Nevada Barr - Anna Pigeon 05 - Endangered Species

by Endangered Species(lit)

  Oblivious of fire ants and the wiquitous ticks, Dot and Mona sat nearby on the ground, Flicka butting first one, then the other in successful bids for attention.

  "Quite a crowd," Anna remarked as she and Dijon pulled over into the shade.

  "Best show in town," Guy drawled." Where are the two of you headed? A] and Rick have gone north along the beach." It wasn't really a question. Guy had a laid-back management style. He was merely checking his troop deployment.

  "We thought we'd do the same but stay inland," Anna answered dutifully.

  "Sounds good." He loosed a stream of tobacco juice politely downwind of the ladies.

  "Where's Tabby?" Anna asked Lynette.

  "At the apartment. Marty's helping her pack up some of Todd's stuff."

  Dijon made face; a mime depicting comedic surprise. The helpful domestic scene struck Anna as unlikely too but she didn't say anything.

  A minute or two was ticked off by the incessant clack of cicadas.

  "I wish something would break," Guy said." Rain, wind, fire, any damn thing. I swear ain't nothing changed since we got here but me.

  I'm a damn sight older, I can tell you that."

  "You don't want wind or rain," Lynette teased him." You want fire. You're such an old fire horse, you'll die and go to hell and think you've landed in heaven."

  "If it's burnin' I'll put it out," Guy bragged inoffensively, and won another laugh from the young interpretive ranger.

  "Have you guys worked together before?" Anna asked on impulse.

  "Three project fires," Guy said." Okefenokee once, and Big Cypress twice. Lynette here's one of the best fire dispatchers in the business."

  Anna filed that bit of information away. Because they were transitory, not connected to the island in any visceral sense, she hadn't considered anyone on fire crew to be a suspect in the sabotage of the Beechcraft. Naive: all worlds were small worlds, circling their own tiny suns and evolving their own forms of intelligent life." Did you ever work a fire with Slattery Hammond?" she asked abruptly.

  As heavy-handed as the question was, Guy didn't seem alarmed by it. Either he was ready and had rehearsed his answer or the idea of his being connected to the man's death was as far from his mind as it had been from Anna's.

  "I don't think I have. He may've flown bird dog on some fire I worked out west. That'd make sense if he's been in the business long. Pilots don't mix with grunts. Liable to get those snazzy orange flight suits dirty."

  Anna sighed. If every man who'd ever fought fire or had a crush on Lynette Wagner had to be questioned, her life's work was cut out for her. Time to narrow down the possibilities at least by one.

  "Be back in a minute," she said to no one in particular, and wandered across the dusty road toward the airstrip. The instant she stepped out of the shade, the sun slapped across her shoulders, pressing hot fabric against her skin. Plowing through the miasma of heat, eyes to the ground, Wayne and Shorty were showing the effects of it. Both had sweat pouring from beneath their caps and Shorty's face was a lovely heatstroke red.

  Alice Utterback was as cool and unperturbed as ever. Anna fell in step beside her and stared at the ground just as if she knew what they were looking for.

  "C,lews, dontcha know, clews," Alice volunteered without being asked." The odds are a zillion to one we'll turn up anything useful, but this has got to be the place our buddy detached the actuator rod. I figured we'd better give it the once-over on principle. Who knows, maybe the guy dropped his wallet."

  "Why do you say 'guy'?"

  "Just a figure of speech. An equal-opportunity guy."

  It wasn't much of an opening but Anna decided to push her way I 9 I in. "Speaking of which, rumor has it Hammond had a case filed against you."

  " Among others."

  Silence, embarrassed on Anna's part, fell between them." Could it have ruined your career?" she asked finally.

  Alice stopped and looked up. The patch on her lower lip that she'd been fingering during the investigation of the wreck had blossomed into the promised cold sore." Probably the sun," she said, as if she felt Anna's eyes on the unsightly blister." It tends to bring the horrid things out." Mirrored aviator's glasses obscured Utterback's eyes and Anna was uncomfortably aware she could be staring at her, reading her face.

  "Hammond ruin my career?" Utterback said thoughtfully.

  "He'd've had to hurry. I retire next January. I've got a ranch to run.

  Could he have left a bad taste in my mouth if he'd gotten as ugly as I think he had the potential to? Sure. Nobody likes to lose. I wouldn't wish death on anybody, but if somebody had to go, I can't say as I'm sorry it was Stattery Hammond.

  "Besides"-she smiled and returned to her survey of the sere grasses beneath their feet-"I've got an alibi. Me and Shorty and Wayne are the only ones who weren't on the island when the Beech Was tampered with."

  " Am I that transparent?"

  "Like glass. I could have sent some flunky down to do it. There are people for that," Alice offered.

  "That would be thoughtful. You were my favorite suspect. I liked the vigilante justice of it."

  "Me kill Hammond... I must say there's an appeal there.

  Killing a government employee has got to be less complicated than firing one. Nah," she concluded after a moment's deliberation." I don't think I could bring myself to screw up a perfectly good airplane. Were I to embark on a life of crime, i'd do it for cash, not revenge. I'd hire only women and only those of a certain agesomewhere between forty and ninety-women with sedans, credit cards, and salon-styled hair. Drugs, white slavery, gun-running-you name it-we could take over the market. Nobody would suspect us of a thing. Least of all of having initiative and a brain in our heads."

  "It's something to think about if the ranching doesn't work out," Anna said.

  "Mmm. I did get some info back from the lab," Alice went on.

  "Not that it sheds any light on the matter. They analyzed the'contents of the plastic bags we found in the outboard fuel tanks. Now here's a question for a trained investigator: They were sandwich bags. What do you figure they were found to have contained at one time?"

  " Sandwiches?"

  "On the nose." Alice tapped the end of that feature with a stubby finger." Traces of a substance that was probably mayonnaise and a bread crumb or two."

  "Weird." If silence tokens agreement, Alice Utterback agreed.

  "Your end of the investigation is about finished," Anna said." How much longer will you be staying on?"

  "Not much if I'm reading the signs right. I was over to the Hulls' for dinner last night. Unspoken rule: Lesser brass has greater brass home to dinner the first and last nights of detail. Maybe he knows something I don't. Nice wife. His kid's a piece of work, though."

  " Alice!"

  The women looked up. It was Shorty who'd hollered. Looking apoplectic from the heat, he was mopping his brow with a blue handkerchief." We about done?"

  "All done," Alice said." We're beating our heads against a brick wall here."

  Alice stuck out her hand to Anna." In case I don't see you again , she explained." It's been good working with you."

  "Likewise." Anna shook hands briefly, feeling less ridiculous than usual performing the ritual.

  "I'm sorry I didn't kill Slattery."

  "That's all right," Anna said generously." It was just a thought."

  Plum Orchard was on their way to the north end. Anna said she needed to stop and pick up something she'd forgotten, but it was just an excuse to check on Tabby.

  The widow was comfortably ensconced on the sofa under the icy blast of the air conditioner, directing the marine biologist's efforts. Marty, dressed this time in khaki shorts and a black tank top, her white braids loose around her face, was boxing books. Both seemed sane, sober, and constructively occupied, so Anna left them to it.

  "Maybe Schlessinger's got a heart of gold under all that dead meat," Dijon said when they'd left.

  Anna just grunted. She wasn't in the mo
od to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

  "At least she wasn't fucked up," Dijon said, and: "Excuse my French."

  Anna nodded an acceptance of the apology.

  "You sure she was last time?" Dijon asked.

  "I'm sure. But what the hell? It was her day off."

  "Want to take another look at the wreck?" he asked hopefully.

  Anna shook her head." Be that way," he said. Pulling a Walkman from his yellow pack, he effectively entered another dimension.

  Anna was glad to be left alone with her thoughts, though they were scarcely entertaining. Vague disquiet was the underlying theme regardless of whether she contemplated her personal life or the tangled web somebody was weaving on Cumberland Island. If the knot on her head and the slashes behind her shoulder blades were any indication, a web she'd stumbled into.

  When Anna was in her teens and Molly in her early twenties, they'd been addicted to true crime stories and would while away long car trips trying to plan the perfect murder. There was always a hitch. With this one Anna couldn't find that hitch. The murder weapon-the separated actuator rod-could have been put in place at any time over a sixty-two-hour period. The Beech was tied down in the open in a relatively secluded field. Practically everybody had opportunity. Two men were killed, so motive was stretched thin.

  Means was a little narrower. Not everyone was possessed of the know -how to disable a twin-engine airplane. But given enough effort, most information is available. There was pathetically little to go on. Norman Hull had called in the county sheriff and he and a local FBI agent had visited the site, but nothing had come of it. They could add nothing to what Utterback had already discovered.

  Had the deaths been the end of it, Anna suspected whoever had done it would get off scot-free. Statistics were in their favor. A majority of murders went unsolved. The attack on herself and the truck suggested removing Hammond and Beffore hadn't proven the final solution the perpetrator had hoped for. Somewhere on the island was a loose end. If she could find it before it was tied Off, she would find her man-or woman, she reminded herself. Equal opportunity.

  A break in the flickering tunnel of trees brought her out of her reverie. Mitch Hanson's grader was pulled off the road, the driver nowhere in sight. Concentrating on the configurations of clearing and trees, Anna reoriented herself. They'd been on the road a quarter of an hour or more. That would put them just north of where the plane went in, east of the loggerheads' nesting area. She stopped the truck, tapped Dijon, and pointed. When he removed his headset, she said: "Hanson's grader."

  "So? Maybe he's taking a piss."

  "Want to mess with him?"

  She didn't have to ask twice. Hey, it was something to do. Haying completed the ritual toxification of boots and trouser cuffs against social-climbing ticks, they walked into the woods on the opposite side of the road from where the grader was parked. This far north, the road ran along the edge of navigable land. To the west, hidden by dense undergrowth and trees, Brickhill River meandered through the salt marshes that formed the western half of Cumberland Island National Seashore. Eastward, toward open ocean, were two miles of maritime woods, a designated wilderness area uncut by roads or trails.

  Pleasurably aware of the soft duff beneath her feet and the simple joy of her own body's motion, Anna walked with Dijon under the canopy of live oaks. They walked without talking. It lent the exercise a needed touch of tension, and if they actually hoped to catch Hanson in a more compromising activity than merely zipping his fly, it would help to come upon him unawares.

  Much of the way was blocked by undergrowth. They could have pushed through the copses had they chosen to, but a knowledge of the creatures dwelling therein dissuaded them. In addition to the Golden Orb spiders, the protected thickets were rich with the scurrying of rodents and hence a favorite haunt of the island's rattlesnake population. Anna didn't mind the enforced circuitousness of the route. If Mitch had half the cunning and sloth his fellows attributed to him, he would also have followed the path of least resistance.

  Temperatures climbed to close to a hundred degrees. Even their slow and easy progress brought on a sweat. The trickle undk,r her hair felt like the creep of six-legged beasties and, for the first time in years, Anna contemplated cutting her hair off. The heat, the work, and the washing were getting to be less of a trade-off for the occasional compliment. For a second or two she dared hope vanity, like puberty, was something one eventually outgrew.

  "Here's our pal," Dijon whispered. Anna stopped at his shoulder and listened to the crunch of approaching footsteps. They'd been walking for twenty minutes. At a rough estimate it would put them just less than a mile into the woods. No great distance in the scheme of things, but a trifle ambitious for a man of Hanson's age and girth.

  " Long ways to go for a pee." Dijon echoed her thoughts.

  The whisper of crushed leaves that heralded the man's approach gave way to the man himself. He pushed clear of the grabby fronds of a palmetto and started across the clearing in their general direction.

  "Gun," Anna murmured. Dijon tensed beside her. It was the magic word at FLETC, the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, located an hour or so away in Glynco, Georgia.

  " Got it," Dijon breathed.

  Hanson carried a Marlin 30-30 on his right shoulder, his elbow crooked familiarly over the stock. Maybe Marty hadn't been lying about hearing the shot that wounded the Austrian, but simply suffered confusion as to when and how many. This would be about where Shawna, the Austrian's girlfriend, had placed them-between Lake Whitney and the road. A 30-30 wouldn't have done as much damage as a shotgun but most hunters owned and used more than one weapon.

  Slung over Hanson's left shoulder was a burlap bag filled with lumps. Poking out from the tied-up neck of the sack was the handle of a small folding shovel.

  "Saint Nick's evil twin," Dijon said, and Anna smiled.

  In a moment Hanson would see them. To dispel the idea they were lurking and spying, Anna stepped out of the brush and hollered. Mitch looked up at the sound of his name. What could have been furtiveness-or just the alarm of being hailed when it wasn't expected- flickered across his face. A suffusing of bonhomie replaced it almost instantaneously. He changed course, stumping toward them waggling the fingers of the hand balancing the rifle as if seeing them was the biggest treat he could imagine.

  " Nice gun," Dijon said.

  "Rifle," Hanson amended." This is my rifle, this is my gun." He gestured toward his crotch." One is for fighting, one is for fun."

  Ex-military. Anna had forgotten.

  " Hunting?" Dijon asked.

  Hanson raised both palms-a neat trick considering his burdens-in mock surrender." You got me. Don't shoot." He winked at Anna." You can cuff me though, if you promise to frisk me afterward."

  Their lack of response didn't dampen his spirits one whit." I've got a permit to shoot pigs," he said." They eat pygmy oaks. One of Norman's pet-endangered weeds. Don't noise it about. You'll have every bleeding heart in the country screaming we're murdering Wilbur."

  Dijon looked confused.

  "Like Babe but older," Anna explained.

  Dijon shook his head disgustedly." What's the younger generation coming to?" he said for her.

  "Any luck?" Anna asked, eyeing the sack he carried. There were no signs of blood on the burlap and the lumps were distinctly unpiglike.

  Not today, he said.

  "What have you got in the bag?" she asked casually.

  Harison laid a finger alongside his nose and winked in a practiced manner." Things to make little girls ask questions."

  Anna winced." You want I should kill him?" Dijon asked.

  "Yes please. What do you have in the bag?" she asked again.

  "For me to know and you to find out," he said. Again the wink.

  Anna was beginning to think it was a habitual disarmament technique. It set her teeth on edge.

  " Can I look?"

  "Got a warrant?" Hanson lost none of his good humor
but the joke was over. He wasn't going to share the secrets of the sack and there wasn't a damn thing Anna could do about it. Not legally, anyway." Where y'all headed?" Hanson's bright blue eyes flitted from Dijon's face to Anna's." You're a ways back. Spot a smoke?"

  "No such luck," Anna said." I'm beginning to think Cumberland is fireproof."

  "Hot day for taking in the sights," Hanson pressed." But I'd take it as an honor to show you around."

  For whatever reason, he was determined not to leave them on their own in what was apparently his neck of the woods.