Dark Justice

by William Bernhardt

  Rick’s jaw was set, but if Tess wasn’t mistaken, his hard exterior had softened just the tiniest bit. “I still don’t understand what it is you want.”

  “I want to join you. I want to be part of your work.” She sat up straight. “I want to join Green Rage.”

  “Have you broken it off with this—what’s his name? John?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Rick rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe this.” He nudged his companion. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait. Please!” She grabbed his shirt sleeve and literally held him down on his stool. “Don’t you see? This could be perfect.”

  “What could be?”

  “Me.” She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “Don’t think of me as a Cabal insider. Think of me as Mata Hari.”

  You re saying—

  “That’s right. I’ll stay with John, much as he disgusts me. I’ll learn whatever I can. And I’ll report back to you.”

  Rick chewed his lip for a moment. “And in return?”

  “Nothing. All I want is to be part of Green Rage. To spend time with you. To help you with your work. I want to run with people whose hearts and minds are in the right place. I want to be a part of something that matters.”

  Rick continued to ponder. “I’ll have to talk to Maureen. Some of the others. They’ll want to meet you.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t know what they’ll say. We haven’t been receptive to new members, other than those we recruited ourselves. We’re too worried about being infiltrated by loggers or the Cabal.”

  “I understand. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

  Rick shook his head. “An inside line on the Cabal. Damn. It’s almost too good to believe.” He stared at her another long moment. “You’ll have to give me an address or phone number.”

  “No problem.” Tess smiled, and for once, her expression without reflected her feelings within. She had him hooked now. It was just a matter of time—and she was betting it would be a short time—before she’d be in like Flynn with Green Rage. Once she had their confidence, it should be a cinch for an old pro like her to find out what she wanted to know.

  Like who was wearing the Sasquatch suit the night of the murder.

  Sasquatch was sitting in the back of the bar, drinking alone. Sasquatch had seen Tess make her grand entrance, watched her cozy up to Rick Collier and initiate a conversation. Although Sasquatch didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was trying to do.

  She was trying to worm her way into Green Rage.

  She was trying to find the killer.

  Wouldn’t she be surprised to know that killer was sitting barely ten feet away, downing a tall cool one?

  Sasquatch turned slightly so she wouldn’t have a clear view of him. There was no telling what she knew anymore. Best to assume the worst—that she’d gotten a good view and it was recorded for all time on Video-8 tape. But if so, why all this subterfuge? Why all the investigation? Why hadn’t she gone directly to the source—or contacted the police? There was something strange going on here.

  Sasquatch lifted a beer bottle, polishing it off. It could be that she was just swimming in the dark, that she didn’t know a damn thing. And if so, fine.

  But it was also possible she knew everything, and she was just biding her time, filling in the gaps in her story. If that was it …

  Sasquatch sat grimly in the booth, clutching the empty beer bottle with both hands. Things had come too far. There was too much invested to let her bring it all crashing down now. If she knew …

  The secret would have to die. With her.

  Chapter 9

  WHILE BEN WAITED FOR the sheriff to arrive the next morning, he strolled around the jail and courthouse complex. The building was weather-worn yellow brick, like most of the downtown edifices. Climbing ivy decorated the west wall, adding a splash of color to the otherwise monochrome facade. The parking was in the back, and there was a good deal more of it than Ben would have guessed. What most surprised him, though, were the two helicopters in the rear, each with its own helipad. Ben had spent enough time with his cop friend Mike Morelli, who was the pilot and co-owner of his own copter, to know they were expensive pieces of equipment—not something you’d expect to find in a tiny town like Magic Valley.

  Eventually Ben saw Sheriff Allen pull into the parking lot. He followed the man to his office.

  Allen was obviously surprised to see him. “Granted, I was expectin’ to see that cute little friend of yours come lunchtime, but I didn’t expect to see you again come hell or high water.”

  “I can imagine. I thought you opened up at nine. I’ve been waiting since then.”

  “Oops. Sorry about that. Had some business to take care of. Deputy Hardin was supposed to be in. Guess he got called out.”

  Ben nodded. “It’s all right. Out catching bad guys?”

  “I wish. Nah, I was on the phone with some hospital bureaucrat in Seattle. My mother’s in a cancer treatment center there.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You and me both. She’s been there four years. It’s all that’s kept her alive. But it’s just about killed me.”

  “Are you her only child?”

  “Nah. Got me a sister here in town. But she’s—well, not too good in the head. So I’ve got to take care of Mom myself.” He waved his hand in the air. “But I’m sure you’ve got problems, too.”

  “I saw two helicopters out back,” Ben said. “Mind if I ask what they’re for?”

  “Mountain rescues, mostly,” Allen explained. “When we need to get up there in a hurry. Or when conventional approaches don’t work—like after ’bout thirty feet of snow.”

  “You have pilots?”

  “I fly one of those little birdies myself. So do two of my deputies. We don’t use ’em all that often, but they’re nice to have for emergencies.” He jingled the keys dangling from his belt. “Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come here to engage in friendly chitchat. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been asked to represent George Zakin. As his attorney.”

  The sheriff pushed his hat back. “You’re representing Zakin? I thought Bruce Bailey drew that short straw.”

  “Bruce has agreed to step down, since he’s never tried anything more serious than a drunk and disorderly. Although technically, he will serve as local counsel.”

  “Does Judge Pickens know about this?”

  “He will as soon as he reads my entry of appearance and application for admission pro hac vice.”

  Allen slid out of his chair, shaking his head. “Mister, it’s not for me to tell a stranger what to do. But I think you’re asking for a whole passel of trouble.”

  Ben nodded. “Story of my life.”

  “Mind you, I’ve got no problem with wanting to protect the environment. But those Green Rage people think it’s acceptable to break the law. What’s worse, they like to plant bombs. I had to go off to some special bomb school in L.A. just to get educated enough to deal with these characters.” Allen fingered the rim of his hat. “I don’t care nothing about their politics. But if they break the law, they’re criminals. Period.”

  Ben could see he was unlikely to find much sympathy here. “Can I see my client?”

  “Suit yourself. I got him in a private cell in the back.” He undipped his ring of keys from his belt. “Follow me.”

  It had been bothering Ben all night. He had never been good with names, but George Zakin was so distinctive, he knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. He’d heard the name before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t for the life of him remember where.

  Until he saw the man’s face.

  “George Zakin,” Ben said, thinking aloud. “Zak. Of course.” He stepped into the cell and waited until the sheriff had closed the door behind him. “I represented you back in Tulsa. The chimp case. How long ago?”

  “Been a good many y
ears, counselor.” Zak grinned. “Maureen told me you were coming.”

  “Six years,” Ben murmured, still thinking backwards. “Six years if it was a day.”

  Zak’s long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Looked as if it hadn’t been washed in many moons. He had a scruffy beard that masked a rough complexion. His blue jeans had holes in at least three places. “You were just getting started back then.”

  Ben nodded his head, remembering. “I was. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Maybe not. But you got me off.”

  “You were up for first-degree murder that time, too.”

  “Yup. Strange world, ain’t it?” He laughed softly. “I ’bout blew a gasket when Maureen told me who she’d lined up to handle the case. Who’da thunk?” He motioned, inviting Ben to the lower bunk, the only place to sit. “And look how far you’ve come. Now you’re the experienced defense attorney. And a writer to boot.”

  “You’ve come a long way yourself,” Ben said. “From animal rights to environmental … activism.”

  “Both worthy causes,” Zak said firmly. “But I realized that the forests are the emergency cause at this juncture in history. You may have heard—I had a bit of a falling-out with Clayton Langdell and the rest of the gang in the animal rights group.”

  “I hadn’t.”

  “But it worked out for the best. This is where I belong.”

  “In jail?”

  He laughed. “No, I mean with Green Rage. These are the people who know what’s really happening to the world. And they aren’t afraid to do something about it.”

  Ben overlooked the last bit. Green Rage’s tendency to “do something about it” was the part he was trying to forget. “How long have you been with the group?”

  “More than three years now.”

  “And you’re the leader?”

  “Of the local chapter.” Zak shrugged. “What can I say? I was born to lead.”

  “There must be more to it.”

  “I had a lot of experience from the chimp raids and whatnot that Green Rage found invaluable. Believe me, after figuring out how to break into some of those high-security research labs, spiking trees and putting sugar in Mr. Ranger’s gas tank is a cinch.” He leaned forward eagerly. “So you’re going to take my case?”

  “Only if you want me to. This isn’t a mandatory assignment. You have the right to pick your own attorney. If you don’t want me, just say the word and I’m out the door.”

  “What, are you kidding? Before, I was headed for trial with some nerd who couldn’t beat a traffic ticket. Now I’m with my old buddy, the lawyer with a proven track record. This is a dream come true.”

  “Still, it could focus the prosecution on your prior arrest—”

  “Ben, I was looking at doing twenty, thirty years in the state pen, easy. Maybe even the death penalty. Until now. I know what you can do. I’ve seen you do it.”

  “All right, then.” Ben pulled out a legal pad and tried to make himself comfortable. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Zak spread out expansively on the other end of the cot. “I gather you know about Green Rage—what we’re doing and why.”

  “I’ve got the general idea. The immediate goal is to prevent the clear-cutting of the Crescent National Forest.”

  “Right. The federal government and the Forest Service already sold us out. Green Rage is the last line of defense. We’ve been busting our chops trying to come up with some way to stop the destruction.”

  “Monkeywrenching?”

  “You bet. Whenever and however we can. Tree spiking. Road blockades. Sugar in the carburetor. We’ve also tried to come up with a legal solution.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the only way we could get an injunction would be if we found some endangered species that’s indigenous to the forest—a species that would be threatened by the clear-cutting. You know, a snail darter or spotted owl or something.”

  “But you couldn’t find a conveniently endangered species.”

  “Right. And frankly, given the current political climate, I’m not sure a snail darter would be enough to do the trick. There’s too damn much money to be made out there. We need something sexy.”

  “Like the largest cedar tree in North America?”

  “Exactly. We kept hearing rumors about the damn thing from campers and hunters, but we never could find it. And we heard other rumors that were even more exciting.”

  “Such as?”

  Zak grinned. Ben remembered that he could be incredibly charismatic when he wanted to be. “Bigfoot.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. Haven’t you read the newspaper articles?”

  “I don’t read those kinds of newspapers.”

  “Some of them have been in legitimate papers. There’ve been several sightings in the last few months. People come down out of the forest and swear they’ve seen a huge hairy manlike beast walking—or running—upright in the forest.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “That’s what I thought at first. But the stories just kept coming.”

  “Crackpots.”

  Zak laughed. “I gather you’re not a student of cryptozoology.”

  “I don’t even know what it is.”

  “Cryptozoology. The study of legendary or imaginary animals, and specifically the determination of whether they actually exist.”

  “If Bigfoot existed, he’d be in a zoo by now.”

  “Says you. Did you know the mountain gorilla was believed to be a mythical animal—till it was discovered and photographed by explorers? And that wasn’t until the early twentieth century.”

  “Nonetheless, no one with half a brain is going to believe there’s really a Bigfoot. Much less a federal court.”

  “Granted, we would need a lot of proof. But you’re wrong to assume that no one sensible would believe it possible. A scientific team working out of Mount Hood has spent three years and more than half a million bucks searching for Sasquatch.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. It’s called the Bigfoot Research Project. Fellow named Peter Byrne ran the whole thing. Using grant money from Boston’s Academy of Applied Science. They rigged the forests with underground sensors that would detect the movements of any large creatures.”

  “So did they find any Bigfoots? Or should that be Bigfeet?”

  Zak smirked. “No, they didn’t. But their operation has given this whole Sasquatch thing a great deal more credibility.”

  “And this interested Green Rage?”

  “You’d better believe it.” Zak leaned forward, gesticulating energetically with his hands, like a storyteller spinning yarns over a campfire. “Forget the snail darter. If we could prove the forest was the habitat of Sasquatch, those loggers wouldn’t stand a chance in court.”

  Ben’s eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to get the picture. You faked the Bigfoot sightings. You dressed up in a costume and ran around some drunken fishermen or something.”

  “Ben, Ben, Ben. I didn’t dress up in any costume. When did you become so cynical? This isn’t the Ben Kincaid I knew back in Tulsa.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Hell, no. Back then, you were—well, if anything, a bit on the naive side.

  People used to joke about it, down at the courthouse. Seemed like you’d fall for anything.” He folded his arms. “But at the moment I’m detecting a distinct lack of acceptance. What happened to you?”

  “Everybody grows up,” Ben murmured. “I’ve had some … distinctly eye-opening experiences since you saw me last. But let’s get back to your story.”

  “Right. So anyway, we were looking for this tree, we were looking for Sasquatch. And we were trying to buy ourselves time with the usual monkey-wrenching tactics.”

  “Like planting lethal spikes in trees marked for cutting?”

  Zak frowned. “We never spiked trees without telling the loggers.”

  �
�I know you’ve blown up equipment.”

  “What of it? Those goddamned loggers have blown up people. People!” He pushed himself off the bunk and began pacing in an agitated circle. “Do you know who Judi Bari is?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “She used to lead Earth First! She was making real strides, stopping the clear-cutting of the coast redwoods. First, the loggers ran her off the road and threatened to beat her up—while she had her little girl in the car. Then they put a bomb in her car. Blew up right beneath her. Thousands of nails were projected into her body at hundred-plus velocities. She didn’t die—although at the time she wished she had—but she’ll be crippled for life.”

  “If she was attacked, I’m sure the law enforcement people will—”

  “Are you joking? They never even investigated. They said she must have planted the bomb herself.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. The FBI accused her of making the bomb herself. Said she left it in her car by mistake or it exploded prematurely. They never investigated other possibilities, even though she had just been assaulted a few weeks before.”

  “Still—that must be an extreme case.”

  “She’s not the only one. Leroy Jackson, a militant Navajo who fought to save a sacred forest of ponderosas in the Chuska Mountains, was found dead under his pickup. Ranchers tried to push conservationist Dick Carter over a cliff in Utah. Jeff Eliott’s logging-town home was burned to the ground after he joined Earth First! A bulldozer operator in Siskiyou National Forest buried five blockaders in dirt. A truck driver ran over Dave Foreman, another former leader of Earth First! Buzz Youens, an opponent of logging in the Apache National Forest, disappeared after threats on his life by loggers. His decaying body was found a year later—handcuffed to a tree. He’d been shot.”

  Ben stuttered. “I—hadn’t heard.”

  “Of course you hadn’t. They don’t want you to hear. Face it, Ben, the news media are controlled by the big business interests that pay their bills. Every time we walk into Magic Valley, we think, ‘Is this the time? Is this when the loggers get us like they did Judi? Is this the time I get blown up or beaten or burned alive?’ ”