapper, five coyotes, and another wolf. The end of the hunting season for wolves was months away and her district’s quota was nearly met. But she knew it didn’t mean the killing would stop. She gazed out the window to see if it had started snowing. All the weather reports said this storm was going to leave at least a foot. She had four-wheel drive, but didn’t want to set out for home too late. The phone rang.
“Sal Mayhill here,” she said, sliding behind her desk.
“Sal, it’s Ben McIntyre.”
“How are you, Ben?” she asked, surprised to hear from him. She knew he was ill and wondered how he was dealing with the fact that his son was still a wanted man.
“Well as can be expected,” he said. “Listen, I … I called because I’ve got something to say. We’ve known each other a long time and I would like you to handle this. You can contact anyone you need, but I just … want to tell you first.”
He sounded so somber that Sal pulled her eyes away from the computer screen and sat up in her chair. “How can I help you, Ben?” she asked.
“Sal, I killed Craig Eberhardt. He trapped my dog Oona and I shot him.”
His blunt statement came as a shock and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Finally she found her voice and asked in disbelief, “What are you saying?”
“I’m telling you that I shot Eberhardt. With my Winchester. It’s right here and the ballistics will match up, I’m sure. Then I set a trap ’round his leg and let it fly. Same kind of trap that got Oona, so it seemed fitting, I suppose. I want you to know that I was going to go back and release him, but I got real sick and then it was too late.”
Sal felt her scalp tighten like a vise.
“You still there?” asked Ben.
“I’m here … I just don’t know what to say.” She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him. “Is this about Colin? Because of the DNA on the trap?”
“It wasn’t him. I’m telling you the truth. The kid was sabotaging traps. He probably left traces on some of them, which could explain the DNA. But what you’ll find at my place is solid proof. I’m no forensic expert, but I still have the boots I was wearing and there’s some of Eberhardt’s blood on ’em. Cops are welcome to the clothes, my rifle, and anything else they can find. I’ve written up a full confession. It was me, Sal. Nobody else. I didn’t plan it. I only wanted him to admit what he’d done. He was a vicious man when it came to animals. One thing led to another, and the bottom line is I shot him and left him to die.”
She could hear the truth in his voice and sighed from a place deep in her chest. “Have you called the police?”
“Nope. I’m calling you.”
“I’m going to have to get them in on this, you know.”
“I understand. You do what you need to do.”
“Oh, Jesus. I wish this wasn’t happening,” said Sal.
“You’ve got to do me a favor, Sal. Make sure they call off the hunt for my son.”
“Is he with you?”
“No, I don’t know where he is. I hope he’s long gone.”
“Where are you, Ben?” she asked.
“I’m home.”
“Okay. I have to tell you to stay put. I’m coming out with the police.”
“You do that.” There was a long pause, and Ben added, “Thank you, Sal.”
He hung up.
* * *
The subcommittee chairman was a Democrat named Jensen from Maryland. He put on his reading glasses before shuffling his notes, then took them off again to address the next witness. “The chair recognizes Jude Brannock, an investigator with Mr. Silverman’s organization The Kinship. As you’ve been told, Miss Brannock, this committee was not intending to add a discussion of Wildlife Services to the agenda, but since my Republican colleague here has interjected the issue of escalating violence by animal activists in Idaho, we agreed that a witness who has some knowledge of such activities should have an opportunity to respond. I would ask you to keep it brief, however.”
She brought the microphone closer and began to read from her prepared statement, “Chairman Jensen and distinguished members of the committee, I want to thank you for the opportunity to testify here today. I was sent to Stanton, Idaho, on December 12th by The Kinship to look into a rumor that animal activists were responsible for the death of Wildlife Services agent Craig Eberhardt. I went in my capacity as an undercover investigator because we thought that my association with an animal advocacy group would be a barrier to my investigation…” She proceeded to testify that while in Stanton she learned several things about Eberhardt specifically and Wildlife Services in general that were deeply distressing to many residents in the town. “These activities could logically provide a motive for the killing,” she continued. “For instance–”
Olander leaned in to his microphone and cut her off. “You don’t have to tell this committee about what Wildlife Services does.”
She looked up from her notes and met the warning in his gaze. “I have no doubt that you are aware of what Wildlife Services does, sir. Like how they conduct aerial gunning of wolves and coyotes. But did you know that this killing takes place not only on public lands, but also in areas where there are no sheep and cattle grazing? Of course you know that amongst many poisons, the agency uses M-44 cyanide ejectors to kill coyotes. But did you know that those same devices have killed family pets and injured people, including children? And that Wildlife Services refuses to take any responsibility for this?”
Olander started to interrupt, but Jude raised her voice and boldly carried on. “I’m certain you must know that from time to time, animals who are not targeted for death by Wildlife Services get caught in their traps. But did you know that these non-target animals outnumber the targeted animals by two-to-one, or three-to-one, as one Wildlife Services agent informed me? And did you know that Bud Grimes, the regional director of Wildlife Services in Idaho, instructs his agents to hide evidence of these non-target animals, a policy otherwise known as Shoot, Shovel, and Shut-up – even when the non-target animals are endangered species? And quite naturally, sir, you are aware of the fact that millions of taxpayer dollars have gone missing or are unaccounted for in the Wildlife Services budget. You know this because the bill that seeks accountability is before the committee of which you are the chair–”
Olander banged his fist against the table. “Enough!” he roared. “You’re here to answer questions, not ask them.”
He went on a blazing offensive, probing her relationship with Cash and making it appear as though she might be a spurned lover, then trying to paint her as an ALF sympathizer with her own illegal agenda. Finally, he sought to link her to Colin and pin her with obstruction of justice, asking, “What precisely is your re
lationship with Colin McIntyre?”
“We were friends. I hadn’t seen him in many years,”
“Were you aware that Mr. McIntyre was wanted by the FBI for the murder of Craig Eberhardt?”
She’d discussed this with Elizabeth and answered circumspectly, “When I came to Stanton, I heard that there were FBI agents looking for a particular individual, but I did not know who that individual was.”
Olander sensed something slippery about her answer, but couldn’t immediately pin it down and felt he had to keep at her. He shuffled his notecards and asked, “Were you aware that McIntyre was committing a crime by interfering with traps? Government traps in particular?”
“I did not have any direct personal knowledge that he was destroying traps, nor did he admit to me that he had.”
The congressman kept at her. “Miss Brannock, you’ve made a serious allegation that a regional director of Wildlife Services was instructing his employees to hide evidence of non-target animals.”
“That’s correct.”
“What is the basis for this allegation?”
“For one, I overheard a discussion between Idaho Senator John Tripp and Mr. Grimes himself concerning a field diary kept by Craig Eberhardt. They were worried that the diary would be found by the police or the FBI because not only would it implicate Mr. Grimes in his instruction to cover up the non-target animals, but it would also document suspicious payments from ranchers to the agency and vice versa.”
“That’s preposterous hearsay, young lady. Do you have any reliable evidence outside of this alleged field diary that no one has seen?”
“Well, I learned about it first from Orin Cashman, who works for Wildlife Services” said Jude. From the corner of her eye, she saw Elizabeth hide a smile and remembered what the lawyer always said about examining a witness: never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to – you might get an unwelcome surprise. “Cash … I mean, Mr. Cashman was the one who revealed the existence of this diary,” she continued. “He said that Eberhardt had angered a lot of people because he was writing down all of his non-target takes, even after he was told not to record them.”