Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

  “I'm sorry about your brother and your parents,” I said.

  "It's just life," Shawna said and picked up a chicken wing. “I am starved.”

  We ate, and I watched her eat. I liked her. But I wondered if she was still going to like me when I asked her what I needed to.

  I cleaned my third plate of sushi and waited for Shawna to scoop the last of the cheesy mussels on her plate from its shell. As she put the food in her mouth, she caught me looking at her and knew something was up. She didn’t say anything, just turned her head and gave me a ‘what’s up’ look.

  “I enjoyed the dance the other night and was going to call, but when I called this morning, it was to ask you something other than to ask you out.”

  “So you bit the bullet and went out with me?” There was a good-natured smile in her question.

  “I jumped on the opportunity to see you again,” I said, sincerely.

  “Good. So what’s the problem?”

  “I need to know about Tim Bobbins. I wouldn’t ask, but the girl is still missing and the longer it takes to find her, the worse her chances are.”

  “Why would Tim have anything to do with that? Is he somehow a suspect? Because…”

  “No, he’s not a suspect. But you weren’t there when he was hypnotized. Has he spoken to you about that?”

  “No, but I haven’t seen much of him since then. We’re scheduled to be on game check duty together this weekend. What's going on?”

  I looked at her for a long moment before speaking. “Tell me about Tim.”

  “Tell you what? He’s a friend.”

  “And he has secrets?” I asked.

  Now she frowned. She thought for a moment, obviously thinking about her answer.

  “Everyone has secrets. I have secrets, and so does Tim. How are his secrets any of your business?” Now she sounded angry.

  This obviously wasn’t working, and I had to change things. “He went into hypnosis, and as soon as Dr. Walters began questioning him, he snapped out of it.”

  “Why would that have to do with any secrets he might have?”

  I looked Shawna in the eye. I hoped my expression was pleading.

  “He woke up just as Dr. Walters took him to the day the girl and her father went missing. Right after he said that he had taken over for you and began checking out the deer in the back of the truck.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The question she asked was ‘had you ever seen this hunter before?’ And Tim snapped right out of the hypnosis. I'm asking if you know any reason why trying to recall a hunter he was checking would scare him or bring back unpleasant memories?”

  Now Shawna looked away. Her left hand went to her mouth, and she sat there thinking.

  “You told me at the dance that the dance was not Tim’s thing.”

  Shawna turned back to me. “Where did you get the idea that whatever woke Tim out of his hypnosis session is somehow important?”

  “The truck may be important. Who they are may be important.”

  “I understand the girl is still missing, but how are you connecting all this?”

  She obviously considered this conversation as a threat. I had to level with her.

  “My late wife came to me in a dream and told me that you know why the young man woke up. There was a lot more to the dream than that. Part of it had to do with some guilt I’m feeling about liking you. I didn’t get it at first, and then I spoke to Sheriff Goldstone today, and he used the term woke up referring to Tim, and he added that Dr. Walters refused to try and hypnotize him again. I know dreams can often be meaningless…”

  “No,” Shawna said, interrupting. “I know you can solve problems in dreams. I’ve done that myself.” She paused and then smiled, “And you dreamed about me?”

  I nodded. And then realized what her problem was. “I have an idea about Tim, and I am guessing that you’ve known him a lot longer than you’ve known me, and you're concerned about betraying a friend?”

  Shawna nodded. “Some men are quite the opposite of sympathetic to Tim’s secret.”

  “What if I don’t ask you to tell me the secret? But just tell me where I can find him?”

  “He lives on Front Street. I don’t have the address written down…”

  “I’ve been to his apartment, and I’ve called. I stopped by his apartment just before coming here. He isn’t home.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you,” Shawna said. She took her phone out and pushed two buttons. Obviously, she had Tim on speed dial. She listened for a moment and then said, “It’s me, Shawna. Call me when you get this.” She hung up and put the phone back in her purse.

  “Do you have any idea where he might be now?” I asked.

  Shawna looked at me for a long time. She seemed to be making up her mind. Finally, she nodded as if to herself.

  “You promise not to be judgmental?”

  I smiled despite myself. Lo used to say to me, “Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”

  Shawna glared at me taking it the wrong way.

  “I was just remembering something my wife used to say to me. She pretty much cured me of being judgmental.”

  Shawna went quiet, thinking. “Okay, I’ll take you to a place he hangs out.” She turned and looked at me with a very serious expression. “I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

  A Place of Secrets

  October 28: Evening

  Shawna had walked to the Oriental Buffet from her home. So when we left, we rode together in my Jeep to downtown Missoula. Shawna did not speak after telling me to find parking somewhere near N. Higgins and Broadway. She seemed deep in thought. And I hoped she would not regret her decision to help me. I lucked out as a car pulled out of a spot on N. Higgins close to Front, and we parked there.

  We actually had a long walk. Shawna led me to a little, nondescript back alley lit by a single streetlight. Kitty corner to the light pole a sunken stairway led to an orange door with a blue light above it. The door sat almost hidden under a wooden stairway. She stopped near it and looked up at me. “You are going to be nice?” she asked.

  “I don’t have any reason not to be,” I said. I understood where she was coming from. I’m a big man and pretty tough. I know some men my size like to throw their weight around. I’m not one of them. “I’m not a bully. Never have been. Though I’ve bashed a few bullies in my day.”

  Shawna smiled, “I’ll bet you could.”

  I started for the door, and she grabbed my arm, stopping me.

  “How about I go in first, see if he’s there, and ask if it’s okay for you to talk to him?”

  This gave me pause. My first thought, going back to my training as an MP was, ‘is there a back door? And will he hi-tail it out?’ But Shawna’s eyes were pleading with me. This was about her sense of not being someone who would betray a friend.

  “If you promise to remind him that a girl’s life may be at stake?”

  “I will,” she said. She lifted herself up on her running-shoed toes and kissed me on the lips. “Be right back.”

  She went to the door and opened it. All I could see was a dark corridor with small purple lights on the wall and part of a bar with colored lights a ways in. The door shut, and I was alone in the alley.

  Snow hung to the sides of the buildings, but the alley was just a wet-looking black in the light from the pole. I heard footsteps and looked down the alley. Two young men, both in their early twenties and wearing matching sweaters came down toward me holding hands. One had spiked blond hair and the other had brown hair cut in an almost feminine style. They had turned in the direction of the orange door when they finally noticed me. They both froze. Their hands fell apart.

  “Beautiful night,” I said, as friendly as I could.

  “Yeah,” the blond said. He sounded nervous.

  I turned away from them and looked in the other direction. I heard their footsteps and then the door opening.

  I looked up at the sky between the
buildings in the alley and could just make out three bright stars in the partly cloudy sky when a hand touched my arm.

  I jumped, startled, and flipped around.

  Shawna looked at me in surprise. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I could feel myself blushing. I just tried to smile. She must have come out just as the two men went in.

  “Tim’s waiting for you, at the far end of the bar.”

  “Great.”

  Shawna looked at me very intently. “I appreciate your letting me go in and talk to him first. I realize that’s something cops ordinarily don’t do.”

  “I’m only a part-time deputy.”

  “And I enjoyed dinner, and I would be willing to see you again if you would like to see me again.”

  I could have said something but acted instead. I took her gently by the shoulders, pulled her just a bit closer, leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. She brought her arms up, put them around my neck and kissed me back hard for a moment but then let go and pulled away.

  A mischievous smile crossed her face. “Well, just watch yourself in there,” she said in a teasing tone. Whatever had been said between Tim and her had helped her mood considerably. “I wouldn’t want you to change sides,” she said, punching my arm.

  And with that, she turned and walked away.

  I opened the orange door and stepped inside. When the door closed behind me, I saw that the streetlight had actually brightened the place. The purple lights along the wall were identical to the bare bulbs that accounted for the ceiling lights. The only other real light came from behind the bottles on a wall behind the bar, which illuminated the different colors of the liquid poisons in the bottles. This bar illumination accounted for more than half the visible light in the room.

  Rather than the typical stale beer scent that permeated most bars I was familiar with, this one had a rich exotic scent, like musk mixed with fine liquor.

  The walkway I was on was not a real corridor but rather a walkway with a waist-high partition on the left as you came in that separated the entryway from an open area, presumably a dance floor. I could see booths along the far wall. The couple that had passed me on their way in not long before sat in one. The blond young man glanced at me, watched me for a moment then turned back to his companion.

  The partition ended after about ten feet, and then the room opened up. The bar was just a few feet ahead where a thin man with short red hair and a large pearl in his left ear, wearing a red T-shirt, leaned with both palms on the bar and looked toward me expectantly.

  As I made my way toward the bartender a slightly heavyset young man with slicked down brown hair and earrings in both ears stepped up to me. As I turned toward him, I saw that he had heavy makeup on his face and wore eyeliner to give him a very feminine appearance.

  “Hi,” he said in a falsetto voice, “They call me Pumpkin. As you are new here, may I buy you a drink?”

  He was careful not to touch me. With both his hands positioned, palms up, just inches from my arm, he turned his hands in a slow inward wave toward himself. The nail polish on his fingers looked black in the dim light.

  “No, but thank you,” I said politely and stepped away so that he was no longer in my personal space. I took a step toward the bar and the bartender behind it when I caught a wave from the far end of the bar. I looked, and even though the person was seated far enough past the lighted liquors for the spot to be almost in darkness, I recognized Tim Bobbins.

  I nodded to the bartender and made my way toward Tim. I could feel Pumpkin’s eyes on my back the entire way.

  “Deputy,” Tim said in greeting as I sat down on the stool beside him. He was dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans. He had a glass of what looked like scotch, neat, in front of him.

  “Winslow, please,” I said. “I appreciate you being willing to talk to me. And I apologize for putting Shawna on the spot to do so.”

  “No problem,” Tim said. “She told me I could slip out the back way if I wanted and she’d tell you I wasn’t here. But she’d already outed me just by bringing you here.”

  “I hope this doesn’t cause problems between the two of you,” I said.

  “There is a girl still missing. And if I can help I will. And as far as Shawna goes, she did what she thought was right." He laughed. “So how can I help you?”

  “Your being here answers part of my question,” I said. “Or I should say suspicion. I’ll be frank and let you get on with your evening. My gut tells me we really need to identify the people in that truck. Apparently, you broke out of the hypnotic trance you were in when Dr. Walters asked you a very specific question. Had you met the person who claimed the deer you were checking before?”

  Tim shook his head, more as if to clear it than to say no. “You know I’ve thought about it. And I’ve tried to conjure up that guy’s face. And I just can’t. The faces of other people I checked pop up and I can see them clearly, but not that guy.”

  “I am assuming that as you are here in this bar that you are gay. So, I need to ask you. Have you ever had a sexual experience with a man that was painful? This would be something that you would rather forget or an encounter that you only partly remember.”

  Tim was quiet for a long time. His face showed concern and then discomfort. It seemed as if he was struggling to decide whether or not he should tell me something.

  “I don’t know if this will help you. I dated girls as a teen and discovered I didn’t much care for them. I found I’d rather fantasize about other guys I’d seen in the men’s locker room. But the guys at school seemed to notice this and I decided my guy watching wasn’t something I should do at school. So I went to the city pool and did my man watching there.

  “Most of my memory of what happened is pretty much blurred. It happened one day when there was just one guy and I left when the pool closed. The only impression I have of him is that he was big and had a lot of body hair. He was about to take his suit off and get dressed. His back was to me, and I was just secretly watching him. I had just taken my suit off and being a teenager…well, I had an erection. I was about to cover myself with my towel when he turned and saw me.

  “He forced me to give him oral sex. And that messed me up for a few years as far as approaching other men.” Tim looked at me, then. “Do you think it could have been the same guy?”

  “It could have been him, or the hunter in the truck looked like the guy who raped you. You don’t remember anything at all about him other than that he was big and had a lot of body hair.”

  Tim hesitated. “I don’t know if this will help you, but the only image I get is the words he had tattooed just above his crotch. ‘Suck Here.’ The letters were about a half-inch high.”

  Something clicked inside me. “Was it a professional tattoo, artistic, or something done with a pen?"

  “Not artistic. Just something that looked like it had been inked in with a blue pen.”

  I nodded my head. “That sounds like a prison tat. And that could be very helpful. Thank you.”

  “Glad to help.”

  I started to get up.”

  “Deputy, I mean Winslow,” Tim said.

  “You know Pumpkin is very particular. She’s a bit of a slut, but she only goes for very attractive guys.”

  I felt myself blushing. I didn’t have anything to say to that, though I guess I was flattered.

  “And for that matter” Tim added, “I also find you very attractive.”

  I shook my head, stood, and began turning away. Then a question hit me. I turned back.

  Tim gave me a surprised and open smile, misinterpreting my actions.

  “Have you ever, since then, been with a man with a similar body type?

  “Yes,” Tim said. “That’s not my ideal type, but I find myself attracted to the type.”

  “So you’ve been with men of that type, since then, more than once?”

  “Dozens,” Tim said, with an embarrassed smile. “I….”

  I didn’t wait
for him to finish. “Thanks,” I said and left.

  A Slim, Almost Non-Existent Thread

  October 28: 10:53 p.m.

  I was not at all concerned with Tim’s sexual preferences as I was with the actual possibility that the person who had forced him to have sex was indeed the guy in the truck with the broken lights.

  Because Tim had admitted liaisons with men similar to the one who had raped him the possibility that Tim had problems with the type, in general, was less likely. Still, that the man who had attacked him was the same man he saw at the deer check-in station was a long shot. But it was worth checking out.

  That the tattoo above the man’s genitals was a prison tattoo was clear from Tim’s description. And descriptions of felon’s tats were easy to trace.

  It was going on eleven, but I called Goldstone. I explained my thoughts, and he scoffed at the idea that our guy from the damaged truck could be the same guy who attacked Tim. The fact that he had been in bed and almost asleep did not help his disposition.

  “I will check this out,” he said reluctantly. “If there is anything I will call you back,” Goldstone said. He did not sound happy or enthused, but I was sure he would check it right away.

  I was halfway home when my cellphone rang. I pulled the Jeep over and took the phone out of my pocket. It was the sheriff.

  “You may be onto something with the tattoo,” he said. “There is a guy living in the Indian Springs trailer park in Missoula, Nate Hanassey, who happens to own a Red 1997 Ford Pickup. All the numbers the FWP people remembered are in his plate. He’s been in Deer Lodge twice. Where are you now?”

  “On my way up 200 toward home. Not quite to the Paws Up Ranch.”

  “I’ve called Frank Davis. He's one of my newer deputies who you didn't get to meet because he's taking a special two-week course at the university in Missoula. Since he's staying in Missoula for the course, I asked him to check out the truck. Do you want me to tell him to wait for you?”

  “I don’t think if this Hanassey guy has the girl he’d bring her to his trailer park.”