Ranger Junie Morgan said, “We’ll have to check the camps, see if he was out hiking, whatever. So far we haven’t had a report of anyone missing. Listen, Sheriff, if you don’t need all of us, I’d sure like to get started tracking that bear.”
“He had to be dead, didn’t he?” Chip asked all of them and no one. “I mean, no one would haul a guy up and tie him to a branch, then eviscerate him so the animals would come and finish the job…No, I can’t believe that.”
Ethan said, “There’s so much devastation, I can’t even guess the cause of death. The ME will have to tell us that.”
Ethan got the man covered, called his deputies to the crime scene, called the county ME. Then he pulled out his cell and called the Hoover Building in Washington, D.C. He was surprised when he was put right through to Special Agent Dillon Savich. He’d expected—what? To be told to leave another voice mail, since the big man was too busy?
A man’s deep voice said, “Savich.”
“Dillon Savich?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Sheriff Ethan Merriweather from Titusville, Virginia, and I’ve got myself a huge problem here.”
“Hello, Sheriff. I gather you’ve already spoken to Autumn this morning?”
30
ETHAN STARED AT HIS cell phone, felt his flesh ripple. “Ah, no, I got called out early. I haven’t seen her yet this morning. I was out of the house before she and her mom were even awake. I, ah, gather you’ve met her?”
“Let’s just say we spoke. She told me what’s going on out there. She even told me about Big Louie, Mackie, and Lula. What’s happened, Sheriff?”
No, he couldn’t accept this, he couldn’t, but Autumn’s ability was staring him right in the face. “Well, what’s going on right this minute is that I’m looking at the mangled body of an unidentified man in his sixties, in torn hiking clothes, lying beside the Sweet Onion River in the Titus Hitch Wilderness, about fifteen minutes from my house. The body’s an ungodly mess. For whatever reason, a bear savaged it. If Autumn told you anything about Blessed, you know why I think he was responsible for this.”
Savich hummed a moment, then, “Do you have a good forensic team available to you, Sheriff? An experienced ME?”
“We’ve never had the need before for a hotshot medical examiner. I called the county ME, and he’s okay, as far as I know. I guess the best ME would be in Richmond.”
“I’ll make some calls, get some people up there. Don’t let your deputies trample on the crime scene, Sheriff, otherwise these folk from Richmond will kick your butt. They’re very serious about what they do.”
“You got it,” said Ethan.
“Is there something else you’d like to tell me?”
“Yes. Blessed is still free. Since Saturday night we’ve been scouring the area for him, and believe me, everyone understands how dangerous he is. I know he’s here, hiding in one of the hundreds of caves that pock these mountains. And I know he won’t leave without Autumn, and that’s why I’m keeping the search parties in close to the house. But to find him out here in the Titus Hitch Wilderness—the chances aren’t that good.”
“If he wants Autumn, he’ll come out. As I said, Autumn told me everything she knew about Blessed. The only thing is, she’s seven years old, so a linear presentation isn’t her forte. I’ve still got lots of questions.
“I’m hoping Autumn’s mother, Joanna Backman, has more to say. If she’s having trouble facing it, I can’t say I blame her.”
Ethan said, “Actually, I’m the one who can’t bring myself to accept it. Joanna’s been a trooper. She’s told me a great deal already I can fill you in on. And there’s Autumn, her actually calling you telepathically—well, I have lots of questions for you as well.”
“I’ll be there sometime today,” Savich said. “Sheriff, you’re completely sure that Blessed Backman did this?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t you find it strange he’d select this particular time to commit this gruesome murder, a murder, I might add, that isn’t all that close to Autumn?”
Ethan exhaled a curse. “Damn me for an idiot. Blessed knew I’d be called right away, knew I’d be tied up with this mess. He wanted me out of the house. He had to be watching the house, waiting for me to leave. There are only two deputies there guarding her.”
Ethan punched off his cell as he ran through the forest and back to his Rubicon, Big Louie barking and racing beside him. They jumped in and Ethan floored it, barreling down the rocky dirt fire road.
He didn’t know Joanna’s cell number, so he called the landline at his house. There was no answer.
He called again a minute later. Still no answer.
Curse him for a moron. Blessed had delivered up a horror to him, and he’d been sucked right in. He’d gotten him away from Autumn.
He called Larch’s cell. Three rings. Ethan was ready to panic when Larch came on, his good-old-boy voice deep and rich.
“Larch, it’s me. What’s happening there?”
“Nothing at all, Ethan. Everything’s quiet.”
Ethan thought he’d pass out with relief. “Larch?”
“Yo.”
Typical Larch, the fewer words spoken, the better. Nothing hinky sounded in that “yo,” nothing of Blessed. “Put Glenda on.”
“Can’t, Ethan. Glenda’s turn to check the house and grounds. Then I think she was going to the little girls’ room.”
“She’s inside the house? How long?”
“Well, now that you mention it, she’s been gone a good ten minutes. She’s probably talking to Joanna and Autumn. You want I should get her?”
“Put a call out and get people into the woods around the house. I’ll be there in a minute.” Ethan turned into his driveway at that moment, spewing dust. Larch jumped out of his cruiser when he saw him.
“What’s up, Ethan?”
Ethan’s cell phone rang. He ignored it. “If you see Blessed, Larch—don’t forget—do not look at his face or what happened to Ox will happen to you. Get out your gun and stay behind me.”
The front door was unlocked. Ethan quietly eased through, his Beretta at the ready, Big Louie behind him.
He heard Larch whisper, “You think Blessed got to Glenda?”
They heard a woman’s low, gravelly voice, Glenda’s voice. Ethan put his hand up, waved Larch back, and moved quietly toward the kitchen.
Glenda yelled, “Stop trying to creep up on me, Sheriff. I know you’re out there; you made more noise than a herd of elephants.”
Joanna called out, “Ethan, stay back. She’s got a gun.”
“Yeah, right, lady, and if you try anything, I’ll blow your head off. I don’t need you.”
Joanna said, “You’re going to shoot me anyway, aren’t you?”
“Well, now, let me just say I’m doing things like I’m supposed to. You’re not enough to stop me anyway. Sheriff, you stay out of here, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Ethan heard the low murmur of their voices, but he couldn’t make out the words. Then he heard Autumn’s voice, clear and loud. “I don’t want to go back with you—I won’t go back! And don’t touch my mama—”
He heard Glenda scream, “You shut up, you hear me? Shut up!”
Joanna yelled, “Big Louie!”
Big Louie bounded past Ethan, barking wildly, lost traction, and careened into the kitchen doorway, and bounded straight toward her, his nails a mad tattoo on the kitchen tiles. He heard Glenda yell, heard a gunshot, obscenely loud in the small kitchen. Ethan raced into the kitchen after him.
He saw Joanna hit Glenda in the jaw with a hard right jab. Glenda’s head snapped back with the force of the blow. Big Louie was barking his head off, his jaws locked around Glenda’s leg. She rolled her head, trying to get clear again. Autumn grabbed a pot and swung it hard at Glenda’s back, and got her good.
It was all Joanna needed. She hit her again, hard, in the temple. He watched Glenda’s eyes roll back in her head, watched her hit th
e center island and slide to the kitchen floor. He eased his Beretta back onto his belt. “Big Louie, that’s enough, lad. You did good.”
He picked up Glenda’s gun and stared at Joanna standing over his only female deputy, rubbing her knuckles.
She looked up, and he couldn’t believe it. She was grinning like a loon. “I hope that was hard enough to snap her out of it. Thanks, Big Louie, you’re a prince.” She went down on her knees and hugged the big Lab against her. He licked her face, then turned his head to take a couple of licks at Autumn’s face.
He hadn’t been needed, but his dog had been a nice addition.
He said, “Usually Big Louie hides under my bed at the first hint of trouble. But he didn’t this time.” Ethan scratched Big Louie’s head.
Glenda moaned. Ethan went down on his knees beside her, checked her pupils. Her eyes opened. “Ethan? What happened? Oh, goodness, my head hurts.”
“It’ll be okay now, Glenda, just hang in there. Larch, get Glenda to Dr. Spitz’s house as soon as the others arrive. Don’t leave her, okay?”
“Jeff’s gonna freak,” Larch said.
“Yeah, he will, but she’ll be okay.”
“She’s going to have a big shiner. Jeff’s not going to like that. They’ve only been married six months.”
“I’ll talk to him. Go, Larch. Glenda, you take nice light breaths and stay awake, okay?”
Glenda nodded and moaned.
Joanna said, “Glenda, I’m sorry I hit you so hard, but I had to. I had to break you free of Blessed.”
“I don’t know,” Glenda whispered, her hands pressed against her head. “I can’t remember.” Larch nodded as he pulled Glenda up against his shoulder and walked her out of the kitchen.
Ethan hugged Autumn against him. “Did you see Blessed? Do you know where he is?”
Joanna said, “No, Sheriff. But when Glenda came into the kitchen through the back door, I knew Blessed had gotten to her—her walk was different, and she had this look, scared me to death. That sounds stupid but—”
“No, it doesn’t. Autumn, if your mom leaves anything out, you just pipe up, okay?”
Autumn pressed even closer, nodded against his waist.
Joanna said, “She had her gun already against her side, but the thing is, like Ox, she didn’t want to hurt Autumn, and that meant I could act.”
Ethan said with a calm he wasn’t close to feeling, “She could have shot you between the eyes in an instant.”
“But she didn’t,” Joanna said, giving a sideways look at Autumn.
Autumn pulled away a bit. She smiled up at him. “Mama slammed her twice, Ethan, right in the head. Did you see her? She was awesome.” She sent her mother a beaming smile.
Ethan heard his deputies outside, and relaxed. He picked her up and hugged her until she squeaked. “I’m proud of both of you.”
Joanna scooped her daughter out of Ethan’s arms and kissed her face a good half-dozen times, until the little girl was giggling. “We’re a good team, sweetie. You got her in the back with that pot—what a swing. I think I see a Yankee in the making.”
Autumn patted her mother’s cheek. She looked over at Ethan. “I’m glad you came back, though, Ethan. I was a little worried.”
Joanna said, “Why did you leave, Ethan? It was really early when I heard you drive off.”
He looked at Autumn, shoved the horrific words back in his mouth, and shrugged. “I had something pretty urgent to take care of.”
He saw her stiffen. She guessed, he thought, that Blessed had done something to get him away from the house, something awful. She swallowed. She didn’t want to know, at least not yet.
Thirty minutes later, Faydeen called to tell him they’d identified the victim. “His name is Harold Spalding, sixty-six, a retired bush pilot from Sitka, Alaska. A neighbor of his at the campsite said his daughter and her family were coming in today and they planned to spend a week exploring Titus Hitch. He was going to teach his grandkids about survival skills in the wilderness.”
Only now he wouldn’t. Blessed had seen to that.
Ethan knew he’d have to meet with Harold Spalding’s daughter and family. He’d tell her that her father had been murdered, but no more. But what could he tell her about the motive? He felt battered, and his rage at Blessed was beyond anything he’d ever known, though he’d been powerfully angry when he’d been at the DEA at what he’d seen the drug lords do. He walked back into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Joanna had brewed. It was strong and rich. It cleared his head but didn’t lessen the anger in his gut.
31
Tuesday afternoon
A black FBI helicopter set down on the country road in front of Sheriff Ethan Merriweather’s house, whipping up the hot afternoon air and bringing everyone outside. Autumn yelled, “Oh, my. Look, Ethan, Mama, it’s the President! He just landed on the road!”
“Shows you how important we are,” Ethan said, and grinned. “I didn’t even have to call him. Service right to our front door.” He watched a big man wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks, and boots climb down. He turned to help down a woman, tall and slender, dressed as he was, all the way to the black low-heeled boots. She had incredible hair, a beautiful red, vivid as an Irish sunset. The man waved to the helicopter pilot and the bird lifted off.
The two of them were carrying leather jackets over their arms, and the man held a black computer case.
So this was Dillon Savich. Ethan had forgotten how sharp a fed could look. He had dressed like that himself three years ago, before he’d realized they’d cast him in a role he didn’t want to play in the long run and had come back home to the mountains and to flannel shirts, boots, and jeans. He wondered if his deputies would have thought he’d looked as cool as these two back in the day. It seemed like a hundred years ago.
He felt Autumn’s small hand slip into his. He grinned down at her. “Sorry, babe, I don’t think it’s the President. But maybe it’s somebody you know.”
She became very still, shaded her eyes. She shouted, “Dillon!” and broke away from Ethan and her mother and dashed across the front yard, Big Louie barking at her heels, toward that fed who looked hard as nails, his black hair whipped up by the helicopter blades.
Savich recognized the little girl instantly and pulled up. “I believe it’s my midnight visitor,” he said to Sherlock, then caught the little girl when she opened her arms and leaped at him. “Hi, Autumn,” he said. He kissed her cheek and held her close, breathing in her kid smell, different from Sean, not better or sweeter, just different. A little-girl smell, he thought, and wouldn’t that be nice? “I like finally seeing you in the real world, in real time.”
“Real time,” she repeated. “I like that too.” She reared back in his arms and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You’re awful handsome, Dillon.”
“Well, my wife thinks so,” Savich said.
“You’re almost as handsome as Ethan.”
“Hmmm. Say hello to my wife Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Autumn, who just kicked my ego in the chops.”
Sherlock lightly touched the little girl’s hand, smiled at her. “Do you know we have a little boy? His name is Sean.”
Autumn slowly shook her head. “Dillon didn’t tell me. Is he as big as me?”
“Not quite,” Sherlock said. “And he’s got a terrier named Astro. Astro’s all white, a live wire, and he fits right in Sean’s arms.”
Savich said, “Is that your mama standing over there, Autumn?”
The little girl nodded happily and called out, “Mama! This is Dillon. And Sherlock. They’ve got a little boy named Sean. And Astro. It sounds like Big Louie is lots more dog than Astro.”
“Nice job of ice-breaking,” Savich whispered to Sherlock. “Let’s meet everyone, Autumn. Would you introduce us?”
An hour later, Ethan was cooking ribs and chicken and vegetables and foil-wrapped potatoes on his backyard grill, his eyes searching th
e woods for any sign of movement, any sign of Blessed. Savich turned twelve pieces of corn on the cob on the grill with a long-handled fork, whistling, asking more questions as they occurred to him, getting a feel for the place, and this bizarre situation, and drinking the best iced tea he’d had in a very long time.
He said, “Did you tell Joanna any details about what happened to the hiker?”
“Not all of it. I couldn’t. She took it pretty hard.”
“This Bricker’s Bowl, where the Backmans live—since you know Blessed’s identity, did you call the local sheriff?”
Ethan turned a chicken breast, slathered on more barbecue sauce as he said, “Yeah, I called Sheriff Cole, for all the good it did me. He asked me straight off if I could identify Blessed Backman as the man responsible for all the trouble, and of course I couldn’t. I never saw him without his mask. I asked him to e-mail me a photo of Blessed and Cole said yeah, yeah, sure, he’d do that. When I told him about what Autumn saw, he sort of chuckled and said it was a private cemetery, no law against shuffling bodies around, now, was there? Of course, in this case, it sounded like the little girl dreamed it all. Sure, he’d go talk to Miz Shepherd, blah, blah. I wished I could have reached his throat through the phone.”
Savich said thoughtfully, “I’m thinking Sherlock and I should pay a visit to Bricker’s Bowl. I followed up on some Web research Sherlock told me about. I found a mention of what may be the Backmans in a blog by a group that calls themselves Children of Twilight. They traced the IP address of the server to northern Georgia, near Bricker’s Bowl. The blog claimed to be written by a Caldicot Whistler, who wrote with the snake-oil charm of a charismatic cult leader. It mentioned only their first names—Blessed, Grace, and Shepherd, as disciples who had developed the powers of mind under Whistler’s guidance. A cult requires money. I want to find out where the money’s coming from.”
Ethan knew where all the money came from, supposedly, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell Savich that Theodore Backman was a slot-machine whisperer.
Finally, Ethan couldn’t stand it. As he brushed barbecue sauce on the ribs and flipped the onions, he said, “Did Autumn really suddenly appear in your head one night and talk to you?”
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 81