She squirmed away from him. “My name’s not Missy, it’s Deirdre.”
Katie appeared right behind her daughter. A pretty woman, she succeeded in making herself look frumpy by yanking her hair back in a tight ponytail and wearing clothes that might as easily have belonged to her husband. “Deirdre, haven’t we spoken about how inappropriate it is to approach Daddy when he’s using a sharp tool?” she said in a patient voice.
Frank tried not to roll his eyes. Definitely inappropriate to get your head split open like a cantaloupe. But he was glad Katie had shown up—he had a feeling he could push her buttons well enough to learn a little more about the North Country Academy.
“Kids—they charge ahead without thinking, don’t they?"
“Yes, I’m afraid teaching them that actions have consequences is a long process,” Katie said. Paul held Deirdre in his arms, where she hid her head on his shoulder.
“That’s sort of what MacArthur Payne’s trying to do with his students, isn’t it?”
“Harsh punitive measures are counterproductive, isn’t that right, Paul?” Katie always spoke in declarative sentences, never bothering with “I think” or "in my opinion.”
“Usually they are.” He set Deirdre down and encouraged her to carry some of the split wood over to the stack he had started between two trees.
“Some of those kids are pretty wild, though, aren’t they?” Frank asked.
“They’re wild because most of them have parents who aren’t qualified to raise gerbils, let alone children,” Katie said. “Like that poor Heather LeBron.”
“I think she was one of the girls on the campout with Jake Reiger.” Frank said. “I got the impression that even the other kids considered her a troublemaker.”
“Heather is in Paul’s English class,” Katie said. “Tell Frank what she’s like, Paul.”
Paul had picked up his ax again and answered them with his back half-turned. “I could tell from reading her essays that she was a deeply troubled girl, full of pain and rage. I’m trying to reach out to her, but she's been rejected so often, she’s terribly wary.”
“Rejected?”
“Her parents are divorced and both remarried,” Katie said. “Apparently neither couple wants Heather living with them. She’s been farmed out to nannies and boarding schools for years.”
"So why is the North Country Academy any different than what she’s used to?” Frank asked.
“It’s precisely the wrong environment for her,” Katie said. “She acts out because she’s starved for love and attention. Paul told Mac that her behavior would improve if they could find some positive outlet for her emotions.”
“I want to give her the lead in a class play I’m planning,” Paul said, leaning on his ax. “But Payne insists she has to earn the right to even a walk-on part by jumping through all his behavior modification hoops. And she can’t do it—she keeps seeing the prize move further and further away with every transgression.” Transgression—that word again. It had such a Bible-thumping sound to it. “But surely you shouldn’t reward bad behavior?” Frank said.
"No, of course not. But in Heather’s case, I feel that giving her a chance to be the center of attention in a positive way might allow me to break through to her. But Mac is adamant: no exceptions, everyone toes the line. It drives me crazy.”
Paul was on a roll now. “And another thing—I don’t even have control of my own classroom. There’s always one of these Pathfinders sitting in the back, writing bad reports on the students in a notebook. How can they feel free to express themselves in an atmosphere of fear?”
“It’s ridiculous,” Katie chimed in. “Paul is far more qualified to know what teaching methods will work with these children.”
“Payne does have a PhD,” Frank reminded her.
Katie’s mouth twisted in scorn. “A PhD in motivational science from someplace called the Institute for Human Potential. Paul has a master’s in education from NYU—he didn’t send away for his degree from the back of a cereal box.”
Frank smiled at the fact that a woman who lived in a house without central heating could be capable of elitism. “This disagreement over teaching methods must make it hard for you to keep working at the academy, Paul.”
Paul bent and set up another log to split.
“Yes.” Katie’s voice had an edge of stridency. “Paul won’t compromise the educational principles he believes in. But we both feel he can be a more effective force for change if he continues working there than if he quits.”
A force for change, maybe. A force for keeping a roof over his head was more like it.
Paul’s ax fell with enough force to send the two halves of the log flying across the yard.
Chapter 10
Frank walked into the DEC field office a few minutes past their scheduled meeting time and found Rusty, Rusty’s boss, Howard Norvin, and State Police Lieutenant Lew Meyerson all waiting for him.
“Sorry I'm late.”
“No problem—we all just got here,” Howard said genially. He opened a file in front of him. “I understand Rusty has some concerns about the death of the teacher over on Corkscrew. Lew, what can you tell us about the lab tests your boys did on the tent and the sleeping bag?”
"Rusty was right. The substance he detected on the bag was definitely bacon grease.”
“About how much would you say was on there?”
“There were only scraps of the bag recovered, so it’s hard to say.”
“What about the tent?"
“Grease was detected on the bottom of the tent, but again, the fabric was shredded and not much was recovered.”
Rusty sat forward eagerly in his chair. “Just like I said—it’s consistent with grease being poured—”
Howard held up his hand for silence. “Let’s hear what everyone has to report before we start analyzing. Frank, you spoke to Dr. Payne to find out who had access to the camping gear and the kitchen?”
Frank reported what he’d learned from Payne: that only Reiger and Payne had keys to the equipment room and only the cook and Payne had keys to the kitchen. “The kids don’t have much freedom of movement on campus," Frank added. “Someone’s watching them twenty-four/seven. I don’t think they would have the opportunity to procure the grease.”
“So we can be fairly certain the grease attracted the bear,” Howard said. “Now the question is, how did it get there? Rusty?”
Rusty took a deep breath. “I believe that it had to be intentionally poured on him as he slept. I feel the ferocity of the attack indicates a significant quantity of grease. The fact that very little was left of the sleeping bag and tent bottom supports this. If the grease had been on his bag from a prior use, Reiger would have noticed it when he pitched camp. He was an experienced camper—he would have understood the danger. It had to have been put on as he slept—he told me he was a heavy sleeper."
Howard nodded but didn’t react. “Your thoughts, Frank?”
“As I pointed out, it would’ve been hard for the kids to get the stuff. Plus, I don’t really see them as having a motive. I spoke to two teachers who both seemed to feel these kids are just rebellious teenagers. Maybe a little more difficult than most, but not violent. And Payne says he won’t take kids with a history of violence."
“And you believe him? Take him at his word?” Rusty burst out.
Frank was startled by Rusty’s accusatory tone. He’d always gotten along well with him. “I didn’t tell him what you suspected. He had no reason to lie.”
Howard nipped the exchange. “Lew, tell us what you think.”
“I’m with Frank—I don’t see motive or opportunity among the students, although it is puzzling how the grease got there.”
“I have a theory given to me by someone who understands hunters. Tell me what you think of this.” Frank explained Earl’s idea that hunters had disposed of the grease and Reiger had had the misfortune to pitch his camp near the spot.
“I had a similar thought myself,
and shared it with Rusty earlier,” Howard said. “It is the most popular spot to camp on that trail. And we do have problems with hunters setting bait. Not very sportsmanlike, but when they come up here for a hunting weekend, they don’t like to go home empty-handed.” Howard turned to his colleague. “You’ve gotta admit, that theory holds water, Rusty.”
Frank felt reassured that Howard, an officer with twenty-five years of experience, had independently come up with the same idea as Earl.
"There was a lot of grease! How could he not notice something like that on the ground?” Rusty protested, but he sounded less adamant than he had previously.
“You told me the kids said they pitched the tents under Reiger’s supervision,” Howard reminded him. "Part of their training, right? Most of these kids are city dwellers. What would they know?”
“It makes sense to me,” Lew agreed. “For that matter, if they’re city kids, how would they even get the idea for this type of sabotage if they don’t know about bear behavior?”
“But if the grease was on the ground, how did it get on the bag?” Rusty asked. “If they pitched the tent over it, it would've only been on the tent bottom.”
“They could’ve dropped the sleeping bag on the spot first,” Frank said. “Some of the bags I returned didn’t have covers—they were rolled and tied.”
“I think we have a reasonable explanation, Rusty,” Howard said with an I’ve-indulged-you-enough finality. “I'm sure if anything else turns up, Frank and Lew will let us know.”
Rusty said nothing, just looked down at his boots. The older men exchanged glances.
Surprisingly, the tension breaker came from Lew. "Did I ever tell you about one of my first cases when I got assigned to the Ray Brook Barracks twelve years ago? I had worked in Rochester when I first became a trooper, and I didn’t know the Adirondacks at all. One day I got a call to investigate a break-in at a summer cottage. Thief sliced through a screen to gain entry while the homeowners were out. The place was trashed. Kitchen completely ransacked—drawers pulled out, contents of the cupboards thrown on the floor. First thing I think—the thief is looking for cash, because people often hide cash in the kitchen. Then the homeowner shows me the bathroom—medicine cabinet ripped clean off the wall. Aha, I think—looking for prescription drugs. Thief left by breaking through the bedroom window—must’ve been surprised by someone’s approach, I figure.”
By this time, Howard’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “I remember this case! You were the cop?”
Meyerson, normally so hard-nosed, cracked a smile. “I got teased about it for years—I can’t believe I’m bringing it up again. So anyway, I filed the report, say we’re on the lookout for a violent burglar, possibly with a drug habit. The next day, the homeowner calls to say that while they were cleaning up the mess, they found a big pile of shit in the closet and it didn’t look human. Oh, and that maybe he’d forgotten to mention that his wife had baked an apple pie before they’d left the house that night, and they found the empty pie pan under the bed.”
Frank was laughing and even Rusty had to smile. Lew rose and clapped the young ranger on the shoulder. “The moral of that story is, even if it looks like a crime, even if it sounds like a crime, it might just be a bear with dinner on his mind.”
Chapter 11
"Who the hell’s that?” Frank asked as he looked out at the green where a knot of people had gathered around a blond woman in high-heeled boots and a long wool coat. Augie Enright gestured toward the church and the green, while the woman took notes.
“A reporter for the New York Beat,” Doris said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on her way over here.”
“Why?”
“She’s doing a story about Jake Reiger getting killed by the bear.”
“Why would a paper like the Beat care about that?” Frank asked. "I thought they specialized in stories about rock stars and politicians caught with their pants down.” Sure enough, Augie’s parting gesture was a finger pointing out the town office, and the reporter crossed the street, heading in Frank’s direction.
In Kansas City, all inquiries from the press were referred to the public affairs officer. So often had it been beaten into their heads that talking to a reporter was the surest way to screw yourself, your case, and the department, that they all came to regard reporters as the Antichrist. In Trout Run there was no public affairs officer to palm the reporter off on, so Frank braced himself for an ordeal. Say as little as possible, that much he knew.
“There’s a Dawn Klotz here to see you,” Doris announced as she held Frank’s office door open. The look on her face could not have been more astonished if she had ushered a crowned princess into his presence.
A cloud of expensive perfume drove out the usual smell of stale coffee and damp wool that pervaded Frank’s office. The reporter had somehow made it through the mud in the green, despite boots that looked like they were made for prancing down a model’s runway. “Dawn Klotz, New York Beat,” she said, as if all of it were the name she’d been christened with. “So, you’re in charge of the investigation into Jake Reiger’s murder. What have you learned about how that bacon grease got on his sleeping bag?"
Frank felt his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “I... who ...” He got a grip on himself. “There is no active police investigation into Jake Reiger’s death.” But Dawn had noticed his floundering surprise. “Why not? Are you trying to hush this thing up? I understand that students from the North Country Academy are the only people who would’ve had access to the sleeping bag. Is that true?"
“No, I’m—”
“Really? Who else had access?”
“I meant, no, I am not trying to hush anything up.”
“So, the students were the only ones with access to the bag.” The entire time he spoke, Dawn kept scribbling in her notebook.
“No!” Frank felt his temper flare—he was used to being the questioner, not the questioned. “Who said anything about there being bacon grease on the sleeping bag?" So far as he knew, he and Earl, Rusty, the state police, and Payne were the only ones aware of the bacon grease. Surely the troopers and Payne wouldn’t have told this woman anything. Was leaking the information to the press Rusty’s way of forcing an investigation?
“I can’t reveal my sources,” Dawn replied. “So, you’re confirming that someone did place bacon grease on the bag, is that right?”
"No, I’m not confirming anything!”
“Is it true that a murderer is loose and people from this community are terrified?”
“That’s ridiculous. People are a little jumpy about the bear, but—”
“I understand that some people around here are willing to overlook anything to keep that school in business. Would you say that MacArthur Payne has undue influence over the political leaders of Trout Run?”
The sudden change of tack left Frank floundering again. “Undue influence? What are you talking about? And what are you writing in that notebook? I haven’t told you a thing.”
“Actually, Chief Bennett, you’ve been quite helpful. Thanks for your time.”
An uneasy silence settled over the office after Dawn Klotz left, persisting until a torrent of acorns and leaves hit the window an hour later. The lights flickered.
Earl looked out. “Man, that was the wind. A front’s moving in from the west. The temperature’s supposed to drop into the teens tonight, and they’re predicting snow.”
“I knew the nice weather couldn’t last.” Frank walked over to the window to scrutinize the sky. “If this wind keeps up, we’ll have broken branches bringing the power lines down.”
As he returned to his desk, the phone rang. He listened carefully, taking notes. After he hung up he said to Earl, “Get the gear. A hiker from the North Country Academy is lost on Lorton.”
EARL PEERED UP THROUGH the windshield as they drove toward the tallest peak in the Verona range. Thick, steel-gray clouds had erased the morning’s bright blue sky. “She picked
a bad day to get lost. It sure looks like snow.”
Frank glanced at the dashboard clock. “Yeah, and we have less than three hours to find her before it gets dark.” According to the call from the DEC dispatcher, the missing hiker was Heather LeBron, fifteen years old, five foot seven, one hundred forty pounds. She'd become separated from her group of ten hikers and one teacher as they descended the Lorton trail. For some reason, no one noticed she was missing until they reached the trailhead parking lot and prepared to get in the van to go back to the academy.
Frank knew Heather was the girl who’d jumped on the boy’s back when they were carrying Jake Reiger off the mountain after the bear attack. She must be terrified now. She sure wasn’t a natural outdoorswoman.
They arrived at the trailhead amid a cacophony of barking dogs, complaining teenagers, and shouting adults. Rusty was trying to outline the search strategy to five ECOs and ten civilian volunteers. Among them were Ray Stulke and Oliver Greffe. MacArthur Payne stood beside Rusty, and from the look on Rusty’s face, things weren’t going well.
“... and John’s group will take the south trail. Please stick together and follow the orders of your party leader. We don’t need searchers lost, as well. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that with the temperature dropping and sunset at 5:10, time is of the essence.” Rusty scowled at MacArthur Payne. “I only wish we had been notified sooner.”
“I still think you’re overreacting,” Payne said. “I know Heather and she's either hiding in those woods to call attention to herself, or she’s trying to run away. We’ll probably find her hitchhiking on Route 73.”
“You have expressed your opinions and they are duly noted,” Rusty said. “Now let’s begin the search.”
A split second of silence descended, as everyone waited to see Payne’s reaction to his dismissal. After a slight hesitation, the headmaster fell in behind the conservation officer assigned to lead his group, and the search teams fanned out.
“Where do you want Earl and me, Rusty?” Frank asked.
Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Box Set Page 34