Monster (7 page)

“Reed’s a deputy sheriff!” Sing’s voice was edgy. “Let’s not underestimate him!”

Awkward silence followed.

“Duly noted,” Mills finally said. “Sing, take Reed’s camera over to Marsha in the command vehicle. See if she can download those shots of Beck and print ’em up.”

Sing got to her feet, as if eager to do something, anything. “And then can we please get up there?”

Mills looked at his watch. “Pete said he’d be about ten minutes.”

Cap started to say, “We don’t
have
ten—” when tires growled on the gravel.

An older brown pickup with a rumbling muffler pulled in and nosed up against the building four vehicles down. The fellow who got out looked as though he’d already been in the woods most of his life and would be out of place anywhere else. He was dressed in tired jeans, a frayed leather coat, and a drooping, wide-brimmed hat with a rattlesnake skin for a hatband. He may have had a haircut three or four months ago but obviously hadn’t thought much about it since then.

“Ah,” said Mills, “there he is.”

Pete Henderson, search manager and tracker, was already sizing up the situation when Mills met him in the center of the parking lot. “Huh. Jimmy’s here,” Pete said, “so it was a bear. You’re here, so somebody’s dead. You’ve got me and my searchers here, so you can’t find whoever it is.”

“Come on.” As they crossed the parking lot, Mills gave Pete an abridged version of Reed’s account.

“You are kidding me—Reed said that?”

“Let’s hope his head starts to clear up.”

They walked quietly, unobtrusively, up to where Jimmy was finishing up with Reed. The conservation officer sat on the edge of the porch, pen and notepad in his hands, questioning, almost grilling Reed in his eagerness to get the information and get going. His conservation officer’s uniform spoke well of his manner, meant for the wilderness, not the town or city; no creased trousers with a stripe, but tough, forest-green Levi’s; no spit-polished shoes, but oiled boots for slogging through rough and often muddy terrain; his gray shirt had a shoulder insignia, but it was rugged enough for the wilderness and had obviously been there. His billed cap with the Idaho Department of Fish and Game insignia rested on the porch nearby.

Reed was sitting on the bench against the building, seemingly immovable as if he were a fungus that had grown there. His hair was matted from sweat; his face and clothes were those of a desperate man who’d lost his wife and spent the night under a fallen tree. Reed’s voice was barely audible as he said, “It had to be Randy. He had a long black braid, I saw that clearly.”

Jimmy looked up at Sheriff Mills and Pete. They knew that described Randy Thompson.

When Reed lifted his face, a tiny hint of hope came to his eyes. “Hey, Pete!”

“We’re here for you, partner,” Pete said.

“We’re almost finished,” said Jimmy. He prodded, “How did he look to you, Reed? Was there anything about his condition that would indicate an attack by a—”

“He was thrown up in the tree!” Reed insisted as if he’d said it before. “His head was practically torn off!”

“But he could have been climbing the tree, trying to get away from a bear, right?”

Reed thought a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense, if that’s what you want to think.”

Jimmy looked around, apparently for the right words. “Reed, I’m hating this. You know that.”

Reed’s head sank. Tears filled his eyes. “If we hadn’t camped there that night, if we’d only buried that garbage, if I hadn’t forgotten to hang up those stupid sandwich containers . . .!”

“Was Beck having her period?”

“No.”

“Did she bring any makeup along?”

Reed looked at him blankly.

Jimmy explained, “To a bear, the smell means food.”

“I didn’t see a bear,” Reed emphasized as if for the hundredth time.

Jimmy just looked at his notes. “There could have been any number of factors, Reed. You don’t need to blame yourself.”

“Are we through?”

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, Reed. We’re through. We’re gonna get on this, right now.”

Reed bolted to his feet. “I’ve got to get my gear ready.” He ducked into Room 105 and slammed the door, not looking back.

Jimmy rose from the porch and drew in close to Sheriff Mills and Pete.

“Pete.”

“Hi.”

Jimmy reviewed his notes and spoke in secretive tones. “Guess you’ve heard the story by now.”

“Has it changed any?” Mills asked.

Jimmy stole a furtive glance at Reed’s door. “Don’t think so, so I can’t tell you what happened up there besides the obvious. Reed’s so shook up right now he’s hallucinating, talking about a woman screaming and big monsters fighting in the dark. He insists something really big and foul-smelling chased him and Beck along the trail and then grabbed her.” Jimmy’s expression said,
Need I say more?

Mills asked, “Did he say anything about Beck falling over a waterfall?”

“Yeah, right before the attack. If it really happened, I’d guess that’s where the Abney Trail cuts across Scatter Creek.”

“Cap and Sing can show us the spot. They just came from there.”

Jimmy consulted his notes again. “Reed drew a map to show where he and Beck found Randy’s body. It’s up the creek a little, on a knoll above the cabin.”

Mills spoke to Pete, “Looks like we’ll need two teams, one to work the cabin site and one to work the creek.”

“We’ll most likely be picking up the pieces,” Pete muttered, bitterness in his tone as he peered over his shoulder toward the volunteers.

Jimmy leaned close to Mills. “Sheriff Mills, I can’t let Reed go on this hunt.”

“Good luck holding him back.”

“He’s gonna be a liability.”

“
If
he’s crazy,” said Pete.

“Guys, I can’t allow it, even if he is my friend,” Jimmy insisted.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Mills, “and we’ll take it from there.”

Jimmy’s glare was unmistakable. “Sheriff. This is a bear attack. It’s my jurisdiction.”

Mills didn’t get ruffled. He’d been sheriff—and known Jimmy Clark—too long for that. “Jimmy. We don’t know what it is, not yet. Let’s see if we can be a team until we get it sorted out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out!”

“Okay, try this: Anything having to do with the bear, that’s your jurisdiction. Anything having to do with bodies, living or dead, that’s mine. Can you work with that?”

Jimmy sighed through his nose, his face still defiant. “I’ll work with it. For now.”

“That’s right. You will.” Mills let that settle the matter and moved on. “So tell me where you want to start hunting your bear.”

“The cabin’s the most likely center of the bear’s foraging range right now. I’ll start there.”

“Okay, Dave and I’ll go with you. Pete, I’d like two or three searchers.”

Pete was counting noses. “I’ve got ’em.”

“And we’re gonna need weapons on both teams,” said Jimmy.

“My regular guys are here, and . . .” He scanned the crowd some more. “Looks like we’ve got a few more I haven’t met yet.”

Mills instructed Pete, “Your team’ll be looking for Beck, starting at the Scatter Creek waterfall. Take the search dog. Jimmy, I want Sing to have a good look around that cabin area before anybody contaminates it.”

Jimmy smirked in Sing’s direction and did not succeed in keeping his voice down. “So now you’re trying to make this a crime scene?”

“I get the bodies, remember?”

Jimmy waved it off. “Whatever.” To Pete, “Just hurry up with the dog.”

“Don’t worry,” said Pete. “Are we about ready?”

“Pete, one more thing,” said the sheriff, detaining the search manager a moment. “Forget any tales or theories you’ve heard thus far. You find whatever you find and let it speak for itself, you got it?”

Pete gave a nod and adjusted his hat. “I’ll get the volunteers assigned.”

The sheriff and Jimmy Clark watched Pete head into the parking lot, his volunteers gathering to him like Israelites to Moses.

“He’s right about one thing,” said Jimmy. “There won’t be much left to find.”

“We’ll know when we know,” said Mills.

They went to join him.

Pete craned his neck, hands on hips, and looked over the small and willing crowd. They were his neighbors: a carpenter, a housewife, two firemen, a schoolteacher, a machinist, a dental assistant, a heavy equipment operator, and several others, all away from their jobs, geared up and ready to trek into the wilderness, even sleep there if necessary, for no pay. They’d been together many times before, in every season, in every kind of weather, because someone was lost or in trouble. If anyone were to ask them why, they’d just say it was the thing to do.

Pete spoke out, “Okay, everybody, listen up. You all know the situation. We’ve got a three-way problem: a possible bear attack with two possible victims who need to be found. Anybody working the bear issue, you’re gonna be following Jimmy Clark’s lead. Anybody searching for the victims, you get your orders from me. If you can’t stand me or Jimmy, you can grouse to Sheriff Mills here. We all take our orders from him. Now, Sing—where are you, Sing?”

Sing and Cap were just stepping out of the command vehicle, fresh computer-generated fact sheets in hand. Sing waved the papers in the air for all to see.

“Okay, Sing’s gonna hand out photographs and detailed descriptions of the missing persons. Give these papers a good looking over.”

The listeners stood quiet and grim, receiving the quickly compiled information sheets from Sing’s hand. Most of them already knew Randy or Beck or both.

Jimmy took his turn, his voice trumpeting over the crowd, “We’re going to be working two teams from two locations in the Lost Creek drainage. We need people who are capable in tracking, hunting, and—don’t miss this, now—recovering human remains. This is a bear attack. It’s serious business.” That caused a stir. “Pete knows what your skills are, so he’ll select the teams. Pete, go ahead.”

Pete Henderson addressed the crowd again. “You medical folks stick around, and let’s see, how many marksmen do we have? Okay, the two of you go with Jimmy; you two come with me. Don, you’ll work with me at flank. Tyler, you here? Okay, Tyler, you be the other flanker.”

Cap stood on the edge of the crowd, hanging on every word.

“Hi there.”

Cap winced at the greeting. This was not the time for idle chat. He turned only half his attention to a buzz-cut man somewhere in his thirties, dressed in camouflage like a hunter—or a marine. He was carrying a rifle, obviously one of the marksmen.

“Hi,” Cap said.

“Steve Thorne. I understand you found one of the victims?”

Cap shook his hand. “Michael Capella. Yeah. We’re friends of Reed and Beck Shelton. This is my wife, Sing.”

The man whispered a greeting to her. She returned it with a quick smile, trying to listen to Pete’s organizing.

“I’m really sorry,” said Thorne.

Cap said, “Thanks,” his eyes on Pete.

Thorne didn’t go away but pressed with another question. “So what was it your friend saw?”

What kind of a question was that? Cap gave the man a long look, then, deciding he was trying to be helpful, said, “I don’t know what he saw. We’re trying to find that out.”

“I suppose it had to be a bear. Is that what he said it was?”

“I don’t know. The whole thing happened in the pitch black, and . . . I don’t know. It was a horrible experience, and he’s still very shook up about it.”

Now Pete was calling, “The rest of you folks, talk to Marsha. She’ll get you working support and communications here at the command post.”

“So he didn’t see anything,” the guy pressed.

Cap was trying not to be abrupt. “Not that he’s been able to say for sure.”

Thorne gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Thanks. Just wondering.”

Cap turned his full attention back to Pete Henderson, who caught his look. “Cap—is that what they call you?”

“Cap’ll do.”

“Nice to meet you. Which team you want to go with?”

“I want the waterfall,” he answered.

“Who was that guy?” Sing asked.

Cap shrugged, impatient. “One of the hunters. Some thrill seeker, if you ask me.”

Reed had yanked off his dirty clothes and pulled a fresh shirt and jeans from his backpack—and then put on the dirty jeans with the clean shirt. He took off the shirt. No, it was the clean one. He put it back on and tried to take off the pants—he forgot he’d put on his boots. He unlaced them and pulled them off. Now, where were the clean pants? He’d thrown them into the pile of dirty clothes. He fished them out and put them on. Now if he could find his belt—

There was a knock at the door. “Reed?” It was Sheriff Mills.

“Yeah, come in.”

Mills stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. “How you doing?”

Reed didn’t answer because he didn’t want to lie. He only hurried to pull on a boot as he sat in one of the room’s two chairs.

Mills grabbed the other chair and set it down directly opposite Reed, almost in his way as he tried to pull on the other boot. “I said, how you doing?”

It felt like an interrogation. Mills pressed into Reed’s space big time, and Reed didn’t like it. He met Mills’s gaze deliberately, angrily. “With all due respect, sir, that’s a stupid question.”

“I need a firm answer, Reed—”

“Are we heading out?”

“—or you don’t go.”

“Arrest me!” Reed said.

Mills whacked Reed on the side of the head. Reed froze in disbelief, staring into the eyes of his superior officer, who still held that hand close to his face, forbidding Reed’s eyes to stray.

“You can thank me later,” said Mills. “In the meantime, you’d better listen. There are more than a dozen trained volunteers out there who just might be risking their lives on your behalf, so before I let you out that door, you’d better decide what role you’re playing. We need men on this job, not victims. Not basket cases. If you need time to work this through and pull yourself together, I’ll grant you that, no questions, no shame, but I need to know.”

Reed gave some thought to his attitude and tried to ease down. “Sure didn’t turn out right.”

Mills was listening.

“It was supposed to be good for her, supposed to get her out of the house, get her out where she could just, just live a little without having to talk to anybody. Out in those woods, there aren’t any social rules, you know? No expectations.” He looked Mills squarely in the eye. “She would have aced it. She would have done great. I knew she had it in her. I don’t think people give her credit.”