Black Otter Bay (11 page)

Ever since the morning after Ben Simon went missing, the road leading up to the sheriff's office had been lined with the vehicles of volunteer searchers, the media, and law enforcement. Many years ago, the county provided Fastwater with a sign that read R
ESERVED FOR
B
LACK
O
TTER
B
AY
C
OUNTY
S
HERIFF
. Installing it had seemed like a joke at the time, but now, as he eased the squad car past the line of parked vehicles on the roadway, the only open spot in the gravel parking lot was in front of the black-and-red-lettered sign.

Search parties on foot and driving ATVs had started out before sunrise. Fastwater had been in the office early to orchestrate the morning search. After sending the crews out, he met with law enforcement agencies still on site to compare notes. At this point, there wasn't much to compare. Plain and simple, the boy had disappeared. There were no leads, and no ransom demands. All family members were accounted for, and known sex offenders were being located and questioned. Fastwater didn't like the feel of any of that, and now he paused before getting out of the squad car to consider again Mrs. Bean's parting words.

From the very beginning he'd felt that Abby Simon held the key to her brother's disappearance. Unfortunately, the heavy-handed tactics and unfamiliar voices of investigators had shut her up tight. He had to give the girl credit, though, he thought with a smirk. If she didn't want to discuss it, there was no way a stranger in a suit was going to get it out of her. Mrs. Bean was right. He really needed to talk to Abby without interference from outsiders, because he also knew a thing or two
about the case he hadn't shared with investigators. The way he figured it, those big-city hotshots with their high-tech gadgets could dig up their own clues. For himself, he'd trust his own instincts and keep his own counsel.

Fastwater adjusted his sunglasses and looked over at Gitch. The dog peered out the windshield, twitching with excitement at all the unfamiliar cars in the parking lot.

“Ready, pal?” Fastwater asked, patting Gitch on the shoulder. “You like all this commotion, don't you?” As he opened the door and swung his legs out, he added, “Well, all these people drive me crazy. Come on, let's get this over with.”

Just then the office door opened and Jackie Simon emerged. Fastwater stood next to his car, holding Gitch close. He'd always been struck by the incongruities in Jackie's looks. Her nose was too long, and her lips too full, but combined with her thick dark hair, the features merged to create a very attractive woman. It was easy to see where Abby got her good looks, but the daughter brought another dimension to the equation: the vitality and energetic poise of youth. Jackie, originally from Chicago, could dress up and blend in with any select crowd in the world, but Abby, from little Black Otter Bay, carried herself with a stubborn resourcefulness sometimes found in young people. The look in Abby's eyes warned against underestimating her character. For proof, the sheriff thought, just ask the professionals camped out in his office, unable to get a word out of her.

Now Matt Simon came out of the office, too, and Fastwater became a spectator as Jackie turned on her ex-husband. “What you can't seem to understand,” she yelled at him, “is that this is not about you. You no longer get to make these decisions.”

Matt shot a glance at Fastwater before replying. “Please, Jackie, just calm down.”

She stepped toward Matt and slugged him in the chest. “Don't tell me to calm down, you asshole.”

“Jackie—”

“No! You listen to me, mister,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “Abby isn't some jackpine savage, as much as you may want her to be. She's coming home with me. It's not safe here for her. Obviously, you're incapable of seeing that fact.” She turned to leave, but stopped to add, “I'm going to get a court order, and she's coming home with me.”

When she finally stalked off, Matt remained in the office doorway, hands in his pockets, dejection and exhaustion stooping his posture. Fastwater and Gitch slowly stepped forward.

“I thought you went out early this morning with the volunteers,” the sheriff said softly, in stark contrast to the sharp words from Jackie.

Matt gave him a brief look, then adjusted his gaze to watch Jackie walk down the hill. Fastwater turned to look after her departure, too. He knew Matt was aware that he'd overheard their argument, and as uncomfortable as that was, it would be even more awkward if he attempted to ignore it. So he said, “Have you thought about sending Abby down to stay with her for a few days? It couldn't hurt to get her away from this circus for a while.”

Matt fixed his frown on the sheriff. He was tall enough to nearly meet the big lawman's eyes straight on. “No, sir, I haven't considered it. And I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

Fastwater gave a last look over his shoulder at Jackie. She was halfway down the hill now, climbing into her car. Gitch loped around the parking lot, sniffing tires, marking territory. When the sheriff again faced off with Matt, he noted the extreme exhaustion in the man's eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept in the three days his son had been gone. He knew Matt had been the first one out in the woods each morning, and the last one back after dark. Fastwater wondered if he'd even taken the time to sit down for a meal. He was surprised when Matt spoke up again.

“I know that sending her away would be the logical thing to do,” he confessed. “And I tried discussing that with Jackie.
I told her that I talked to Abby about staying with her for a few days. How am I supposed to tell her that her daughter doesn't want to come?”

With that, it was Fastwater's turn to stuff his hands in his pockets. There was a long pause, the space between them more than filled with exhaustion, frustration, and despair. Then Matt said, “He's not out there, Sheriff.”

Fastwater nodded.

“Ben isn't the adventurous type,” Matt went on. “I always told those kids, ‘if you get lost out there, just sit down and wait. Someone will find you soon enough.'” Matt let his eyes wander out to the view over Lake Superior as Fastwater listened, studying the anguish on the younger man's face. “Now Abby, she'd never sit still. She could put on twenty or thirty miles a day, but then, she's too smart to get herself lost in the first place. She knows how things work out there. Ben, on the other hand, is too timid, too logical. He'd never go out there by himself, but if he did somehow manage to get lost, he'd do just as I taught him. He'd sit and wait for help.”

“I think you're probably right,” Fastwater said.

“Over the last three days I've tracked every goddamn inch of woods for five square miles. He'd be too scared to go farther than that by himself. We're wasting our time. He isn't out there.”

“Well, I'm not calling off the search,” Fastwater said. “Maybe the boy fell. Maybe you didn't see him because he was unconscious or sleeping when you passed by.” The sheriff's expression was friendly and kind. “We have a boatload of volunteers, Matt. They need to feel like they're helping, so as long as they keep showing up, we'll keep sending them out.”

Matt nodded and sighed.

The sheriff said, “Why don't you go home for a while. Take a nap. Everybody out there is wired together, so if anything breaks, you'll hear about it immediately.”

Matt didn't answer, just kept staring far off to sea. Fast-water had the notion that he might start crying. He'd seen
exhaustion and grief break bigger men than Matthew Simon. “I tell you what,” the sheriff said, trying to work a positive inflection into his voice. “I'll walk you home. I'd like to see how Abby is doing.”

“She insists on going to the memorial service for Rose,” Matt said.

“Well, that's probably a good thing for her to do. They were pretty good friends, weren't they?”

Matt nodded.

The sheriff said, “You know, you said it yourself. There really isn't much point in going back out there. Let me walk you home.”

When Matt finally looked at him again, Fastwater saw the tear silently sliding down the man's cheek, so he said, “This doesn't mean we're giving up, Matthew. We're just going to take a different look at it.”

Matt took a deep breath and nodded.

Fastwater said, “I have to get something out of the office, then we'll take a walk over to your place. Abby is home, isn't she?”

“Yeah. She hasn't been to school lately, so she's doing make-up homework.”

“Good.” Fastwater stepped around Matt to go inside. “Excuse me for just a minute.”

When he returned, he carried an old grocery bag under his arm, the top folded over several times like a large sack lunch. The two men followed Gitch as he trotted out ahead into the meadow. There'd been several inches of new snow here just a week ago, but with the recent warm, sunny weather, the sheriff could smell the earth waking up to another season. It amazed him every year to see the hardy local flora sending out new shoots and blossoms with reckless abandon, racing to establish a foothold in the rocky, acidic soil. With the short, chilly summer months here, plants took root as soon as the frost was out of the ground, often before the last of the snow had melted.

Passing through the meadow, they entered the old cemetery, where Fastwater paused near his grandmother's grave. Matthew came back to join him. “Floating Bird?” he read.

“My grandmother.”

“I've heard of her,” Matt said, and the sheriff was pleased to detect a tone of reverence and respect. Matt looked around at the other gravestones nearby. Most of them were solid blocks of granite, with names and dates professionally etched squarely in the rock. The markers on the Native American graves, however, were a softer, black stone. Names were crudely scratched in their surfaces, some so old and worn as to be nearly illegible. When Fastwater realized that Matthew was noting these differences, he started to say something, then thought better of it. The fact that all his family was here was enough for him.

“Come on, Gitch,” he called. “Let's go.”

They continued on the path through the woods, heading generally downhill across the face of the ridge. The morning light had a soft glow to it now, thanks to the sun rising higher off Lake Superior. Woodpeckers rattled away overhead, and yellow-shafted flickers bored new homes high up in aspen trunks. The woods smelled damp and alive. It was hard to believe that in a peaceful setting like this, a situation of such ominous gravity was playing out.

The path finally broke out on a paved street behind the main section of town. Within a block or two it met the street where the Simon family lived. The men walked side by side in silence, the grocery bag tucked up under Fastwater's arm, and followed Gitch into Matthew's front yard. The sheriff looked up at the end of the street, a cul-de-sac turn-around a few hundred feet past the Simon house. In the old days, a sawmill had operated up there just beyond the cul-de-sac. In the decades before roads or rail lines connected them with the outside world, logs cut from trees further inland during the frozen winter months had been stacked there awaiting spring break-up and a float trip across Lake Superior to the populated areas on the southern shore.

But all that was gone now, nothing left of the old sawmill except two or three feet of compacted sawdust covering several hundred square yards. Antique hunters sometimes wandered over the area with metal detectors, digging in the spongy sawdust and dirt, uncovering well-preserved saw blades, bottles, tobacco tins, and even leather boots. With the forest grown back, however, a newcomer would have no idea of the extent of the labor and activity that had taken place here a hundred years ago.

As the men walked into the yard, the front door opened and Abby Simon bounced down the steps to meet Gitch. She knelt beside the dog, scratched his ears, and let him lick her face.

“Hey, there, Abby,” Fastwater called by way of greeting. When she looked at him, he was pleased to see the smile remain on her face. They gathered around Gitch, Abby still on her knees, the men standing comfortably with hands in pockets.

Matt said, “How's the homework coming, kiddo?”

“Done. It's stupid, Dad. They're just mad because I skipped a day of school. Now they're making me jump through hoops to finish the year.” With sarcasm, she added, “Like they wouldn't let me go to high school next year if I didn't finish the work.”

Fastwater had to laugh. It was just the sort of comment he'd expect from her.

Matt shot him a stern look, but to Abby said, “Well, you did a great job all year on your assignments and grades. Might as well finish it off on a high note.”

“How come you're not out with the search teams?” she asked. “Did Mom find you?”

Matt nodded, grinned, and toed a clump of sod in the yard. “Yeah, we talked.”

“Bet you wished you were out in the woods, eh?”

Everyone laughed at that. To the sheriff, Matt said, “Can you stop in for a cup of coffee?”

Fastwater stepped toward the house, but hesitated with a glance at Gitch. Abby said, “He can come in, Mr. Fastwater. Right, Dad?”

“Sure.”

The house seemed dark and close after the wide-open sunshine outside. They tromped single-file through the entryway and front room, with Abby and Gitch leading the way. When they reached the kitchen in the back of the house, Fastwater pulled out a chair at the table while Matt rummaged through cupboards for coffee fixings. Abby filled a bowl with water for Gitch, and then offered the big dog a leftover cheeseburger from the refrigerator. Gitch curled up under the table at the sheriff's feet, gently mouthing small bites of the unfamiliar treat. Fastwater held the grocery bag in his lap, but set his cap on the table and ran a large hand through his wavy hair.

Other than the custom .44 Magnum belted to his hip, the cap was his only piece of apparel that wasn't official uniform. Dark brown in color, tattered and frayed from years of use, it simply read SOO in orange block letters across the front. He'd begun wearing it years ago as a private homage to his Sioux heritage. If anyone had bothered to ask him which tribe his family descended from, he would have told them with pride about his Dakota warrior blood.