Paskagankee (10 page)

The police chief shook his head. “I've never been much of a believer in ghost stories,” he said. “In my experience, it's always a flesh and blood human being that does the damage.”

Now it was the professor's turn to shake his head. “That's exactly the point,” he protested. “It
is
flesh and blood that's doing the damage. The spirit is helpless until she finds a host she is able to possess. Once that possession occurs, though, she becomes increasingly powerful and dangerous.”

“I don't know,” Chief McMahon said skeptically. “I appreciate you making the effort to contact us, and that's one heckuva story, but I have to be honest here. I'm not convinced that the spirit of a brokenhearted Abenaqui mother is kidnapping people in my town.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Professor Dye, shaking his head vigorously. “I didn't make myself clear. She's not kidnapping anyone. I told you, she's killing them. She's tearing their bodies apart.”

At that moment, the chief's portable radio squawked to life. All three people in the room jumped at the same time. “Chief McMahon, come in.”

McMahon pressed the transmit button. “Yeah, Gordie, go ahead.”

The voice of the dispatcher came through, strained and upset. “You need to get back here now,” he said. “We've found Harvey Crosker.”

“That's great news,” the chief answered. “Is he okay?”

“Not exactly. Just get back here ASAP.”

14

THE WATER HAD BEEN falling from the sky virtually nonstop for nearly three full days. At times it came down as mostly sleet with the occasional fat snowflake mixed in, at other times it took the form of freezing rain, and on very rare occasions the atmosphere warmed just enough to turn the whole mess back into plain old rain. But at no time did it actually stop, and now several inches of ice and frozen slush covered the ground, with more being added to it continuously.

The return trip to Paskagankee from Orono took Mike and Shari nearly thirty minutes longer than the drive south had taken, not because there was more traffic on the road; in fact, there was even less. But conditions had worsened to the point where even with a four-wheel drive SUV, Mike could not coax a speed of better than twenty miles per hour out of the Explorer without fearing he would lose complete control of the vehicle, and even that was achievable only on the straightest and most well-sanded portions of Route 24.

Darkness fell long before Mike and Shari finally limped into Paskagankee, bypassing the police station and driving straight to the location where a passing jogger—
A jogger? In this weather?
Mike wondered what the hell people were thinking sometimes—had reported the gruesome discovery of a disembodied human head lodged high in a tree. The jogger had been forced to run almost all the way back to her home before reaching an area where cell phone coverage was sufficient to permit a call for help, and she had been panicked and near tears when she finally managed to contact Paskagankee Police dispatcher Gordie Rheaume.

The moment Mike and Shari had reached the SUV after making their hurried departure from Professor Dye's house, Mike called Gordie Rheaume on his cell phone and received a briefing on the few details currently available. What he heard made him glad he had stayed off the radio. Gordie advised him that Officer Jimmy Hadfield had answered the call from the hysterical jogger and could verify that the severed head did, indeed, fit the description of the missing Harvey Crosker.

Mike told the dispatcher to ensure Hadfield had secured the scene—being careful not to disturb any evidence—then to call the county medical examiner, as well as the entire Paskagankee police force, including those officers at home on their days off, and instruct everyone to meet them at the location where the gruesome discovery had been made.

It was now six-thirty p.m., and Mike and Sharon were hungry, tired and wired from coffee and raw nerves when they pulled the Explorer to the side of Mountain Home Road. The only access to the crime scene was via a more than two mile hike into the forest. An excited Jimmy Hadfield was waiting to escort them as they clambered out of the vehicle. “Chief, you're not gonna freakin' believe your eyes when you see this! It's a goddamn head in a tree!”

Mike raised his hands for Hadfield to stop, shaking his head and telling the young officer, “Don't say anything else, Jimmy, I want to see it for myself when we get there, okay?”

Hadfield turned sullen, saying, “Fine, whatever. I've been getting rained on out here for two hours waiting for you, that's all.”

Mike looked at Hadfield's rain gear, still relatively dry, and said, “Well, you've been in your cruiser, right? I mean, you haven't been standing outside this whole time, have you?”

“No, of course not, it's just . . .ah hell, never mind. I've just never seen anything like this in the five years I've been on the force, that's all. It's unbelievable.”

Mike asked, “You left someone at the scene, I assume?”

“Hell yeah, everyone's there by now, including the ME. They're all standing around waiting for you. What took you so long, anyway?”

Mike raised his eyebrows and looked up at the dark sky, freezing rain falling into his face. “You may not have noticed Jimmy, but there are rumors of a pretty serious storm in the area. We ran into part of it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

They started into the woods. Mike hoped Jimmy hadn't inadvertently destroyed evidence tramping around up there before anyone else reached the scene. The kid seemed to be a decent cop and a hard worker, but Mike had already discovered Hadfield might not necessarily be the smartest guy in the room, even when he was in the room all by himself.

Officer Hadfield started out ahead, picking his way carefully along the narrow, rutted, ice-covered trail. Mike could not believe that less than four hours ago a woman had been running alone through this remote and treacherous area. Judging by the hazardous condition of the trail, he decided she had been extremely fortunate not to have fallen and broken a leg in her desperate rush to get help.

They had only been in the weather for a few minutes and already Mike could feel the damp chill seeping into his bones. He wondered if Shari felt the same way and figured she must. They were dressed in heavy all-weather gear stored in the back of the vehicle, so there was a measure of protection from the elements, but the dank blackness seemed a perfect match for his mood. Mike had come to Paskagankee, Maine, to get away from kidnappings and murders and horrific inhumanity. Now here he was, less than two weeks into his new job and he was waist-deep in . . . who knew what?

The little group slogged along the narrow path as the freezing rain continued to fall, soaking them and slowing progress to a crawl. All around them, good-sized branches littered the rudimentary trail as trees were simply unable to support the extra weight of the ice. Gigantic firs sagged against their neighbors, uprooted but lacking the necessary room to fall to the ground. Several times the officers were forced to abandon the path and pick their way around blockages caused by the storm.

Mike McMahon wasn't a guy who put a lot of stock in myths and legends. He had seen plenty of evil in his fifteen-plus years of police work and knew that spirits and demons weren't necessary to produce it; mankind was quite capable of gross inhumanity all by itself. But as he moved slowly through this vast, desolate forest, Mike found himself reconsidering Professor Ken Dye's incredible tale.

Was it really possible these woods had been the scene of a bloody massacre more than three hundred years ago and that the restless spirit of a grieving Native American mother was wreaking havoc on his newly adopted town? The idea had seemed ludicrous sitting in Professor Dye's warm and cozy living room, watching the man sip whiskey as he calmly and rationally spoke words that amounted to utter nonsense. But now, Mike discovered he was not so certain. What had seemed ridiculous and even laughable a couple of short hours ago now seemed, if not likely, then at least not entirely outside the realm of possibility.

Mike chuckled. He must be more tired than he realized.

Up ahead on the narrow path, Officer Jimmy Hadfield led the way, followed closely by Sharon Dupont, with Mike bringing up the rear. Hadfield trudged along, head down, still sulking over not being allowed to spill all the gory details of the grisly discovery.

The new chief of police found himself staring at Sharon, mesmerized by her shapely figure as she struggled along the slippery trail. He was developing a strong attraction to the younger woman, even though he knew it would be asking for trouble to start anything. She was his employee for one thing, and he knew he was damaged goods thanks to the Revere shooting for another.

Still, he hadn't been with a woman since his wife picked up stakes and moved back to her parents' house almost a year ago, and Sharon Dupont was cute and smart and, as far as Mike knew, available. He found his mind wandering, curious as to whether she felt anything toward him.
Stop it
, he told himself.
This is pointless, the woman works for you, for God's sake, just let it go.

Finally a weak, hazy glow shone through the trees ahead. It was difficult to see clearly for more than a few feet with the heavy freezing drizzle obscuring the visibility and the fact that night had long since fallen. Their flashlights worked to cut into the heavy mist but were no match for the curtain of black the mammoth forest dropped on them in conjunction with the weather. The group worked their way around one last fallen maple tree blocking the indistinct path and then found themselves amidst a crowd of nearly a dozen people all holding flashlights and coffee and trying to keep warm as a portable generator lit the eerie scene.

A tall, gaunt man in a brown trench coat stood in the middle of the clearing, tapping his foot impatiently. His collar was pulled up against the cold and an old fashioned fedora was perched atop his head. He turned and said, “Finally. Can we get this show on the road?” Dr. Jan Affeldt was the county medical examiner. He had been called to the scene by dispatcher Gordie Rheaume on Mike's instructions, and it was obvious he didn't appreciate having to hike deep into the woods on this pitch-black November evening in the middle of the worst ice storm the area had seen in decades. Mike couldn't blame him.

The chief stepped forward and offered his hand, the tall man reluctantly taking it after a moment's hesitation. “Dr. Affeldt, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. Thanks for waiting. I know you want to get back to your family, as do we all, so I'll try to move things along. I simply wanted to get a look at the scene in person before releasing the remains to you.”

“Fine. Let's just get on with it.” The doctor shuffled his feet, and Mike could see they were wet and muddy, reminding him how cold and miserable he was and everyone milling around out here must be.

He took in the ghastly scene, bathed in the uneven artificial light provided by the generator chugging away in the background. Two portable lamps had been erected on metal stands, one on each side of the clearing. Each lamp featured a pair of automobile headlights, and both had been placed at an angle so their beams converged on an ancient oak tree. The beams shone upward into the tree and Mike's gaze followed the light until he found what he was looking for—a disembodied human head.

The head was lodged in the tree, resting awkwardly ten feet off the ground in a joint where a large branch extended from the trunk. Following Mike's instructions, the crowd of officers had left it undisturbed where the unfortunate jogger, Carolyn Scherer, first glimpsed it. The blood pooled on the ground had now frozen into a mixture of ice and slush under the tree.

One of the Paskagankee Police officers who had been cooling his heels—literally and figuratively—awaiting the arrival of Chief McMahon spoke up. “How long do you suppose that thing's been up there?”

Mike gazed into the unseeing eyes of the late Harvey Crosker, whose head was angled in such a way that he appeared to be peering down at the group of officers below. “Well, according to the young woman who was running out here, the blood was still dripping when she came by. It's frozen into a solid mass now, so I would have to say whoever or whatever put that head up there did it not too long before Ms. Scherer passed by. I think it's safe to say she is extremely lucky her head isn't mounted up there next to Harvey's.”

Another officer, Pete Kendall, spoke up. “What exactly is the point in sticking a severed heard up in a tree, anyway? Whoever did it couldn't have expected someone to come by and see it way out here in the middle of nowhere, right?”

“It looks to me,” Mike answered, “like the victim's head was
tossed
into the tree, maybe by accident. It looks like an irrational act committed by an unthinking perpetrator.”

After examining the scene and ensuring that the officers had taken photos from all angles, Mike sighed and said, “All right, let's get him down from there. I assume you people searched the area for evidence, did you find anything?”

Kendall spoke up again. “We did our best considering it's pitch black out here, but honestly Chief, this ground is frozen solid with inches of ice on top of it. We didn't find anything and it doesn't seem likely that we will.”