by J K Ellem
Daisy could feel her anger rise and the blood drain from her face at the same time.
Shaw gave a slow nod. “And they’re probably watching us right now.”
Daisy looked confused, so he slipped the object from his pocket and put it on the table.
“What is it?” Daisy stared down at it. It was the blade-like object he had found the previous night in the yard, a few hundred feet from where they now sat.
“It’s a propeller from a commercial drone,” Shaw said. “It’s been flying over your property for some time now, I imagine. Probably hit a power line or something and threw one of its propellers.” Shaw picked it up and twisted it in his fingers. “They’re designed to come off so the drone doesn’t get hitched or caught on something in flight.”
“Where did you find it?” she demanded.
“Just near the house. Found it last night when I was doing the rounds of the stables and sheds. Stood on it.”
Daisy took the propeller from Shaw. “So they’ve been watching me. Spying on me all this time?” She knew some ranches were using drones to monitor cattle movement and check on pumps and water flow in more remote parts of their property. But she had never actually seen one for real.
Shaw could see fire in her eyes.
“Who? Who is they you keep saying?” she yelled.
“I don’t know, but I’d say the Morgans or someone working for them. This type of drone is hi-spec, commercial and maybe even military quality.” He didn’t tell her that despite the drone being hi-spec, it still only had a short range, maybe five miles at the most. That meant it could be remote piloted from the Morgan’s complex, but more than likely someone close by was operating it. From inside the McAlister property.
The perfect spot was up on the ridge behind the barn where they were yesterday. High, clear access. From up there the person piloting it would have an uninterrupted view down onto the homestead and all the outbuildings, and the signal would be stronger. If Shaw was setting up a surveillance grid, that’s where he would have chosen to pilot the drone and keep an eye on Daisy.
“How do you know all this? I mean it could be from a kid's toy, like a remote controlled plane or something that just strayed onto my property.” Daisy looked at Shaw questioningly. Now he felt like he was being interrogated.
“I’ve seen these before,” he replied. “I know a few things about surveillance and security.” Shaw didn’t want to say anymore.
Daisy looked away out across the brown landscape. She felt violated, her privacy, her space, her domain. It was like someone had come onto her land like a peeping-tom, a voyeur, a pervert. She could deal with someone, a stranger in the flesh, if they were trespassing. She could shoot them. Protect herself. But a machine high in the sky, beyond her reach? How could she deal with that? It made her skin crawl.
Shaw tried to put it gently. “You need to tell me what’s going on. If I am to help you, you need to trust me. Please.”
She turned back, relief in her eyes. “You’ll help me? You know about these things. I don’t.”
“Of course. I don’t trust the Morgans as far as I can throw them.” Shaw had done enough interrogations to know when the person sitting across from him was lying. And as skilled and as smooth as Jim Morgan’s words were in his study, he was lying to Shaw. Jim Morgan had no interest whatsoever in helping Daisy. His words were hollow.
She smiled. Shaw liked it when she smiled, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. He had to ask.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Instantly Daisy’s smiled faded.
He knows, she thought.
At first Shaw thought tears would well up. But she was strong, and she fought them back.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to lie.” There was pain in her eyes. Pain and a little fear. “She died not long after my father. She couldn’t cope with the loss.”
“Daisy, please understand I’m not judging you, and you haven’t lied to me.”
“But she’s dead. She’s not here. There’s no sick woman upstairs. It was a ruse, a lie.”
Daisy had been running the ranch practically by herself since her father had died. Her mother went into deep depression and died soon after.
She explained to Shaw that she lied only to the ranch hands she employed. She needed the help, but didn’t want them to know it was just her, all alone. She lied for her own safety.
“Who else knows about this?” Shaw asked. “What about Callie? Does she know?”
“My mother died soon after my father. The land passed from him to her, then to me, so it’s all mine. But it was only the strangers, the drifters who were looking for temporary work, who I told a different story. It was Callie’s idea. At first she helped me out as much as she could on her days off, but she has her own life to lead. So she came up with a plan to keep an eye out at the diner and around town for people who were just passing through looking for work. It was our secret. She said it was a sensible thing to do. At first I thought it was just being dishonest, saying it was me and my mother on the ranch, but I had no choice. I needed help, but I didn’t want strangers to think I was all alone. It was dangerous, but I was desperate.”
Shaw felt awful, sick in the gut. He felt sorry for Daisy. He couldn’t imagine what she must have gone through over the last few years.
Shaw put his hand on hers and looked into her eyes. “You’re not alone. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
Daisy reached across and wrapped her arms around Shaw. He felt a few hot tears on his neck, no words. None were needed.
Daisy pulled back and laughed, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “Sometimes Callie would pretend to be my sister, she lived here for a time and I enjoyed the company,” her voice trailed off, remembering sadder, lonely days of recent.
Then she brightened up, like a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. She pulled out her cell phone. “I tried texting her again this morning, but she hasn’t replied.”
Shaw sat back, poured another cup of coffee and said nothing for a moment, just looking at Daisy. She was a strong, determined woman, but he didn’t know how much longer she could live a life like this. No matter how independent and strong-willed a person was, loneliness was a hidden disease that crept up on you slowly, and would eat away at your mind, your confidence, your personality.
“What do we do now?” Daisy asked, putting the cell away.
“I need to know what your father had been doing in those months leading up to his death, what was he working on, what was occupying his mind.”
Daisy nodded reluctantly. She knew what she needed to do.
Shaw continued, “You said he was spending a lot of time up on the ridge and beyond, camping out, staying overnight. Do you know where he went while he was away? What he was doing?”
Daisy thought for a moment. “I have no idea. He never told me or my mother. He did become very reclusive. He didn’t neglect the ranch, but at night he would spend hours in his study—doing what? I don’t know.”
“Daisy, I need to look in his study. The answers we are looking for could be in there.”
It wasn’t something Daisy wanted to do, but she understood that if they were going to get answers then she needed to swallow her feelings. She hadn’t ventured into her father's study since he'd died. She and her mother had left it exactly as it was, like a shrine, something untouched, memories they wanted to preserve and not disturb.
She nodded.
“But first I need to ask you a question. How good a shot are you with that Winchester of yours?”
“I’m very good,” Daisy smiled, all signs of sadness gone.
“Good enough to hit a flying object, the size of a man-hole cover, maybe at about a hundred yards away and moving at speed?”
Daisy knew where Shaw was going. She could think of nothing better than to shoot down the thing that had been spying on her.
“Hell no. I couldn’t hit that with my Winchester.”
Shaw felt
his hopes sink.
Daisy grinned mischievously. “I’ve got something much better to take down that bastard thing.”
27
It was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. A motif of ducks and pheasants engraved on the silver side plates, polished walnut stock, under and over barrels, perfectly balanced. Shaw rotated the hunting shotgun in his hand, the cold lethal gleam of metal under the lights of the basement.
“It was my father’s.” Daisy stood beside him, the doors of the gun cabinet open. “He used to shoot ring-necked pheasant during the season. Plenty of them around.”
Shaw wasn’t a hunter. Many people were, but he couldn’t imagine shooting something feathered or furry that had no chance in fighting back. High-powered rifle, telescopic scope, and lead projectiles travelling a high velocity versus teeth and claws, hundreds of yards away just foraging for food to survive, it hardly seemed sporting.
But a threat carrying a gun or knife, or wearing a suicide vest strapped to their body, walking into a crowded bar, sports stadium or shopping mall wanting to harm innocent people, then that was another situation altogether. He could easily shoot someone like that. And he had. Dead.
The gun cabinet was dark timber with heavy hinges and double locked. Rows of other rifles, some hunting, others more suited for home defense, were all secured upright, snug in mounts. Below these were cardboard boxes of ammunition, all different sizes and grains printed on the sides. A large stars and stripes hung from a rafter, dull and dusty with age, but timeless in what it represented. Shaw recalled that a similar one hung in the barn. More remnants of Stan McAlister. More reasons to like the man if they had met. His style, his values, his patriotism, all the things that were being eroded in modern America.
“You can hit it with this?” Shaw asked, as he handed the shotgun back to Daisy. She broke the breach of the gun and hung it casually over her shoulder. She selected two boxes of ammunition then closed the cabinet and locked the heavy doors, slipping the key back into her pocket. “If it gets within range, yes, I’ll hit it. I’ve been shooting pheasant since I was a kid. My father taught me to ride and shoot before I was in fourth grade. He said they were two skills more important than algebra. Don’t you think?”
Shaw didn’t, but he just nodded. High school math wasn’t about numbers and symbols. It was about problem-solving, a life-skill few people could master, and life was just a series of problems to be solved, from cradle to the grave. “Keep it loaded and close by. Don’t walk around with it, but make sure it’s within reach.”
The first step was to take out the drone. Until then, every move, idea, and strategy Shaw had would be telegraphed well in advance. He didn’t expect the drone to be too active during daylight hours, maybe at dawn or at dusk. And it had night-vision capability. It must have, because it had followed him right across the hills to the Morgan compound in the dark, relaying his position in real-time. He had no idea it was there until it swooped in just before they captured and shot him. Like the pheasants Daisy and her father hunted, Shaw had been a sitting duck. Hunted by an almost invisible hunter. But he knew that every hunter was visible to one degree or another, you just had to know what to look for. Open sky was very different to the thick bracken pheasant typically hid in. The drone would stand out against a clear backdrop. At a distance it may register as a bird, a dot in the sky. From the dimensions of the propeller, this wasn’t a micro-drone disguised as a grasshopper or dragonfly. Up close it would look like a giant flying spider, eight arms with eight propellers. But it wouldn’t be like shooting pheasant or any other winged creature. This thing could turn on a dime, stop instantly in mid-air and change direction. It would be a more challenging target to hit. It defied the laws of gravity and aerodynamics. Birds flew in straight lines, arcs and curves. A drone could accelerate vertically, climb very fast then cut away at extreme angles.
“How do you hunt a difficult predator that is hidden, sneaky and cunning?” Daisy asked.
“Like everything else, surprising it is going to be the trick.” Shaw replied, with a sly grin. “I have a plan. But first you have to shoot me.”
* * *
They spent the rest of the morning working around the ranch, but not straying too far from the homestead. Business as usual, but keeping two sets of eyes attuned to the sky. Looking without looking. Shaw had shown Daisy how to do this and she was a natural.
They separated. Shaw went to the barn, loaded up with tools and continued to mend some of the fences. After that he moved to the homestead and did a complete circuit, checking door locks, window latches as he went, replacing, tightening, reinforcing. He wanted to make sure the place was secure, but it could never be to his standards, so he did the best he could. He did the same with the sheds and other outbuildings. The horse stables were too open, but weren’t important.
Daisy hooked up a trailer to the ATV, filled it with cattle feed and did the rounds of the paddocks, dropping loads as she went. It was good to get her hands dirty again. There had been too many distractions lately and she had neglected her work. But it was good to spend a day away from the place with Ben up on the ridge, even if it brought back bad memories. And she had returned with a new sense of determination. She felt a sense of satisfaction and pride as she drove around the paddocks. Even though her cattle numbers were low, she was still very protective of what remained. As a precaution she shifted all the cattle to the closest paddocks so they would be easier to manage. In the past, all the paddocks would have been brimming with cattle and for the first time as she drove, she realized just how bare and desolate the place had become. It had lost that feel of a working ranch.
She pulled up at the next paddock. Ears turned and big dark eyes regarded her. The cattle recognized her and slowly made their way over. As they milled around her she shoveled piles of pellets. She felt safe, grounded, connected to the land. It was in her blood. But now she felt violated by something evil. She had secured the shotgun to the rear cargo rack on the ATV, covered it with a rug, and tied it down with rope.
She went from paddock to paddock, keeping her eye trained on the blue expanse of sky. But it was empty. Shaw didn’t want her to stray too far from the homestead. He told her to stay in sight of the barn at all times.
Lunch was an outdoor affair. Some leftover roast beef and tossed greens, eaten under the shade of a cottonwood, a plaid picnic rug laid out, covering the shotgun underneath.
Hide in plain sight.
“Do you know someone called Annie?” Shaw asked.
Daisy made a face, thinking for a moment. “No, not that I can recall. Why?”
“Just something that I found,” Shaw replied, wiping his hands on a napkin. He looked past Daisy to the hills in the distance, imagining the Morgan compound further still. He wondered what the old tin shed looked like in the daytime, and what else he could have found in there, if he had enough time to search it. “Callie mentioned some girl that had gone to the police about Billy Morgan, claimed that he had raped her. Was her name Annie?”
“You mean Jed, not Billy,” Daisy corrected him. “There was a girl called Stacy, I think, she was a local but she didn’t go to high school here, not like Callie and me. I can’t recall much about the case. I only go into town when I have to, I rely on Callie keeping me up-to-date on any news or gossip.”
“So this girl Stacy, according to Callie, went to the police and then it went to court, but on the day she was a no-show?”
“Callie went along as did most of the town. It became a bit of a circus. But the girl never appeared and I believe the judge had no choice but to dismiss the charges against Jed. It was in the local paper. Maybe Callie knows someone called Annie.” Daisy slid out her cell again. “She hasn’t replied to my text from last night, but I’ll ask her.” Shaw watched her thumbs rapidly move across the screen. “Done.”
Shaw laughed.
“What?” Daisy replied.
“You may be a country girl, but you sure know how to use these gadget
s,” he replied, looking at the cell phone. It wasn’t one of those big fancy ones that most people had glued to their hand, like their world would collapse if they let go of it for just a second.
Then Shaw had a thought.
“What’s wrong?” Daisy said, the smile gone from Shaw’s face, replaced with a serious look.
“Nothing,” he said.
They ate and talked some more, and by mid-afternoon when the work was done, they returned to the homestead. Shaw wanted answers that Daisy couldn’t give, but he knew where the answers could be found. He wanted to go into her father's study.
If anyone knew the answers, it was going to be a dead man.
28
The room was musty and smelled of old paper, dead insects and raw leather. The afternoon light bled through the windows in a dull yellow, the shades pulled down. Daisy drew them back up, sending a cloud of dust and dead moth fragments billowing into the room. Light poured in through the sash windows, the sunlight thick with particles.
“Sorry,” Daisy apologized, sweeping her hand back and forth at the haze, wrinkling her nose. “I should have come in here earlier and tidied up, but I really wasn’t up to it.”
Shaw just nodded. He stood in the doorway, a respectful distance, giving Daisy her space. She had taken a large brass key and opened the heavy door with the reverence of entering a vault or crypt.
It was a decent sized room, with two large sash windows that were blurred with dust and grime, and looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. They gave easily as Daisy unlatched them and slid the frames upwards letting in much-needed fresh air.
The study was dominated by a huge old leather-topped desk, solid dark wood, thick turned legs, and ornate edging.