Stevens told that the student, Jason, had to explain to him why he was called Crow-Elf, and it was a fairly humor-marked story. The first part of it was obvious, for Stevens’ middle name was Crowe. However, the reason the students had decided to drop the tailing E, and call him Crow-Elf, was a direct play on a set of existing fantasy creatures in stories and games that had a considerable following in their own right. The creatures were supposedly Elves, though they lived underground and were mostly evil. Stevens, of course, told of being flattered and yet confused once again in his old age. He didn’t perceive himself as a dark, evil elf-creature.
Thus, Jason had explained that even for their wicked ways, the wicked elves had gained an adoring fan-base over time. Of course, the students were calling him one of them in an endearing fashion, explained Jason, and over the course of the week long event, Stevens’ had come to accept his new title with smiles and a lordly attitude for his loyal subjects. It was all told in good humor, but it tickled Agent Connelly in a strange fashion, leading him further along his investigation, and pegging Stevens as a more likely candidate for sympathy towards E.L.F.
At the end of the chapter, Connelly found deeply expressed thanks for Jason’s leadership of the many adolescents that attended to learn and grow and have fun with an ancient tradition and skill. He also thanked a woman named Jennifer Riley, who worked at the UW, and had helped to make the event possible. There was contact information for her at her office on the campus grounds, including email, direct line phone number and fax number, for those who wished to find out about future “Shooting like Elves” events, which Stevens promised were bound to continue, due to the affection he’d received and the young people he’d so obviously reached.
Connelly nearly dropped the book in his haste to extricate his cell phone from his interior breast pocket, whilst working to circle the contact information and crease the page as a marker. He dialed frantically, tucking the phone into his shoulder as he fumbled with the book. It rang, and rang, and rang. He glanced to the library’s numerous clocks on the wall above the check out, for they had the whole gamut of the world’s time-zones, each denoting a specific city in bold flat-font black letters. London, New York, he skimmed to the west coast and there it sat. Seattle. It was only 2:50 p.m. He was just in time to catch the woman before she likely left the office for the day.
It rang a few more times.
“Comon, pick up, pick up.” He said under his breath. Suddenly, someone picked up.
“Jennifer Riley.” Came a bright youthful voice on the opposite end. He could barely conceal his excitement.
“Is this the Jennifer Riley at the University of Washington in charge of running the 'Shooting Like Elves' adolescent archery program of Christopher Stevens’ in the summer?” He asked, thick tongue nearly stumbling over itself in his haste.
“Yes it is. What can I do for you, sir? May I ask whose calling? Do you have a son or daughter interested in joining the event? Let me assure you first of all that it’s entirely safe, costs only a little and we’re always looking for new members and volunteers.” She answered and ran through a pitch, eager to help in any way she could. Apparently, she took great pride in her duties. Either that, or she was trying to further her own career with the UW or beyond by sponsoring, supporting and pioneering new, especially successful events.
“My name is Agent Ben Connelly with the FBI.” He responded. “I’m conducting an investigation from Washington D.C. in connection with the disappearance of a young boy who we’ve received tips was an avid archer and fan of Mr. Stevens’. We were told he was at your event last year, and made several contacts and friends during such.” He informed, lying, but doing so quite well. His tone was convincing indeed, for Jennifer Riley was whole heartedly sympathetic.
“Oh my.” She answered, sounding sincerely saddened.
“What do you need from me?” She asked. Connelly bit his lip. He hated to make her feel bad, even though he didn’t know her, but it was necessary.
“I mean… is there any way I can help?” She corrected, and he knew he had her exactly where he needed her.
“Actually, yes, Ms. Riley.” He said.
“Misses.” She corrected.
“Oh, yes, my apologies Mrs. Riley.” He answered back as if he knew what he was talking about.
“We need to know if you have retained any records on the members of your events, such as a list of names of who attended or was involved with the function in any way. We need to have a list of anyone who the boy might have met and kept in contact with after your event.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure we have the attendance lists somewhere around here.” She answered. “Would you like me to fax them over?”
“Definitely, as soon as you can.” Connelly answered. “I’m presently at the Columbia Pike Library in Arlington, Virginia, and the fax number is…” He trailed off.
“Hold on a second.” He said, jumping up and rushing to the head of the check-out line with a push and shove of the gentleman waiting to have his library card scanned.
“Excuse me, Gertrude.” He spoke, recognizing the older lady behind the counter immediately, and she recognized him too, shooting a cross look at him for his rudeness to the patrons as he stood there with a phone to his ear.
“FBI” He flashed his badge. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Do you have a fax machine?”
The old lady hesitated, but stammered to answer. “Y-yes.”
“What’s the number?” He asked, lowering his head. “Mrs. Riley, are you still there?”
“Yes.” She said, clearly waiting.
“The number is…” He trailed off, looking up the old lady as she prattled off the number, repeating it more slowly a second time for him to relay to Jennifer in Seattle. Everything happened so swiftly that he felt like he was in a rush. Perhaps he was. Perhaps this could be the very deciding factor in whether he was reinstated or given vacation leave against his will.
“Okay, got it, I’ll have it sent off before I leave for the day.” Jennifer said.
“You’re sure?” He asked vehemently.
“Yes, sir.” She answered. “Good luck, and I hope you find him.” She sounded sad, and he envisioned her as a classy young lady with compassion for people. He could only imagine what her duties were for the UW, but he reckoned it would likely involve working with a great deal of people. Perhaps she worked with the students.
“Do try to rush it if you can help it.” He went on. “And thank you Mrs. Riley. You’ve been a great help.” He clapped his phone closed, tucking it away as he thanked the old lady. He realized he was holding up the line with an intriguing story developing before avid readers’ eyes.
“Sorry.” He commented to the line. “Let me know as soon as you get the fax, please.” HGertrude and she nodded her understandings, letting him turn and take leave for his leather-bound seat once again.
He sat down to continue reading from chapter three of Stevens’ book, but he was a bundle of anticipation. He couldn’t focus on reading boring facts about the benefits of traditional archery versus cross-bowmanship, which went incredibly in depth about all the factors that came into play once the bow and arrows were chosen by any particular shooter. Things like wind direction, wind strength, range and lighting. It was all of it well executed, but waiting for that fax was overriding his patience for reading.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, his impatience got the better of him, and he rose to approach the counter once again. However, even as he strode towards it, he spotted the older lady, Gertrude, carrying a stack of papers in her spindly fingers. Her bifocal reading glasses hung by a lightweight chain about her neck as she emerged from behind the left end of the desk. Connelly veered, moving to meet her, and she presented the papers of Mrs. Riley’s fax.
“There you go, sir.” She said, handing them over without question or hesitation.
“Thank you, Gertrude.” He said, taking them hastily and wheeling away.
“What’s
this about?” She asked, curious, but being a federal agent, Connelly was neither at liberty to, nor did he desire to talk about it with her.
“I’m not permitted to speak about it.” He said flatly. “Thank you, again.” He nodded and made swift way back to his seat, paging through the papers in much haste. He snagged a nearby table and dragged it close, slapping the papers lightly down onto its polished, well worn length. His briefcase and laptop followed suit and he opened a new word-document file, fingers scrambling over the keys to begin to organize a coherent string of ideas and aspects of his investigation of Christopher Stevens.
He entirely forgot to make a note about the black-cloaked figure with a sword in Ms. Hunter’s hospital jail cell as he pushed the computer aside, quickly spreading out the stack of pages sent by Mrs. Riley. He set aside the accounting pages immediately, and dug to find the list of members and first time attendees of the UW event. He found it easily, two pages long, and his eyes dashed down the list of names.
Much to his surprise and great satisfaction, Agent Connelly discovered the young man, Jason Brooke listed therein. A whopper of a discovery just dropped into his lap with minimal effort on his part, but he then dug deeper, scanning down the lines to see if Shannon Hunter had played a part. There was however, no mention of her in the list. Thus, he focused on Jason Brooke, and yet hesitated, remembering the other two E.L.F. participants. William Bentley and Devin Lock.
He scanned, and came up with a swiftly developing argument for reinstatement. Devin Lock was indeed an attendee during the UW ‘Shooting like Elves’ event. Quickly, he wheeled to his computer, fingers flying, compiling the events of the Murton and Norton attack.
Everything about Agent Fastez’ death by arrow was mentioned first. Then, everything he’d discovered about Champion medalist, Christopher Crowe Stevens followed up. He made special note to interject the fantasy name of Crow-Elf which the masterful archer had acquired during the UW charitable event, which worked well as segue into the presences of Jason Brooke and Devin Lock being at both the attack and the UW event. He added his personal speculation of Stevens being convinced by the young men to become the murder of Agent Fastez, taking into account the ballistics testing and autopsy information. He tagged in the address of Stevens’ Enumclaw residence and began to finish with information on Shannon Hunter.
But, all at once he hesitated, recalling the black-cloaked figure he’d seen in her hospital room. That information hadn’t quite made it into his original report, only being mentioned that she’d escaped with some help after an explosion blew out the wall to her hospital room. Her escape was undoubtedly the deciding factor in Connelly’s relief from the investigation, but if he didn’t put in what he’d seen, then he might not have a compelling argument. On the other hand, without further information, putting it in might have the same effect. It might label him as too close to the victim Fastez, having been seeing things in his frustration and emotional attachment.
Connelly picked up Stevens’ book again, leaning back in his seat. He was so close to having a case worth arguing and a lead that would surely send him back to Washington State, that he could almost taste it. But he needed more, as he’d already told himself in route to D.C.
There was something missing. Something that would ensure his duty if he found it. It had to do with the black-cloaked figure, a boy who held a sword of all things. And it had to do with Stevens.
Hesitantly, he leaned forth again, and typed in the words, ‘Boy with sword and cloak - hospital room - Hunter’s escape,’ just as a place holder and visual cue to what he was now forced to search for. But, he had better be swift. In a day or two he would be forced to go before Director Farsing, whether he had a compelling argument or not.
Sitting back again with a sigh, he opened the book, returning to the index for any other chapter titles that might yield helpful information. Unlucky chapter number thirteen jumped out at him, but he couldn’t be sure just why it seemed important at first aside from its obvious title. “Elf-walking” it was entitled in that plain black text. Intrigued, Agent Connelly paged to chapter thirteen.
“Of all the finer points of archery, there is one thing that ensures you to be a greater hunter than anyone else.” The chapter began. “But, it has little to do with shooting, no matter what your skill level. It is an entirely different skill. Elf Walking.” Agent Connelly’s brow wrinkled, but then a single brow arched highly as he read on.
“Elf Walking is a technique I have developed over the course of my life as a hunter, not as an archer. Learning such a technique with much practice can mean the difference between a kill and a near miss. It can also mean the difference between so much as getting close, or getting ‘skunked’, as they say.”
And so it went before his eyes. Stevens revealed a traditional hunter’s greatest ally. He described a means by which a man may pass through the forest as a ghost -silent, undetected by the keen senses of the animals, that he might not be betrayed before getting close to his target.
He wrote it as a principal he’d perfected in the foothills of the Cascades after its initial conception within the Montana Rockies. It was a technique his grandfather and father had imposed upon him as a boy, but which neither of them had really mastered. It reportedly afforded a hunter the innocuous presence of a fantasy-creature, and worked by using a blend of camouflage –both of visual and olfactory senses- and quiet movement, while using cover and blind spots to in effect make one so stealthy as to pass unknown.
“It is not a magic, infallible insurance that you might get close to your prey undetected.” He began his summation. “But, in hospitable situations it could very well be the key between success and going home empty handed at the end of the day.”
Agent Connelly’s thoughts ground to a wondrous halt, memory triggered. The term, hospitable situation, jumped out at him with a frighteningly alarming urgency. Remove a few letters, and it becomes hospital situation. He saw the events of Shannon Hunter’s escape play out once again.
Special Agent Black was ahead of him, as they approached the girl’s hospital room. There was a large officer stationed at her door to ensure her containment and prevent any escape. He could see into the room as they approached. It was fairly dark, aside from the soft glow of the television, but it was empty from what he could see beyond the blocky officer’s stance. Then they were passing into the room. Black was still ahead of him. The television had been turned off, and he spotted a lightweight, presumably young figure at the foot of the bed, cloaked in black, holding its sword. He’d seen it through the angle and slight refraction of the glass in the door.
Then the explosion went off, filling the room with debris and clouds of dust. He threw Special Agent Black to the floor and went down himself. When he’d regained his feet, the girl was gone. The room was a quiet choking haze. He couldn’t believe what this implied. He was too shocked to reason it. Whoever had helped her escape, had indeed done so using the techniques detailed in Christopher Stevens’ book.
He’d been in optimal camouflage to match the darkness. He’d been using the cover of the officer at the door, the shadows of the room, and then the dust and debris of the explosion. Olfactory protections from humans obviously weren’t as necessary as when dealing with wild animals and their heightened senses for survival, but all the other aspects were there. Even the using of blind spots had to have been involved, and Connelly now had his final piece.
He set the book on the messy stack of papers and turned to his laptop, scrambling to get down all his thoughts. It still wouldn’t explain why the figure was holding a sword, but if he left that part out, it all made sense and a compelling argument. His fingers detailed the events of Shannon Hunter’s escape, once more referencing Christopher Stevens as a key player in the entire series of incidents -pegging him as suspect for the murder of Agent Fastez. If not a murderer, Connelly was certain the old man would turn out to be an accomplice, or at very least the teacher of the murderer -and therefore, a very valuable man.<
br />
Farsing would have to see it that way.
Chapter 11
Shannon woke to a light touch, dragged from her dreams by a presence that scythed easily through all her exhaustion. She groaned, opening her eyes. Deh Leccend leaned over her, haloed in light. His pale features regarded her flatly, draped and shadowed by ebony hair like fine silk thread. Slowly, everything began to come back to her, but it wasn’t so startling and frightening as she would have thought before speaking to Addl’laen. It certainly wasn’t anywhere near as threatening as waking up in a hospital bed with a bullet wound and fears of what she’d done against the laws of men.
“Come awake, Firea’csweise, milady.” He bid her. “The council has been in session for quite some time now without you. They request to see you.”
She was pulled up, finding herself bedded on soft grass in a cozy notch nestled in the roots of a grand old tree, set like a bed above the earth. She’d been given a lightweight but warm mantle for her slumber.
E.L.F. - White Leaves Page 13