Green Dreams

by Gary W Ritter

  Jason asked Lizzy, “I got the impression he was with one of the environmental groups—not a freelancer.”

  “That’s always been my understanding. As long as I’ve known him he’s been with…” She trailed off. Under her breath she finally said, “Heck with it. Part of the confidentiality I’ve provided as his group’s attorney is keeping the identity of the group on the Q-T. I don’t care anymore. My firm—I—represent Green Liberation.”

  Jason, along with Ann, stared at Lizzy, their mouths open in dumb surprise. Green Liberation was the group that had claimed credit for the destruction of HoneyCrest.

  Chapter 31

  A number of disconnected conversations and events clicked into place for Jason. Lizzy’s difficulty in revealing what she knew the night HoneyCrest was bombed. Her schizophrenic response to his abduction that night. Her underlying fear, fostered no doubt by the type of people involved in such an organization as Green Liberation.

  “Why?” Jason tried to keep judgment from his voice. It was difficult. After all, Green Liberation killed thirty-seven people in their quixotic attempt to return Honey Mountain to nature. These people weren’t idealists, they were executioners.

  She spread her hands in a supplicating gesture. “One thing led to another, one Green group to another. First there was Greenpeace. It had its share of legal actions against it and, of course, it initiated plenty. But Greenpeace never undertook actions that could be construed as terrorist. Unfortunately, some of its members belonged to radical sects. They liked how I performed my job and my case load expanded. Before I knew it, I was up to my eyeballs in work with ELF, ALF, Green Liberation, and others.”

  “Your law firm approved?” Ann said.

  “Most law firms don’t have much in the way of moral scruples. If there’s money to be made, client confidentiality conceals a wealth of ills. All the partners are on retainer from these groups.”

  “Hmmm.” Ann sat rocking with lips pursed, her thoughts focused inward.

  Jason shrugged when Lizzy questioningly raised her eyebrows at him.

  Ann’s fingers began tapping on the arm of the chair. She said, “Your talk here got me thinking. You wouldn’t think I’d hear much that goes on, living in this hollow by the lake like I do, but you’d be mistaken. People come here with wounded animals and open up on all sorts of different topics while I’m fixing up the poor babies.

  “I’ve had one person come in several times with different animals that had been struck by cars. She’s caring and quite emotional about seeing to their well-being, but she’s made statements that struck me as odd—almost depraved. They were something to the effect that Hitler’s gas chambers could have been put to even better use by eliminating ninety percent of the world’s population and returning the earth to innocence. The combustion engine is one of her favorite rants; what it has wrought—her word, while pointing at the hurt animal on the table as an example of how if we outlawed the automobile this wouldn’t happen. She’s usually all over the map in condemning man and his efforts to destroy the Redwoods, snail darters, Alaskan tundra in the name of Big Oil, you name it.

  “I get all kinds here, but when she hinted that the big mall being built over in Boone might have trouble attracting shoppers if they feared for their lives—she didn’t say how—then I told her I’d prefer she not come anymore because I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. She was surprised and looked hurt, and said she thought I was one of them because of what I did for the animals. Silly woman.”

  On a whim Jason asked, “Would you give me her name and address?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m trying to put two plus two together.”

  Ann eyed him in a knowing manner, saying, “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  A few minutes later Jason and Lizzy said their goodbyes after checking that their deer was still resting well. They knew it was in good hands with Ann and told her so.

  “Come visit again,” she said.

  Upon reaching the main road, Jason turned west to find the woman Ann had spoken of. Having lived in the area for many years Jason was familiar with most of the major roads and many of the smaller ones, although growth and new construction were changing the landscape in numerous ways. Overhead, clouds were gathering in gray mass. On the horizon the blue haze of the mountains had turned black in the wake of the oncoming storm.

  Several miles through the valley, and the original purpose for Jason’s trip returned to him. “You never did tell me about Mary Sue.”

  “No, I was kind of avoiding it,” Lizzy said, watching the sheet of rain sweep over the crest of another mountain.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s unpleasant for both of us.” She hesitated then slowly took his hand from the steering wheel and pressed it to her lips. “I’m sorry earlier that we didn’t…couldn’t…”

  Jason smiled. “Me, too.”

  They rode in silence until Jason found the turnoff to the woman’s property. Lizzy sighed. “I’d better tell you.”

  “That would be good.”

  “I know this woman. As you suspect, she’s active in the Movement, although I’m not sure which group.”

  Jason nodded in confirmation.

  “And, uh…,” Lizzy continued, “this is awkward…for both of us. This woman—her name is Heather—she’s, well, she’s a good friend of Mary Sue’s.”

  The wind seemed to leave Jason all at once, but he was puzzled. “Why is this awkward for you?”

  Lizzy opened her mouth once, but nothing came out. She tried again. “Mary Sue is the woman with whom Moriarty was cheating.”

  Chapter 32

  With the sky blackening overhead, an imposing Victorian house swelled into view. It was framed on one side by a copse of woods and on the other by a hillside cemetery, one of many that dotted the North Carolina countryside. These local graveyards didn’t favor poverty or wealth, sitting alongside ramshackle cabins and magnificent mansions alike. The people in this mountainous region wanted their departed relatives near and there was no better way.

  The house was fronted by artfully landscaped flower gardens, bursting with a rainbow of blooms from which emanated the sweet smell of honeysuckle. The hum of bees darting in and out of the blossoms amplified the beauty of the idyllic setting.

  The sound of an axe striking wood rang from behind the house. It was followed in quick succession by three more. They parked and walked around, passing a profusion of rose bushes that threatened to engulf the entire first floor. Yellow, pink, white, and red roses massed upward and out forcing Jason and Lizzy to skirt wide to avoid the thorns. Their fragrance was overpowering.

  A man’s shirtless back was toward them, perspiration staining his cutoff jeans in a dark vee. Slender, but roped with muscle, he brought the upraised axe down, biting into the log resting on the chopping block and split it with the single stroke. Something alerted him, and he turned to face his visitors. Sweaty strands of his wild blond hair fell over his eyes. He shrugged them away in an habitual gesture.

  The two men recognized each other at the same time. The man with the axe said, “Well, I’ll be.”

  Jason said, “You!”

  In that moment Jason saw that the man was Tenor, one of the two who had abducted him that winter night, and more importantly, was an accessory to the depredations inflicted on his daughter. He was also responsible for the child’s foot that had been sent to Jason.

  It made him seethe with uncontrolled rage. He wanted to knee the man in the groin while choking the life from his scrawny neck. Jason’s desire to sprint forward to enact such a measure was hampered, however, by the fact of the axe in Tenor’s hands. Instead, Jason drew his pistol and leveled it. Only his training and strong will prevented him from pulling the trigger and drilling a hole through where his heart supposedly resided. Jason said, “Drop the axe and put your hands up.”

  “No way!” Tenor said, holding the axe in a defensive position across his chest. “You got no right.”

  “I�
��ve got all the right in the world.”

  “You’re trespassing, man. Get out of here before I call the police.”

  Lizzy stepped between the two men. “Stop it, both of you! Jason, you won’t get what you came for if you take this man down. Art, you’re treading on dangerous water. I’m not your personal attorney, but I advise you to cooperate.”

  The adversaries glared at each other. In the back of Jason’s mind, the implication of Lizzy’s entreaty gnawed at him; she knew the man.

  In the next moment he forgot his concerns as Tenor—Art—said, “What do you want?”

  “Are you that stupid?” Jason asked.

  Art bristled at that. “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “You’re a kidnapper. You abuse children. You’re holding my daughter whom your friend raped. You’re exploiting her children. You cut off one of their feet! That succinct enough for you?” Adrenalin and hate were cycling through Jason so fast that his whole body shook. A red mist clouded his vision. He vaguely sensed that his teeth hurt from the grinding pressure he was exerting on them.

  Lizzy’s cheeks reddened when she heard Jason’s accusations. Her lips tightened, and she had to look toward the cemetery. Art was shaking his head. He was about to speak when the rear door of the house burst open, and a woman in a pink sweat suit hurried out with a naked child on her hip. The baby’s hair was dark and thick. Its face was buried in the woman’s breast making its sex indeterminate.

  The woman was indignant. “Who do you think you are? I heard what you said. How dare you come here and accuse Art of those terrible things!”

  Trying to regain a measure of control, Jason said to Lizzy, “Is this the one who’s friends with Mary Sue?”

  “Hello, Heather,” Lizzy said.

  “How could you bring such an awful man to my house?” she demanded.

  Lizzy said, “He’s got some issues with Art. And he wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Me?” Heather responded. “What could he possibly want with me?”

  “He’s Mary Sue’s ex-husband.”

  Heather frowned. “So what?”

  The fury remained, but Jason was gaining a handle on it. He jumped in gesturing toward Art. “This man, is he your husband, Ms.…?”

  “Avery. No, Art and I aren’t married.”

  “What’s your last name, Art?”

  The man glowered at Jason muttering, “I ain’t telling you squat.”

  “Okay. Heather Avery and Mr….Squat. Ms. Avery, are you saying you aren’t aware of the activities that Art, Mr. Squat, has been engaged in?”

  “My name isn’t Squat,” Art protested.

  “Who are you to ask these questions?” Avery demanded.

  Still holding his Ruger, Jason fished in his back pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal the IRS badge.

  Heather peered at it and color drained from her face. “IRS? We paid our taxes last year.”

  “I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division, ma’am. Mr. Squat is a suspect in an ongoing investigation, and you, Ms. Avery, may have material information. Now, will you answer a few questions?”

  “Blast you. My name is Kerry, Art Kerry, and we’re not saying a word without our attorney.”

  “Ah, Mr. Kerry,” Jason said with a lilt of cynical cheer in his voice, “how nice of you to introduce yourself.”

  Large drops of cold rain began to spatter on them. Less than half a mile away a solid line of precipitation was moving toward them.

  “We can do this out here or in your house,” Jason said. “Which is it?”

  The man and woman gave each other lowering glances, their mouths pinched. The wind rose in a swooping rush that rattled the eaves of the house. That quickly, the downpour started in earnest, and Heather Avery said, “All right. Come in.”

  ***

  The naked child was older than Jason had thought. Inside the woman put it—him—down on the floor and he immediately began toddling through the kitchen from object to object, staying on his feet by some miracle of balance and determination. The house had an unpleasant order of stale urine, instantly identifiable when the little boy made use of his miniature equipment. The mother ignored the puddle for several minutes, only cleaning it up when the child circled back toward it.

  The kitchen table and the counters were stacked with papers. A glance into the dining and living rooms told him that the various surfaces in those rooms suffered the same fate. From the look of the material, the place reminded Jason of a campaign headquarters for the Green Party. The literature dealt with environmental issues of all kinds. Jason picked up one piece and read:

  Our forests are suffering from gross mismanagement. Old growth trees are being destroyed. Large swaths of land are being rendered barren and useless. Due to the ignorant and willfully hostile actions of the Department of the Interior under the current Republican Administration, Mother Earth is being decimated by logging interests that have no desire other than to make a fat buck. Capitalistic enterprises around the world are the bane of our existence and will eventually make this planet a wasteland. Join us, your friends and neighbors, in our love and protection of this treasure beneath our feet and all around us that we call our home. Protest the terrible injustices inflicted upon our greatest friend. Protest the loggers. Keep them from their prizes. Protect our Mother. Uproot the bureaucrats in Washington who would allow these evil people to take the life of even one tree. Join us. Make our world a better place for all.

  It listed a time and place for a rally.

  “Put that down!” Art Kerry said, pulling on a blue denim shirt.

  Jason took his time in complying. “Busy in the Movement are we, Art?”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Avery said. She had busied herself with straightening one of the piles, more or less ignoring the toddler who gleefully bounced off table legs and chairs like a human bumper car. He squatted and left a yellowish-brown pile on the stained hardwood floor, bent over to peer at it, and was about to take a full-handed grab when Art Kerry turned him around and pushed him in another direction.

  “Take care of this,” he demanded of the mother.

  Wind-driven rain pounded against the window panes. Jason weighed which might be the worst place to be, inside or out. From the expression on Lizzy’s face, he thought she may have similar feelings. “Never been here before?”

  Her disgust evident, Lizzy shook her head. She had said she knew Heather Avery, but maybe not all that well. Good.

  “Ms. Avery,” Jason said, trying again what he’d started outside, “what do you know of Mary Sue Ruger?”

  She was disposing of the remains from the leavings on the floor and casually said, “Ruger? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “She goes by Calloway,” Lizzy said.

  Mary Sue’s maiden name. He repeated his question using the correct name.

  “Oh, her. She’s a friend.”

  “Where does she live?”

  The woman licked her lips. “I don’t know.”

  She was lying. “Are you protecting her from something?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “What’s your relationship with her?”

  “What do mean? Like are we lesbian lovers?”

  “Why are you living with a man who abuses children?”

  “This is crazy. You come here making wild accusations. You’ve got no proof. You don’t have a warrant. I’ve had enough. Get out of here.” Avery pointed toward the door.

  “Heather,” Lizzy said, “don’t be stupid. Quit being so difficult. Answer his questions.”

  Kerry jumped in. “You got nothin’ on us, neither one of us. If I hear any more slander out of you, Mr. IRS, I’m gonna sue you until I bleed you dry.”

  There wasn’t much Jason could do, especially since he wasn’t officially working on the case anymore. He ground his teeth, seething, helpless to take down this scumbag and his filthy woman. Talk about child abuse. He won
dered how their kid would turn out given the evident lack of responsible parenting. No guidelines, no rules—Jason could just picture the result: another anarchist let loose on the world.

  Without another word, he took Lizzy’s arm and guided her through the front door into the rain.

  Chapter 33

  Once Jason turned the car onto the main road, he pounded the steering wheel three times in silent rebuke to himself.

  “What?” Lizzy asked. “What is it?”

  “I really screwed up.” He pulled quickly over and backed into the bushes, tucking the car out of sight from the road.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jason held up a finger. “Let’s talk for a couple minutes. I’ve put my daughter and her kids in danger. They warned me if I messed with them, I’d regret it. I already do.” Jason was so angry and frustrated and fearful for Marcy he didn’t know what to do. That he would run into Tenor was the last thing he expected. Mr. Art Kerry now had a wonderful excuse to retaliate, and Jason had little reason to believe that he wouldn’t.

  Lizzy frowned. “What’s with your daughter and her kids?”

  “I never told you about them, did I?” He needed to get his head together. It wasn’t the time for muddled thinking, regardless of his stupidity. “All right, let’s go through this and get it straight.”

  “Talk to me,” Lizzy said. “I’m here to help.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He breathed deeply and forced his mind to work.

  First, he recounted his Christmas abduction after Lizzy let him out at his parent’s house, giving her the details.

  She looked at him in horror as the implications of how Marcy and the children were being manipulated became clear. Her jaw tightened at the telling as she saw the depth of Art Kerry’s involvement. “No wonder you were so angry at him.” She shook her head. “All right, go on, give me the rest.”

  Jason nodded, and continued. “These people are heavily involved in the environmental movement. Nobody keeps that much propaganda around unless they live and breathe the stuff. Heather Avery is a friend of Mary Sue, who’s a key player. We know this from my marriage to her and from your legal and personal experiences. She rose quickly in the ranks even when we were married, and from your investigations, it’s apparent she has a major say in several of the cause’s governing bodies, including Green Liberation.”