False Cast: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 5)

by S. W. Hubbard

  Frank wasn’t sure where this was headed, but he vowed to be patient. Webber took a deep breath and continued.

  “I would pop into the family room and watch the boys play, and the games all seemed the same to me: shooting aliens, shooting zombies, shooting dragons. Silly, but they got a kick out of it, and they could play with other kids from school over the Internet. But then, after Christmas, RJ brought over a new game called Resist or Die.”

  Webber looked down at his clenched hands on the table. Frank wondered how bad the new game could have been. Was it gruesomely violent?

  “RJ wanted to play this new game every day, and at first I overheard them arguing because Denny said it was boring. This game didn’t have any loud explosions or shooting –all I could see on the screen was a guy in a forest. Pretty soon Denny seemed to change his mind about the game, and I could hear them talking very intensely about their strategy with the other players on the Internet.”

  He looked up at Frank. “This is where it gets weird. One day my wife was going to the supermarket, and Denny said he wanted to come along. Now, he hasn’t gone grocery shopping since he was a little boy, too young to stay home alone. So he goes, and the entire time they’re in the store Denny keeps trying to put more canned goods in the cart. And he says we need stuff we never buy—powdered milk and protein bars. And Denny’s getting agitated when my wife says no to all this crap. Then later that week he starts in on me. Says we need more ammunition! I only have one gun—a twenty-two I keep around to shoot groundhogs in my garden. One box of shells lasts me a couple of years. When I said we didn’t need more, I thought Denny was actually going to cry.”

  Frank thought he could see where this was headed. “The game was putting ideas in his head?”

  Webber nodded. “It took me a while to get it out of Denny, but when he finally told me, he was so relieved to get his worries off his chest. Seems that RJ had convinced him that everyone has to be prepared for the day when the government comes and tries to take away our property and enslave us. The game is a way to practice. RJ told Denny that Ronnie said lots of people don’t believe this will happen, and if you don’t like those people, then you just let them be enslaved. But if you do like them, like if they’re your parents, then you have to find a way to prepare them without them knowing about it.”

  Frank nodded. “Pam told me that Ronnie spent a lot of time on the Internet on conspiracy theory websites. She thought it was crazy.”

  “RJ said his mom wasn’t a believer—that’s what they call themselves—but that Ronnie and RJ would protect her anyway. And Denny should protect us without telling us about the coming invasion. Can you believe this shit?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went over and found Ronnie out in his garage. You can’t believe what he’s got out there—floor-to-ceiling supplies, enough to feed an army. I told him to lay off—he was scaring the kids.” Webber kneaded his temples. “He went ballistic. Told me I was a sheep who deserved to be enslaved. There was no reasoning with him. I came back home and laid down the law: the boys could only be together at our house and no more Resist or Die. They could play the other games or do stuff outside.”

  “How did Denny react?”

  “He was glad. It was like we deprogrammed him and he came to his senses.”

  “What about RJ?”

  “We didn’t see RJ for a while, and my wife and I thought that was for the best. Then Ronnie pulled that hostage stunt and escaped from jail, and Denny said RJ was really upset. The other kids at school couldn’t stop talking about it. Some of them said Ronnie was an escaped convict who deserved to be shot on sight. But some called him this freedom-fighter hero. They’re kids—they’re just repeating what they hear at home.” Webber lowered his voice. “That’s what it’s been like here at work. People have gotten into fights over Ronnie.”

  Frank kept his voice casual. “Really? Who defends him?”

  Webber wasn’t that easy to con. He shook his head. “I walk away when that nonsense starts. I’m here to do a job, that’s all.”

  Frank let it go for now. There was more to learn. “What about Denny and RJ—Pam said they still hang out together.”

  Webber sighed. “We felt bad for the kid. This is too much for any kid to deal with. So we told Denny to invite RJ over.”

  “And did RJ abide by your rules?”

  Webber nodded. “He’s always been a polite, helpful kid. Denny said RJ never mentioned the survivalist nonsense again. And now that it’s spring, they’ve been spending more time fishing and riding their ATVs. When it rains, they play that shoot-the-dragons game. Sometimes we feed RJ dinner because Pam just started a job clear up in Plattsburgh. Honestly, the kid seems relieved to be around normal people.”

  “This has been really helpful, Dennis.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner,” Webber said. “It’s just...well, we feel bad for Pam and RJ. We didn’t want to make things even worse for them.”

  “I understand. But I’d still like to talk to Denny. And I’d like to bring along my assistant, Earl Davis. He’s the one who understands how these Internet video games work.”

  “Okay, but not tonight, please. My wife won’t be home, and I told Denny I’d help him study for his algebra test.”

  Frank rose and extended his hand to shake Webber’s. “Talk it over with your wife and we’ll set up a time. I’ll be in touch.”

  On Monday evening, Frank opened the door from the garage into the back hall and heard a sound he’d never heard in this house: hysterical crying.

  “Penny? Penny, what’s wrong?” He followed the sound into the kitchen, where he saw two heads—one light, one dark—huddled together.

  Penny looked up. Her face was dry. “Lucy’s a little upset.”

  Frank knew he was often clueless when it came to interpreting the emotions of women, but even he could’ve figured that out. “Has something happened with Olivia?”

  Penny’s big dark eyes met his. “The judge has awarded custody to Anita.”

  Her words set off a more intense fit of crying from Lucy.

  Frank sat down at the table but remained silent. What was there to say? He’d been hoping for the best but in his heart, he’d been uneasily sure it would end this way. Anita had found a job, a surprisingly well-paying job for Trout Run. She’d found a place to live: an apartment on the second floor of a house with two bedrooms, a separate entrance, a back porch and access to the yard. It was less than a mile from the Green, which meant Olivia could walk to the store or the diner to meet her friends. In some ways, it was a better location than the inn for a teen not old enough to drive. And she hadn’t abandoned Olivia, according to the story she told at the hearing, a story that was almost impossible to disprove.

  Lucy’s sobs eventually abated. She blew her nose in the proffered tissues and accepted a cup of tea.

  “What about this advocate who’s supposed to represent Olivia’s best interests. Wasn’t she on your side?” Frank asked.

  “Olivia met with her this week, but she wouldn’t tell me what they talked about. If I pry, she clams up and goes off to sulk in her room. Lately, Olivia and I have been struggling.” Lucy’s eyes were bloodshot. She had no tears left, but her voice trembled. “I was worried Olivia has told the advocate she wants to leave us, and I guess I was right.”

  Penny squeezed her friend’s hand. “I think you’re reading too much into Olivia’s moodiness. She loves you and Edwin—anyone can see that. She just doesn’t know how to express all her conflicting emotions.”

  “It’s more than that,” Lucy insisted. “Olivia knows she’ll have more freedom with Anita. Edwin and I won’t let her get her ears pierced yet, or wear eye shadow or buy sexy-looking clothes. Olivia accuses me of wanting her to dress like an Amish farm girl when all I’m doing is keeping her from looking like a hooker working the streets near the Lincoln Tunnel. I’m sure she thinks Anita will let her get a tattoo and wear belly shirts to school. At twelve, she
thinks those things are important. She doesn’t realize…”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “She doesn’t realize what she’s letting herself in for. It took years for some people in this town to forgive Olivia her gene pool and think of her as a nice girl from a good family. Now that she’s living with her mother, will the town turn on her again? Will her friends be allowed to associate with her? I’m not sure she recalls how she was bullied and ostracized back in first grade. Who’s to say those kids won’t start up again now that Olivia is Anita Veech’s daughter again?”

  Chapter 25

  On Tuesday afternoon, Earl went to Denny Webber’s house to talk to the kid about the video games he played with RJ Gatrell. While Earl was occupied, a park ranger that Frank knew at the Adirondack Loj called. Some backpackers reported finding a campsite that hadn’t been properly cleaned up. They’d picked up some empty cans and packed them out, but they were concerned there was still food waste there that might attract bears.

  “These backpackers were pretty outraged by what they’d found,” the ranger said. “They attributed it to rudeness and laziness, but I’m wondering…”

  “…if they surprised Ronnie Gatrell. Are the hikers still there?”

  “Yeah, they’re relaxing on the porch before they hike back to their cars. Should I call the state police?”

  “Yeah, report it. But I can be there in fifteen. Don’t let the hikers leave.”

  When Frank arrived at the Loj, he found three scruffy but very fit young men sprawled in Adirondack chairs with a large black Lab at their feet. One had a grubby bandana tied around his head. One had matted strawberry blond dreadlocks. The third had a patchy brown beard. The dog was the best groomed of the bunch.

  “I understand you guys discovered a dirty campsite back in the Marcy Wilderness.”

  The guys exchanged a glance. “We didn’t think the ranger would call the cops. We don’t want anyone to get arrested, just, you know, be cool—pack it in, pack it out.”

  “Right,” dreadlocks said. “It’s not cool to leave your trash.”

  “There’s a possibility this wasn’t a careless hiker. Was the campfire still warm when you got there?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, it was. We could smell the smoke. He’d just kicked some dirt on it. A real fire hazard.”

  Frank glanced at the dog. “Was he barking as you approached?”

  The guys thought for a moment. “You know, he might have been,” Bandana said. “Bix flushed a grouse as we were hiking. I think it was about ten minutes before we got to the campsite.”

  Scruffy Beard cocked his head. “You’re saying we scared someone off? Why would anyone care if they ran into us? We’re totally chill.”

  “You are. But he’s not. Where are you guys from? Haven’t you heard about the escaped prisoner we’re looking for?”

  Bandana slapped his own head. “The dude who took those little kids hostage? Whoa—no way!”

  “Do you still have the cans you picked up?”

  Dreadlocks walked over to a bulging full-frame pack leaning against the porch railing. Unzipping one of the many pockets, he handed Frank three tuna cans with pull-tab tops and two plastic applesauce cups. The tuna was the same size and brand as one of the cans discarded at the Giant View house.

  “That’s all of it?” Frank asked.

  “Wait, I found something too,” Bandana said. He dug through his pockets and produced a crumpled blue and yellow bag.

  Frank touched the bag with one finger. Honey Maid Teddy Grahams. A roly-poly bear danced across the package. “These are what the kids at Happy Camper Daycare had for their snack. Pam gave each kid a bag to distract them when they had to march out past Ronnie holding the gun.”

  The ranger looked perplexed. “How could he have something from home with him when he escaped?”

  Frank shook his head. “He couldn’t. Prisoners surrender everything when they’re processed.”

  “So that means…”

  “He’s been getting help from his wife...or his son.”

  Chapter 26

  “I can’t believe it. After what he did to her?” Earl said when Frank told him about the incident the next morning. “She insisted she never wanted to see him again.”

  Frank sighed. “I’ve seen abused women go back to their husbands over and over again. You pull them apart screaming and kicking at home on Friday night, and by Sunday morning they’re holding hands and feeding each other bites of pancake at the diner.”

  “Love is strange,” Earl said.

  “It’s not love. It’s some kind of sick desire for mutual destruction. I didn’t think that Pam was that type.”

  “So maybe it’s RJ. A kid would want to help his dad, no matter what.”

  “Psychologically, RJ makes more sense, “ Frank said, “but he’s only fourteen. How would he get supplies to his dad without a vehicle? Ronnie has hiked ten to twenty miles a day, zigzagging through the backcountry. There’s no way the kid could be doing that much hiking without anyone noticing. He hasn’t missed any school since Ronnie escaped. I’ve checked.”

  “He’s got an ATV,” Earl offered.

  “You can’t drive an ATV over the Verona Range.” Frank gazed out the window at the thickly wooded mountains on the horizon. “And he could never drive an ATV on the road for that many miles without someone noticing.”

  “So-o-o…”

  Frank turned away from the window. “RJ provides the food. Someone else delivers it. What did you learn from Denny about these video games? Could one of the players be helping Ronnie?”

  “I don’t know.” Earl tossed the burnt end of his pecan sticky bun in the trash. “Denny’s a nice kid. He showed me his whole gaming system, and all the user names of the kids at school that they play Call of Duty and Dead Rising with. Then he showed me the list of the people who played Resist or Die and it was all different user names. Denny said he didn’t know who the people were.”

  “And you just took him at his word? Isn’t there a way to verify that?”

  Earl gave him a pained look. “Of course I followed up. Gamers have on-line profiles. They don’t have to reveal their real names, but most of them describe themselves. Some even have a profile picture. I didn’t recognize anyone as local.”

  “But it’s not impossible. A person could put anything in his profile, right?”

  “Right. To be absolutely certain, we’d have to ask to see each gamer’s account, and for that we’d need—”

  “A warrant,” Frank sighed. “We’re not at that point yet.”

  When the phone buzzed with an internal call from Doris, Frank assumed Meyerson was finally getting around to calling him back about the search of the Marcy Wilderness.

  He snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”

  “There’s a lady on Line One who says her husband hasn’t come home from fishing, and she’s getting worried. I told her we haven’t had any car crashes, but she insists she has to talk to you.”

  Doris knew better than to put through every call from angry wives checking up on their husbands. The guy was probably sleeping off a bender and would come crawling home soon enough. He wondered if it was the wife of one of the regulars at the Mountainside Tavern. “What’s her name?”

  “Mrs. Cottlemeir. That’s C-O-T-T—“

  “Who’s that?”

  “The lady whose husband hasn’t come home.”

  “I understand, but I’m asking you if you know her.”

  “Know her? Why would I know her? She lives clear down near Saratoga.”

  Frank sat up straight. “You mean this is a tourist? Someone who came to Trout Run to go fishing and never made it back home again?”

  “Yes. Exactly. She was expecting him last night. She tried to call his cell, but he didn’t answer. But I told her how bad the reception can be up here, what with the trees and not enough cell towers, but those towers are real ugly so no wonder no wants them, so that doesn’t mean—”

  “Doris.”

>   “Right. Well, finally she fell asleep, and now it’s morning and he’s still not home. So I can see why she’d be worried, I mean, I’d be worried too, if it was my husband, but I don’t know what she thinks we—”

  Frank punched the button for Line One, abruptly exchanging Doris for Mrs. Cottlemeir.

  “Chief Bennett. How can I help you?”

  Frank listened as an increasingly tearful woman explained her situation. She and her husband loved to fish. They had the use of a friend’s fishing camp on Crescent Lake. She would normally have gone with her husband, but she’d been invited to a baby shower. Why had she gone to the party? It hadn’t even been fun. So her husband drove up alone, and called her Friday as he was passing through Trout Run on his way to the camp. Once he was there, she knew his cell phone wouldn’t work, but she expected to hear from him on Sunday as he was driving back. But he didn’t call and didn’t answer her calls. She went to bed worried, but telling herself he’d simply let the phone run out of juice. But now it was Monday morning, and he still wasn’t back. She’d called the Saranac Medical Center. She’d called the Thruway Accident report hotline. Nothing. The story ended with a wail. “Where could he be?”

  “Ma’am, as our dispatcher told you, we haven’t had a report of any accidents locally, but I’m happy to check the state police report. And I can ask the state police to drive out to the camp and check on your husband. Can you describe what part of Crescent Lake it’s on?”

  She gave him addled directions full of “turn at the place that used to be the Black Bear Campground” and “if you see the little waterfall, you’ve gone too far.” As far as he could tell, the access road to the camp sounded like it was several miles on the far side of the village of Verona. Was it within his new jurisdiction? Possibly, but hard to be certain without seeing it on a map.

  “How long will it take until I hear something from the state police?” the wife asked.

  “We-e-ell, that depends on how busy the officer covering that territory is, and how far away he is from there on his patrol. Could be an hour, could be tomorrow.”