Our house happened to be one of the ones on top of a knoll. My parents picked it because they loved the deck that had the illusion of poking right up to a mountain peak even though we were at least ten miles from its base. Because we were on top of the hill, we shared a driveway with a house below us, our drive starting out with theirs, then continuing on and wrapping up and around the back of their house. I only mention it because of Tumble, our black Lab. She would get confused about the house below and sometimes amble into their property as if it were her own front yard. We had a large chain-link kennel for her, but she would sometimes dig out of it during the day when we were at school. She was harmless; she’d just sniff around, then meander back home. But one day, she didn’t come home.
My sisters and I searched for her for a day and a half before we found out what happened. We went to our neighbor’s to ask if he’d seen her, and he told us that he hadn’t, but guilt seemed to spread across his face.
The first evening, when we saw Tumble had escaped her kennel after Mom had fetched us at the library and brought us home, Kathryn and I walked around calling for her as dusk fell on the tall pines, creating a dim void into which Tumble seemed to have disappeared. We kept calling as twilight surrounded us, the air turning cool and the sky a pale, pearly color behind the mountains. The smell of pine permeated the air. We searched until it got completely dark and knew that Ma would be beside herself if we didn’t get home.
Ma told us not to worry, that Tumble would come back by morning or that we’d get a call from someone saying they had her, but I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the same eyes that were unwavering previous to my dad’s death, now forever changed the way a small pond is never the same once an algae bloom takes it over.
But the next morning, a Saturday, came and went with no calls and this time, Natalie and I went looking because Kathryn had a ballet recital practice. We walked the hilly, curvy streets in the warm spring sunshine, thinking every movement we caught in the corner of our eyes might be her, but would turn out to be only the shadow of a black raven taking flight, someone else’s dog or cat crossing a yard, or a child playing between houses. We visited house after house, until on our way back, luckless and defeated, we decided to stop again at our neighbors.
We walked between his truck and his green-camouflage ATV in the driveway, the late-afternoon shadows from the trees making long, dark velvety shapes across his newly mowed spring lawn. Since our family’s loss, I could feel the strange undercurrent of things not being right, of this world’s pain standing so readily behind a mask of everyday normalcy, of fresh-cut grass in the middle of wild woods, spring sunshine on my shoulders, and my sister’s tennis shoes scraping gravel as we walked. I felt as if I wasn’t fully present and things weren’t completely real. And even though it was a bright day, I knew that if you pulled the sunny veil off my sisters’ and my existence, only a raw, bruised dream world of fear, loss, and sadness would remain.
I knocked on the door, the wood hard under my knuckles and the sound of my pounding flat. When he answered, he looked annoyed. “Excuse me, sir.” I swallowed hard. “We were just wondering if you’ve seen our black Lab around yet.”
“I already told you I didn’t,” he said gruffly, his hair short but greasy.
I swallowed hard. “It’s just that we’ve been looking around today and we thought—”
“If you would’ve kept the damn thing on your property in the first place, it wouldn’t be a problem now, would it?”
Natalie and I stood quiet. I could hear anger in his voice, and even though I didn’t recognize it then for what it was—a lack of compassion, something he’d killed in himself somewhere along the way in his own life—I knew there was something more: a type of disgust and antipathy. “I know, sir, but she’s a good dog. She wouldn’t bother anyone.”
He laughed. “If she’s so good, why does she pick on mine?”
“I don’t think it’s serious, sir, when those two go at it. They’re just workin’ it out the way dogs do.”
“Let me tell you something.” He leaned in and pointed a finger in my face. “Your dog was a bully. And she crapped all over my property.” He gestured to the expanse of the yard.
I shook my head but didn’t say anything. I could smell something bitter and sour from his breath. The hot sun had moved between two trees and bore down on my back. I could feel sweat pooling by my belt. The word was rang in my ears. I continued to shake my head as if I had no control over it.
“You disagreeing?”
I wanted to scream at him that his little dog starts the tiffs every time by nipping at the back of Tumble’s legs. That my mom was religious about picking up Tumble’s droppings if they were in his yard, but I didn’t say anything. I could only shake my head even though I could see I was making him angry.
“Is that right. Look, you little . . .” he sneered, then spat over me into the bushes to the side of the walk. “Young man, you don’t know the first thing about animals.” He reassumed his position, leaning toward me and pointing his finger in my face. “I wasn’t gonna tell ya, but maybe you should know. Maybe I should teach y’all a lesson ’bout keeping animals.” He looked at me sharply with eyes close together like a gator. “I had enough. That’s right. I had enough and I shot your goddamn dog, so there, now ya know. That’s right. I had enough.”
I was vaguely aware of Natalie bringing her hand to her mouth and a small sound escaping the back of her throat. She began to wail and ran out the drive to where the two dovetailed. She screamed the whole way up the hill, her sneakers kicking up dust from the gravel. My body felt heavy like cement. I wanted to follow her, say something to her, but I felt like I was underwater, so I stood still and held my breath or else I was certain to drown.
He stared at me, the half grin on his mouth had slowly turned to a fearful look. When my sister screamed and ran, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting that. “Now go on and run home yourself. Go tell your mammie. She can’t do nothing. It was my property and she should’ve kept the damn thing off it.”
“Where is she?” I managed.
“Your mammie? How the hell should I know?”
I shook my head fiercely.
“The dog?” He looked surprised, then pointed to the corner of his property toward the main road. “I buried her over there. Now git, go on home, and the next time you get a pet, keep the damn thing on your own property.”
I went home, my chest tight and burning with anger. We called the county sheriff’s office to report it, but there was nothing they could do. A female sheriff interviewed us, then him, then came back to tell us that he had claimed it was self-defense. I had never seen my ma so angry. She raised her voice and went on about how messed up Montana was, about people caring more about their property than people’s pets. She kept it raised even after the lady sheriff held up one palm and told her to calm down. Ma said that Tumble had never growled at a person in her life. This was true, Tumble was sweet, always wagging her tail for any stranger, but I secretly had the feeling that she had growled at this man. And I hoped that she had at least done that because I knew that he would have shot her either way. I’d like to think that Tumble knew what I knew: he was a bad apple.
• • •
Mindy Winters was exactly as I expected, a flighty, strung-out basket case with overly enlarged pupils. She couldn’t keep her dates straight when discussing Victor, but in general, her story matched what Megan had said about their relationship: on and off again and highly dysfunctional. Her hair was greasy and appeared to be dyed with some overly strong peroxide mix out of a box. Her features, besides homely, were lackluster, probably from doing drugs during adolescence and from a lack of decent nutrition. At one point, I forced myself to push the thought away that Victor must have known she wasn’t worth keeping around for more than the sole purpose of getting his rocks off, and considering Victor’s lack of morals, this wasn’t a com
pliment. By the time I completed my questioning, she had grown whiny and teary-eyed and was laying out the rationale that Victor might have treated her better if he only understood how much she loved him. I patted her slumped-over and bony shoulder and told her to get herself a tissue and a cup of water and promptly left to go find Daniel Nelson.
Daniel, on the other hand, turned out to be quite composed and together. He worked for a local appliance center and managed the delivery and hookup department, making sure appliances got installed correctly with no gas leaks or water damage to anyone’s kitchens. He was quite proud of his managerial position, and I thought of my conversation with Rob and how hard it is to get a decent, long-lasting job with benefits in the valley.
I found him at his work, a nicely built (as far as strip stores go) medium-size building with brick accents and blue awnings. Kitchen appliances and washers and dryers stood on one end of the store and agreeably lit stereo equipment and big-screen TVs on the other. One of the salespeople on the floor called Daniel out from a back room and he sauntered up, his movements smooth, and shook my hand. When I introduced myself and told him why I wanted to chat, he motioned for me to follow him through a back door to a small, cluttered desk. It wasn’t an office, just a desk in the corner of the warehouse storage area with a phone and a computer so he could probably arrange pickups, deliveries, and repairs and manage his employees’ work schedules.
When he pulled up a spare chair for me beside his desk and took his own seat, he told me he’d seen Victor’s name in the paper and that he couldn’t believe it. He ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair and even though his movements were fluid, I could see a hint of shock in his eyes. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”
“I’m fine. You okay?”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s, it’s just . . . I wasn’t expecting it. No one called me.”
“Megan didn’t phone you?”
He shook his head. “I called her after I read it in the paper. I asked her why she didn’t let me know. She didn’t know why. I guess she’s pretty stunned by it all.”
“Understandable.”
Daniel nodded back rhythmically, hugging his chest and staring at his feet. “Did you see him? I mean, what happened out there?”
“Yes, I was at the scene on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, a grizzly got him. The medical examiner said it was fast and he was in shock.”
“Tied to a tree?”
“Afraid so.”
Daniel bit a cuticle on the side of his pointer, his eyes slightly glazed.
“I hear you two have been friends for a long time?”
“Yeah, we went to school together.”
“You were close?”
“When we were younger. But not so much since adulthood. We just checked in with each other now and then. Vic, well, you’ve probably heard, kind of went his own way.”
“How so?”
“Drugs. Some bad stuff. Screwed him up pretty good. He got into drinking really young, after his dad left. I did too, but I kept it at alcohol and some—” He paused and looked at my face as if to consider whether to continue, then decided it was all right. “Some pot, you know, stupid teenage stuff. I never got into the hard stuff like he did. We drifted apart, but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “He always came to me for help and I always had a hard time turning him away. You know, childhood friends—it’s hard to not see those differently. Plus he’d had a hard life with no dad and all, and I swear, he’d help me out if I ever needed it.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Let me think. Not since July.”
I wrote it down. “How did Victor’s life seem then?”
“The usual mess—no job, impatient with everything and everyone around him.”
“Was he involved with anyone suspicious?”
“He brought up Stimpy but no one else.”
I nodded. “You know Rob Anderson?”
“No, sir, I don’t. Should I?”
“Not necessarily,” I said, watching his reaction. “He’s an owner of a dog that was beaten up a while back.”
Daniel shut his eyes. “I heard about that.”
“Who did you hear it from and what did you hear?”
“I heard it from Rick Pyles. A buddy of ours from school. Ran into him at some bar and we got to talking about Vic. He said he’d heard he was involved in that but didn’t know for sure.”
“Was it just Victor that he mentioned?”
“No, he mentioned another guy. Tom Hess.”
“You know him?”
“No. Not personally. I’ve seen him around here and there, but I don’t really hang in those circles. Victor would make an easy target for that guy, though.”
“How so?”
“When we were young, a lot of the kids bullied Vic since he was on the small side and somewhat insecure. Vic really just wanted to fit in, and he’d do anything to please guys like Hess.”
“Would Victor do something like that to a dog?”
“I would have said no. Not the Victor I knew.” Daniel shook his head slowly. “But the drugs made him crazier than he was. The Victor I knew wasn’t that bad. I mean, he could be a really cool guy.” Daniel looked tearful suddenly. “He did have a heart. There were lots of times when he was a really good friend to me.”
“I’m sure there were.”
“And Megan doesn’t admit it, but he adored her and would have done anything to protect her if she ever needed it. She just never did, self-sufficient as she is. But Megan, she didn’t take the brunt of their dad’s poor parenting like Victor did. He used to say that his mom, Megan, and I were his family and he’d do anything for us. I mean,” he said, “I’m not making excuses for him, but people get it wrong sometimes for why people like Victor are sometimes cruel.”
“How so?” I lifted my brow.
“It’s not that Vic didn’t like people or animals. He just didn’t like himself, and when people don’t like themselves, they usually have to find someone other than themselves to hate, or else fess up to their own self-loathing.” He shrugged, then looked vacantly at me.
I could see that he wanted to be left alone to process, perhaps to remember a more trouble-free and happy Victor Lance from childhood. The picture of Victor and Megan swimming and laughing popped into my mind. “Do me a favor,” I said, handing him my card. “Give me a buzz if anything else comes to mind that might be helpful.”
• • •
I didn’t find Hess at a local tannery in Columbia Falls where Daniel said he worked. His boss, Reggie White, was there: a short, plump guy with about ten strands of hair above each ear. He was working in the dismal and smelly lime pit, in which he treated the hide after it soaked. He said that Tom had taken a week off and, as far as anyone knew, had gone hunting.
“East or west side?” I asked, because I knew that if he was east of the mountains hunting deer or antelope, then he was probably going to be away all week. If he was hunting on the west side of the divide, then he might be going home in the evenings.
“East side.” He shrugged. “I think anyway. Said he’d be gone for a week, maybe two.” He told me that Hess had his ways, and he never asked him much of anything. Then he started to give me an earful of local stories about poaching and never getting caught. About people waking up and seeing ravens circling above, only to go out on their property to find the smelly innards covered with buzzing flies. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was referring to Tom or not, but figured he was. I did get it out of him that Tom owned an ATV and that he and his buddies liked to head east of the mountains, out past Lewistown, as far as Winnett even, to run down antelope.
And run down, I was certain, was exactly what a guy like Tom Hess probably did. It was common practice with some to chase antelope, animals designed for high-speed running. With an ATV, you can run them through the
wide-open sage fields until the antelope are fatigued, then blast away.
I thanked Reggie and was more than ready to leave the dank and acrid-smelling atmosphere of the tannery. When I walked to my car, I breathed the fresh air deep into the lower lobes of my lungs. Even though I’d never met him, I had this image in my mind of Tom and his buddies drinking cheap beer and whiskey, eating junk food, and haulin’ ass on ATVs, hootin’ and a’hollerin’ with their pride blooming—kings of their own universes. Then I imagined it as a warm afternoon with the sun baking the sage fields. I pictured Tom not paying attention, going too fast, and skidding out, falling off his ATV into a nice, large, and active rattlesnake pit.
• • •
When I returned to headquarters, it was late, and I was surprised to see Ford. He came down the hallway holding a rolled-up newspaper, his pointy frame swaggering as he walked.
“Just now getting to the daily news?” I offered.
His face looked slightly agitated, his eyes seeming beadier than usual. “I’ve heard that you’ve told that reporter to come to you if he needed information.”
“I told him that he should come to me before getting himself in the middle of my investigation.”
“I thought we already discussed this in Missoula.”
“We did.” I held up my hand. “And trust me, I’d like nothing better than to not have to deal with him. But when something interferes with my investigation, I’m going to take a stand.”
“Orders are orders, Detective. And our office is handling the press, not you.” He flicked the paper with his free hand, “You had the nerve to mention kidnapping and murder on top of a mauling?”
I looked at him, my brow furrowed. Then I laughed, and Stimpy’s crazy laugh echoed in my mind. “I didn’t mention a word about any of those things. The guy had already gotten all he needed from snooping around locally. It’s investigative work 101: give the press just enough to keep them out of the way. Bottom line—your office didn’t give that guy enough. To make matters worse, Harris and I found him pestering the victim’s sister, and a local meth dealer turned around and pestered her for mentioning his name. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
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