Claws (12 page)

Twenty-Two

Dawn was breaching the horizon as Jackson reached town. Hunters already were out in full force, some herding live animals into truck beds, while others loaded slabs of beef and cartons of grocery store chickens. Not all of the hunters planned to lure the cats with bait. Some hunters intended to track them. Some simply hoped to stroll around, stir up a lion or tiger, and shoot them. Rural people were advised not to venture outside without wearing a highly visible orange or fluorescent vest, coat, or cap. Even so, farmers and ranchers that posted ‘No Hunting’ and ‘No Trespassing’ signs had covered them over, figuring that lion hunters posed a lesser danger to their animals, and families too, than did the lions and tigers.

Jackson imagined towns during gold rush days had looked the way Buckhorn looked today. Buckhorn even had a tent city now, at least a modern version of one. On the drive to town Jackson had passed the RV’s and campers crammed into tiny Green State Park. Larger, more distant campgrounds were filling up too, according to the radio.

Jackson left downtown and zigzagged his way to the Sportsman Motel. His red Ford was parked outside Katy’s room. Last night, after Iris had left his office, he stopped off at the motel but didn’t talk to Katy. Instead, he sat alone in the Jeep wondering if the Sportsman Motel was where Iris and Dell had met for sex or if they had gone to Dell’s house or out of town somewhere or even used the farmhouse. Afterwards, he had driven home and tossed and turned before finally falling into a restless sleep.

Jackson didn’t want to knock on her door this early, so he called Katy from his cell phone. They talked while he drove to the police station. He parked, checked in with Skip Tibbits, and then walked over to the busy town square.

The Split-Rail Café had been open since four-thirty. It was still packed when Jackson arrived. Katy showed up ten minutes later. Janice Beans cleared two places at the counter and motioned for Jackson and Katy to take them. It wasn’t their turn, but they took the seats anyway. They had coffee and ordered breakfast.

While they waited, Katy talked about her life in Africa. At one point, she said, “I sometimes help the Maun police when someone goes missing in the bush. Alligators, hyenas, lions, leopards – if I don’t find people fast, when I do, it’s usually not
very pretty.” She stopped and sipped her
café au lait
. “You think you can get used to it, but I never do.”

Jackson nodded. “If you ever do, quit the job.”

“I found cat tracks in the dryer pools of blood. Large tracks. Too large for a lion or a tiger.”

“You didn’t mention it last night.”

“I’m going after her today, after Kali.”

It took Jackson a moment to remember who Kali was. “After what happened, you want to go liger hunting?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting to,” Katy said, “I have to. Look, we know a liger probably killed your friend Ed, and Kali certainly killed Wade Placett. The longer she’s out there, the more dangerous she is, especially –” she lowered her voice “– once she has cubs.”

“All the more reason not to go after her alone.”

“You offering to join me?”

“Can’t,” Jackson told her, shaking his head. “First day of the public hunt and all, I should stick around. Tomorrow maybe I could go. Or I can set up my rotation so that Skip or John can go with you. They’re both hunters. But Skip just came on duty, and John’s scheduled to work later today.” Their food arrived, and the conversation stopped for a few minutes. It continued when Jackson said, “So where do you plan to go?”

“Back to Safari Land, if that’s allowed?”

“As long as you don’t go in the house.”

“I don’t expect the cats to be hiding inside.”

“Neither did I.”

Katy had heard about the Bengal tiger attacking one of Jackson’s officers but forgotten it. “Sorry,” she said.

“Angie’s off today. She might go with you.”

“She’s the one who was attacked, wasn’t she?”

Jackson nodded, his mouth full of dark rye toast. Once he swallowed, he said, “That’s why she’ll go.”

Katy was wrong in thinking that Kali would return to Safari Land. Following her attack on one of the predators that had killed Shaka, Kali returned to Jackson’s two-acre plot of prairie. As she crept through Great Basin Wild Rye grass, much of it four to six feet tall and turning yellow and brown and brittle, Kali sensed that her birthing time was near. The female liger heard occasional gunfire, but it was not close enough to concern her. Safe from any immediate danger, Kali settled in.

Later that morning, Kali gave birth to three cubs. The two females and one male were the size of large house cats. They resembled Shaka more than Kali: their orangey-brown skin had black stripes, and their faces were dark-spotted. Even at birth the liger cubs’ sturdy legs and
large feet signaled the size they would one day reach. But for now, they were helpless infants, dependent upon Kali. She licked them clean, and they crawled around blindly to find her teats. A young liger can increase its size by a half-pound per day, and to produce the milk to feed them, Kali needed to eat and to eat often. But before she could hunt, she had to find a safer home for the cubs.

Katy loaded the .375 and was examining the Remington 389 pneumatic dart rifle when Angie pulled in. She parked her Outback next to Jackson’s pickup outside the Cheney house. It was midmorning now and hot for mid-September. The women exchanged hellos and chatted while Angie removed a backpack and a Browning A-Bolt II Medallion rifle, a .243 caliber. It had a long, 22-inch barrel and was powerful enough to stop deer, elk, or bear.

Upon seeing the weapon, Katy nodded appreciatively. “Jackson said you knew what you’re doing.”

Angie smiled. “My dad, he wanted a boy.”

“Don’t they all,” Katy said. The pack she slipped on was smaller than Angie’s.

“So where we going?” asked Angie.

“The topo map shows water a half-mile south,” Katy told her. “We’ll head for it. All the animals will.”

Angie nodded agreement. “It’s near the gravel pits. Fred Bulcher’s mined sand and gravel there for years.”

They set off, heading south.

“Maybe somebody there spotted Kali?”

“Nobody there now. Ted Cheney booted Fred and his crew off the land a few months ago.”

“Why?” said Katy.

Before Angie could respond, they heard a noise that sounded like a door closing. Both women stopped and looked back. Katy quietly moved twenty feet to the left, separating them, and moments later they crept to the house.

Despite the sound that might or might not have been a door, Katy expected to find a lion or tiger or wolf or even scavenger dogs behind the Cheney house. The last thing she expected was a chubby man with a thick, white beard and a flushed, round face shaded by a Tilley hat.

The man carried a daypack and a deer rifle. He wore jeans hooked to red suspenders. His flannel shirt was so new it had folds in it. The moment he saw a pair of rifles pointed at him, he said, “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.” He tried to raise his hands above his shoulders, but he was holding the rifle. His belly shook when he moved.

“Nobody’s going to shoot you,” Angie told him. “Just stay calm. Now what are you doing here?”

“Looking.” His eyes bounced from Angie to Katy and back again. “Just looking. I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“You mind laying that rifle on the ground while we talk?” Angie said. “Do it real gentle like.”

“Okay, sure.” The man squatted and laid the deer rifle in the dust. It took effort for him to get back up.

Angie and Katy lowered their rifles but kept them where they could be raised again quickly. Angie then introduced herself as a police officer and told the man to show some identification. When he hesitated, the guns started up again. The trespasser finally took out his driver’s license and gave it to Angie. She read it aloud. “Ted Sands from Boise, Idaho.” She studied the man for a moment. “How’d you get here?”

“Car.” Neither Katy nor Angie had seen a car when they drove up, and they pointed it out to Sands. “Well, I parked a ways back on a side road, off in the woods. Worked my way up here looking for lions and tigers.”

“Find any?” Katy asked. She hadn’t spoken until now.

Sands shook his head.

“Watch him,” Angie said to Katy. She had no radio to use to check his driver’s license, so she instead checked the house. After examining the crime scene tape across the back door, she said, “It’s been cut and re-taped.”

“That could be Jackson,” Katy said. “From Monday.”

A second later, Angie returned to face Sands. “Did you go inside the house, Mr. Sands?”

“Not me. I looked through the windows, just being curious but … that’s it. No reason to go inside.” Sands removed his hat and scratched his head. His hair was white and cut short. “You a police officer too?” he asked Katy.

“Professional hunter.”

“Oh! Well, how ’bout that. Two girls with guns.”

“Women,” Angie said. “Where’s your hunting license?”

“Hunting license? Didn’t know I need one to look.”

“I bet you didn’t. I should arrest you for corrupting a crime scene, but I’m kind of busy here so … guess it’s your lucky day, mister Sands.”

“Well, I appreciate that. That mean I can go now?”

“Yes, I guess it does.” Sands reached for his deer rifle, but Angie stopped him. She picked up the gun, a Kimber Classic, and unloaded it before giving the hunting rifle and the bullets to the older man and saying, “Don’t load it again until you clear the barnyard.”

Sands nodded and walked away without looking back.

“He was lying,” Angie said.

“About being in the house?” Katy asked.

“About that and maybe more. That tape on the door is brand new. Now why would Sands have police tape?”

It was a question not meant for Katy to answer so she didn’t. They watched Sands disappear from sight. Then they cut across a field behind the house, drawn by the stench of decomposition.

About three hundred feet from the empty animal cages they found a ditch that had been used as a trash dump. Bones were mixed in with household garbage. The bones were mostly large and mostly disconnected from other bones, but a few were clearly identifiable as a horse or cow or even a large cat. Most of the bones had been picked clean.

Katy squatted to examine some tracks near the edge of the trash dump. “Lions,” she said. “Most people don’t realize it, but lions are scavengers. They’d rather steal food than hunt for it. Lot of wolf tracks here too.”

Angie watched Katy’s butt, shapely in taut pants, and then caught herself and looked away at the scat. “Some of the wolf scat’s fresh. Sands probably scared them off.”

“Him or some big cat.”

“How exactly are we going to find this liger?”

“Big cats are territorial. I think Kali will return here, especially since she’s pregnant.” Katy explained about the rarity of ligers mating and the added need to capture Kali quickly now that the male was dead. With nothing further to see at the dump, they soon walked on, and for a while neither of them said anything more. The silence wasn’t due to feeling awkward; it came instead from each woman’s comfort with not speaking. It was broken when
Katy, who had been thinking about Jackson, suddenly said, “You must know Jackson pretty well.”

“He’s my boss,” Angie said with a shrug.

“That scar on his neck, you know how he got it?”

“Did you ask the Chief?”

Katy shook her head no.

“Colorado,” Angie said. “A house fire. He doesn’t talk about it much.” She snorted. “Actually, he’s never really talked about it with me. But you hear things.”

Katy was watching the ground as they walked. “Stop,” she said. She dropped down to look at some tracks.

“These liger tracks?”

“No,” Katy said. “Too small. A tiger. A big one.”

“Chief Hobbs saved me from a Bengal tiger back there in the house,” Angie said. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.”

“Meaning don’t ask anything else about him?”

Angie didn’t respond right away. She studied the land as though she was expecting someone to arrive. When she finally did look at Katy again, she said, “Go online and look up the name Nancy Larsen in Fort Collins, Colorado.”

“Who’s Nancy Larsen?” Katy asked.

“The answer to your question.”

Twenty-Three

Jackson returned to the Split-Rail Café Wednesday afternoon following a phone call from Sheriff Midden. The sheriff and Major Jessup were in Buckhorn and had asked to meet at the café instead of at the police station.

The café was mostly empty at two o’clock. Jessup and Midden sat in a booth by a big window that overlooked the town square. Jackson greeted the café owners and ordered coffee and cherry pie. Then he pulled a chair up to the booth instead of sitting beside either man.

“So why the secrecy? Why not come to my office?”

“Hell, Jackson, you got something against having coffee with us in public?” Midden said in a deadpan voice.

“Depends I guess on why you fellows are here.”

Jessup and Midden chuckled, and Jessup said, “You’ll see why once we tell you about –” Jessup paused when Suzy Beans brought Jackson’s order and refilled the other cups. “Ronnie Greathouse is why,” he added once she had left.

“You found him?”

Major Jessup shook his head. “Not yet. But we know a lot more about him. Pretty interesting stuff too.”

“Greathouse is seeing a woman ’round here,” Sheriff Midden said. “You know this gal Maryann Fedder?”

“Med and Rhonda’s girl. She’s in a wheelchair.”

“That’s the one,” Midden said.

“Someone should talk to her,” Jessup suggested. “You being local, she might be more comfortable if it was you.”

Jackson was surprised by the comment. “Is there a reason she wouldn’t be comfortable talking to you?”

“Depends on whether she knows what Ronnie’s up to,” Major Jessup said. “And if she does, you’ll want to know.”

Jackson wrinkled his brow in thought. “You think Ronnie has something to do with these cats getting out?”

“I think Ronnie’s involved in something he shouldn’t be,” Major Jessup said.

“Most people are, one way or the other. And you still haven’t told me why I should go see Maryann Fedder.”

Major Jessup and Sheriff Midden exchanged looks, but neither of them rushed to respond to Jackson.

Jackson cut into his pie. “You know, talking to you fellows is like watching a foreign film with no subtitles,” he said. “You got something to say, say it. You don’t, let me enjoy my cherry pie in peace.” To emphasize his point, Jackson shoveled a bite of pie into his mouth.

“Knights of the Golden Circle,” Jessup said.

Jackson chewed and swallowed and then repeated the name and asked what it was.

“From what we can tell, I’d say they’re another anti-government militia group,” Major Jessup replied. “Neo-Nazis, Aryan Brotherhood, or whatever, God knows we got enough of them here.” The ISP major described the printed material and the notebook written in code that the Roberts twins had found when they searched Ronnie’s house.

“Your troopers get a search warrant?”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Midden said.

“Go on,” Jackson said. Major Jessup did, and by the time he finished talking, Jackson had forgotten about the lack of a warrant. “Sounds to me like you’ve got initials and some dates, but there’s no real proof that Ronnie belonged to this group. Maybe he was investigating them.”

“If he was,” Major Jessup said, “nobody in Meridian knows squat about it. I even contacted the FBI. They played dumb, but they know something. My guess is Ronnie’s part of this KGC, and he’s probably not the only lawman here involved. That’s why we’re meeting in the café. The notebook says this group plans to replace you as chief.”

Jackson chuckled. “So does my ex-wife.” A moment later, he frowned and said, “You saying that some of my officers are part of this anti-government, hate group?”

Jackson was examining the employment files of his blue-pin and reserve officers when Angie entered his office. One of Katy’s books was on Jackson’s desk. The book jacket was open to her photograph and bio.

“Catching up on your reading?” Angie said.

“Had Sadie order it from Amazon.”

“Katy’s much prettier in person.”

“Never noticed,” Jackson said, but the upward turn of his mouth betrayed his words. “Find any ligers?”

She shook her head. “Katy found tracks, but the only thing we captured was a strange old guy nosing around the house,” Angie said. “I started wondering if he’s a cop, a Fed maybe. Something about the way he handled himself, like he was in control even though we had the guns.” She reported the details of the encounter with Ted Sands.

“Probably just being nosy.” Jackson then told Angie to close the door and sit down, and once she had, he asked, “What do you know about the Knights of the Golden Circle?”

“That’s easy. Nothing.”

“Ever hear anyone you work with mention it?”

“No,” she said. “What is it? Some kind of club?”

“A white-militia group,” Jackson said. “I’d like you to find out about them – why here, why now, what do they
want? And see if you can locate the man Pamela and Dolly were both married to, this Edward King Yow.”

“So being deputy chief, it’s kind of like being your secretary. You forgot to mention that.”

Jackson laughed. “Try and get a current phone number for Eddie Yow. I’d like to talk to him.”

By the time Jackson greeted Maryann Fedder, afternoon sunlight bathed the three-season porch where she sat reading a book titled
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
. He took in immense green fields, the potato plants a week or two from harvest, and beyond them, a thick border of ash, hawthorn, and elder trees. The house was built on a knoll and had a spectacular view.

“Nice place to read,” Jackson said.

“I practically live here from spring to fall,” Maryann said. “I hate the winters for keeping me inside.”

Maryann marked her book and laid it aside as her mother served coffee. Upon arriving Jackson had asked Rhonda about the Placett family. He was not surprised to hear they planned to go away after the memorial service.

Jackson waited until Rhonda left before he pulled a Kennedy rocker up to face Maryann. “Maryann, I need to ask you some questions,” he said.

“About Ronnie?”

He nodded. “When did you last talk to him?”

“Sunday. We had a date, but he didn’t show up.”

“And nothing since then? No phone calls, e-mail?”

“No. Just the package.” Maryann moved the newspapers covering the seat of another chair and showed him a box that said Frederick’s of Hollywood. “On Monday dad found this beneath the mail box. Wrapped and sent to me.” The wrapping paper she pointed to had balloons on it. “But it didn’t come through the mail. I mean, there’s no postage or address. Just a little card with my name on it.”

Jackson wondered if he should tell her who had actually delivered it on Monday. The Roberts twins had admitted to Jessup that they left the box and in their excitement about the lion hunt failed to follow up on it.

“What was in it if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Lingerie,” she said and blushed.

“Were you expecting a present?”

“No. It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“Did Ronnie seem worried lately? Or maybe afraid?”

“Nope. Never. I really wish I could help you but –”

“You’re doing fine,” Jackson told her. “Tell me, did he ever mention The Knights of the Golden Circle?”

She repeated the name and then said, “I’m sure he didn’t. Sounds like something out of
The Da Vinci Code
.”

“Maybe it is,” Jackson said. He finished his coffee and stood. “I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“That’s okay.” She picked up her novel anyway.

“So what’s it about, your book?”

She thought for a moment. “Deceit and revenge.”

Jackson walked to the door, but before opening it he said, “The present you got, could it have been a farewell gift from Ronnie? Maybe he decided to leave town?”

“I don’t think so.” Maryann blushed again. “You don’t give a girl red crotchless panties and leave town.”

Jackson had just turned onto the county highway when he met up with Deborah Dawson. Behind her Toyota Tundra she had a horse trailer with two horses. Jackson recognized one of them.

“I see you’ve got Touie with you.”

“Had to let Doc Willis check my mare before he left town, so he asked me to bring Touie home. I told Jesse.”

“Need my help?”

“I imagine you’ve got other things to do. The doc, he has some family emergency in Seattle. A sister.”

Jackson nodded and said, “You lose any more sheep?”

“Two more. Armando and me, we take shifts now guarding them at night. The dogs watch over them during the day.”
Deborah shook her head. “Never thought I’d carry around a rifle to protect myself from lions and tigers in Idaho.” Her words spilled out in a rush, a slight accent to them. “I can’t believe schools are open and people go to work, carrying on like normal.”

“Welcome to the wild west.”

“Shouldn’t you evacuate the town or something?”

“You’re from New York City, right?”

“Upper West Side. Most of my life.”

“You live there back in two thousand one?”

Deborah nodded yes.

“When the World Trade Center fell, did you leave?”

“Well, no.”

Jackson shrugged.

“Okay, I get it.” A smile softened Deborah’s boney features, although it exaggerated the crows-feet mapping her eyes. “Speaking of carrying on like normal, Jesse wants to comes back to work.”

“As long as she doesn’t go out riding, I’m fine with it,” Jackson said. “Can’t speak for Iris.”

Deborah nodded and shifted the Tundra automatic into drive. “You round up your two quarter-horses yet?”

“Haven’t been able to even look for them.”

“Maybe Armando and me can help. We’ll try.”

They said goodbye, and Deborah drove off to deliver Touie. Jackson was pretty sure that by now half the town
thought of him as ‘that negligent rancher’. In Idaho or Wyoming or Montana, you fed your animals first, your kids second, and if your wife only saw you at supper, it simply meant you were a good, hard-working husband.

He pulled away and drove to Safari Land. When he reached the Cheney house, he sat in the Jeep with the windows down and listened to Canadian geese flying south and to the usual buzz and hum and chirps of insects and birds. Nature was never quiet. But Jackson wasn’t listening for sounds that should be there; he was listening for sounds that shouldn’t. When he heard nothing, he went to the house, opened the screen door, and removed the crime scene tape.

The bullet whistled past him and seared the screenwire a millisecond before he registered the rifle shot. He ducked his head and shouldered the solid wood door as he turned the knob. He heard a second shot and dove to the floor. His only weapon was his Glock 21 semi-automatic. He drew the handgun and crawled behind the couch.