by Mark Young
“Hey, take it easy on this old clunker. This has to last me a few years.”
Jessie peered at her father, the police chief still standing on the other side of the parking lot. “He makes me so mad I could scream. I see why Tommy fought with him so much. I can’t believe he was spying on me. I’m almost thirty years old.” She crossed her arms.
“Does your dad always have this effect on people?”
“To be honest, he and I always got along pretty good. Today is just not one of those days.”
They traveled in silence until they were several miles north of town. He expected to see tears by now. He glanced over, surprised to see Jessie smiling.
“What?”
She shook her head. “I was about to say I’m almost as old as you, but that would be a lie. You’re not as old as my dad, are you?”
Travis flicked a turn signal and maneuvered around a family van piled high with camping gear. “Getting people riled up, is that a gift that runs in your family?”
Her smile broadened. “Yeah, it’s a gift I’ve inherited.”
“Well, I’d better step on the gas and get you back before I get another dose.” He glanced in the rear view and saw he’d cleared the van. As he pulled back into the right lane, he looked over at her.
Jessie’s smile was gone.
He turned onto the highway paralleling the Clearwater River and headed due east. He saw her looking at the river, apparently lost in thought.
He thought about what Frank revealed and looked over the river, watching the water glistening from the last rays of sunlight. He knew what Jessie thought. Tommy White Eagle disappeared somewhere along this tributary. He just vanished without a trace, except for his empty car.
Travis turned back to study the road ahead. Frank’s glare after Travis turned him down cut to his core. A hurting father asking for help. Travis bit his lip, disgusted with himself. What happened to him over the years? How did he turn out like this? Afraid to a take a chance. Afraid to step out and live life on the edge once more.
Quietly, he slumped down in his seat and peered into the rear view. Daylight slipped over the mountain range behind him. Darkness began reclaiming it right to reign once again.
Chapter 8
WSU, Pullman,Washington
“You okay, professor?”
Travis cracked open tired eyes to see one of his students looking back at him with concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Brenda.” He dismissed the classes minutes ago, but some students still lingered. Travis reached down and picked up a large paper cup of Starbucks’ finest. He sipped and grimaced, lukewarm coffee leaving a bitter taste.
Brenda seemed to accept his answer, joining other students leaving the room.
He forced down another swallow, hoping caffeine might chase away his lingering weariness. All he wanted right now was to put his head down somewhere, anywhere, and sleep.
Two weeks ago, he’d dropped Jessie off at his cabin and left the solitude of his mountain retreat to return to the university. Once back at WSU, his paperwork kept piling up. He struggled to complete a research paper due in a couple months, spending every waking hour on the project between teaching, eating and sleeping. He thought working a summer teaching gig here would be lightweight and allow him to get caught up on his research project. Time seemed elusive.
Even Sam seemed to be getting irritated.
Like his dog, Travis wanted to flee back to the mountains, to his cabin in the woods. Quiet and peaceful. No people. No pressure.
The idea of pressure brought Jessie to mind as he thought of Clearwater River. Tommy must still be missing. He had seen very little about the search, as if everyone finally gave up.
Traversing Terrell Mall, he trudged into the main hallway of Wilson Hall, choosing the stairs rather than the elevator. A little exercise might just wake him up. Reaching the third floor, he entered the Department of Social Sciences by a rear entrance and sauntered toward his office.
He heard a cough just as he sat down at his desk.
Kent McPeters, department chairman, stood in the doorway scanning the tiny office before turning his scowl toward Travis. Bifocals gave the man’s eyes a split-level look. “Professor Mays, thought you’d be up at your cabin.”
“I’ve been back two weeks. My presence on campus obviously leaves a big impression on you, professor.”
McPeters uttered a chuckle that sounded more like choking, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a belch. “I thought you slid up there every weekend.” He seemed to be fishing.
“Whenever I can, McPeters. Why the interest?” Travis eyed his boss suspiciously.
McPeters cut loose with more choking sounds. “Oh, just trying to stay in touch. Wanted to see how everything’s going,” The chairman slapped his forehead. “Oh, I forgot. You have a visitor. Want me to send her back?”
“Her? Who is it?” He glanced at the papers on his desk, waiting for a reply. Silence made him look up again. He stared at an empty doorway.
Everything about McPeters made Travis edgy. The man seemed to spend all his time lurking in the hallways. Travis knew little about him, but what he did know made him want to spray the room with disinfectant.
He pulled a file from the in-basket filled with research on theories of criminal deviance. As he thumbed through the findings, his mind kept returning to his conversation with McPeters. He set the file aside as he heard footsteps approach and turned toward the doorway, expecting McPeters.
Jessie White Eagle emerged. “May I come in?” She looked ashen.
He started to rise. “Please. Have a —”
“— they found him, Travis.” She crumpled into the chair as if those very words sapped her strength. “They found Tommy’s body this morning.”
Travis sank back down. “Oh, Jessie. I’m so sorry.”
Jessie hardened her face, fighting back tears. “Hikers found him above Lochsa, near Split Creek Ridge.” She clutched her hands. Sorrow seemed to shove her deeper into the chair. “They shot him and then dumped his body in the mountains on federal lands like a piece of garbage.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Her eyes glistened. She rocked back and forth, as if the motion might ease the pain she held inside.
He clasped his hands. “Can I—?”
“We need your help, Travis.” Her eyes searched his.
“I’m sorry.”
“Help us find who did this.”
“Even if I could —”
She leaned forward. “Please. I’m begging you. Dad tells me you were one of the best. Help me find the animals that killed my brother.”
Travis gestured with his hands. “I can’t walk into the middle of an active homicide investigation, Jessie. That’s not how it’s done.”
She reached over the desk and grasped his hands. “Please, just shut up for a second and hear me out. Dad talked to the tribe’s executive committee. They’re making a formal request to the university, asking the school to let you work with him on this case … if you’re willing.”
“Jessie, this is murder. The FBI and local cops will be all over this since the body turned up on federal lands. The tribal police won’t even be involved.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know my dad very well. He’s going to investigate what happened to his son — no matter who has jurisdiction.”
Travis hunched forward. “Even so, your father won’t work with me. You saw the fireworks between us.”
Jessie gripped his hands harder, tightly, as if the intensity of her grip might make him cave in. “Travis, he made some calls himself. Found out what you did as a cop. You must have impressed him. He’s asking for your help.” She gripped so hard her nails almost cut into his skin. “He swallowed a lot of pride to make this happen. Please — I’m begging you — work with him.”
As he looked into her eyes, the walls of protection he’d built over the last five years began to weaken. The urgency of her words and the vulnerable look in her e
yes made him clench his jaw. His mind screamed No. His heart wasn’t as sure.
Travis saw a shadow in the doorway. McPeters appeared. “Can I see you for a moment, professor?”
“Not know, McPeters. I’m right in the middle of something here.”
“I need to see you in my office right now. It’s urgent.” McPeters wheeled around and stalked down the hallway. Travis found the chairman in his own office, staring out the window.
“What is so important that it couldn’t wait a few minutes?”
McPeters turned and leaned on his desk. “Administration just shipped me a request about you. They say the Nez Perce tribe wants your help to investigate a murder.”
“The woman in my office is the victim’s sister. I really need to go back and —”
“You really need to tell me what’s going on, Travis. What do you expect to accomplish? I mean, you’re a … teacher. The arrogance to think you can provide more help than all the other law enforcement agencies involved —”
“— Look, I didn’t know anything about this until a few minutes ago. Jessie just told me about the murder.”
“Jessie? On a first names basis, are we? I trust this is a professional relationship.” His eyes narrowed, his lips curled back a grimace as if he’d just stepped in something disgusting. “And do they know about your past?”
“My past?” Travis glared at his boss, jaw clenched tightly.
McPeters sneered. “You know what I’m talking about. I heard you washed out of police work. Couldn’t handle the stress.”
Travis rocked back on his heels, struggling for control. “I didn’t wash out. I chose to leave. I got tired of people like you who’ve never put a case together trying to tell others how to do their job.”
“Sounds like you couldn’t handle it.”
Travis exhaled, looking out the window and focusing on the clock tower in the distance. Once he felt under control, he glanced back at McPeters.“It sounds like this came from the top, well beyond your pay grade, Kent.” Using the man’s first name caused Travis to smile. “It doesn’t really matter what you think. The decision’s been made, so live with it.”
Travis realized this conversation with his boss helped settle his own mind. Jessie would get her wish.
McPeters look at him for a moment, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’ll make sure your classes are covered Travis,” he said. “Just don’t embarrass the university out there. There will be a lot of eyes watching you.”
“A lot of eyes? What are you talking about?”
McPeters was no longer aggressive or angry. It was as if a switch inside had clicked and McPeters became almost human. “You carry the name of this university with you. Everything you do will reflect back on us. Just watch yourself.”
Travis nodded, taking one more look at McPeters before leaving. The man’s expression made Travis pause. The man’s eyes look as vacant as the dead. The change was startling.
As Travis walked back to his office, he thought of what had just happened. There was only one word that fit.
Weird.
Chapter 9
Split Creek Ridge above Lochsa River, Idaho
Travis saw three police vehicles, bumper to bumper, along Highway 12. The lead vehicle was an all-terrain four-wheel-drive with sheriff’s markings. The other two were unmarked.
He pulled off the road and braked.
Jessie leaned forward on the passenger’s side. “Dad’s car is the third one in. The others must be FBI and Idaho County sheriffs.”
They got out of his truck and stood along the highway. He saw Frank and two other men standing down by the Lochsa River. The men below began walking in Travis’ direction, the trio shoulder to shoulder with Frank in the middle. All three wore plain clothes.
Travis zeroed in on the man to Frank’s right. Must be FBI, but the way he dressed J. Edgar Hoover would have rolled over in his grave. The agent looked like he lived in the woods — close-cropped hair, logger’s shoulders, stocky build — and dressed in clothing straight out of a Sears catalogue; heavy red-plaid shirt, denim jeans, and a pair of tan ankle-high boots caked with mud. He looked familiar to Travis.
The man on Frank’s left walked like a deputy who’d spent more than a few years in patrol. Slimmer than the other two men, much younger, with closely-shorn blonde hair. Compared to the FBI agent, the other man looked like he just graduated from college.
Travis took a deep breath. After his last face-off with Frank, he wondered how the tribal police chief might greet him. Jessie said her father pulled strings to get Travis here, so maybe the guy had a change of heart.
Jessie leaned closer, whispering. “I never met the guy in the red shirt. My dad’s worked with him before. Name’s Clay something. Italian. The other guy is John Steele from the sheriff’s office. Nice guy.”
So he was right on the money.
The three men crested the slope, stopping for a moment. They appeared to be caught up in a heated conversation, each taking a turn glancing his way. Travis felt like a person who walked into a party and realized he wasn’t invited. Maybe Frank was having second thoughts about working with him.
Travis turned his attention to the river, watching the water cascading over granite boulders as it flowed down the canyon. He recognized this part of the river. He and Jessie shot past this point a few weeks ago on their rafting trip after their encounter with Harold the bunny killer.
As the men closed in, Travis braced himself. The FBI agent’s expression seemed to tighten as he drew closer: skin — darker Mediterranean, olive — pulled taut by rigid facial muscles. The sheriff’s detective, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, his boyish looks a striking contract to the tired-looking federal agent. A crooked nose — apparently broken and healed in his earlier years — was the only blemish on Steele’s young face. Travis turned his attention to the police chief. There were dark circles under Frank’s eyes, shoulders slumped like a man carrying more than his share of burdens. Tired and wasted.
Frank nodded a greeting, gesturing to his right. “This is Special Agent Clay Lafata from the FBI.” Turning to his left, he said, “And this guy here is John Steele from the Idaho County Sheriff’s Office. John’s department handled the crime scene. I’ve asked him to show us where they found Tommy.” Almost as an afterthought, Frank added, “These guys know I’ve called you in as a … consultant.”
So Frank was acknowledging his part in getting Travis here.
Lafata stepped closer. “Just to make it clear, Frank. This guy’s not part of the investigation,” thrusting a finger at Travis. The agent spoke in a terse, New York accent. Travis flashed on Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver. Lafata thrusting a finger in Travis’ face, still looking at the police chief. “This guy can take a look and then we’re out of there. Agreed?”
Ignoring the agent, Travis looked at Steele. “Your forensic team finished?”
“Yeah, they’re done,” said the younger man. “But I do want to minimize contamination in case they need to return. In and out. Okay with you?” The deputy sounded nicer than the agent.
Travis shrugged. “Your call, detective. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.” He sensed both men might be humoring Frank by allowing a consultant on the case. He saw only conflict ahead.
The federal agent glowered at Travis. “Listen up, profess-ahh.” Again, heavy East Coast, drawing out ‘professor’ as if he was hanging a question mark on the end. “Just because you once were some kind of local hotshot in California doesn’t mean squat with me. Our case, our rules. Got it?” His eyes flashed with hostility.
“Got’cha. Your rules, your case,” Travis said, realizing he’d just mimicked Lafata. Another thought came to him. The agent’s remark about Travis and California — now he knew where Frank got information on Travis’ past.
As if to break the tension, Steele stepped forward, gesturing toward the river. “The killer dumped Tommy’s body up there,” he said, pointing across the river toward the nearest mountain pea
k. “There’s a faster way to the scene that gets us around the river. Let’s jump into my four-by since I know the way. We’ll need to head downstream, cross over the bridge at Three Rivers, and then work our way back on a fire trail. Take us about a half hour.”
As promised, a half hour later they stood above the crime scene. Travis saw a well-traveled trail, marred with heavy boot prints, leading down the hill and across a gulley before rising to a bare ridge. Patches of late-winter snow still clung to the ground. Steele led them across the gully and along a path to the ridge.
“The body was found there,” Steele said, pointing down a slope littered with boulders. The body lay sprawled face up further down the slope.
Travis tried to imagine how the killer got the body to this spot. The terrain was treacherously rugged. He saw two parallel grooves leading toward the victim. He looked up to see Lafata eyeing him.
“Yeah, we already figured they used some kind of stretcher, probably made out of branches, to cart him up here. They didn’t care about leaving any marks — just the boot prints. Brushed ‘em out clean.”
“They?” Travis asked.
“Whoever. Can’t tell how many. One person might have pulled it off with some kind of stretcher. The problem is, whoever did this took his time sweeping up the scene and erasing any footprints. All the prints you see on the path were left by deputies and rangers hoofing it up here.”
Travis continued to search the ground. “Cause of death?” He looked at the agent, hearing a pause.
Lafata glanced at Frank and Jessie, looking uncomfortable. “Still waiting for the coroner’s report but it’s pretty obvious. Death by gunshot, chest and head.”
“How many shots?”
“Three. One to the head.” Lafata looked at Frank and Jessie as he spoke.
Travis waited until Lafata looked his way. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the … Tommy’s hands were tied behind him. Duct tape. At least until he was dumped here. Found bits of tape still clinging to his wrists. And we found what looked like gunpowder stippling on the skin. We assume it was up close and personal.”