Authors: P.T. Deutermann
The Cat Dancers (21 page)
Cam felt a surge of anger, but he hadn’t come here to fight, he reminded himself. He wanted to leave Kenny at least neutralized, so he didn’t point out that it was Kenny’s own actions that had brought the court’s sanctions. “Our relationship
was a lot of things,” he continued. “Some old, some new, some just spur of the moment. You should also know that she wasn’t exactly happy the way the minimart case came out. But that was business, and, if you remember, more our fuckup than hers.”
was a lot of things,” he continued. “Some old, some new, some just spur of the moment. You should also know that she wasn’t exactly happy the way the minimart case came out. But that was business, and, if you remember, more our fuckup than hers.”
Kenny grunted. “SWAT’s fuckup, you mean, and there was a lot more history between her and us than just that case. But either way, this has to be James Marlor. I’m sure of it. Occam’s razor: The simplest solution is usually
the
solution. Cop vigilantes don’t make sense, especially when there’s a perfectly good suspect right there. All we have to do is find his ass. Then it’s over.”
the
solution. Cop vigilantes don’t make sense, especially when there’s a perfectly good suspect right there. All we have to do is find his ass. Then it’s over.”
“I suppose,” Cam said. He wanted to leave it on an agreeable note. A disarming note, just in case. “I guess I do need to just get on with the rest of my life.”
“And your coming inheritance,” Kenny pointed out. “Assuming the feds let go of that.”
Cam wondered if that remark was a subtle threat, a little hint that the tables could still be turned. He smiled as he stood up. “Don’t have it yet,” he said.
“The taxman won’t take it all.”
“They’ll try,” Cam said. “Remember what you get when you put the words
the
and
IRS
together.”
the
and
IRS
together.”
“Enjoy your time off, then,” Kenny said. He remained seated at the table. His face was an interesting mixture of friendliness and quiet satisfaction. He chuckled. “Although the guys’re making book on how long you’ll stay away.”
“I may surprise you there,” Cam said, rubbing his stubbly beard. “Might grow to like it.”
Kenny tipped his empty glass up at him. “Happy trails, then,” he said. “Just remember—if you’re going to make the break, make the break. Don’t look back. And if we’ve got a vigilante problem, trust me, we’ll take care of it.”
“I’m sure you will,” Cam said, and then walked out of the house. And that was that, he thought.
From his car, he could see Kenny’s face in a front window as he backed out and then drove down the long drive toward the blacktop. He had come out here expecting vehement denial
and some good arguments as to why he was all wet about a vigilante problem. Instead, he’d gotten—what, exactly? Kenny had brought up a disturbing possibility—that the investigation might well indeed turn around and focus on the man with all that newfound money. And the sheriff had been awfully quick to accommodate his leave of absence. If they couldn’t find Marlor, they very well might come after someone besides Marlor for all three murders.
and some good arguments as to why he was all wet about a vigilante problem. Instead, he’d gotten—what, exactly? Kenny had brought up a disturbing possibility—that the investigation might well indeed turn around and focus on the man with all that newfound money. And the sheriff had been awfully quick to accommodate his leave of absence. If they couldn’t find Marlor, they very well might come after someone besides Marlor for all three murders.
“If you’re going to do something, you better do it quick,” he said aloud.
His personal cell phone rang. It was Jay-Kay. “I have good news, “she said. “A Lexington-area cell phone was used four miles from that place in the mountains you are interested in. Do I need to amplify that?”
“You do not, and thank you very, very much.”
“Be careful, Just Cam. I may not be the only one who knows that.”
AS HE DROVE BACK toward Triboro, he received a message from dispatch to meet the sheriff at the Triboro Arboretum. He got there twenty minutes early. The front gates were closed, but the service road on the back side didn’t have any gates. The place was a combination arboretum and botanical garden out in the middle of a high-end residential district. Right now, it was more garden than arboretum, courtesy of an ice storm that had taken down about 60 percent of the trees a year ago. He parked toward the back in the staff parking lot, turned off his lights, and waited. There was a single amber streetlight illuminating the entire parking lot. Security wasn’t a big issue at an arboretum.
He saw a cruiser with just its parking lights on coming up fast through the service entrance, and a moment later Bobby Lee was getting into the passenger side of the Merc.
“Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger,” he said as he closed the door.
“Me, too,” Cam said. He wondered if the sheriff knew how the entire operations department tracked him from street sighting to street sighting. What they called him on the net. He probably did.
The sheriff gave Cam’s face a once-over. “You need a shave, Lieutenant.”
“Might be growing a beard,” Cam said.
They sheriff rolled his eyes. “You’re taking this leave of absence far too seriously, I do believe. Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Cam didn’t have to ask what they were talking about.
“I do want you to take a look. See if you can develop
something besides bull-pen rumors on these incidents, or even past incidents. Something substantial.”
something besides bull-pen rumors on these incidents, or even past incidents. Something substantial.”
“Like evidence.”
“Yeah, evidence would be nice.”
“I’d need computer access,” Cam said immediately.
“For?”
“To look into back cases. See if there have been any other suspects who’ve been evened out.”
“Okay, but how would we get you in without people like the system administrator knowing?”
Cam shrugged. “I don’t know, Sheriff,” he said. “But I know someone who probably does.”
The sheriff looked at him blankly for a moment, and then he remembered. “But she works for the feds,” he said.
“That was my second consideration,” Cam said. “The feds would have to know that I was doing this officially. Otherwise, we cross paths—”
“And they’d freak. Right. Can you trust that woman?”
“With my personal safety? No. But she would be a reliable channel back to the feds.”
“How does that help us?”
“Shows them we’re looking into our possible problem. Here’s what I suggest: You go directly to Jay-Kay. Tell her I’m working undercover. Then you hire her on some pretext. She invents a fictitious consultant or associate, who would be me, and I’ll do my thing as I need to, using her for the computer side. That accomplishes two things: It covers my ass, because I’m official, and covers yours, because you’re taking proactive steps to see if there’s anything going on.”
He didn’t add the third consideration: If he was working undercover, it would neutralize any federal efforts, and Kenny’s, too, for that matter, to pin something on him.
The sheriff nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that computes. The problem is that I’d need to leave you on LOA to maintain the cover. Administratively, I mean. That means no paycheck.”
Cam smiled. “I’ll take it as back pay when we bag the bastard.”
The sheriff grunted.
“How will we communicate?” Cam asked.
“I’ll get us some pagers,” Bobby Lee said. “We talk only when we can meet. No phones, and no damned E-mail.”
“And nobody in the Office but you in the loop?”
The sheriff nodded. “Not my preference, but for something like this …”
“How about Steven Klein?”
“I’ll think about it. Steven likes to showboat sometimes, impress people with what he knows. Especially at dinner parties.”
Cam thought about the Sheriff’s Office own Internal Affairs people, but then he discarded the idea. “What changed your mind?” he asked.
The sheriff looked over at him. His face was drawn in the amber light and he looked older than Cam had remembered.
“The feds have stopped talking to us,” he said.
“Well, I’ve been talked to,” Cam said, and he told the sheriff about his night visitor. The sheriff swore when Cam was finished.
“Could you tag him from a picture?” the sheriff asked.
“Probably not,” Cam admitted. “That forty-five had most of my attention. I was just surprised all to hell when he did that. Definitely an older cop. Of course the uniform and the car could all have been a fake, too. Somebody buying an old cruiser from a Sheriff’s Office auction.”
“Looked and sounded real, did he?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“And he admitted doing the two shooters and the judge?”
“No-o, he didn’t,” Cam said. “He was just there to tell me to get out of town.”
“Son of a
bitch.
Then it’s true.”
bitch.
Then it’s true.”
“He wasn’t one of ours, Sheriff,” Cam said.
“That’s small consolation. I’ve got to report this to the feds.”
“If they’re not talking to you, why talk to them?” Cam asked. “Start your own internal investigation, within the
county sheriff’s network. At some point, they’ll want to trade information, and you’ll have something to tell them.”
county sheriff’s network. At some point, they’ll want to trade information, and you’ll have something to tell them.”
“And meanwhile?”
“Meanwhile, I have to make it look like I got the message,” Cam said.
TWO DAYS LATER, CAM was walking steadily up a ragged trail on the north side of Blackberry Mountain. The Sinclair Reservoir glinted across its two thousand acres to the northwest, casting the trees behind him into black silhouettes in the morning’s hazy glare. His two shepherds ranged ahead of him, crossing and recrossing the winding trail, noses down and tails wagging enthusiastically. There was a mist lingering across the tops of the ridges, and the heavy air made his footsteps seem unusually loud. A light breeze flowing down from the heights couldn’t make up its mind as to whether it wanted to be warm or cold. Since it was officially bow-hunting season, he wore a bright orange nylon vest over his lumber man’s jacket. He carried a six-foot-long yew walking stick, and he had the big Colt in one jacket pocket and a thin can of pepper spray in the other. He was toting a small backpack on his upper back. He didn’t plan to stay out overnight, but he never went into the woods without a pack continuing a minimal amount of survival gear, especially in the fall. The western Carolina mountain weather could change seasons on a hiker dramatically in just a few hours, and there were dark clouds gathering over the Blue Ridge to the west.
Cam was no stranger to mountain trails. He went up into the hills and mountains just about every weekend, usually taking his dogs, and had been doing so for many years. Today, the shepherds were wearing their bark collars. He wasn’t exactly trying to sneak up on Marlor’s cabin, but he didn’t want the dogs to give Marlor a half hour’s warning that someone was coming, either. Sound carried on these wooded slopes. He climbed steadily, although not in any great hurry. This was probably also a trail used to gather ginseng root,
based on some occasional digs he’d seen. More than a few impoverished mountain people supplemented their welfare checks by gathering roots up in these hills.
based on some occasional digs he’d seen. More than a few impoverished mountain people supplemented their welfare checks by gathering roots up in these hills.
He’d followed the same route as the Surry County deputy had taken to the abandoned farm on the north side of the mountain. After a half hour’s search, he’d discovered what he believed to be Marlor’s pickup truck hidden in a ramshackle tractor barn. The doors had been locked, so he hadn’t been able to get in to make sure, but he’d cast the dogs out to find a trail, and they’d promptly discovered a small footpath leading up and across the northern slope. He consulted a handheld GPS unit from time to time to make sure he was headed in the right direction. He was watchful as he climbed, aware that sometimes there might be other beings watching him. There were some folks up here who enjoyed startling the flatlanders by standing motionless next to a big tree right off the trail and not moving or saying anything until the hikers were within five feet of them. That was one reason he’d brought the dogs—they would spot any human and most game animals long before he ever would. Otherwise, he’d feel obliged to do his hiking Indian-style: move, stop, look, and listen. It was interesting to do it that way, but not if you were trying to get somewhere and back before full dark descended.
He’d gone to a phone booth and talked to Jay-Kay via a landline to find out how she’d sniffed out the cell phone. With the phone company’s help, she’d located the single tower that would serve any cell phone that was activated within five miles of the cabin’s GPS coordinates on the south side of Blackberry Mountain. Then she’d located two other towers within line of sight of the cabin, but much farther away, one to the east and one to the west. Atmospherics aside, there was a higher probability that a signal from a cell phone activated up at or near the cabin would hit the first tower, while being rejected by the other two. But if all three towers recorded a hit, even a rejected hit, the topography of the south slope made it likely that the signal was originating on the mountain. Then she had her tigers initiate a continuous scan of the towers’ servers for a Lexington-area phone meeting these criteria.
There had been only one hit like that, and she’d called him immediately. There was always the chance that it had been an itinerant hiker from Lexington, but it was better than the nothing they’d had for days.
There had been only one hit like that, and she’d called him immediately. There was always the chance that it had been an itinerant hiker from Lexington, but it was better than the nothing they’d had for days.
By one o’clock, he’d followed the trail to the edge of the woods behind Marlor’s cabin. He’d called the dogs to heel a half hour ago, and now they flopped obligingly down on the pine needles while he studied the cabin for signs of life. He thought he could smell stale wood smoke in the air, which told him that he might be in luck this time. He fished in his backpack for a couple of sandwich bags filled with dry kibble and fed this to the two dogs. He fished again and pulled out a mushy PB&J sandwich for himself, which he ate while studying the cabin and its surroundings. The woods were now perfectly still and he could just barely hear the brook that ran down the front side of the cabin. The temperature was beginning to drop and the breeze had made its decision after backing fully around to the north. He looked up and confirmed that the sunlight was fading, all of which meant he might be walking back through some snow. The good news was that the trail had been clear and had brought him right to the cabin. The bad news was that his GPS wouldn’t be worth much in snow, but unless there was a whiteout, he should be all right getting back.
He heard sounds from the other side of the cabin, and the dogs’ ears came up. He saw James Marlor appear at the corner of the cabin briefly and then trudge down out of sight, having headed in the direction of the privy. Cam smiled, pleased that his hunch had worked out. Perfect timing, too, he thought. When Marlor emerged from the privy, buttoning up his clothes, Cam was sitting on the front porch of the cabin with the two shepherds, his backpack on the floor in front of him. Frick lay down on the floorboards and casually eyed Marlor as he walked back to the cabin. Frack sat up, as usual, doing his wolf imitation, staring at the approaching man with those close-set amber eyes, but Marlor didn’t seem impressed by the dogs. He trudged back up the slope, ignored the two dogs, nodded at Cam as if he’d been expecting him, and stepped inside the cabin, leaving the door open. Cam stayed in his chair but put a
hand on his revolver. He heard water being poured into a basin, the sounds of washing, and then Marlor came back out with a bottle of Booker Noe’s small-batch bourbon tucked under his arm and two tin cups in his left hand. In his right hand was an old government-issue .45-caliber semiautomatic.
hand on his revolver. He heard water being poured into a basin, the sounds of washing, and then Marlor came back out with a bottle of Booker Noe’s small-batch bourbon tucked under his arm and two tin cups in his left hand. In his right hand was an old government-issue .45-caliber semiautomatic.
He kicked the other rocking chair around so that he could face Cam and then sat down. He put the big gun in his lap and then poured himself some whiskey.
“Drink?” he asked.
Cam looked pointedly at the .45 in Marlor’s lap. Marlor just looked back at him patiently. “No thank you, sir,” Cam said finally.
“I’m going to be dead tonight,” Marlor announced in a totally matter-of-fact voice. “You can have a drink with me.”
Cam tried not to blink. “Put it that way, I guess I will,” he said.
Marlor poured him a splash and passed him the cup. He leaned back in the rocker, tipped his cup in Cam’s direction, and they both drank. A tendril of damp, cold wind came searching for them around the corner of the cabin, confirming Cam’s suspicions of approaching snow. The Booker, at 126 proof, cleaned his sinuses right out.
“Nice dogs,” Marlor said. “I had a shepherd once, but she was nuts. Hyper all the time. Chased cars. Caught one.”
“They get that way sometimes,” Cam said. “Usually, it’s the human’s fault. They feel it’s their duty to be with you, herding you, full-time. If you go away to work all day, they can’t do their duty. Drives some of them nuts.”
Marlor nodded, and Cam decided just to be quiet. He wanted to see what Marlor would do. For some reason, he wasn’t too worried about the gun anymore. It had taken a few minutes, though. Frick was dozing; Frack had his eyes on a squirrel that was tempting fate out in the yard.
Marlor’s face was gaunt, indicating he hadn’t eaten in awhile. He had aged since the meeting, and his eyes were more intense as he stared at nothing down the front slope, probably thinking that he was going to be dead tonight. He had an unkempt black beard and he needed a haircut. Cam
could smell the wood smoke in his clothes. He looked like that portrait of Robert E. Lee painted after the War, with those haunted, defiant eyes.
could smell the wood smoke in his clothes. He looked like that portrait of Robert E. Lee painted after the War, with those haunted, defiant eyes.
“Why are you here?” Marlor asked him finally.
“Wanted to talk to you.”
“Which way’d you come?”
“I came by helicopter the first time,” Cam said. “Nobody home. This time, I hiked in from the north side.”
“What brought you back?” Marlor asked.
“I believe you used a cell phone from up here,” Cam said. Marlor sighed and nodded. “I wondered. You guys must be pretty good.”
“I wish we’d been better when we arrested those two bastards who destroyed your family.”
“Your people screw that up?”
Cam shook his head. “Not mine, directly, but our Sheriff’s Office. I remain very sorry for that.”
“You come alone?”
Cam smiled. “Here’s where I’m supposed to say I have lots of backup out there in the woods. Snipers in the trees. Helicopters on call. SWAT guys suiting up.”
Marlor grunted. “I’d have heard all that, I think,” he said.
“You never heard me,” Cam said.
“True,” Marlor admitted. “You’re comfortable in the woods, then.”
“Very,” Cam said. “Look, I’m not here to arrest you.”
“Got that right,” Marlor said, patting the gun in his lap.
“I really just want to talk.”
“Okay,” Marlor said, reaching for the bottle again. “So talk.” He poured and drank with his left hand; his right hand stayed casually in his lap.
“We found Simmonds,” Cam said.
Marlor nodded. “Okay.”
“We haven’t found Butts, though.”
“Probably won’t,” Marlor said. “Unless you do have a cast of thousands out there. Then you might.”
“I’m curious. What kind of gun did you use when you grabbed up Butts?”
“M-sixteen-A-three, with a plugged barrel.”
“Plugged?”
“Not enough recoil from blank rounds to cycle the action on an M-sixteen unless you plug the barrel.”
“That’s a pretty tough neighborhood for a white guy to go into with a load of blanks.”
“They didn’t look very tough to me,” Marlor said. “Of course, all I saw were assholes and elbows.”
Cam grinned. “Yeah, we heard.”
“I believe some of those tough guys leak a bit when they get motivated,” Marlor said. The sunlight was almost gone, the remaining light more a metallic glare than real sunlight. What could be seen of the sun had a ring around it in honor of the approaching front.
“You were a Ranger?” Cam asked.
Marlor eyed him over the tin cup. “Still am.”
Cam believed it. “I was army, too, way back when. Worked for an engineer battalion.”
“What was your MOS?”
Cam gave him the military occupational specialty code for sniper scout. Marlor, apparently recognizing it, grunted. “What’d you shoot?” he asked.
“Barrett fifty.”
“Fine weapon. Army school or marines?”
“The Corps.”
The wind picked up enough steam to start the pines moaning. “What was it you wanted to know?” Marlor asked.
Cam decided to go right to it. “We’re all curious—how’d you put those executions up on the Internet without being traceable?”
“Went down to an Internet café in Charlotte. Signed on to AOL, took out a free trial membership. Used a fake name, fake everything—they don’t care until it’s billing time, and you get a couple hundred free hours to start with. Then I created a second screen name, sent the video clip out to a blogger as an e-mail attachment. I just assumed he would put it out there for general entertainment. Then I walked away from the AOL account.”
Cam remembered seeing the ubiquitous AOL discs. “We never found any blogger.”
“You wouldn’t. He could clip the video attachment, post it out there anonymously on the hot-chat site du jour. First guy who saw it would forward it. Something really interesting gets out on the Web, it can spread like wildfire. Think geometric progression. Did the same thing with the second one. You can be anybody with one of those free discs, for a little while anyway.”
“Still, I’d think the feds could have traced it back.”
“I’ve heard they’re pretty good at that,” Marlor said. “Maybe they did but just didn’t share. Either way, the best they could do was Charlotte. All
I
know is that it was out and running in about two hours.”
I
know is that it was out and running in about two hours.”
“To mixed reviews, of course.”
“Not from anyone who knew what those bastards did,” Marlor said. He eyed Cam curiously. “What’d you cops think of it?”
“I’m in law enforcement, Mr. Marlor. We frown on citizens taking matters into their own hands.”
“I asked what you thought of it. Say, in terms of justice.”
“That’s a separate question,” Cam said.
Marlor grunted again, but he didn’t say anything.
“What did you do with Flash?” Cam asked.
“Fed him to the turbines at a hydro plant,” Marlor said.
Cam was silent for a minute. Then he had another question. “You said, ‘That’s two’ at the end of the second execution. Like there was going to be a third.”
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