by Al Lamanda
“You want a police force in place before you need it, rather than need it and not have it,” Peck said.
“Exactly,” Kranston agreed. “But, it’s more than that. The wave of the future is upon us and it is in one hell of a hurry. Ten years ago, I did not own a television set. Today, I have a color one, even though ninety percent of the programs are in black and white. I need to modernize my town or it will be left behind, I’m afraid. Like you said, it’s better to have than need.”
“I can appreciate that,” Peck agreed. “Before I left the department, all kinds of new procedures and equipment were being tested. It used to take weeks for an FBI lab to match a set of fingerprints. Now, they can do it in a matter of days. By the mid sixties, who knows what they’ll be capable of?”
Kranston took a sip of his coffee and looked at Peck over the rim of the cup. “I notice that ring you wear isn’t police.”
“No, it’s Marine Corp,” Peck said.
“You served during the war?”
“Three years in the pacific.”
Kranston set his cup aside and folded his hands on the table. “Let me be honest, Mr. Peck. The position only has a budget of one hundred twenty five a week, but you get to live rent free in a completely furnished, very comfortable home.”
“The salary is fine, Mr. Kranston. I have a decent pension after twenty seven years,” Peck said. “And I’m glad the house is furnished because I don’t own much.”
“Good. Now, what do you know about Maine?”
“I can find it on a map.”
Peck’s recollection ended when Deb approached the table with a fresh pot of coffee.
“No more for me,” Kranston said. “I’ll have trouble sleeping as it is.”
Deb looked at Peck and he nodded his head. She filled the cup, and then slid onto a chair next to Peck. “I have to get off these feet.”
Kranston stood up. “I’m going home and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same, Dave.”
“Last cup,” Peck said. He suddenly became aware of Deb’s knee against his leg. Feeling like some stupid high school kid, he left his leg against her knee and it felt comfortable.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a helmet of some sort?” Kranston said.
Peck shook his head. “Put it on next year’s budget.”
“I can get you a spaghetti pot from the kitchen,” Deb said.
“I’m not walking down Main Street with a pot on my head.”
Peck grinned at Deb. “She’s right, Ed. That hail has a sting to it.”
Deb stood up. “I’ll make it a nice one without too many dents.”
Peck stifled a laugh when a minute later, Kranston left the diner with Deb’s spaghetti pot on his head. From behind the counter, Deb grinned, and then rejoined Peck at his table. “How long do you think it will take Ed to go deaf from the hail bouncing off that pot?” Peck said.
“My guess is about thirty seconds.”
Grinning, Peck said, “Are you going to run the place all night?”
“All night, or until everyone is fed, whichever comes first. Either way, I’m here for the duration.”
“I’m going to the office,” Peck said as he stood up. “If you need a ride home, come get me.”
“Paco has his truck, but maybe you could pick me up tomorrow?”
Peck nodded and walked to the door. “Save me another slice of apple pie for later. I may need it.”
After making a roaring fire in the office woodstove, Peck assembled a cot from storage near his desk. He had a lumpy pillow and a green, army type blanket. After stripping down to his underwear, Peck sat at his desk to smoke a cigarette, eat a second slice of apple pie and wash it down from a plastic cup with one finger of scotch in it.
He took his time, sipping the scotch, tasting its blend on his tongue. When his eyelids began to droop, Peck stripped off his uniform, tucked himself in, and fell asleep listening to the logs in the fire crackle.
Some time later, Peck opened his eyes when something woke him up. He did not know what that something was. In the background, the fire still crackled in the woodstove, so he could not have been asleep for very long, maybe an hour.
Peck shifted his weight in the uncomfortable cot, closed his eyes and was about to drift back to sleep when from the street came the loud crack of a rifle shot. He bolted up and out of the cot in a heartbeat and ran to the desk for his pants and shirt. As he was strapping on his sidearm, another rifle shot sounded. Stepping into his boots, half out of his jacket, Peck ran out of the office to the steps of the municipal building.. Removing the flashlight from his belt, he scanned the immediate area. The beam of light from the flashlight glistened in the falling ice.
Across the street in the hospital window the light of a candle suddenly appeared. With hail falling all around him and sticking to his hair, Peck walked down the steps and crossed the street. He was half way to the hospital as another booming rifle shot sounded, echoing loudly. Peck ran to the curb as another loud crash boomed in the distance.
A dozen town residents exited the hospital and stood under the protective awning, which extended, nearly to the curb. Doctor McCoy was out front of the group and spotted Peck.
“What the hell was that, Dave?” McCoy shouted.
“I don’t know,” Peck admitted.
“Sounded life a rifle,” somebody in the group said.
“A rifle shot?” McCoy said. “Who in the hell would be firing a rifle in the middle of the night in this weather?”
As dozens of town residents now occupied the street, Father Regan joined Peck and McCoy. “What’s happening?” the priest wanted to know.
At that moment, another loud crack sounded, followed by a thunderous boom.
Peck stepped forward. “It’s coming from the woods.”
“He’s right,” somebody said. “I think it’s the woods to our left.”
McCoy looked at Peck. “Somebody’s in the woods with a gun? In a storm like this, I find that hard to believe.”
An old man stepped forward and stood next to Peck. “Listen”
Peck looked at the old man. “Listen to what?”
The old man moved out to the street, away from the shelter of the awning. His eyes lifted upward, above the line of sight of the town and toward the woods. After a few moments, he turned and stared at Peck. “It’s the trees,” the old man said.
Another loud crack sounded, followed by an echoing crash.
“It’s the trees,” the old man said. “They’re falling.”
A hundred yards past the line of Main Street, a pine tree, covered in thousands of pounds of ice, brittle from its frozen burden, snapped in two and fell to the ground a hundred feet below. As it broke apart, its fragments produced the crisp sound of rifle fire. When several tons of frozen wood hit the Earth below, it shook the ground with a thunderous, echoing boom.
Peck turned his head to look at the old man. “He’s right. It is the trees.”
McCoy stepped forward. “I think this would be a good time to get back inside.”
Peck turned to the crowd. “Everybody, back inside where it’s safe. There’s no sense is freezing or getting hurt.”
The crowd dwindled until Peck was alone with Father Regan. “You, too, father. Inside, please.”
Regan smiled at Peck. “The power of nature is nothing more than the power of God.”
“No disrespect, father, but the power of God is going to drop something pretty damn heavy on your head if you don’t get inside.”
Regan nodded. “Goodnight, sheriff.”
For the second time that night, Peck sat at his desk with a finger of scotch in his plastic cup and smoked a cigarette. The woodstove crackled lightly in the background. The only light source in the room came from a single, thin candle on his desk. Suddenly, from outside came another loud crack, followed by a thunderous crash. Peck winced at the noise as if in pain.
Minutes passed without another tree falling. Peck lit another cigarette and as he smok
ed, his eyes went to the tiny flame of the candle. He followed the flame as it flickered and danced as hot air from the woodstove moved across the office.
A haunted, lifeless expression washed over Peck’s face as he stared at the flame. His eyes did not blink until the cigarette in his lips burned to the filter, then he snatched the singed butt and squashed it in an ashtray.
He took a final sip from the plastic cup, and then added another ounce from the bottle. In the distance, another tree cracked loudly and hit the ground with a thunderous crash.
He smoked another cigarette as he finished the scotch. The cot near the woodstove beckoned to him and he finally gave in to his exhaustion and returned to it for some much needed sleep.
Before his eyes closed and his mind set for some much needed rest, another tree cracked loudly outside. When it hit the Earth, Peck felt its vibrations in the cot. Then silence settled in and he fell asleep.
TWO
Peck woke at first light with a stiff back and aching knees from a bad night’s sleep in a cot too small to accommodate his large body. He tossed the army blanket around his shoulders and went to the window to look out. The ice was falling faster and heavier than the previous day. Main Street was a skating rink, a glistening sheet of smooth ice.
After loading the woodstove with logs and igniting a fire, Peck prepared the stainless steel coffeepot with water from the gravity fed cooler and set it on the flat surface of the stove to percolate. By the time he had dressed, the coffee was ready and Peck took a mug to his desk.
As Peck lit a cigarette, Kranston entered the office.
“Good morning, Dave. Did you hear that last night?”
“Only all night.”
“Must have been a hundred trees came down,” Kranston said as he poured himself a mug of coffee. “It will be a miracle if no one is hurt.”
In the background, there was the loud crack of another tree giving way to the ice and Kranston looked at Peck. “Make it a hundred and one. Well, at least the paper company will benefit from all this.”
“Maybe, but it isn’t safe anymore, Ed,” Peck said. “We have to reach as many people as possible today and get them into town.”
“I agree. If you and Bender could carry my short wave across the street to the hospital, I will run it off the generator and contact Augusta. Maybe we can get some supplies from the national guard.”
Peck glanced at his watch. “He should be here by now.”
The door opened and Bender walked in, carrying a paper bag. “I am here, Dave, and I brought breakfast. Compliments of Deb’s Diner.”
“She’s here already?” Peck said.
“Not already,” Bender said. “She never went home. She slept on a cot in the diner.”
“What have you got there?” Kranston said, looking at the paper bag.
“Egg and bacon sandwiches, corn muffins with jelly and some what not.” Bender set the bag on Peck’s desk and removed the contents. He looked at Kranston. “And she wants to know who’s picking up the tab for all the food the town is eating?”
“I’ll ask Augusta for emergency funds,” Kranston said, reaching for an egg sandwich.
“Which is what every town in the state will do,” Peck said.
“And they will get it from Washington,” Kranston said. “By the time the red tape is cut, it will be spring, but the money will be there.”
Peck looked at Bender. “Let me have one of the what not, then let’s hit the road.”
One hour after eating breakfast, Peck found himself at the junction of fire road 99. He turned onto the road and drove the snowmobile at a medium speed. According to the tax records, at least two homes were located on the long stretch of dirt road. The first home, a mobile trailer belonged to a widow named Doris White. She was forty-seven years old and worked in the payroll department of the paper company. She lived alone. Peck had never met her, or if he had, he didn’t recall the meeting.
Suddenly, a tree snapped in half directly over Peck’s head and he gunned the snowmobile as it fell to the ground with a loud crash. It was a tall, thick, White Birch, about a thousand pounds of frozen wood. It missed Peck by ten feet. He brought the snowmobile to a stop, dismounted, and stared at the fallen birch tree. The son of a bitch would have killed him instantly had it found its mark.
Turning around, Peck spotted the trailer home of Doris White thirty yards to his left. A giant, Pine Tree, brittle with ice had come down and crushed the tiny home under its enormous weight. Peck left the snowmobile and ran to the home. The massive tree was directly over the center of the aluminum roof, separating the home into two parts.”
An old Ford pickup, maybe a forty-seven, covered in an inch thick layer of ice sat just out of range of the tree. From the thickness of the ice on the windshield, he estimated the truck hadn’t been started in days. Peck went around the truck to the side of the mobile home and peered through an ice covered, dark window, but he couldn’t see inside. He removed the revolver from his holster and smashed the window with the butt. Carefully, Peck climbed through the broken glass and entered the trailer.
Inside the dark, small, living room, Peck used his flashlight to guide him through the debris and rubble to the bedroom. The brunt of the tree had hit the roof directly over the bedroom, making it impossible to pass around it and enter.
Peck crouched down on the floor and shinned the flashlight under a slab of collapsed wall toward the bed. At first, he wasn’t sure. Then it became clear. A woman’s leg dangled from the bed. The exposed toes of her left foot touched the floor.
“My God,” Peck whispered to himself..
Peck returned to the snowmobile where he tried for twenty minutes before reaching Bender on the walkie-talkie.
“Get back to the office and try to reach the paper company on the short wave. Tell them we need a logging rig at a mobile home on Fire Road 99. A tree came down last night. Over.”
“Dave, was anybody hurt? Over,” Bender said.
Peck hesitated for a moment, lowering the radio.
“Was anybody hurt? Over,” Bender said.
Peck raised the radio to his lips. “Yes.”
Peck, Bender, McCoy, Kranston and Father Regan stood under the safety of a large Pine Tree and watched the logging crew prepare a rig to remove the tree from the mobile home.
Peck lit a cigarette and watched a crew supervisor give orders to his men. “Does anybody know this woman? Peck said.
Kranston said, “Tax records show a Doris White. I can’t say I know or remember the woman.” He added a fresh stick of gum to the piece he was already chewing.
“Hospital records indicate she had a flu shot last November,” McCoy said. “But I administered so many shots that month; I can’t say I specifically remember a Doris White”
Peck looked at Regan. “Father?”
The priest nodded. “She was a standard at Sunday mass.” Regan turned to make eye contact with Peck. “Her husband died several years ago before you arrived. A logging accident. She was a good woman.”
Peck stared at the trailer as he puffed on the cigarette. The rig was in place and the supervisor approached him. “Sheriff, we’re ready. It will only take a minute.”
Peck nodded and the supervisor gave the order. The rig lifted the massive, Pine Tree and slowly set it on the bay of a logging truck. The supervisor looked at Peck and gave him the all clear sign. Peck tugged at Bender’s jacket.
Peck and Bender approached what was left of the front door. Cautiously, they entered the home with flashlights drawn. Peck entered the bedroom first and was completely unprepared for the horrific sight, which greeted him.
Tied spread eagle to the bed with rope, the plump, nude body of Doris White had at least a dozen knife wounds in her chest. Deep, red impressions were on both sides of her neck. Her lifeless eyes were open and stared blankly at the wall.
Peck staggered backward until he hit the wall. “Bender,” he shouted. “Jay, get in here.”
Bender rushed in and sto
od next to Peck. He looked at the body of Doris White and shook his head. “She never felt a thing when that tree fell on her.”
“Go get the doctor.”
Bender nodded and turned away.
“And only the doctor,” Peck added.
While Bender went for McCoy, Peck lit a cigarette. He heard McCoy enter the trailer and he called out. “In here.”
McCoy entered the bedroom and stood next to Peck. The doctor sighed loudly to himself. “My God, this poor woman.”
Peck inhaled on the cigarette and blew out smoke, looking at McCoy. “Examine her, and then tell me was she strangled first, or stabbed?” Peck said.
Peck, Bender, Kranston and Father Regan sat in the van provided by the logging company and waited for McCoy to finish his examination. It was four thirty in the afternoon and already dark when McCoy exited the trailer and slowly made his way to the van.
In the back seat, Bender slid the door open to allow McCoy to enter. The doctor shook ice from his hat before speaking. “I have to get her to the hospital for a more thorough examination, but my first impression is that she was stabbed to death before he strangled her.”
Kranston ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Who would do such a thing and why?” His voice cracked with stress.
McCoy looked at Peck. “There’s more,” he said, softly. “She was raped.”
Father Regan sighed a deep, anguished sigh at McCoy’s words.
Kranston turned away. “I can’t listen to this.”
Regan leaned forward from the back seat and touched Peck’s arm. “I would like to administer last rites.”
Peck nodded. “I’ll go with you, father. It isn’t pretty.”
Peck and Regan left the van, walked to the trailer, and entered. The priest appeared hesitant to walk beyond the remains of the kitchen. Peck gently touched him on the shoulder. “It’s okay if you want to turn back,” Peck said.
The priest shook his head. “No, I just need a moment.”
Gathering his strength, Regan cautiously entered the bedroom where he gasped loudly at the sight of Doris White. “My God in heaven,” he whispered.