by Robin Lamont
Olander knew that no one had found the diary. They all surmised that it was still missing. “And just where is this alleged diary?” he challenged with a smirk.
“It’s right here,” said Jude, pulling it out of the package and placing it in front of her. The look on Olander’s face was one she would always remember.
* * *
By the time Sal rounded up the police and they got to Tolan Way, it was snowing heavily and visibility was poor. No lights showed in the house. Sal led the way and knocked firmly on the front door. “Ben?” she called. “It’s Sal Mayhill. Can you open the door?” The snowfall muted the sounds of their boots, their breathing, and the squeaking of leather gun belts as they waited for a response, but it was eerily quiet.
Chief Bill Ramey pushed past Sal and tried the door. It opened easily. He dropped back and withdrew his service revolver.
“He’s not going to do anything, Bill,” rebuked Sal.
But he motioned her and the other officers to the side. “Ben?” he called out. “Come on out, Ben. It’s time.”
The returning silence told them that only bad news waited on the other side of the door. Ramey nodded to his officers and they stormed into the house.
It was cold and still. The fire in the wood burning stove was long since extinguished. Two officers checked the bedrooms, while the sergeant went outside to search the garage. Ben was gone.
But he had left something for them. On the kitchen counter lay his Winchester rifle and a stuffed plastic garbage bag. Ramey snapped on a pair of latex gloves and slid out the contents of the bag – a pair of jeans, a down vest, and a worn pair of boots, smeared with a rust-colored substance. There was also a pair of gloves which appeared to be spattered with blood. Next to his wallet, Ben had left an envelope with Chief Ramey’s name printed on the outside. He opened it and scanned the contents.
“Mind if I look?” asked Sal.
Ramey set the letter on the counter.
To Whom it may concern:
My name is Ben McIntyre and I shot Craig Eberhardt with my Winchester, then put his leg in a spring coil trap, the same one as killed my dog. He set the trap and then took her body so that I couldn’t bury her.
My son Colin is innocent of this crime. He may be guilty of others, but not this. I love my son and have come to admire him. In his own way he is trying to ease the suffering in this world. If he tries to do that on his own terms, he might pay the consequences and I accept that. But he had nothing to do with Eberhardt.
You may think me a bad man for what I have done, and maybe I am. But I do not want to die in jail. I believe in God and have gone where I hope to find his forgiveness. – Benjamin James McIntyre
The sergeant burst in through the front door. “Chief, come take a look at this,” he said.
He led them outside around the back of the garage. “There’s footprints going that way,” he said, pointing to dull indentations in the snow that were already filling in.
“What’s up there?” asked Ramey.
“Nothin’ but wild,” replied the sergeant. “If you keep on over Mount Owyhee you might hit Saint Claire, but that’s a good four, five miles and not an easy hike.”
Ramey crouched down to examine the prints. “He must have left right after he called you, Sal. Sonofagun.”
“Where the hell is he gonna go in this?” asked one of the cops, holding out his gloved hands and letting the snowflakes collect.
“I don’t know,” responded the sergeant. “There’s a pair of snowshoes in the garage and unless he’s got a second set, he won’t get very far. You want me to go back and get a search team?”
The Chief looked up in the direction of the peak and nodded uncertainly. “Yeah, sure. And get cars on Tolan Way at both ends.”
The sergeant hurried off, barking out instructions to the other officers. They left Sal and Chief Ramey standing in the falling snow.
“What do you think, Sal?” he finally asked.
“He left his wallet,” she noted.
Ramey nodded. “He’ll be tough to find,” said Ramey. “Another twenty minutes and we won’t see any tracks. And if we don’t find him soon…”
They both left the sentence unfinished. There was no need. Both of them knew there would be no arrest, no trial, no jail. Ben was gone – on his own terms.
Chapter 28
“Merry Christmas,” said Lucas, raising his glass.
Jude clinked her glass against his and took another sip of wine. Lucas had stayed behind to help clean up after their holiday dinner, which had become a tradition at The Kinship that Jude was happy to host. Everyone brought a vegan dish and they exchanged little gifts, often silly things like the costume that now adorned Lucas’s companion animal Habib.
“You know, I don’t approve of dressing up animals,” said Jude solemnly, as she watched Habib’s little whiskers poke out of the front of Lucas’s shirt. “I think it demeans them. But that is so cute, I can’t stand it.” She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud as Habib the rat scurried up Lucas’s arm with his red cape flying.
Finn watched disdainfully from his bed near the Christmas tree. He adored Lucas and had come to tolerate the rodent – but that’s as far as he would go.
“Too bad Gordon couldn’t come for dinner,” said Lucas.
“They had to make an appearance at some other gathering, but he said they’d stop by later.”
“Boss-man ought to be here celebrating. No more AETA amendment.”
“Well, technically, they’re just tabling the amendment, but apparently when the press got hold of the field diary, they decided to drop the attack on activists for a while.”
“Beautiful, man. I love it. And that was a kickin’ headline Who’s the Real Terrorist?”
“Yeah, Congressman Jensen says he’s going to form his own committee to take on Wildlife Services.”
Lucas picked up Habib to give him a kiss on the nose, adding, “One step at a friggin’ time, right?”
Jude folded her legs underneath her on the sofa. The good food and wine, the friendships, and the festive lights on the Christmas tree threw a dreamy spell over the apartment.
“So, Miss B, how you doin’ … really?” asked Lucas.
Jude held up her hands. “Not bad, see? Almost healed.”
“Dude, I mean here,” he said, pointing to his heart.
“Almost healed,” she said with a tentative smile.
“And what’s up with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Lucas,” Jude chastised. “I don’t know what he’s up to.”
“Does he know about his father?”
“I’m sure he does. It did make the news.”
“How’s he taking it?”
“I don’t know … I haven’t spoken to him.”
The doorbell rang and Finn leapt to his feet, barking a deep warning. He’d been more protective than usual since the night in the woods. But his bark quickly turned into a giddy whine when Jude opened the door to Gordon and Elizabeth.
“You made it,” said Jude happily.
“Merry Christmas,” said Gordon, giving her a hug.
Elizabeth gave Jude a peck on the cheek and took off her coat. She looked positively glamorous.
“I brought someone else,” said Gordon, his eyes shining. He stepped aside to let in Lisbet Hammond.
“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed Jude, embracing the wolf biologist. “Come on in. What are you doing in Washington? How are you?”
A flurry of introductions filled the small apartment as the new group settled in and Jude retrieved drinks and some dessert for her guests. Elizabeth was none too pleased, however, to see Habib.
“Don’t worry, Goddess, he’s chill, he ain’t gonna hurt you,” drawled Lucas, defending his buddy as usual.
“I know,”
she responded uncomfortably. “I would just prefer he not … crawl on me.”
“Habib don’t crawl, Goddess, he strides. He’s super dude now. Marches to the beat of his own drum.”
“Fine. Just don’t let him stride or march on me,” she demurred.
“Love the cape,” said Gordon. “Lisbet, tell Jude why you’re in Washington.”
All eyes turned eagerly in her direction. “Well, as you all probably know, since the federal delisting, wolf populations out west are declining. They’re at the mercy of the state wildlife agencies and the animal agriculture and hunting industries that fund them. But, we have an idea. It’s in the early stages and will take some time, but we’re mounting an effort to help wolves recover their original range in the northeast,” she announced excitedly.
“There are no wolves there now?” asked Lucas.
“No. Occasionally one or two make their way down from Algonquin Park in Canada, but they’re either shot or they hybridize with the eastern coyote and aren’t able to re-colonize as a distinct population. But we think we have a good chance to convince the states, namely New York, Vermont, Maine and New Hampshire, to set their own standards for protecting wolves even if the federal government won’t. With protections in place, we might be able to reintroduce wolves someday, the way we did in Yellowstone.”
“What makes you think that the hunting industry in those states won’t do the same thing it’s doing in Idaho and Montana?” asked Jude.
“They’ll probably try, but we’ve got a couple of things going for us. First, people in the northeast are a little more environmentally sympathetic, and they aren’t as fixated on the wolf as the boogeyman. Secondly, wildlife watching is a big money-maker in the northeast, and it could be even bigger if wolves are part of the equation. That’s certainly true at Yellowstone. They draw huge numbers of people just for the chance of catching a glimpse of them, and that brings revenue to the whole community. But unlike Yellowstone, a wolf habitat in the northeast would be much more accessible to a large number of people – just a day’s drive from New York or Boston.”
Jude had a visceral memory of that early morning on the Lamar Valley ridge and the thrill of seeing the Stone Mountain Pack emerge from the pine trees. She saw once more the alpha male with his thick silver and black coat, his keen almond-shaped eyes, and the sprinkle of frost on his muzzle. Feeling the hunger and excitement of possibilities for these amazing creatures, she asked excitedly, “When, Lisbet?”
“Well, it’s a heavy lift and a long process, but–”
“There’s hope,” finished Jude.
Gordon’s cell phone chirped. He looked at the screen and frowned. “CJ says to turn on CNN right now.”
Jude jumped up and turned on the TV, flipping channels until she found the story. A young female reporter was on location, standing by the side of the road in front of a white van ringed with yellow police tape and lit by the news station’s arc lights. Police cars were visible on either side of the van. Jude turned up the sound.
… The transport truck was on its way from the University of Wisconsin earlier today en route to the Tulane National Primate Research Center in Louisiana. It is believed that the assailants knew the transport’s route and schedule. The driver and a technician left Wisconsin with the young primates to deliver them to the Center’s biomedical testing labs. The driver told police that they had just turned onto this road when a car and a large minivan pulled in front of them. Four individuals wearing black hoods and believed to be members of a group calling itself Animal Liberation Front ordered the driver and technician out of their truck. They were then tied up and left in the back. The assailants took the eleven baby macaque monkeys out of their cages and loaded them in a getaway van.
The driver told police that the ringleader of the group was male. But he was masked and not otherwise identifiable. He did, however, leave a message.
The camera panned around to the side of the white van, where the words “Animal Liberation Now” had been spray painted in large letters.
This is the first known hijacking of a transport vehicle carrying animals used for testing. I contacted an administrator at Tulane to ask him what tests were going to be performed on these baby monkeys, but he did not wish to comment. Tulane does do research into Ebola, SARS and West Nile viruses using nonhuman primates. So perhaps for a few monkeys … this is a Merry Christmas. Back to you, Bob.
The news anchor went on to the next story, leaving Jude and company speechless. Lucas broke the silence with an “Awriiight” and thrust his fist in the air in a gesture of solidarity. Jude looked over to Gordon and thought she could see him already calculating what impact the event would have on their own work. But the story had left him misty-eyed, of that she was sure.
After everyone left, Jude cleared the last of the dishes. The silverware clinked in the empty apartment and from somewhere outside came the sound of late, tipsy carolers. She opened her laptop to search for more news about the ALF operation, but quickly closed it down again, deciding instead to give herself a gift. Tonight she would bask in the warmth of good friends, the possibility of wolves roaming a wilderness without traps and poison, and the promise of a life for eleven baby macaques finally free of suffering at the hands of white-coated men in sterile labs. She padded over to where Finn was snoring on his dog bed and lay down next to him. Above her, the Christmas tree lights twinkled. On the top was perched Oona’s collar. Its weight bent the frail tip of the evergreen, but it seemed the right place for it – the one reserved for angel ornaments. Finn opened one eye, then closed it again.
“You see, Finn? There’s hope,” she said softly.