Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) (14 page)

Mike
turned his attention back to the distraught woman. “So, you got to Bronson’s
front door and he was disheveled when he opened it. What happened then?”

“And
then some guy came up behind him, from inside the cabin, and smashed a gun down
on the back of Bronson’s head! He moaned and his eyes rolled up into his skull
and he dropped straight down. He fell half in and half out of the house. Oh,
God, I’m afraid he’s hurt bad, please, you have to get help!”

“We’re
getting help right now, I promise,” Mike said gently. “An officer is already
notifying Chief Kendall. A unit will be on the way to Bronson’s house in a
matter of seconds. What’s the address?”

“He
lives way up in the woods off Route 28.”

Mike
furrowed his brow. “Route 28? Does he live anywhere near the Ridge Runner?”

The
woman nodded. “Yes, the trail leading to his cabin is maybe a half mile north
of the Ridge Runner on 28. It’s called Long Pond Road. But to get to his cabin,
you have to drive a long way on the trail. His house is probably three-quarters
of a mile into the woods, more or less directly behind the Ridge Runner.”

Alarm
bells started going off in Mike’s head. What were the chances this attack
– if it was an attack – was unrelated to the disappearance of a
body from the strange underground room discovered earlier today at the Ridge
Runner? Mike had spent a lifetime in law enforcement and knew the answer to
that question: virtually none.

The
interior station doors opened again and Sharon stepped through, followed by
Pete Kendall. They moved quickly next to Mike and the young woman. He nodded to
them and then turned his attention back to Jodie Miller. “So,” he said.
“Bronson told you to get out and you saw the attacker strike him on the head.
Then what happened?”

“I sort
of froze for a second, then I took off running. I jumped back in my car and
headed straight here.”

“Did
you try calling 911?” Mike asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

“Of
course,” she said. “But the signal kept fading in and out. I couldn’t get my
cell to work at all.”

He
nodded. It was a common problem in Paskagankee.

“I was scared
to death,” she continued, reliving the moment, “because Bronson’s driveway is
tiny and very narrow. So is Long Pond Road, for that matter. I had to turn my
car around before I could get out. The guy who attacked Bronson had plenty of
time to get to me and stop me from leaving if he had wanted to.”

“What
happened?” Mike asked. He had worked more than one home invasion while a member
of the Revere Police Department, and he knew the typical suspect in that time
of crime would go to great lengths to avoid allowing a witness to escape.

“I’m
not sure,” she said, a sense of wonder creeping into her voice. “He didn’t come
after me. He stepped over Bronson and followed me down the stairs at first –
he was right behind me! – but the minute he saw me heading to my car, he
backpedaled like nobody’s business. I took one last look at him after I had
gotten my car turned around, and it was like he was…I don’t know…cowering in
fear or something. It was almost like he had never seen a freaking car before.
Like he was afraid of it.”

The
alarm bells clanged louder in Mike’s head. Something was very wrong here, far
beyond a home invasion in the sticks, an occurrence that was rare but not
unheard of around Paskagankee. The region was vast and remote, making it ideal
for the construction of meth labs, and sometimes disputes among cookers
escalated into deadly violence. This was more than such an incident, Mike was
certain, and he could see by the look on Sharon’s face she felt it as well.

Pete
cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m Chief Kendall, Ms.…”

“Miller,”
the young woman answered automatically.

“Ms.
Miller,” he said. “Our dispatcher copied the address while you were talking to
Mr. McMahon. An officer is on his way to your boyfriend’s cabin now. Why don’t
you come inside with me and have a seat until he reports back. I’ll get you a
cup of coffee.”

Pete
led the young woman inside the station and moments later returned alone. He
said, “Harley’s on his way now and we should have this mess straightened out
soon.” He fixed Mike with an intense stare. “My first thought was drugs, but it
seems awfully coincidental that this guy would be attacked in a home invasion
not a mile away from where a body disappeared earlier today, don’t you think?”

Mike
smiled tiredly. “I knew there was a reason I recommended you for this job.”

“You
mean above and beyond my pretty face?”

Now he
laughed. “Yeah, above and beyond that.” To Sharon he said, “I don’t think
there’s any more we can do for Ms Miller, and you look exhausted. Let’s get out
of here.”

9

Mike sat at the kitchen table
eating apple pie and sipping hot coffee as Sharon rinsed the dinner dishes and
loaded them into the dishwasher. He had briefly considered a glass of something
stronger, but decided to follow his general rule of thumb: support Sharon, a
recovering alcoholic, by passing on the alcohol.

He had half-heartedly
offered to help her clean up, knowing she would refuse since he had cooked
dinner. When she did, he smiled in satisfaction. He much preferred watching her
petite but shapely form glide around the kitchen to scrubbing and rinsing a
meat loaf pan.

A hot
shower had rejuvenated his spirits after the long afternoon spent in the cold
northern Maine rain. He avoided discussing the Ridge Runner case over dinner to
give Sharon a break – he had been away from the job for months and over
that time his old love for law enforcement had returned with a vengeance, but
he knew being a cop was still a day-to-day grind for her – but now that
the roast was gone and cleanup mode was in full swing, he decided it was time to
approach the subject.

He
cleared his throat and she turned away from the sink, wiping her hands on a
dishtowel. “The disappearing body,” she said with a knowing smile before he had
said a word.

“You
know me so well.”

Sharon
laughed. “Dude, you’re not that hard to figure out.”

“My
ex-wife never seemed to manage it.”

“Her
loss,” Sharon said.

“Well,
you’re right on target about the topic for discussion, wise ass, but what am I
thinking now?”

“Let’s
see,” she said, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brow as she feigned
intense concentration. She looked beautiful. “You’re torn between wanting to
get me into bed right now and the desire to discuss a potential connection
between the disappearing body and the attack at Jodie Miller’s boyfriend’s
cabin.”

Mike
shook his head with a grin. It was spooky how this young woman could almost see
right into his head. “I give,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You’re
amazing. So, what do you think? It seems to me there’s no way those two events
could be unconnected. You must have an opinion on the subject. I want to hear
it.”

She
opened her mouth but before she could answer, the phone rang.

***

Pete Kendall’s voice was grim.
“I’m sorry to bother you after a long day,” he said, “but Jodie Miller wasn’t
exaggerating about an altercation at Bronson Choate’s cabin. If anything, she
might have understated the seriousness of the situation.”

Mike
waggled his fingers at Sharon, calling her over. “Pete, I’m putting you on
speaker so Sharon can hear.” He pressed a button and said, “Okay, go. How bad
is it?”

“Choate
is dead. His body is crumpled right in his front door. The positioning is
consistent with the way Ms. Miller described the attack. And his skull was
caved in from the back. Blunt trauma. Multiple blows, from the looks of it,
although obviously we’ll need Dr. Affeldt’s confirmation of that.”

“The doer
is long gone, obviously.”

“Yep,
but the crime scene is…strange…to say the least. I know it’s late, and I hate
to ask, but I’m in way over my head here, Mike. Would you mind coming out and
giving the scene a once-over with me?”

“No
problem, Pete.” Sharon pointed at Mike and then at herself, and he added,
“Sharon says I’m not allowed to leave without her. I’ll have company, is that
okay with you?”

“Hell,
the more the merrier, although that’s probably not the best phrase to be using
right now.”

“We’ll
be there in thirty minutes.”

***

An overcast layer blocked out the
dazzling spray of stars normally visible in the northern Maine sky as the
Explorer bounced and jolted along the rough trail officially known as Long Pond
Road. Evergreens crowded the vehicle from all sides, combining with the weather
conditions to form an inky blackness as nearly complete as Mike had ever experienced.
The truck’s headlights stabbed through the night and were quickly gobbled up by
the encroaching darkness.

“Jeez,”
Sharon remarked after they had crept along the rough trail for nearly ten minutes.
“This guy really valued his privacy, didn’t he?”

“For
all the good it did him,” Mike answered as they turned a corner and the trail
widened slightly. The headlights washed over an SUV with Paskagankee Police
markings that had been parked in front of a tiny but solid-looking cabin
constructed in the middle of a small clearing. The SUV sat dark and silent. Chief
Pete Kendall was nowhere to be seen.

“Pete
must be inside,” Sharon said.

“Yeah,
I guess,” Mike answered, noting the cabin’s open front door and an indistinct
lump of shadow, presumably Bronson Choate’s body, positioned half in and half
out of the home. Mike eased to a stop behind the police vehicle, which had been
squeezed into a small space next to a Jeep Mike didn’t recognize. He shut down
the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the scene through the windshield.

“You
seem uneasy,” Sharon said. “What’s bothering you?”

“Something’s
not right. Pete calls us asking for help and then doesn’t come to the door when
we show up?”

Sharon
shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t know we’re here.”

“It’s
as dark as the bottom of a coal mine out here. Our headlights lit up the front
of that cabin like the noontime sun. Pete should have known we were coming long
before we arrived.”

Sharon
stared at him, saying nothing. Finally Mike said, “Well, this isn’t
accomplishing anything. Let’s go find Pete and get this show on the road.”

They
picked up their flashlights and stepped out of the truck, then walked side by
side across the small front yard. “I’m liking this less and less,” he mumbled.

“What
is it?” Sharon said.

Mike
held out an arm to stop their progress. “Listen,” he said. “What do you hear?”

Sharon paused
for a moment, concentrating, and said, “There’s a small engine running behind
the cabin. Probably a generator, which makes sense, right? There are no power
lines running this far out in the boonies, so Choate must have used the
generator to power his lights and such. Pete must have started it up when the
light began to fail.”

“Exactly,”
Mike said. “So how come the cabin is pitch-dark? Pete starts the generator and
then doesn’t bother to turn on any lights?”

“Oh-oh,”
Sharon whispered.

“Exactly.”
Mike eased his gun out of its shoulder holster and Sharon did the same. He
lowered his voice. “We’re not going inside until we’ve cleared the exterior.
You circle around the house that way,” he gestured to the left, “and I’ll go
this way,” he nodded to the right. “We’ll meet up at the generator and
then
enter the cabin.”

Sharon
nodded and began moving slowly away.

“
Hey!
” Mike whispered.

She
stopped and turned.

“Until
we know what’s going on, don’t walk directly in front of any windows, you’ll
just make yourself a target if anyone’s inside.”

She
nodded a second time, shielding her flashlight with a palm, and then flitted
along the front of the home like a wraith.

Mike
watched until she disappeared around the corner of the cabin, then he eased the
other way, alert for trouble, skirting a row of small ornamental shrubs that
seemed incongruous to the setting. Who the hell would ever see them way out
here besides the guy who had planted them?

Rounding
the corner, he scanned the tree line to his right, the edge of the massive
forest barely visible in the all-encompassing darkness. It was no more than a
slightly darker smudge looming high above in the blackness; a presence felt
more than seen.

It
seemed somehow malevolent.

Mike’s unease
intensified. Something was very wrong.

He took
a step.

Another.

A
third, and he was almost but not quite surprised when he tripped
over…something. Whatever it was had been piled on the flat ground directly in
his path. Mike had been so intent on scanning the tree line he had walked right
into it. He wind-milled his arms and took a half-step to the right to keep from
falling, and then he uncovered his flashlight and swung the beam to the ground.