Run for Cover

by Michael Ledwidge

  “No, thank goodness. He was a lifelong bachelor. There was a woman he loved when he was young, but she died and that was that.”

  “Your mom know?” Gannon said.

  Barber nodded.

  “Just got—”

  Barber turned and looked off over the dark blue-green lake. Gannon looked with him out at the wind drawing silent lines and curves there on the water. Then John Barber took a breath and looked back.

  “Just got back from telling her,” he finished as he turned and looked over at the front porch.

  “I remember how he was laughing going down those steps two months ago. He always came down for Steph’s birthday. Looked great as usual. Happy. We’d made plans to go up to Alaska in the fall for fly-fishing. I guess I’ll need to cancel that.”

  “Stef said you’re going to fly up to Jackson?” Gannon said.

  Barber, in addition to so many other things military, was an avid pilot. He was a partial owner of a Beechcraft King Air 200 at the airport in Moab that he used for his more action-oriented corporate clients for skydiving.

  Barber looked at Gannon with his placid brown eyes and nodded.

  “I need to go and get Owen and bring him back for my mom. She wants the funeral down here so they can bury him next to my daddy.”

  Gannon bit his lip. Barber’s wife, Lynn, was completely hysterical about the flying issue. She’d told Stef that she didn’t want John driving feeling crazed and heartbroken the way he was, let alone flying.

  And it wasn’t just that, Gannon knew. After his military service, like so many other great soldiers, John had some trouble transitioning back into civilian life. Not that long ago, he’d gone on a tear of drinking, then sunk into a deep spiraling depression. He and Lynn had really struggled for over a year to finally pull him out of it.

  Gannon peered at his old buddy.

  “When are you going to leave for Wyoming?” Gannon said.

  “In a minute. I already called the guys at the airport to reconfigure the plane so we can fit in the casket. I know what Lynn’s saying, but I’m fine.”

  “I know you are. I’d like to come with you,” Gannon found himself saying.

  Barber smiled.

  “No, that’s not necessary, old friend. I appreciate the gesture, but you have your own scenario. This is family stuff. I got this.”

  “Just let me tag along for the flight.”

  “No,” Barber said.

  “John, how many times have you saved my ass? How about letting me pay you and your wife back a little, huh? You need help, so I’m going with you, you hardheaded son of a bitch, and that’s that.”

  John looked at him again.

  “There’ll be law enforcement. Federal. Owen worked for the US Park Service.”

  Gannon had told him all about his recent run-in with the FBI.

  “I’ll just come along for company. I’ll stay at the hotel until you get stuff settled and then we’ll head back.”

  Barber shook his head.

  “Do it for your wife, man,” Gannon said. “She wants someone to watch your back. You think she wants you up in a plane alone? She’s freaking terrified.”

  Barber thought on that, then finally nodded.

  “Suit yourself. You ready? Some bad weather’s coming. We need to leave now to beat it.”

  Ready? Gannon thought. Shit no!

  “Of course,” Gannon said standing. “Let’s go.”

  14

  Twenty minutes later, Gannon got out of his pickup back up at the bus.

  Inside he found a knapsack and began tossing in items. A couple of pairs of jeans, some underwear, some T-shirts. He found an anorak and threw that in along with some socks.

  When he was done, from under the bed, he took out a shiny black strap bag the size of a small briefcase. It was a fireproof document case, and he flipped up the Velcro lid and spun the combination lock.

  Inside the bug-out bag, there were a bunch of separators, and he flipped past the pistols toward the back and reached in and took out a stack of twenties and fifties. He counted out five hundred and folded it and clipped it with one of the stainless-steel money clips there beside the money.

  He was slipping the case back under the bed when Declan came in with the puppy.

  “Hey, Dec. You name him yet?” Gannon said as he stood.

  “No, not yet. Um, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to take a little trip with John up to Wyoming to get his brother’s body.”

  “But how?”

  “He’s going to fly us up there in his plane.”

  “Okay. But, I mean like how, as in I thought we were supposed to lay low here. At least for the summer, you said,” Declan said.

  “I know but this is...a special occasion,” Gannon said.

  “I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think you should.”

  “It’s not a matter of should, son. It’s a matter of have to. John needs help. His wife needs help. They need me to watch their back. Least I could do after all they’ve done for us.”

  “Yeah, sure, but it was a shooting, right? So there’s going to be cops and stuff?”

  “It’s fine, son. I got this. You know the combo to the bug-out bag here, right? And where everything is? The ATM card? The info for the bank back in the Dominican?”

  “See, Dad? I knew it,” his son said, giving him a doubtful look. “Why would you even say that? This isn’t a good idea.”

  Gannon knew he was right.

  But he shouldered his duffel anyway.

  The tiny puppy in Declan’s hand made the cutest whining sound there ever was as Gannon scratched him under his chin.

  “Dec, listen. Trust your old man, okay? I’ll be back tomorrow. We’re all good here. I promise,” he said.

  15

  When they got to the airport in Moab, it was just before noon, and within twenty minutes, John Barber was taking them up to fifteen thousand feet in his roaring twin prop.

  They began their bumpy descent into Jackson only a little over an hour later.

  Gannon, who had never been to Wyoming, looked out the window in awe. At the flat glass lakes, the flat grass plains, the mountains and cliffs sharp-edged as cutlery.

  If the hugeness of the Utah landscape made you feel like an ant, he thought, shaking his head, Wyoming made you feel microscopic. How could the mountains actually still have patches of snow on them here in August?

  As they touched down, the tower directed them over to the private plane aviation company hangar tucked at the airport’s southwest corner. Surprisingly, the plane parking area was actually quite full. Gannon counted three large corporate jets before John taxied them in beside a small Lear.

  Barber powered down the plane and flipped the door. They crossed the tarmac into the lounge of a sleek polished glass-and-mahogany pagoda-style building that looked brand-new. Barber was sitting by its front exit doors holding a couple of bottles of water two minutes later as Gannon came back out of the head.

  “Rental company is sending over a car,” Barber said, handing him a bottle. “Owen’s buddy, Don, isn’t picking up his phone. Where do you think we should head first? Sheriff’s office?”

  “Do we know where the crime scene is?” Gannon said.

  “No.”

  “Then we should go to the medical examiner’s office,” Gannon said.

  “The medical examiner?”

  Gannon nodded.

  “They’ll know as much as the sheriff’s office and being doctors, they’ll be far more likely than the cops to actually tell a family member what’s up. Especially if you’re staring at them face-to-face.”

  “You don’t think we should call them first?”

  “No way. Let’s just show up,” Ga
nnon said. “Did you call your wife? Tell her we made it?”

  Barber nodded.

  “Funny, you’re starting to sound just like her,” he said as they saw a white Nissan Pathfinder pull up outside the glass doors.

  As Barber drove them up the airport road, Gannon wasn’t done gaping at the landscape. In the northern distance, out the windshield, there were massive mountain ranges and unfenced grasslands of a vastness he’d never experienced before.

  There wasn’t a house. Not a tree. In every direction for miles and miles and miles, there was nothing. Nothing but grass and wildflowers until your eyes gave up.

  “What’s up, city slicker?” Barber said, noticing the awe in Gannon’s face.

  “How much land do you think that is out there?” Gannon said.

  “That little field there?” Barber said squinting as they came to the turnoff for US 191. “Oh, I’d say that’s in around about the size of Connecticut.”

  It took them twenty minutes to get into Jackson. There was a welcome arch made of antlers set up in a park by the main road. Gannon looked out as they passed it. There was an A-frame log cabin diner. A bright shiny gas station. A two-story motel with batwing saloon doors.

  It looked like a life-size Western town from a model train layout, Gannon thought.

  The medical examiner’s was in the Teton County Health Department building on Pearl Street deep in the east part of town past all the tourist stuff.

  Gannon had thought there might be some media news vans but as they approached, he saw that there were just some regular cars and pickups in the lot.

  Barber parked and killed the engine and took a deep breath.

  “Okay, wait in the car,” he said as he opened his door.

  “No,” Gannon said, getting out with him. “I’ll tag along if you don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs.”

  16

  The reception area inside the medical examiner’s office was low-ceilinged and painted a dreary beige with a scuffed linoleum floor. The man on the other side of the reception desk was heavyset and about fifty, wearing glasses. They watched as he stacked some papers on top of a whirring laser printer.

  “Help you?” he said, staring at them, puzzled.

  “I’m John Barber, the brother of Owen Barber, the park ranger who was shot up on Grand Teton. Is his body here?”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Barber,” the heavy man said. “I’m the medical examiner, Dr. Walter Thompson. This must be so hard on your family. This is a real tough, tough day.”

  “You’re right about that. Is Owen here?” Barber said.

  “No, your brother isn’t here. No one is here yet. All of the, um, decedents are still up at the crime scene. They’re still processing it.”

  Barber and Gannon looked at each other.

  “Wait a second. Decedents?” Barber said. “As in plural? You’re saying more than just my brother was shot?”

  Dr. Thompson looked at them with a sudden uneasy look on his face. The room went starkly silent as the printer shut off.

  “Did you talk to the sheriff’s office?” he said.

  “No, I heard from one of Owen’s coworkers that he was shot dead, so we just flew up here from Utah. Decedents? What do you mean, decedents?”

  “I’m not supposed to be talking about this,” the man said as he grabbed a clipboard. “You really need to call the sheriff’s office.”

  “Give me a break. I’m not calling anyone when I’m right here standing in front of you. What the hell happened to my brother?”

  Dr. Thompson passed a hand over his mouth.

  “Can I see some ID?” he finally said.

  Barber showed him his license.

  “You’re not a reporter, right?”

  “I look like a damn reporter to you?” Barber said with a cold squint.

  “There were four law enforcement shot,” the doctor said. “Your brother and the Teton County sheriff and two FBI agents. They actually got one of the FBI agents out of the Snake River. She’s in surgery over in St. John’s. That’s what I heard.”

  “Four shot! FBI agents! What in the world? Four?” Barber said.

  “It’s even worse than that,” the doctor said nodding. “They were up there investigating a homicide at the time. So there are actually five victims on the mountain. We have MEs coming in here from three counties.”

  “So you’re saying my brother was killed at a crime scene?”

  The doctor nodded again.

  “He was guiding in the sheriff and federal agents to a body that was found yesterday. After two hours of not hearing from anyone, the park station tried to establish radio contact. Then they sent up some more Park Service personnel. All of them were shot dead except the one FBI woman. She might be dead, too. I heard they had to medevac her to the hospital.”

  “They went in to look at a body and somebody shot them down?” Barber said.

  “It’s looking like it, but like I said, they’re investigating it. It’s still an extremely kinetic situation, Mr. Barber. If you have any more questions, talk to the sheriff’s office or to the FBI, please. All right? If you’ll excuse me.”

  “But wait, wait. Why was the FBI there?” Barber said.

  “You’ll have to ask them,” the doctor said, turning back toward his printer. “They’re over at St. John’s, waiting for the agent to get out of surgery.”

  17

  Kit Hagen sighed as the softly moving hospital bed came to a gentle stop. The air was cool here, smelled of lemons and antiseptic. She listened to the light clicks of things being plugged in around her, the muffled rattle of a curtain being drawn.

  “You’re here in your room now, okay?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Okay,” Kit said, smiling as she allowed herself to sink even deeper into the delightfully soft, warm, clean and dry sheets.

  She listened to the soft footsteps trail off. When she peeked down at herself under the white towel-like blankets, she thought about when she was little again. Saying prayers with her mother after her bath and then giggling with her father as he tucked her in tighter and tighter until she was wrapped like a mummy.

  Wow, was she wasted, she thought. She peered up at the ceiling. She must be on a massive amount of painkillers. The good stuff, too. The top-drawer stuff they kept under lock and key.

  Sometime later, she lifted her cotton-filled head as the sound of something close cut through her drowsiness.

  “Hi, Kit. Do you who I am?” said a new voice.

  She turned her gaze to her right and blinked up at the woman there at her bedside. It was a blond woman with a pinched-looking tight face.

  It definitely wasn’t her mom.

  How many guesses do I get? she thought and laughed.

  “Kit? Are you awake? Can you talk?” the blond woman asked.

  “Are you my doctor?” she said.

  “No. I’m from Justice, Kit. I cover environmental stuff with the Parks. I was actually at a conference nearby and came as soon as I heard.”

  Kit squinted at her.

  Justice?

  Then she frowned.

  Work? Ugh!

  “I’m Dawn Warner,” the woman said.

  Who gives a shit? Kit thought.

  Then her eyes shot wide as she remembered it all in cut flash images. The sheriff dropping with half of his head gone. Then Dennis. The horror of them facedown on the raw bloody rock. She remembered the ranger. The calm in his voice reaching through her terror. The pops of his cover fire as she ran for her life.

  Something stung in her arm as she tried to sit up. As she opened her eyes wider, she noticed there were two men there beside the blond woman. They were agents, she saw. A tall younger one and a squat veteran dad-like one. The tall one was holding a cell phone and the other had a notebook out.

  Locals, she thoug
ht. From the Denver office probably. Dennis and she had been coordinating with Denver. They had crime scene people ready to go waiting on the word from Dennis the second that he confirmed the victim was the NATPARK killer’s latest.

  “You got him, right? Tell me you got the son of a bitch,” Kit said, looking at the agents pleadingly.

  “We’ll get to that,” Dawn Warner said. “This is Agent Fitzgerald and Agent Harris from my team, Kit. Tell us what happened.”

  “The sheriff met us at the airport, and we drove straight to the mountain. We had to off-road up the slope and then the ranger—” she paused and took a deep breath “—the ranger who had found the body led us down into a rock ravine. We saw the foot of a body among the rocks, and we were about to get closer when there was a rifle shot.

  “The sheriff was killed first. Shot in the head. Then Dennis was shot in the head a second later. The ranger and I got down in some cover, and he shot back so I could run. But then I was shot, too. Then I jumped into the water to get away.”

  “Did you see who the shooter was?” asked the shorter agent. “Did you see his face?”

  “No. He was hidden in the rock at a distance up above us somewhere. He must have used a rifle with a scope. Was the ranger killed, too? Did he make it? Just before I jumped into the water, I heard him scream.”

  Dawn Warner shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, Kit. The park ranger is dead, too. You’re the only one who made it out alive.”

  Kit started to cry.

  “He was a good man. A good, good man. The ranger. He...he saved my life. There was no way I would have gotten out without him.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Warner said after a bit.

  She looked down at the bottom of her bed as she shook her head.

  “Wait. There is something,” Kit said. “The ranger filmed the shooter or at least where the shots came from. It’s on the sheriff’s phone. He used the sheriff’s phone. You need to look at the sheriff’s phone. Do you have it?”

  “We’ll look, Kit,” Warner said. “That’s good info. Good enough for now. You need to get your rest now, okay?”