Massacre Pond

11

One of Rhine’s deputies arrived next, a new hire I didn’t recognize, followed by a local state trooper whom I knew all too well. Earlier that year, he had taken my statement after I chased a suspected murderer across a frozen lake. I had ended up fighting for my life in icy water while my quarry swam to safety. The state police officer’s name was Belanger, and he was nearly as tall as Billy Cronk, with a chin you could break your fist on.

“I had a report of a man with a gun,” he said from beneath the tilted brim of his blue Smokey the Bear hat.

“We’re still trying to sort it out,” the sheriff told him.

Her deputy had taken custody of Karl Khristian while she and I got Billy Cronk’s side of the story.

Inside the compound, the rottweilers continued their frightful racket.

Rhine gathered up her wet hair and twisted it into a ponytail while she interrogated Billy. “So you drove here because you deduced Mr. Khristian was the man who’d shot those moose on the Morse estate?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how did you arrive at this conclusion?”

“I always figured Karl was the one who took out Ms. Morse’s first gate, the nice cedar one,” said my friend. “I never had no proof of it, but the day after it happened, I saw him drive by while I was cleaning up the broken wood, and then afterward he used to give me this smirk whenever I’d see him at the True Value hardware.”

“A smirk,” said Rhine.

“Yeah, like he had a secret that was burning him up inside.”

“That’s your proof?” I said.

“I also got to thinking about his letters to the newspaper and how he’s such a good shot and all. That’s what people say anyway. I heard he showed up at the Wa-Co Fish and Game Club when they were having a shooting match. He wasn’t a member or anything, but he came because they was offering cash prizes, and he walked away with five hundred bucks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I asked. “Why did you drive over here on your own and nearly get yourself shot?”

Billy shrugged. “I knew he’d just deny it if a warden asked him. I thought maybe I could trick it out of him.”

The sheriff gave me the special look law-enforcement officers reserve for situations when we find ourselves confronted by an act of pure boneheadedness on the part of a civilian.

“So what happened when you arrived?” Rhine continued.

“I banged on his gate a few times until he finally came out to his-what do you call it? — his parapet.”

“That’s one word for it, I suppose,” said the sheriff.

Billy began scratching his beard the way he always did when he began to spin a yarn. “He asked me what I wanted, and I just started bullshitting with him at first, asked him if he was interested in selling that camouflage truck of his, ’cause I’d always admired the paint job he’d done on it. He couldn’t figure out if I was pulling his pud at first and said it weren’t for sale. And then I said it was too bad, ’cause I was hoping to get some red cedar toothpicks out of the grille. That’s when he realized I knew he’d knocked down Ms. Morse’s gate. He told me to get lost or he’d sic them dogs on me. I said he’d done some fine shooting last night, some of the best I’d ever seen, even in the military. I really laid on the butter thick, figuring that he couldn’t help himself and would accept the compliment.”

“And how did he respond?” Rhine asked.

“Like he didn’t know what I was talking about.” Billy stared down at me with a knitted brow. “But I know he did it, Mike. I feel in my bones it was him.”

“That’s not exactly evidence we can act on,” I said. “We can’t just turn over his house looking for twenty-two rifles based on your hunch. We need probable cause to get a search warrant.”

“It ain’t a hunch.”

Rhine tapped my shoulder. “Warden, can I have a word with you? Trooper, why don’t you keep Mr. Cronk company for a few minutes.”

She and I retreated back to the hood of her cruiser, a white Crown Victoria. She was a tall woman, somewhere in her late fifties. She dyed her hair raven black and had a penchant for turquoise jewelry. Some people assumed that she had Indian blood, but my own guess was that it was more of a Southwestern-style thing.

“I was surprised to see you,” I said. “I thought you lived down on the coast in Machiasport.”

“Lauren and I have a camp on Syslodobsis Lake,” she said. “I was swimming when she called me from the porch. I’m still wearing my bathing suit under this getup.”

As parochial as Washington County could seem at times, its people showed frequent outbursts of open-mindedness. With few exceptions, they had shown themselves to be welcoming to the Mexican and Central American immigrant workers who arrived each summer to rake blueberries from the barrens. And they had elected an openly gay woman as their sheriff not once, but four times.

“What’s your take on this?” she asked me.

“When I pulled up, I saw Khristian fire a shot in the ground at Billy’s feet.”

“Go on.”

“I told Khristian to put down the weapon. He said Billy was trespassing and claimed the castle doctrine as justification. Eventually, I persuaded him to come outside, where Billy tackled him.”

“Did you try to prevent Cronk from assaulting him?”

“I wouldn’t term it ‘assault,’ but no, I didn’t have a chance to act.” A question occurred to me suddenly. “Who called in the ten-thirty-two?”

“Neighbor down the right-of-way. I guess she drove by with a minivan full of kids and groceries. Can you imagine living next door to that fruitcake?” She brought both of her long hands to the lower half of her face and held them there for a while. “So we’ve got Cronk on a trespassing charge, and Wilbur on recklessly discharging a firearm, at the least. My instinct here is to take them both down to the jail to cool off overnight.”

My heart sank. Billy was about to lose his job. In seeking to impress his employer, he had probably just bull-rushed himself out of her good graces. That was my sense of how Elizabeth Morse would react to this news anyway.

“I could follow Cronk back to his home instead,” I said. “I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“You’re more forgiving than I am.” Rhine focused her steady gaze on me. “I’ve been on the phone with Rivard a few times today. That moose massacre sounds like some pretty bad shit. I offered my department’s assistance, but I think your lieutenant wants to keep this one for himself. I take it you saw the dead animals?”

“Billy Cronk and I were the ones who found them this morning.”

She nodded, as if this disclosure confirmed a suspicion. “Do you think he’s right about KKK being the shooter?”

I considered the question carefully for the first time. “If he was, he had help. The animals were jacklighted, and two different guns were used: a twenty-two Magnum and a twenty-two long rifle. The evidence suggests two shooters. And Khristian doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who pals around with a buddy.”

“I told Rivard that he’d better solve this case quick or we’re both in for a long, hard fall.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Let’s just say your lieutenant doesn’t lack confidence.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“There’s been another ‘Magoon’ sighting,” she said out of nowhere. She was referring to the man who had stalked me the previous winter, the prime suspect in the murder of a local drug dealer. He had escaped across the border into New Brunswick before Rhine and the state police could close a net around him. He’d left me to drown in a hole in the ice on a frozen lake.

“Where?” I asked, as if the information barely interested me at all.

“The Gaspe Peninsula in Quebec. The first sighting was in northern Ontario. The second one took place outside Montreal. What does that tell you?”

“He’s coming back.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from your ex-girlfriend lately.”

The sheriff was referring to Jamie Sewall, a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who had fallen off the wagon while in my arms. She had never technically been my girlfriend, but we’d had a brief physical relationship, and I had formed a connection with her strange, disturbed son, Lucas. Over the course of the summer, I had done my best to forget about both of them.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Her house is still on the market. Nothing ever sells up here unless it’s right on the water. I know people who cut their asking price in half, and all they hear are crickets. There are no jobs, and if Elizabeth Morse gets her way, there will be even fewer.” She sighed. “Anyway, it wouldn’t surprise me if Miss Sewall reappears someday, as well. This place is like the Hotel California. You can check out any time you’d like.… You know the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am. So you’re arresting Billy?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

I studied the back of my friend’s blond head, knowing how baffled and hurt he would be to find himself in handcuffs. He’d driven over here on a foolish quest to expose a dangerous criminal and win back a job he feared was slipping from his grasp. Now he was facing a trespassing charge instead. “No, ma’am,” I said.

“Good.”

“Do you mind if I get his truck keys first? Billy can’t afford the cost of having it impounded. I’ll make sure it gets home.”

The sheriff chewed her lower lip, considering the request. “Go right ahead. The DA will want your report on this incident as soon as possible.”

“I understand.”

While Rhine went to interrogate Khristian, I steadied myself and walked back over to where Cronk and Trooper Belanger were shooting the shit. Outwardly, the wild man and the straight-arrow cop would seem to have had nothing in common, but both men, it turned out, had done tours in Iraq. Billy had even managed to get a laugh out of the stone-faced state police officer. I always marveled at how disarming my scary-looking friend could be.

“Can I have a word with him?” I asked the trooper.

“Sure,” said Belanger. “I need to call in anyway.”

I waited for him to get out of earshot before I laid into Billy. “You stupid son of a bitch. Rhine is arresting you on a criminal trespass charge. You’re going to jail, Billy.”

His mouth fell open. “Why? All I did was knock on his gate.”

“And refuse to leave when he ordered you to. That’s trespassing. I don’t think the DA will actually prosecute you for it, but you’re going to spend the night behind bars.”

“But Khristian is the one who shot the moose!”

“Rhine doesn’t care about that,” I said. “All she cares about is getting a message through your thick Scandinavian skull.”

“I’m Dutch, not Scandinavian.”

“Whatever. The point is that I can’t help you here. I tried, but she’s not going to budge.” I wanted to throw up my arms. “Jesus, Billy, what am I supposed to tell Aimee?”

His eyes glistened. “Tell her I’m sorry. She’s used to me fucking up. It won’t come as no surprise.”

“Do you want me to talk to Elizabeth Morse for you?”

“Would you?”

I hadn’t expected him to say yes. I had no idea what I might say to the rich woman. “Of course.”

At that moment, the sheriff returned. “That was a pleasant experience. Wilbur was as cooperative as I’d expected. And I think the man must eat onion sandwiches for dinner. Are we ready to go here?”

“Almost.” I turned to Billy. “Give me your truck keys. The least I can do is save you the cost of having the wrecker tow it away.”

He reached into his jeans pockets and produced the keys. They were attached to the actual foot of a rabbit that I was certain he had shot one winter while hunting with his former employer’s beagles.

“You’re a good friend, Mike,” he said.

I watched Trooper Belanger fasten the handcuffs on him, wondering what I would tell Elizabeth Morse, and thinking that Billy Cronk might be the unluckiest person I had ever met.