Beech Mountain Breeze

by Ed Robinson

  “I realize you didn’t know the hermit’s story,” she said. “But you’ve had a soft spot for him from the beginning. It’s a little bit eerie.”

  “I did sympathize with him,” I said. “But I let my ego drive me to find him. I had to prove that I was better than him. I almost regret that now.”

  “He knows something that will help us solve a murder,” she said. “You did the right thing.”

  “Imagine,” I said. “Rich banker dude stealing canned goods to survive. Shitting in a bucket. Hasn’t shaved in years. Probably wouldn’t trade it for his old life at this point.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know,” she said. “Would you go back to your old life given a chance?”

  “No way in hell,” I said. “Not even if you could come with me.”

  “What’s that tell us about the man now?” she said. “How’s he going to react?”

  “He’ll want to stay hidden,” I said. “No doubt about it.”

  “So how do we entice him to cooperate?”

  “We’ve got to give him a way out,” I said. “Help him escape afterward if necessary.”

  “We don’t have that kind of authority,” she said. “We can’t promise him anything.”

  “I don’t need anyone’s permission to help him,” I countered. “To hell with the law. If he wants to roam free, I’ll see that it happens.”

  “Why didn’t I see that coming?” she said. “Aiding and abetting a fugitive won’t help your relationship with the cops around here.”

  “Solving a murder will.”

  I was glad to have Brody with me when we pulled into the parking lot of the Avery County Sheriff’s office. I hoped that Angelina would behave appropriately in her presence. I also hoped that any friction between the two women would be minimal. I wasn’t up for a catfight. I tried not to show my hesitation as I held the door open for Brody to enter. The greetings were cordial enough. Angelina played it cool and welcomed us both into her office. Brody took charge right away.

  “We know the identity of the Beech Mountain Hermit,” Brody said. “Breeze has spoken to the man. Highway Patrol knows this information. Where are we with the Chief’s son?”

  “I’d be interested to know who our hermit is,” Angelina said.

  “Tell us about Zack first,” Brody said.

  “He’s an impudent little prick,” Angelina said. “If that was a crime he’d be behind bars, but I’ve got nothing to tie him to the dead girl.”

  “Lack of evidence,” I said. “But what’s your gut tell you?”

  “I don’t think he was evasive,” she said. “He acted like my questions were beneath him, that the idea of him being involved was ludicrous.”

  “And you believed him?” Brody asked.

  “Without any evidence, I had no choice,” she said. “There was nothing at that cabin from the girl: no blood, no hairs, no nothing. Surveillance didn’t put him with the girl at the resort. Staff didn’t place him with her either. I wish things were different, but we’ve got nothing on him.”

  “How did he gain entry?” I asked.

  “He was there with his parents at some point,” she said. “Swiped a key on his way out. Came back as soon as the homeowners left and replaced it after he made himself a copy.”

  “Is there no criminal statute to cover that scenario?” I asked.

  “Given the friendly nature of their relationship to the Chief, it’s hardly a crime worth pursuing,” she said. “I’ll let the families hash that out.”

  “So we’re all supposed to agree that his unauthorized entry into that house at the time of the murder is just a coincidence?” I asked.

  “Evidence, Breeze,” she said. “I’ve got to have evidence. Without that he’s not a suspect at this time.”

  “What if I gave you a witness that saw him dumping the body?” I asked.

  “Do you have such a witness?”

  “I don’t know, maybe,” I said. “I believe our hermit saw something. He’s reluctant to come forward. Do you have a decent picture of Zack I can show him?”

  “We didn’t book him,” she said. “But he’s all over social media.”

  “We don’t have access to the internet,” Brody said. “It’s a Breeze thing.”

  “Let me look him up for you,” Angelina said. “Just give me a minute.”

  I wasn’t a total troglodyte when it came to the internet. I’d once used Facebook to find relatives of a Cuban girl I’d brought into the States illegally. She had family in Baltimore, which is where I eventually took her. Brody had been fully immersed in devices when we’d first met. Some bad actors had used that to track us, and I was nearly killed as a result. Since that incident, I’d forbidden use of the internet in our lives, unless it was an anonymous trip to the library. Too many eyes and ears were watching.

  Within minutes Angelina had a Facebook profile and several gaming apps that showed clear pictures of Zack. She printed us out a few of the better ones and handed them to us. She asked if we wanted a copy of his driver’s license, but I didn’t think it was necessary.

  “Given enough time, I can show you what websites he frequents, how much porn he watches, and what TV shows he likes,” said Angelina.

  “Too much information,” I said. “Unless we can confirm that he’s a suspect.”

  “I’ve been all over this guy,” Angelina said. “I don’t see him having what it takes to kill a girl.”

  “Maybe it was an accident,” I said. “Without guts, he couldn’t admit it.”

  “Bring me the evidence.”

  I had no evidence to bring her. I hoped that the hermit would identify Zack as the killer, or as the person who dumped her body. That was the only likely result. Otherwise we were chasing our tail. We said our polite goodbyes and promised to keep each other apprised to any new findings.

  “She is beautiful,” said Brody. “Seems damn smart too.”

  “Not as pretty or as smart as you,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Brody said. “She’s younger than me, still working in the field. Makes me miss those days.”

  “How many times did you use your looks to your advantage while you were at the FBI?” I asked. “I’m not a woman, so I don’t know how that works. Is it a big deal?”

  “Knowing when it’s appropriate is the thing,” she said. “It works better with suspects than with fellow officers. It’s still a man’s club as far as I’m concerned. Women agents aren’t taken seriously to this day.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a modern government agency at all,” I said. “Where’s the political correctness and equal opportunity?”

  “The FBI is outside normal government standards,” she said. “Trust me on that. No female agent is going to expose harassment. Her career would be over.”

  “Were you ever harassed?”

  “All the time,” she said. “It’s practically a rite of passage for women, but then I got involved with someone, and it stopped.”

  “Let’s get back on topic,” I said. “Miss Will says our boy Zack is not the killer. What do you think?”

  “I didn’t interview him,” she answered. “But the woman seems competent. I can only take her word for it.”

  “If we eliminate the Chief’s son then we have no suspects at all,” I said.

  “Ask the hermit,” she replied. “That’s all we have left.”

  We had one reluctant witness, and we didn’t know what he’d seen. It was left to me to convince him to talk, but with no real incentive. He didn’t know the dead girl. He likely didn’t know who he’d seen by the lake that night. All I could do was take him the pictures of Zack and keep my fingers crossed. I could be his friend all day and make him promises with no end, but if he couldn’t identify Zack as the killer, there was no point in exposing him. I was starting to lose hope. There was no way I’d get the hermit to come forward if the person he saw was not Zack. We’d be back to square one. I’d invested too much of myself in this mystery to give
up, but I wouldn’t know which way to turn if the hermit couldn’t help.

  Fourteen

  The Beech Mountain Hermit was Tyler Scott, a former bank executive. His daughter had taken over his estate after having him declared dead. He’d dropped off the face of the Earth after his wife was killed in an auto accident. He lived in the wilderness now, but he made his way by taking what he needed from vacant seasonal homes in the resort area. His deeds were well known amongst the locals, who’d elevated him to mythical status in the embellished retellings of the story.

  Even I had exaggerated the man in my mind. He wasn’t quite the grizzled mountain survivalist that I’d imagined him to be. He had a crude, but serviceable shelter with enough amenities to keep him comfortable. His real skill was never being seen. He was more of a cat burglar than anything, sneaking around in the dark to collect his loot. He’d been wise to never steal anything of real value. What would he do with it anyway? Jewelry and other valuables were of no use to him. Anyone who owned a second home wouldn’t miss a blanket, warm sweater, or some canned food.

  As far as the girl’s murder, we had no evidence whatsoever. The time her body had spent at the bottom of the lake had erased any clues. Zack’s visit to the home of family friends didn’t appear to have any connection to her death. It had only served to paralyze the Beech Mountain Police Chief from taking further action. The only thread we had left to pull was the hermit. Tyler Scott was our only hope. It was up to me to discover what he knew, if anything.

  I thought about it for the rest of that day and into the night. The hermit had alluded to knowing something about the girl’s death. There was no doubt that he could provide some piece of information about that night, physical description, car make and model, anything that we could work with. He could do that without actually being a witness, if we could use what he provided to find the killer, and garner some other corroborating evidence.

  Then there was the ultimate question of justice. There was a killer out there someplace walking free. Someone had killed the girl and disposed of her body. She didn’t fall and bust her head and end up in that lake on her own. The notion of justice had to appeal to Tyler Scott. He wasn’t born a hillbilly moonshiner with a hatred for cops. He’d been at the peak of society, a gentleman of some means. Certainly, he’d want her killer brought to justice.

  I toyed with the idea of taking Brody and Red with me into the wilderness to talk to him, but dismissed it. This was all up to me. He might not want to talk in front of Brody. He might disappear when he saw or heard the dog coming. Nope, I was going back alone, armed with only some snapshots of Zach and a faint feeling of hope.

  I’d found a closer place to park the car while studying the maps for the umpteenth time. I’d be covering new turf, but I felt that coming in from a new direction might be helpful. I wanted to stay one step ahead of the hermit at all times, just in case. I traveled light, carrying bear spray and my pistol along with a few bottles of water. I made good time by not concentrating on every small detail along the way. I had a goal in mind, and I worked steadily towards it. I didn’t slow down and exercise much caution until I got close to his hidden lair.

  I stopped and listened after crossing the grassy trail. Before entering the tunnel, I tried to pick up on any movement or smells from his camp. I hoped not to smell him taking a crap again. I started a slow crawl towards the hidden curtain concealing his hideout. I heard silverware on a cast iron pan. I smelled something cooking. He was cooking breakfast. I tried to distinguish the smell of his meal but couldn’t place it. I crawled on, knowing that he was home.

  I didn’t want to startle him too bad, so before I poked my head through the last curtain, I announced my presence.

  “It’s Breeze,” I said. “Permission to enter?”

  “Come on in,” he replied. “Didn’t cook enough for two though.”

  “I’ve already eaten,” I said. “But you go ahead.”

  “I marinated this squirrel all night long,” he said. “Kind of looking forward to it.”

  “Marinated?”

  “In a Ziplock bag so the bears wouldn’t smell it,” he said. “Nice Pinot Grigio from up on the mountain.”

  “Living large,” I said. “I’ve only had squirrel fried, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Flour and breading won’t keep out here,” he said. “Can’t waste the oil to deep fry. Mostly I saute. Swipe a stick of butter now and then if I’ve got something to cook. Otherwise, it’s mostly cans.”

  “I ate out of cans for a solid year,” I said. “Along with whatever fish I could catch.”

  “You fish up here?”

  “This was in Florida,” I told him. “After my wife died I disappeared into the mangroves to live in solitude.”

  He gave me an odd look, but didn’t respond at first. He scratched his chin and thought about what I’d just told him.

  “Did you make that up?” he asked. “Because I don’t care to be trifled with.”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth,” I said. “Something similar happened to you.”

  “So you know who I am,” he said. “Or used to be.”

  “Tyler Scott,” I said. “Banking big-wig, former man about town.”

  “How’d you figure it out?”

  “We collected DNA and fingerprints the first time we were here,” I said. “Your DUI gave you away. Still an outstanding warrant, by the way, but no one is looking for you.”

  “Except you,” he said. “Doesn’t matter who I used to be. That’s all behind me now. It’s long gone.”

  “I apologize for violating your privacy here,” I said. “But I’m convinced you can help solve a murder.”

  “You certainly are resourceful,” he said. “Who are you? You’re not a cop. Private detective or something?”

  “Just a guy,” I said. “Trying to make up for my many misdeeds.”

  “Solving murders in your spare time?”

  “Local law enforcement agencies use me as a tracker,” I said. “Freelance sort of thing.”

  “Your skills are impressive,” he said. “Either that or I’ve gotten careless.”

  “I’ve had mixed feelings about this,” I said. “I understand freedom. I’m not overjoyed that I found you, but I do need your help.”

  “Freedom is the only thing I hold dear,” he said. “It’s all that I have, the only reason to remain alive.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “I have a full personal understanding of what you’re saying. I’ve lived it.”

  “Keep that in mind as we get further into this,” he said. “Don’t bullshit me on this. I’ll make sure you never find me again.”

  I showed him the pictures of Zack. He took a good look and handed them back to me.

  “Never seen him before,” he said. “Not that I know many people these days.”

  “This isn’t the man you saw that night?”

  “Never said I saw anything,” he said.

  “But you did,” I countered. “You saw something, or someone. Do you know who that person is?”

  “No idea,” he said. “I was hoping you’d bring me a picture that I’d recognize.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “It’s not going to do you any good,” he said.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” I said. “A girl is dead. We’ve got nothing. You are the only one who knows anything at all about the crime. A killer is going to go free if you don’t tell me what you saw.”

  He sat and reflected over his squirrel breakfast. It looked pretty good to me. He took a few bites and wiped his chin on his shirt sleeve before putting his pan down on a stump.

  “I was down there close to the lake for the night,” he said. “I had some stuff I’d gathered from the cabins. I heard the car pull in. It was past time for visitors. I got up and snuck down for a closer look. I wish I hadn’t. I saw a white SUV, a small one, I think it was a Subaru. I got interested when he backed down close to the water’s edge. It’s soft down there s
o I thought he’d get stuck.”

  “Then what?”

  “I got a good look at the man by the light inside when he opened the rear hatch,” he continued. “He picked up what looked like a body. He didn’t toss it overboard. He walked out into the lake until he was up to his chest in water. Then he pushed the body under.”

  “Was is wrapped up in anything?” I asked. “A rug, plastic bag or something?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just a body, fully clothed. Never got a good look at it, but I saw him just fine.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Big but not fat,” he said. “Buzz cut, square shoulders, maybe military. Had a stiff posture to him. Strong but not a bodybuilder. The weight was nothing to him. Lighter hair, could be blond or even reddish.”

  “Did you keep watching him after that?”

  “I did,” he said. “He left that hatch open the whole time. Got another good look at him when he got back to the car. He got in all soaking wet with muddy shoes. Drove off.”

  “You sure it was a Subaru?”

  “Ninety percent sure,” he said. “One of them Outbacks. I see them all over the mountain these days.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Which means there’s probably a hundred of them around here.”

  “Just telling you what I saw,” he said.

  “It’s more than what I had,” I said. “I’ll relay it to the officers investigating the case. Maybe something will break.”

  “If it does, you’ll come looking for me again,” he said. “Have you told anyone where I am?”

  “Only my gal, Brody knows,” I said. “I did not tell the cops where you are. In fact, I got them to agree to keep your identity quiet for the time being.”

  “They agreed to that?”

  “Only because they want to find the girl’s killer,” I said. “Word will get out eventually. People will know the true identity of the Beech Mountain Hermit.”