Moonbog (30 page)

Suddenly, a tinny voice filled with static pierced through the sound of the peepers. “Roger, Jack, why don’t you fellas head on back for some hot coffee.”

Les spun on his heel and started off into the thick brush along the edge of the trail. Marshall immediately realized the situation; Les was trapped! Jack and Carl were coming at him from one end of the trail; he was at the other end. This might be his chance to prove what he knew, to catch Les with the body. With a shout, Marshall started forward just as Jack and Carl broke into view.

“Hey! Here!” Marshall shouted, pointing to where Les was thrashing into the brush. Les looked around at Marshall and glared angrily at him. “Hey! You got something there?” Marshall shouted.

Les stopped, his burden still on his shoulder, turned, and started back toward the trail as Jack and Carl came toward him.

“What the hell you got there?” Jack shouted.

“Holy shit!” Carl muttered.

As Marshall got closer, he shouted, “It’s the Hollis boy! It’s the Hollis boy!”

Les came out of the brush and dropped the body onto the ground. He cast a quick glance at Marshall, then addressed Jack and Carl. “I found him,” Les said, his voice tight with tension. “I found him . . . he was buried over there.” He indicated the general direction with a wave of his hand.

“Holy shit!” Carl repeated, as he looked at the frail, broken body.

Les glared at Marshall, giving him a piercing, questioning look. Marshall stammered, trying to say something, but no words would come out.

“Take it easy, old man,” Jack said, clasping Marshall on the shoulder. “Don’t go havin’ a coronary.”

“But . . . I saw . . . he. . . .”

“I was out beatin’ the brush,” Les said, his voice still straining to stay even. “I must’ve got separated from the rest of the guys. They’re around here somewhere. I . . . I came down along this trail and decided to head over to the open water at the Bog. ‘Bout fifty feet in, I saw . . . oh shit! I saw this foot sticking up out of the brush.” Les’ voice cracked.

“Hey, take it easy, Les. Christ, you’re a hero!” Jack said.

Marshall looked blankly from Les to the corpse to Jack. His mouth worked, trying to form words. “But . . . I saw . . . I. . . .”

“What’d you see?” Les asked with a sudden intensity that Jack and Carl didn’t seem to notice.

“I saw you carrying him,” Marshall said.

“I found him,” Les said firmly. He cocked his thumb toward the thick brush. “I found him in there where whoever killed him had buried him.”

Jack was bending down, inspecting the Hollis boy’s body. He didn’t touch him. “Looks like he’s been dead for a day or two,” he said finally. He stood up and looked at Les. “Why’d you move him?” he asked.

Les shrugged and looked confused. “I dunno’.”

“Don’t you remember?” Jack said. “Shaw made a point of telling us not to move the body if we found it. We were supposed to leave it where it was so they could check it out.”

“I dunno’,” Les said. “I guess . . . I guess I just got kinda’ freaked and carried it out to the trail without thinking.”

“Shit! Too bad,” Jack said. He took his walkie-talkie from his belt and snapped it on. Holding it closely to his mouth, he said, “Breaker, breaker. Virg, you there?”

“I’m here. Over,” came the static reply.

“Virg, this is Jack. . . . We, uhh, we’ve found the Hollis boy.” There was a tense second of silence, then Jack finished, “He’s . . . he’s dead.”

“Roger. We know where you are. We’ll be right out.”

Jack snapped off the walkie-talkie and put it back on his belt. He looked over at Les, who stood tensely regarding the corpse at his feet.

“Hey,” Jack said brightly, “Take it easy, Les. For Christ’s sake, you’re the town hero!”

HOLLAND, MAINE, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 1977

MISSING BOY FOUND DEAD

HOLLAND—The body of Jeffrey Hollis, age twelve, was found late Tuesday afternoon by Mr. Les Rankin in a wooded area north of town. This is the second murder this year in this small town in Maine, and the local citizens are outraged.

The Hollis boy had been missing since late Sunday afternoon. Police and local citizens, aided by the state services, spent two days combing the area, concentrating on the woods near the Holland Bog.

Police Chief Virgil Shaw had refused to comment on any connection between this most recent death and the death of William Wilson, also of Holland, last week.

Les Rankin, who discovered the body, was part of the local search party organized to look for the missing boy. He refused to comment on the incident.

No one has been arrested in connection with the deaths, but local people are referring to him as “The Bog Man.”

I

L
es sat in a chair and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. Leaning back and looking up at the ceiling, he began whistling a vague, tuneless song. The silence in Shaw’s office was beginning to eat at his nerves, and he knew he had to stay calm. He knew that anything less than “good-ole’ Les” might give him away.

He glanced over at Marshall, who was also sitting in the office waiting for Shaw and the State Police Lieutenant Porter. Marshall sat motionlessly, his eyes barely blinking as he stared out at the light rain.

“Shitty weather, ain’t it?” Les said to Marshall. The old man didn’t respond.

The door to the inner office snapped open, and Shaw walked in, followed by Porter. Shaw cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and then, sitting down at his desk, started shuffling some papers. Porter walked over to the coffee pot and drew himself a cup, not bothering to offer to get one for anyone else.

“Shitty weather, ain’t it,” Les said again, directing his comment at Shaw. “ ‘Course, now that the boy’s been found, at least we won’t have to go slogging around in the Bog with weather like this.”

Shaw grunted and adjusted his glasses again.

‘Course, we’ve been gettin’ more ‘an our share of good weather. I ain’t never seen a prettier June.”

Shaw grunted and jogged his papers into order. He peered at Les from badly bloodshot eyes.

Porter had been standing, leaning against the coffee table. Now he pulled a chair up beside Shaw’s desk. He sat down, his face expressionless. He was a perfect contrast to Shaw. Whereas Shaw looked old, tired, and drained, Porter looked fresh-shaven and lively. Les knew he would have to watch what he said and did around Porter; the guy looked efficient and as cold as steel—
a perfect cop
, Les concluded,
a perfect ball-busting cop!

Shaw picked up the papers and skimmed through them again. As he read, he underlined a few sentences with red pencil. When he was through, he handed the pages to Porter. Porter quickly read the underlined sentences and then passed them back to Shaw.

“Friggin’ rain,” Les muttered to himself, now that he knew no one was listening to him.

“It’s your ball game,” Porter whispered to Shaw, softly. But not so softly that both Les and Marshall didn’t hear him.

Shaw cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the desk. “OK.” He paused, cleared his throat again. “We
do
have some confusion here that I’d like to clear up.”

Marshall slowly moved his eyes in Shaw’s direction and stared at the police chief with a dull, distant glare. Les was still leaning back in his chair, but he lowered the front legs to the floor and sat forward, looking attentive.

Shaw started drumming his fingers on the desktop as he looked from one man to the other.

“What kinda’ problems, uhh, confusion you got?” Les asked. He sounded earnest, but there was a thin edge to his voice.

“Well,” Shaw said slowly, “I’ve taken statements from each of you and, well, they just don’t jibe.”

Marshall shifted his weight from one side to the other. Les planted his elbows on his knees.

“How do you mean, ‘don’t jibe’?” Les asked.

Shaw shook his head and cast a quick glance at Porter, who sat, unblinking, watching the two men. “Well, according to each of your statements, things just didn’t happen the same way.”

Les glanced at Marshall, but the old man was still staring vacantly ahead, as though focused on something outside the room.

“Les, you stated that when you found the body of the Hollis boy, you started to call for help, that you had heard Carl and Jack go by earlier and knew they were close by. You stated also that you saw Mr. Logan walking along the path and that you called to him, is that correct?”

Les hesitated for a second, then nodded his head. “Uhh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“You state further that Mr. Logan looked up when you yelled to him and then he began to walk toward you as you carried the body toward the path. Right?”

“That’s what happened,” Les said more firmly. A serious expression washed over his face, and he stared fixedly at Shaw.

“One point I would like to clear up, Mr. Rankin,” Porter suddenly broke in, “is why you moved the body in the first place.”

Les shrugged his shoulders and swallowed hard.

Christ
, he thought,
they’re gonna’ nail me!

“Hadn’t you been instructed before the search began that you were not to move the body? That it was of the utmost importance not to move the body?”

“I suppose I panicked when I found it,” Les said, not sounding at all confident. “I guess it just slipped my mind and, knowing there were some other guys nearby, I guess I thought I’d get it up to the path at least.”

“That was a mistake,” Porter said firmly.

Shaw spoke as he adjusted his glasses. “Les, you and I have spent many a fall afternoon hunting deer during the season. I know you’re a good hunter and that not a hell of a lot bothers you, and it surprises me that you’d . . . you’d lose your nerve—even with something like this.”

Les looked anxiously at Shaw. “I’ve killed plenty of deer and other animals in hunting season, but I never found a body before.” He tightened his voice for effect. “Not a
person!
”

Shaw nodded. “Sure . . . sure. How could any of us know how we’d react in a similar situation?”

“Anyway,” Les said, regaining his composure, “the rain we got last night would’ve washed away anything like tracks, wouldn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Porter said solemnly.

“Too bad,” Les echoed.

“Well,” Shaw continued, “what bothers me more than your moving the body is that your statements don’t at all match up with Mr. Logan’s. Mr. Logan has stated that he first encountered you once you had uncovered the body and were carrying it along the path. He firmly denies that he heard you call to him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an old man. Maybe he didn’t
hear
me call, but I did,” Les said firmly. “Maybe he’s hard of hearing.”

“I can hear perfectly well, young fella’!” Marshall said, turning angrily toward Les.

“Also,” Shaw continued, “Mr. Logan, you state that Mr. Rankin was carrying the body slung over his shoulder and walking
along
the path, not
up
the path. Correct?”

Marshall nodded, his forehead creased into a frown.

“Now Les,” Shaw went on, “you say that you hadn’t made it up to the path when Mr. Logan arrived on the scene. What I have to know first of all is,
when
did Mr. Logan first see the body? Was it
before
you made it to the path or
after
you started along the path in the direction Carl and Jack had taken?”

“I . . . I really can’t say for sure,” Les said. Agitation crept into his voice, and he shot a sharp, questioning look at Marshall.

—How much does that fucking old man know?
he wondered, as his fear of discovery rose like bile.
What the fuck did he see?

“I . . . I just remember that I saw . . . I saw the kid’s bare foot sticking out from underneath . . . underneath a pile of leaves and stuff. I . . . I probably panicked some. I dunno’! Christ! I have kids of my own! I can’t remember exactly what happened. Shit! I can’t say for sure!”

“Hey, come on,” Shaw said, his voice kindly, “take it easy.” He leaned across the desktop and tried to pat Les on the shoulder, but Les shied away. “I know it must’ve been quite a shock for you to—”

“Christ! You don’t know!” Les shouted. He looked at Shaw with wide, fear-struck eyes. “It scared the fuckin’ shit outta’ me! Christ! I’ve got kids of my own. One of
my
kids could’ve been dead out there!”

“Just relax, will you?” Shaw said firmly. He glanced over at Porter, whose expression apparently hadn’t changed; he was still studying the two men they were interviewing with a scientific detachment.

“Yeah. Sure,” Les said. He let the tension slowly drain from his body. His shoulders sagged as he leaned back in his chair. He was immensely pleased with himself for turning his worry and agitation at being discovered into appearing shocked by the experience of finding the boy’s body. He hoped silently that both cops read it as that and didn’t probe much deeper; he wasn’t sure how long he could hold up the front.