Those latter sorts often had kids with friends who did not seek peace and quiet but rather viewed the country as a lawless playground. In exchange for the small tax payment the state employed specialized law enforcement to keep tabs on everything in the middle of nowhere.
We’re in a deep freeze, he thought. Stupid time for kids to be out fooling around. Even stupid kids don’t wanna freeze to death.
Then his mind shifted and a little shiver of nerves chilled him.
That black bag.
The bones.
Murder.
This is no drunken game and you know it. Stop kidding yourself and face up to it. There’s a damned psychopath out there and he’s mad at us for disturbing his little display of death. That’s really why you needed the others out of your way. If this bastard is here for revenge, you need to take him out. Not take him in and get him a lawyer and a nice bed. Just take him out. You are the law.
Yeah, I am.
But who the hell could be out there tonight? These are the nights that kill. Or if not kill, take fingers and toes, leave faces scarred. Even the animals know enough to conserve energy on such a night. Bed down and hold in the heat and stay down until the sun rises. Nothing’s moving out there tonight.
Nothing but the predators.
Don’t go overthinking it, he chided himself. You can understand it when all the facts have been brought to light. That’ll be tomorrow sometime. For now you just have to face it. Nothing happened here before tonight. Disturbing the bones and bringing them here brought the trouble here. So that’s it. No four-legged predator. A two-legged one. And that’s all he wants. He. They. Whatever. I have what it wants.
It? That’s a hell of a concept. Where’d that come from?
I don’t know. But if the shoe fits, wear it. Sure. I have what it wants. Might as well play along.
The village.
Not that again. Why does that keep creeping in? You drove up there on that gut feeling and it’s nothing. Business as usual. They’re churning butter and making clothes and tools and haven’t got a clue. Most of them, anyway.
Yeah, most. But don’t tell me there isn’t one or two that have a clue. They can’t all be choir boys. Every town has its trouble, its screw-ups. Don’t tell me there aren’t a few loose screws hiding out up there. At least one or two.
But would they really keep tabs on the crime scene? That’s a bit much, don’t you think? If they took the old hermit’s hidden money, what else could they want? That’s a long way to travel and few of them actually have snowmobiles. That’s almost half the length of the state.
It …
He took a deep breath and ran his hands over the shotgun across his lap. He exhaled and told himself, I guess you can’t dodge it anymore. No, you can’t. The others went home, like you told them. It’s just you now. So fess up. What came charging through that doorway behind the buck? It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to know. You need to know. What was that?
I don’t know.
You idiot. Just go home. Chalk it up as a loss. Cook a microwave dinner and watch some TV. Everything will be here in the morning. Those old bones aren’t helping you any.
No. To hell with that. You’ve never been a coward or a pushover and you’re not starting now. Thirty-four years on the job. Nothing but respect. You’re not taking a loss now.
Yeah, well, everyone does. Sooner or later we all lose.
Kerry, he thought. She said she saw a bear. Maybe. You know what they’re capable of. How strong they are. Remember that one you watched from a tree stand? That was years ago. Three or four hundred pound animal. Scurried halfway up a huge tree as quickly and effortlessly as a squirrel. Just to get a closer look at you.
Sure. But do they jump onto buildings to terrorize those inside? Do they leave refrigerators in perfect condition after searching them?
Hell no. You know better. You’ve seen what they do when they break into vacant cabins. They don’t open and close doors. They just tear them off like it’s a joke.
But do they play jokes?
Jones stood and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. Walked down the hall to the garage. Opened a bay door and dragged the bag outside. Closed the door again and then dragged the bag around to the front of the building. He propped it against one of the snowbanks lining the walkway. A black bag standing against the white snow. If he placed his chair just right he could see the bag while he sat by the stove.
Take that, he thought and went in the front door of the dark station and shut off the outside spotlight.
Chapter 26
She had won. No blood had been shed. The man was psychologically defeated and the black bag propped against the snow bank was proof. The white flag. He didn’t know what else to do. She had bested him. An experienced veteran of his profession, and she’d bested him rather easily.
Don’t celebrate yet, Erica reminded herself, lying now on her belly in the snow at the tree line. Don’t misstep now. You know Jones will sit there by that window and watch for as long as he can. Until exhaustion and boredom take him. He won’t see clearly or in detail. But he will see movement against the glow of the snow. Give him credit for at least having some sense to offset his ego. You’ve already won but it’s not over yet. It will only be over when he gets in that truck and drives away, or when the sun rises.
Will he quit?
No. Not judging by what I’ve seen. He’s one of those guys that’s developed a long nose for sniffing out trouble and good sense for handling people. Experience. Now that he’s over the fright you gave him, his pride is swelling again. He’s rebuilding his house of cards. Convincing himself that he can handle whatever comes at him. Pride. It brings them all down, sooner or later. Then his experience won’t matter. He’ll be just another fragile two-legged fool, trying to push back against the wind. He’ll destroy himself.
Then she realized the whole truth of the matter with a little start and a pang of guilt. She also was exhibiting unnecessary pride. Right here, right now. She could almost hear Abel telling her so. Accusing her. Giving her an example. There is a time to stand and fight, just as there is a time to withdraw. She’d felt the horrible burn of bullets before. She’d been near death.
It’s his pride against yours now.
Is it worth it?
She lay there for some time thinking. Then just letting go of all conscious thoughts. A half hour passed that way, her mind wandering.
Then, out of nowhere she felt suddenly aware of more than Abel’s accusation of pride. She sensed him. He was following after her. Tracking her more than with his nose. In her mind’s eye she saw quick flashes of his dark bulk rushing through the night. Drawing nearer with each stride.
She whined. It was no good to draw him away from his caribou. He would surely be cross with her now. Enraged. And more, he wasn’t alone. Soon she’d have two elders fretting and scolding her for toying with the wardens. And her sappy cousin treating everything as if life were one big vacation.
You should have thought of all that earlier. You know the wardens are shortsighted. They will only do their jobs, as they see it. So what if some are prideful and foolish? That is no surprise. And you knew they’d find the bones eventually. You even made light of it, wondering each time you returned to them. You knew who was in the plane. You knew what might happen tonight if you chose to follow the female warden here.
But am I in the wrong? Jones should not have gone to the village. He shouldn’t have asked Harold about the dead man. That was a great offense disguised as concern. It was mock concern. An insult. An accusation unspoken. Disguised aggression.
She knew she couldn’t stop all human interference. Deep down, she understood that fact all too well. She’d known for months that a display like that would eventually be found. It would be offensive to them.
So who is wrong? Both sides are offended. There is no explaining to the wardens why some humans must be dealt with harshly. Out of the question. You know better. So why pick this fight? No
good will come of it.
Pride. That is all. Let go of it now. Let the humans destroy themselves with their own pride, while you live on for generations. Save your strength for the unavoidable battles, as the wild animals do. You are already the victor of tonight’s little clash. You’ve had your fun. You scared that girl half to death and you humbled Jones before an audience. He won’t return to the village for some time. Go now and meet the others. Return with them to the village and enjoy company. At least one or two days of feasting remain. Go and eat well and relax. Appreciate the quiet while the sniveling humans whine and cower from the cold. Hiding like two-legged worms.
Standing slowly, she yawned and stretched and pawed away the ice from her face. She sensed no activity from within the station. No strong mood or emotion. The man was either resting quietly or had fallen asleep. There was no point in her staying, so after a long look at the dark building, she turned and loped off easily down the trail. Heading east.
She’d barely gone a hundred yards when she heard a sound behind her. An engine. Deep-treaded truck tires crunching on snow. A quick flash of distant headlights strobed through the tree trunks and then went out. A door opened and closed.
Whirling fast, she lowered herself and slunk back to the tree line. A light came on in the front section of the station. She glanced about, scenting the air, and then crossed the open space and crouched in the shadows below the nearest window.
Kerry was arguing with Jones.
Rage swept through the young wolf like an internal storm. A shiver that began cold in her spine and went warm to hot in all her nerves and muscles. Her crest bristled and her vision went blinding white to red. She growled low from the pit of her belly, her lips involuntarily curling up over her teeth.
I warned you. Was I not fair? Kind, even? I did not have to be. Abel is right. He is always right. There is no dealing with any of you. There is no reasoning to be found and appealed to. No code of honor. Only folly and deceit.
“I’m staying here,” Kerry told Jones. “I don’t care what you say. We’re safer that way.”
“I don’t get it,” he said. “You’re telling me you had an intruder in your place, and you did nothing. Just let her walk out the door. How the hell did you manage that?”
“You know,” she returned.
“Oh yeah?”
“Someone scared you. Bad. Pushed you over and jumped out the window. Dorothy’s gone now so just fess up. You were white as a ghost.”
“Hold on, hold on,” he grumbled. “Get it straight. I didn’t talk to nobody and sure didn’t see any girl. It weren’t no damn kid that knocked me over. Attacked me out of the dark garage. I’ve never been hit like that in my life.”
“Whatever,” she said. “You were scared. Don’t deny it. And I was scared. That’s why she walked out my door. And disappeared, like a phantom.”
“Oh, spare me. You spoke with someone. I was attacked.”
“So was I, outside. When she or he or it came through the broken window. So, it happened. Nothing we can do now but try to figure this thing out.”
It. There it is again, Jones thought. But there was nothing funny about it, as with a Monty Python movie.
He said, “There must be a man and a girl working together.”
“Robert,” she said, almost shouting. “Wake up. This isn’t a prank and you know it. We’re dealing with something we don’t understand. Something beyond us.”
“I’m not listening to this,” he barked. “Now you tell me exactly what happened today when you went out to make that recovery.”
“Nothing,” she answered. “Nothing until I got back here.”
“Absolutely no sign of activity around the scene?”
“No.”
“You saw no one?”
“I barely met anyone all day on the trail. Don’t try to make this my fault.”
Jones looked away and put his hands to his forehead and turned on his feet. Like he wanted to make the world go away. Then he dropped his hands and looked at his reflection in the unbroken window. He took a long step to the light switch. Flicked it off and looked out at the walkway.
The black bag was gone.
“Not your fault?” he said. “Look outside.”
She did.
“You’ve been in here, what, five minutes? Now the bag is gone.”
“I’m calling for help,” Kerry said.
“Lot of good that’ll do.”
“You’ll get yourself killed if you go after that bag,” she said.
Jones ignored her and commenced to bundling himself up to go outside. No way was some college kid going to lecture him on the protocol of his profession.
“Good luck,” she said, turned and walked out, slamming the door.
Jones buttoned his parka and followed her out to get a few parting words.
Chapter 27
She ran awkwardly with the bag of bones. There were loops on the edges and she gripped one with her teeth and moved up the packed trail with the bag dragging and scuffing at her side, her head high and her steps oddly spaced and rhythmed. Like a dog lugging a huge stick.
The bones within meant nothing to her now. Her old concern with the disturbance of the death display was gone. Everything in her now was burning with rage against the wardens. Rage for defying her. For disregarding her warning and her willingness to let the night pass. She was willing to make peace, with lesser beings. They were not willing to oblige. So the stage was set. It was her pride against theirs. Her strength versus theirs.
Some distance into the woods she stopped and tore open the bag. She scattered several bones, leaving a femur in the middle of the trail. Then she resumed a quarter of a mile before going off trail and dispersing the bones into the deep snow, where none but perhaps the porcupines might find them come spring.
You want them, come and take them.
She lay in the snow near the trail and tried to settle herself. Tried to focus and listen carefully. In the distance she could hear voices in the night but not the words. There were sounds of some activity. Beyond her own tension she sensed human anxiety, though faintly from that distance.
A crow began cawing overhead. An ugly, piercing sound. Another answered it and within seconds there were half a dozen of them flitting about the trees and swooping around.
“Go from me!” she warned them. “These bones are old and picked.”
The crows knew this, yet they went on cawing wickedly, on purpose, to annoy and rouse her to make a kill, and thus to provide them with sustenance on this bitterly cold night. In response she finally leapt up, propelled by simmering rage, and nearly knocked one from the air as it swooped over her head.
“I hear only you!” she roared. “Let me hunt.”
The crows went on complaining but withdrew some distance. She could still hear them over the sounds of the humans she was trying to focus on.
Light strobed through the trees. Faintly, from a distance. Noise followed. The argument of voices had given way to sounds of machines. Maybe a truck or a snowmobile. If the wind would only swirl for a moment, she could catch the scent and detect which machine it was from all that distance.
Then it came closer. It was a snowmobile. One, not two. She saw the flash of the single headlight between the trees growing brighter and all the strange shadows it cast amid the night glow of the snow.
The fool, she thought. He will die in this cold on that machine. His pride against mine.
She rose and stepped onto the trail. Dropped the black bag in the center and then turned and darted east. She ran for what felt like a minute before jumping off trail again and hunkering down to wait. Watching. Listening.
The fool came on, just as she knew he would. She saw the headlight and heard him stop and heard the machine idling while he inspected the empty bag in the trail. She sensed his distress. His anger and fear. Most of all, his pride. His stubborn refusal to admit being outmatched.
So predictable. He’ll chase me until he dies. Not becau
se he’s brave. Just too stupid for his own good. Too blind to see that he’s already beaten.
Jones stood by the idling snowmobile and held up the empty bag. He had seen one femur on the trail. Nothing more. Now the empty bag. Where were the rest? Somewhere out in that deep snow, in that frozen darkness beyond the reach of the headlight.
This isn’t funny anymore, he thought. Not that it ever was. But now it’s obvious. Someone wants you to come after them. You know it. You see it. Do you really think you should go along? And Kerry just warned you about the weather. A little clipper from Alberta. Three or four inches of snow. The temperature may rise but so will the wind. Either way, this is no night to be out. You know this better than anyone. You’ve found people dead of exposure in warmer weather than this.
You’re flirting with something bad, he told himself. Maybe you hit your head when you fell in the hall. Maybe that screw that’s always been a little loose came fully loose. You’re playing chase with some foe you don’t understand. And you’re thumbing your nose at the elements. Mother Nature. You’re pushing sixty, old man. Want to miss out on collecting your pension? You think this is wise? You’re no young buck anymore.
But you’ve got the shotgun, he reminded himself. No one will get close to you with that. And you don’t have to chase this guy, or thing, all night. Just go ahead a little. See what you can see.
But maybe you don’t want to see. Maybe you should go back now, while you still can. You can see the game and you should refuse to play. You’ve got more to lose than you’ve to gain. Of that you can be certain.
North Woods Law (The Great North Woods Pack Book 5) Page 12