Avalanche: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery (Sheriff Bo Tully Mysteries) (7 page)

THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE
lodge shortly before lunch. While Janice returned her dogs to their pen, Tully stopped by the office to inform Mrs. Wilson that so far he hadn’t found any sign of her husband. He didn’t mention anything about his suspicion that the avalanche had been deliberately set off to kill him and Pap. He would tell her later. Maybe she already knew. He then went up to his room, took off all his clothes, ran a tub of hot water, and lay on his back in the tub with his knees bent up, so as not to get the bandages wet. He thought it might be okay to remove the bandages but at the moment wasn’t up to any unnecessary pain. He studied his stomach. It was fairly flat, at least while he lay on his back. That pleased him. He worked the faucet with the big toe of his right foot, keeping the water as hot as he could stand it. Grady, he thought, must be running the powerful generator almost full-time, to keep the water hot for the guests. On the other hand, maybe the tub water came from the hot spring. It didn’t smell of sulfur, though. He got up and dressed in the clothes he had just taken off, the blue Pendleton wool shirt, the black wool hunting pants, wool socks, and insulated boots. The one exception was a two-piece set of clean silk underwear. You never knew when you might need clean underwear, particularly if you were a cop. He studied his alligator-skin boots standing next to the bed. That alligator must have been allergic to water, he thought, either that or a really cheap alligator. He went downstairs for lunch.

Most of the lunch crowd had left by the time Tully got to the dining room. The few that remained, idling over their drinks, appeared to have all been clothed by L.L. Bean. By comparison, the occupants of his own table looked a bit ratty, although no one could have been more outdoorsy than his own private dog-team driver. Janice’s rough wool shirt and well-worn jeans seemed to match her tanned face and hands perfectly. Altogether, she looked pretty good to Tully, including the short bob of her curly blond hair. Dave and Pap were seated with her, and he could tell her looks weren’t being wasted on either of them. He was pleased to see Lindsay at another table across the room, engaged in her usual animated conversation but now with a middle-aged couple. He was willing to sacrifice the couple. Anything to keep her away from Pap.

“I guess you’ve all gotten to know each other,” he said, pulling out a chair.

“Oh, we’ve all met before,” Janice said. “I’ve known Pap for years and had the World Famous Chicken-Fried Steak quite a few times at Dave’s House of Fry.”

“Yes, indeed,” Dave said. “I once even escorted her and Tom around my reservation.”

“That must have taken a good five minutes,” Tully said, sitting down and spreading the linen napkin over his lap.

Janice laughed. “It’s quite a small reservation but very nice.”

“If we’re done discussing our fraudulent Indian here,” Pap said, “our tracker may have turned up some significant sign.”

“He’s right, Bo,” Dave said. “Those tracks you mentioned, there’s something odd about them.”

“Like what?”

“First of all, there are no tracks coming back. No tracks going anywhere except to the edge of the riverbank. There’s a sharp drop down to the water there, five feet or so, and the snow is all messed up like someone fell down the bank. There’s a bit of ice along the bank there and it was broken and then refrozen. A couple of large rocks stick out of the bank, and it’s possible a person could have slipped at the edge of the bank and hit his head on them. If he went into the river, he could have drowned.”

“No sign of blood on the rocks, I take it,” Tully said.

Dave shook his head. “Nope.”

A waitress came over. “Would anyone like a drink?”

Tully ordered a Diet Pepsi. Pap and Dave ordered single-malt Scotches.

“What kind of pain do you two have?” Tully asked them.

“Life,” Pap said.

Janice took a glass of merlot.

“So,” Tully said, “you think a highly experienced outdoorsman like Mike Wilson slipped and fell into the river and drowned.”

“It happens,” Pap said. “A few highly experienced hunters go missing in the mountains each year.”

“There’s one problem,” Dave said.

“It better be a good one,” Tully told him.

“I weigh about one-seventy and wear a size eleven boot. Now, don’t get excited, Bo, because I didn’t tell her anything about what we had found, but I did ask Mrs. Wilson about Mike’s shoe size and his weight. According to her, he was about the same size and weight as I am.”

“So?” Tully said.

The waitress brought their drinks and stayed to take their lunch orders. All four went with the toasted cheese sandwiches and cups of tortilla soup.

“So, Dave?” Tully repeated after the waitress left.

“I very carefully walked along the tracks in the snow, step for step. First of all, there was no fresh snow in the tracks. Which means they were made after we arrived up here, because the snow stopped about nine.”

“That’s right,” Pap put in. “It stopped just before the avalanche.”

“Okay,” Dave went on, “first of all, even if Mike Wilson made the tracks, where was he all day Sunday and Monday? People were out looking and supposedly never found a trace of him. Now here’s the strange part, I think. The tracks were made by boots almost the same size as mine. But the difference is that my tracks sank a good four or five inches deeper in the snow!”

“You’re saying that the tracks were made by a person with the same size foot but a whole lot skinnier?”

“I would say smaller. And here’s another thing. The heels of the person’s boot were digging in at an odd angle, a much sharper angle than the heels of my boots.” Dave stood up to demonstrate. “It looked like the person was stretching out his leg to match the longer stride of Mike Wilson. I’d bet you a World Famous Chicken-Fried Steak that the person who made those tracks was a much smaller person than Wilson.”

“You don’t think there’s any chance Wilson could have made them?”

“I don’t see how. Maybe the snow was firmer under those tracks than it was under mine but I doubt it.”

The waitress brought their sandwiches and soup. “Anything else?”

Tully shook his head and she left. “Let’s suppose for the sake of argument that some small person wanted to make some tracks in the snow that would appear to be Wilson’s. They end at the river. How does the person get out of there without leaving more tracks?”

“Have to be by boat,” Pap said, washing down a bite of his cheese sandwich with a swig of whiskey. “Or a hot-air balloon.”

Tully said, “That would mean the person making the tracks had to have an accomplice.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Dave said.

Janice sipped her wine. “How are you going to figure out if the tracks were Wilson’s or not? You would need his boots, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Tully said. “And if he’s in the river, he’d be wearing the boots. It may be months before we find the body, maybe never, if there is a body at all. It could be all the way down to the Snake River by now.”

Janice said, “Do all your lunchtime topics involve bodies?”

“You brought up the problem of the boots, Janice. I’ve got to preserve one of those tracks before we have another snowfall.”

“How do you do that?” Pap said. “Put one of them in a freezer?”

“I don’t think that would work. What I need up here is Lurch. You know what that means, Janice. Another phone call.”

She responded with an exaggerated sigh.

FOR THIS TRIP TO THE
top of the ridge, Janice hooked up a team of the younger dogs. The new team was enthusiastic, to say the least, and twice almost dumped the sled. Tully half expected to arrive at the top of the ridge sliding on his belly while clinging with outstretched arms to the back of the sled.

“Whew!” he said, getting up. “I thought I was a goner there a few times.”

“They’re a peppy bunch, all right,” Janice said. “But they’ll make a good team once I work them a little more often.”

Tully dug out his cell phone and dialed. A woman answered. “Governor’s office.”

“I’d like to speak to the governor,” Tully said. He knew she was thinking “Wouldn’t everyone?” but she said, “Who may I say is calling?”

“Blight County Sheriff Bo Tully.”

“One moment, please, I’ll see if he’s available.”

“The governor!” Janice said. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

The governor boomed into the phone. “Bo, how are you!”

Tully held the phone up so Janice could hear. “I’m great, Guv. How are you?”

“Fair to middling, fair to middling. I’d be a lot better if I was up hunting quail with you.”

“Me too,” Tully said. “But I’ve got a favor to ask.”

He explained about the missing man and the avalanche and his need for Lurch. “So do you suppose you could have one of your National Guard helicopters haul him up to the West Branch Lodge?”

“Good as done, Bo. He’ll be up there in an hour. The chopper can land in that meadow next to the lodge. I’ve landed there a few times myself. Give me a call when you get that mess straightened out.”

“Will do, Guv. Thanks.” He pushed the off button.

“Well!” Janice said. “I’ve never before known anyone who could pick up the phone and call the governor. And have him answer! Don’t tell me he owes you a political favor.”

“Naw, politics don’t count for much around here. The guv’s a hunting buddy, and I know the best quail hunting in the state.”

“That explains it!”

Tully phoned the office. Daisy answered, “Sheriff’s Department.”

“Hi, Daisy. What’s happening?”

“Oh, Bo! It’s so good to hear from you so soon. When are you coming back?”

Tully had long ago guessed that Daisy was madly in love with him, even though both of them tried not to let on, particularly now that she was in the middle of a divorce from Albert the Awful.

“Yeah, I hate being stuck here, but we still haven’t found Mike Wilson dead or alive. Is Lurch around?”

“Byron just got back from Horace Baker’s office. I’ll put him on.” Daisy never referred to Lurch by his nickname for fear of hurting his feelings. Tully couldn’t care less about his feelings, and Lurch seemed to appreciate it.

“Hi, boss!”

“You find any clues, Lurch?”

“Not much. Only Mr. Baker’s prints on the whiskey glasses. Weapon was probably a .22 pistol. One shot to the back of the head. No exit wound. Looks like a professional hit. The bullet ricochets around inside the skull and does a lot of bad stuff to the brain.”

“Old Man Baker would never let somebody he didn’t know get behind him,” Tully said. “I doubt he ever knew a hit man. The killer must be somebody he knew pretty well. Anyway, Lurch, I need you up here pronto. Along with your usual kit of potions and the like, bring something that will let you take impressions of boot prints in the snow.”

“I thought the avalanche had closed the road.”

“It has. A helicopter will pick you up at the Air National Guard station in about half an hour. Be there.”

“But you know I’m terrified of flying!”

“What’s your point, Lurch?”

JANICE DROPPED HIM OFF AT
the maintenance shed, then took the rowdy pups back to their pen. Tully looked around the shed for Grady Brister and finally found him in an enclosed workshop at one end of the building. Grady had something in a vise and was pounding on it with a ball-peen hammer.

“I didn’t know you also worked on delicate machinery, Grady.”

The handyman blew out some sunflower-seed husks and gave the object a few more whacks. He turned around, frowning. “Oh, it’s you, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got my Crime Scene Investigations unit flying in by helicopter in a few moments. I’d like you to haul us out to the Pout House in the Sno-Cat.”

“Yes sir, I could do that. But there’s not a lot of room in Bessie.”

“There will only be you, me, and my CSI unit, three of us altogether.”

“Your CSI unit is only one person?”

“Yeah, we’re a small department without that many murders. I don’t count friendly killings as murders.”

Grady and Tully rode the Sno-Cat out to the field next to the lodge and waited. Grady didn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist, so Tully drove his hands deep into his pockets and watched the sky in silence. He heard the helicopter before he saw it, sweeping in over the mountaintop. It landed a short distance away, sending up a blizzard of snow. A pale and shaky Lurch emerged from the door, dragging his aluminum forensic trunk after him. Tully ran up to help him. The chopper’s copilot came to the doorway and handed Tully a card. “The governor put us at your disposal, Sheriff. Give us a call if you need us. The number’s on the card.”

Tully glanced at the card. Capt. Ron Stolz, Pilot, Air National Guard and a phone number.

“Thanks,” Tully shouted over the roar of the engine. “I’ll do that.”

He picked up one end of the trunk.

“Well, Lurch, you look as if you survived the horrors of a brief helicopter ride!”

“You’re right about the horrors!” Lurch shouted back.

Tully picked up one end of the trunk, and he and Lurch carried it over to the Sno-Cat. He introduced Lurch and Grady.

“So you’re the CSI unit,” Grady said. “I’ve never met one before.”

“The much-abused CSI unit,” Lurch said. “Wow, this is some machine. Must be based on some kind of engineering magic.”

“I don’t know about that,” Grady said. “But it gets us anywhere we want to go.”

They climbed up into the cab. Lurch was even more impressed. Tully found any kind of technology to be basically boring. He glanced around, barely stifling a yawn. He pointed to two binocular cases hanging from a metal peg. “How come you need two sets of binoculars.”

“Those are Mike’s. He does a lot of birdwatching, game animals, stuff like that. The one pair are Swarovskis. They cost a fortune, like twelve hundred dollars or more. The others are Bushnell night-vision glasses.”

“What kind of birds does he watch at night?”

“Beats me. He just bought them.”

Ten minutes later they arrived at the Pout House. Grady remained in the Sno-Cat with the engine running, while Tully took Lurch around to the back of the cabin.

“Those tracks on the left belong to Dave Perkins,” Tully told him. “Notice how they sink down deeper than the tracks on the right.”

“Could be that Dave weighed more than the person who made the other tracks,” Lurch said. “On the other hand, maybe the temperature warmed up and softened the snow some when Dave made his tracks.”

“Did I ask you to bring logic into this? Okay, I’ll try to find out if there’s been a change in the temperature. Can you make a cast of the tracks?”

“Yeah, it’s tricky, but I can do it.”

“That’s why the county pays you the big money.”

Lurch laughed. He opened his trunk and began mixing a concoction. Once he was satisfied with the consistency, he poured it into one of the tracks.

“There’s still good detail here,” he said. “Apparently, the temperature has gotten colder, if anything. Otherwise, we would have lost most of the detail. I assume you’re thinking about matching it up with the boots of the person.”

“Actually, Lurch, we don’t have the person and we don’t have his boots. Otherwise, we have everything we need.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.”

“I hope I didn’t fly up here in a helicopter for nothing.”

“Easy come, easy go,” Tully said.

As soon as the mixture in the track had set, Lurch pried it up, put it in a box, and they headed back to the lodge. “We’ll get you a room, at least for the night, Lurch. They have a heated pool here, fed by a hot spring. I recommend you give it a try.”

“I might just do that. Maybe it will undo some of the knots I got in that chopper ride.”

Tully imagined the other swimmers leaping out of the pool when they saw Lurch dive in. Hey, there were certain advantages to his degree of homely. You got a swimming pool all to yourself for one thing.