Authors: P.T. Deutermann
The Cat Dancers (41 page)
A WEEK LATER, CAM found himself sitting in his office, realizing that his career as a police officer was all over but the shouting. His formal announcement that he wouldn’t testify had put the expected crimp in the vigilante investigation. The day after his dogs disappeared, he’d been called into a meeting with DA Klein and the grand jury foreperson. He’d told them then that in order to save a hostage from certain death, he’d made a deal with his own voice mail that he wouldn’t testify.
“So what?” Steven said. “She wasn’t there, so they didn’t keep their part of the deal. Why should you?”
“Because we still don’t have her back,” Cam replied, suppressing a desire to add a “duh” to that. He pointed out that Jay-Kay never had answered his question as to when they’d get Mary Ellen back, and logically, that wouldn’t happen until they knew he wasn’t going to testify.
“Are you trying to tell me that the Sheriff’s Office is just going to quit on this one? And even if you all are, you don’t really suppose the feds will just close the book, do you?”
“I can’t speak for the feds, counselor,” Cam said. “But we got our vigilante, didn’t we?”
“You mean Sergeant Cox?”
“Yes, Steven,” Cam said with a sigh. “I meant Sergeant Cox. And as for the feds, they now know that their fancy consultant was on the wrong side of this problem. And now she’s out of the picture.” Until their computers blow up, he thought, although he didn’t say it.
“We have that list. I’ll remind you that my office didn’t make any deals.”
“You go right ahead, Steven,” Cam said evenly. “But if we
get Mary Ellen back in a body bag, that will be on your head, not mine. Plus, Jay-Kay was pretty clear that at least some of the so-called evidence she gave you was not everything it seemed.”
get Mary Ellen back in a body bag, that will be on your head, not mine. Plus, Jay-Kay was pretty clear that at least some of the so-called evidence she gave you was not everything it seemed.”
Klein, furious, had thrown him out of the office. Cam was sympathetic but not too worried. Much of the cell’s effectiveness had been that no one suspected they even existed. And the Sheriff’s Office had that list, too. Bobby Lee would work it one day, back-channel if he had to. But first they had to vet the whole thing, because the source of the list was, of course, Jay-Kay. MCAT’s efforts to track her down had come to nothing. She had disappeared, leaving behind her office and apartment complex in Charlotte, along with two IBM mainframes running diagnostics on each other with nothing else left in their vast memory banks but some transient electrons. A check of airlines and passport controls revealed no one by that name leaving the country. Her fancy car was gone, and the Sheriff’s Office dutifully had a warrant out for the car and its owner. The Bureau reported similar results, although they were a little vague as to precisely which strings they had been pulling to find her. But Cam well knew that if anyone wanted to go off the grid, that woman was more than qualified. She could as likely be in Indiana as back in India.
The sheriff was recovering but slowly. The doctors had beaten one infection but were now confronting another one, and the range of antibiotics was narrowing. Cam had been able to see him twice, and, if anything, he looked sicker the second time. With the sheriff out of action, Cam had become increasingly isolated within the Sheriff’s Office, especially after Steven had started running his mouth. He had a similar meeting with the federal authorities from Charlotte. They had most of the secondhand story, of course, but short of imprisoning Cam until he talked to them, the only physical evidence anyone had amounted to one dead minimart robber and bits of the homemade electric chair that had killed him, one dead wilderness guide and the head of the mountain lion that had killed him, one missing Sergeant Cox, the remains of one smashed-up vehicle grille, and bits and pieces of two
bombs, one from Annie’s house and a second from the trucking terminal.
bombs, one from Annie’s house and a second from the trucking terminal.
Cam’s bigger dilemma was how to reestablish his good reputation within the Sheriff’s Office in general. It didn’t take a genius to tell that a slow freeze-out was beginning, and this was reflected in the way other officers in the Sheriff’s Office were treating him. There’d been polite hellos, but increasingly the others evaded him: “Sorry, don’t have time to shoot the shit right now. Lots going on. You know how it is.” The members of the MCAT team had been individually detailed to various training and recertification courses, and there were rumors that the team was going to be broken up, due, somehow, to “budget constraints.” Rumors were spreading everywhere, and he desperately wanted to sit down with his contemporaries and tell them why he had recanted.
From his hospital bed, the sheriff advised against that, saying the feds could come back and subpoena any or all of them, forcing them to reveal what Cam had said. He’d talked to Mike Pierce about his status as a potential suspect in the federal books. Pierce told Cam that as long as he kept quiet, nobody should be able to put any hooks into him. Pierce was also the first one to come right out and suggest that Cam take early retirement.
“Hang around for ninety days,” he suggested. “Tell Bobby Lee you’re going to put your papers in, give him time to either restructure MCAT or appoint a new boss. Then fold your tents and steal away into the desert night.”
“Should I go out the front door or the back?” Cam asked bitterly.
“Are you part of some vigilante group?” Pierce asked.
“Hell no.”
“Like I said before, if that’s good enough for Bobby Lee Baggett, that’s good enough for me, too. Which means it should be good enough for your friends, as well. Your enemies can go screw themselves, right?”
The report from the army had finally come in on the incident that had ended Kenny’s military career. He had been on a temporary assignment to Fort Huachuca in Arizona. He had
failed to return on time from a seventy-two-hour leave. Subsequent investigation revealed that he and his brother, one James Marlor, had been engaged in an illegal hunting expedition on the federal reservation. James Marlor had been injured, and Kenny had taken him to a civilian medical facility for treatment. The ER people had reported to the local police that the injuries suggested a mountain lion attack. Because Kenny was army, the report made it back to Fort Huachuca.
failed to return on time from a seventy-two-hour leave. Subsequent investigation revealed that he and his brother, one James Marlor, had been engaged in an illegal hunting expedition on the federal reservation. James Marlor had been injured, and Kenny had taken him to a civilian medical facility for treatment. The ER people had reported to the local police that the injuries suggested a mountain lion attack. Because Kenny was army, the report made it back to Fort Huachuca.
The brothers had indeed been hunting mountain lion, which was forbidden within the installation’s vast boundaries. James Marlor had shot a cat. He’d approached the body, thinking the cat was dead, but it wasn’t, and it had mauled him. Kenny had killed it, then lied to protect his civilian brother. He was subsequently court-martialed, not for hunting mountain lion but for moral turpitude—that is, for lying to his superiors. He’d been dismissed from the service with a general discharge and had subsequently changed his name to Cox.
Cam wanted to pull Kenny’s Sheriff’s Office service records to see how he had accounted for those years in the army, but the personnel office had closed out the records upon notice of Kenny’s death. At this juncture, Cam wasn’t willing to pursue it. There had been a Sheriff’s Office memorial service for Kenny, where the sheriff spoke about the sacrifices police officers made in defense of the American way of life, among other platitudes. Department heads were told that Sergeant Cox had died in a hunting accident in the Smokies and that it was pure happenstance that Lieutenant Richter had been sent to look for him at the time of the incident.
Cam’s phone lit up for the first time in a week, snapping him out of his reverie. He picked up. It was Oliver Strong, Annie’s lawyer.
“Lieutenant, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you might be taking early retirement. Any truth to that?”
Cam laughed. “Which grapevine was that, counselor?”
“Courthouse mail room, to be exact,” he said. “And they’re never wrong, as we all know. I don’t mean to pry, of course, but if you are going to make a career move, I have some good news and some bad news.”
“Bad news first, Mr. Strong. That’s been my diet recently.”
“Okay, the bad news is that the IRS has sent me a letter saying that we’ll need to suspend liquidation of Judge Bellamy’s estate because the prospective beneficiary is, and I’m quoting here, ‘a person of interest’ in an ongoing federal investigation. They cite the law about a bad guy not being permitted to benefit from the fruits of his criminal acts.”
The feds reminding me of who has the real power, Cam thought. “Person of interest’?” he said.
“That’s what they call somebody when they want to hang him but don’t have enough evidence to take the poor bastard to a federal indictment.”
“Okay, I think I understand that. And the good news?”
“Remember that provision about past-due alimony? Where she said that when you retired from police work, she would augment your pension?”
“Vaguely,” Cam said. “Although truly, I’m a whole lot more worried about finding a certain park ranger right now than I am about money, pension or otherwise.”
“I understand, Lieutenant, but you just might care. Because the way this works, as soon as you put your papers in, you will begin to get the earnings from her estate. Not the principal, of course, but whatever earnings some nine million dollars’ worth of investments produces will come to you in quarterly payments. Even at five percent, that will not be chopped liver, as the expression goes.”
“Are you shitting me?” Cam said.
“Not a pound, Lieutenant,” the lawyer said. “In fact, it’s worded so that even if you’re fired from the Sheriff’s Office, it still works. The relevant clause speaks to your leaving law enforcement permanently.”
Cam laughed. “I guess she knew that my getting shitcanned was always a possibility,” he said.
“Well, retire, resign, or piss somebody off, but if you leave law enforcement, you let me know, okay?”
Cam said he would, then hung up. He had meant what he’d said: He’d have preferred to have found Mary Ellen wrapped in duct tape in that trailer to all the money in China.
He’d never had big bucks before, and he recognized that suddenly having money might present its own problems, especially if he left under what looked like an increasingly dark cloud. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he thought.
He’d never had big bucks before, and he recognized that suddenly having money might present its own problems, especially if he left under what looked like an increasingly dark cloud. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he thought.
The phone rang again. He picked up and identified himself.
“You have mail,” said a clone of the chipper voice from AOL.
He laughed and hung up, thinking it was a joke, but then, curious, he went to his computer. He did have mail, and it was from [email protected]. Well now, he thought. He opened the E-mail.
A color picture began to unfold on his screen. He couldn’t fathom it until it was just about done, and then he saw that it was of the interior of a dimly lit cavern that looked fairly large. In the foreground was what appeared to be an enclosure area with three large cages that had straw on the floor and watering troughs toward the back. Each cage was about twenty feet long and ten feet wide, and each had a heavy wooden door at the back.
The cages were empty. The reinforced wire doors at the front of each cage were standing open. All three of the wooden doors at the back were shut and barred by heavy metal strap handles. Superimposed at the top of the picture was a string of numbers, which Cam recognized as GPS coordinates. At the bottom there was a line of text, which read. “The lady or the tiger? Come at noon. Come alone or don’t bother.”
AT NOON THE NEXT day, he stood by his truck and looked across a creek at a very old house trailer and some sheds that were nestled in a fold at the base of a heavily wooded hill. He would have driven into the yard except that he didn’t think the rickety wooden bridge in front of him would hold up under his truck. He’d spent an hour finding the place once he’d left the paved road. The final mile had been little more than two ruts through the woods that paralleled the creek. The ruts kept going past this trailer, but the GPS unit on his dash said he was there.
He had come in patrol uniform, even though he had no Sheriff’s Office authority in this county. He was alone but not entirely on his own. He’d gone down to the hospital to see Bobby Lee after getting the E-mail, and he’d told the sheriff what he proposed to do. The sheriff looked somewhat better and was lobbying hard to go home. He immediately vetoed the whole idea of Cam going out there alone.
“If these were plain old kidnappers, I’d agree with that,” Cam said. “But these are cops. There’s no way I can arrange backup out there without them knowing it.”
“Then your hostage is a goner,” the sheriff said. “You go alone, they can kill you, and then her, and then they’re done with it.”
“If the hostage were a cop, I’d agree,” Cam said. “But she’s not. She doesn’t even know that much. I got her into this.”
The sheriff had heaved himself up from the bed and stared hard at Cam. “Why in the world would you trust these people?” he asked. “Just because they’re cops or agents? Just because
Sergeant Cox said they’d never do another cop? Want to see the hole in my chest?”
Sergeant Cox said they’d never do another cop? Want to see the hole in my chest?”
Cam had no ready answer for that. “They made a deal” was all he could muster. The sheriff responded with a rude noise.
“Look,” Cam said. “She said if I took a dive, they’d hand Mary Ellen Goode over. Without my cooperation, the whole investigation is stymied. If I get her back alive and then go forward to the grand jury, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, and so will she. If I don’t testify, then we’re in a permanent Mexican standoff. They stop their shit. She’s alive. That’s a better outcome.”
“You’re being a fool about this, not to mention entirely unprofessional. I know she’s pretty, but is she really that special to you?”
“I … like her,” Cam said. “And she saved my ass out in that river. I owe her at least the effort.”
“Well, I can’t permit it,” Bobby Lee said. “In fact, if you proceed with this, I’d have to fire you. So what’s it gonna be?”
“I guess you’re going to fire me,” Cam replied.
“Okay, you’re fired. Now, you want me to call the sheriff of Carrigan County, tell him what’s going on, and ask him to go out there—wherever it is—with some deputies if you don’t call in after, say, two hours?”
“I’d appreciate that,” Cam said. “As long as they give me those couple of hours. I’ll tell them when I’m going in.” He’d paused for a moment. “I really do appreciate the shot.”
“And shot is probably what you’re going to get, Lieutenant. Now get out of here. I’m a sick man.”
Cam sized up the trailer and the yard now. It took up about a third of an acre and wasn’t trashed, unlike many of the places he’d seen along the way. There was a chicken coop, an outhouse, two closed sheds, a snowmobile up on blocks, and two canoes upside down on racks under a lean-to. A vegetable garden was rapidly going to seed at the side of the trailer. It was a bright sunny morning, and the place was obviously empty. No dogs, cats, chickens, or any other signs of life, other than a single lightbulb burning next to the trailer’s rusty screen door. There was no mailbox or any other indication
of whose place this was. The electric utility poles ended with this trailer.
of whose place this was. The electric utility poles ended with this trailer.
He locked the truck, hitched up his utility belt, and walked across the bridge, which bounced even under his weight. He went up to the trailer and knocked forcefully on the metal wall. Then he saw the white decal taped across the door handle behind the screen door: KEEP OUT PER CARRIGAN COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE EVIDENTIARY EXCLUSION ORDER.
An eviction situation? Cam wondered. Then he bent down and saw the name listed on the label under owner: J. M. Smith, aka W. E. Mitchell.
He stood back up. This was White Eye’s trailer? Well, shit, of course it would be. He tried the door, but it was locked, and if he forced it open, he would break the decal seal. He knocked again just to make sure, then went around to the back and tried the back door. Same seal arrangement, and it was also locked. There were shades pulled down over the windows, so he couldn’t see anything inside.
The picture in the E-mail had been taken in a cave of some kind, not in a trailer. He looked at his watch. He had less than two hours before he had to make contact with the Carrigan County Sheriff’s Office. He decided to forget about the trailer and concentrate on those sheds across the yard. He resisted the temptation to look up into the hills to see who or what might be watching him. If they just wanted to shoot him, they’d have done it by now.
Neither shed was locked. The first shed contained a great deal of camping and trekking equipment, some of it commercial, like the climbing ropes, and some of it obviously homemade, like the makeshift travois. This shed was freestanding; the other one backed up to the hill itself. That’s where the entrance to a cave would be, he thought, assuming this was the right spot. The second shed contained boxes of camping supplies, a stack of firewood, and enough canned food to get through a winter. He banged on the back wall but found no secret doors or cave entrances. He tried the floorboards, but they were all solid.
He went back out and looked around. The only sounds
came from the creek and from birds in the nearby woods. If other people lived along this track, they were all staying home. The only other outbuilding besides the tilting outhouse was the chicken coop, which was fifty feet behind the trailer but not near the face of the hill. It was about twelve feet square, built up on a low platform. Its wire and wood sides could be taken down for cleaning, and there was a slanted ramp from the ground up to the entrance hole. There was a fence around the coop, but the gate was open and the chickens were apparently long gone. He went through the gate and poked around, finding only some old feathers and evidence of a lot of scratching. He kicked the four-by-four holding up one corner, and a dog barked. Then two dogs barked.
came from the creek and from birds in the nearby woods. If other people lived along this track, they were all staying home. The only other outbuilding besides the tilting outhouse was the chicken coop, which was fifty feet behind the trailer but not near the face of the hill. It was about twelve feet square, built up on a low platform. Its wire and wood sides could be taken down for cleaning, and there was a slanted ramp from the ground up to the entrance hole. There was a fence around the coop, but the gate was open and the chickens were apparently long gone. He went through the gate and poked around, finding only some old feathers and evidence of a lot of scratching. He kicked the four-by-four holding up one corner, and a dog barked. Then two dogs barked.
Cam recognized those barks, but he couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. Then he realized they were coming from under the chicken coop. No, wrong, from underground, under the coop. He stooped down to look. He should have had a clear shot all the way under the platform, but there was a square cinder-block structure about the size of a well house under there. He stepped back and lifted one of the walls of the coop and found that he could latch it upright. More barking from underground. He called to them, and they got even more excited. He climbed into the chicken coop, sneezing because of all the feathers, dust, and straw on the ledges, and pulled up a wooden frame on the clothcovered floor, creating a flurry of chicken feathers. Under that was a hinged wooden hatch with two big handles.
He lifted the heavy hatch and found a ladder going down ten feet into the ground. An orange plug from an extension cord hung on one side of the ladder, and a garden hose was coiled at the bottom of the ladder. There was a crudely wired receptacle and a hose bib just under the hatch coaming. He plugged the cord in and a lone lightbulb came on down below. Suddenly, he saw Frick and Frack circling at the foot of the ladder, whimpering with joy at being found. He pushed the hatch all the way over so that it rested back on its hinges and went down the ladder, his first thoughts on how he would be able to get the dogs up that ladder. Once he reached the
bottom, he realized he was in a small cave. The dogs were all over him, and he bent to pet their heads and reassure them. They were thin but apparently unharmed.
bottom, he realized he was in a small cave. The dogs were all over him, and he bent to pet their heads and reassure them. They were thin but apparently unharmed.
He looked around the cave, but there was nothing in there other than the ladder. A second orange extension cord was plugged into the light fixture and was taped along a wall leading down into a narrow passage. The air was cold but not wet, and there was a strange smell, which grew stronger as he stepped into the passage. It looked like it went down slightly and to the left. There were no lights overhead, but there was a dim glow in the distance, so, bending his head, he stepped down onto the smooth rock and followed the passage’s twisting course. The dogs followed him, although reluctantly.
The closer he got to the light, the stronger the smell, which he recognized now as spoiled meat, overlaid with a an odor of dung and straw, similar to smells he’d encountered in a zoo. The dogs were plastered to his knees now, obviously frightened. Cam was pretty sure he knew what this place had been used for, and then he rounded a sharp-angled turn and saw the cavern from the E-mail picture opening in front of him. The three cages were directly in front of him. There was a large open area right in front of the cages. The stone floor in front of him was covered in soiled straw, and a single bare lightbulb illuminated the entire cavern. The animal stench was strong as he unholstered his .45 and checked the action. The dogs lay flat on the floor when he stopped. They were both staring intently at the three cages.
Cam made sure there weren’t any creatures lurking in the deep muck, then stood still just to listen. The only sounds were a low hum from the lightbulb and the drip of water in one of the passageways leading out the back of the cavern.
“The lady or the tiger,” Jay-Kay’s E-mail had said. He remembered the story, only here there were three doors instead of two. Her meaning was clear: This was White Eye’s very private little zoo. Open the wrong door and you’d get the American version of the tiger. By implication, he should find Mary Ellen behind one of the doors. He called her name, quietly at first, then louder. To his surprise, his voice didn’t echo at all,
and for a moment he imagined the roof of the cavern pressing down on him. He took the dogs into the first cage on the left and brought them right up to the heavy wooden door, hoping they could tell which door was safe. The door had four iron T-hinges and the boards were rough-cut oak, reinforced with steel straps. One long steel strap was hinged on one side of the door and wedged into a hasp on the other. The dogs would not approach the door, and they scampered back out of the cage as soon as he let go of their collars.
and for a moment he imagined the roof of the cavern pressing down on him. He took the dogs into the first cage on the left and brought them right up to the heavy wooden door, hoping they could tell which door was safe. The door had four iron T-hinges and the boards were rough-cut oak, reinforced with steel straps. One long steel strap was hinged on one side of the door and wedged into a hasp on the other. The dogs would not approach the door, and they scampered back out of the cage as soon as he let go of their collars.
He banged on the door and called again. No response. He tried the same thing with the other two doors and got the same reaction. The dogs were useless. The animal smell in the cages was probably overwhelming to their sensitive noses, so he decided to get them out of there. They’d be equally useless if a mountain lion did appear, especially in a confined space. Slap, slap, chow time. He called them back to the ladder and then hauled them one by one up the ladder and released them outside the chicken coop. He checked his surroundings for watchers and took them to the truck. Then he went back down into the main cavern.
He squatted down on his heels and considered the wooden doors. Lady or the tiger? he thought. Decision time. But unfortunately, here there was no princess in the stands, twitching her hand to tell him which door to open. This place was probably where White Eye had kept and raised Night-Night, although, he told himself reluctantly, that shouldn’t have required three cages. But as best he could tell, none of the mess down here was fresh, and with White Eye in the ground, any other cats would have decamped a long time ago, assuming there were tunnels or passageways behind those doors that led outside somehow. The cages themselves were made of hog panels. They didn’t seem strong enough to contain a determined mountain lion, even though there were sides and tops to all three. But then if the cats had been tame, it might not have mattered. There were three bolts on each door, though—top, middle, and bottom—so maybe
tame
was a relative term.
tame
was a relative term.
He decided on the right-hand door, since that’s where he had ended up. He walked in and levered the big strap out of its
hasp and swung it up and over behind the hinges. Then, his .45 ready, he pulled the door open. It was very heavy, but it moved silently on well-greased iron hinges. The door was at least eight inches thick, which would certainly have muffled any response to his calls. Inside, there was another passageway, but this one was narrower and much lower than the one he’d walked down to get here. He might fit through there on hands and knees, but he wouldn’t want to try it. The air in the passage smelled infinitely better than in the cage room, and it blew toward him in a gentle breeze. The dangling lightbulb swayed imperceptibly on the ceiling, throwing some shadows around the walls. He decided to leave this door open while he checked the other doors, if only to improve the air.
hasp and swung it up and over behind the hinges. Then, his .45 ready, he pulled the door open. It was very heavy, but it moved silently on well-greased iron hinges. The door was at least eight inches thick, which would certainly have muffled any response to his calls. Inside, there was another passageway, but this one was narrower and much lower than the one he’d walked down to get here. He might fit through there on hands and knees, but he wouldn’t want to try it. The air in the passage smelled infinitely better than in the cage room, and it blew toward him in a gentle breeze. The dangling lightbulb swayed imperceptibly on the ceiling, throwing some shadows around the walls. He decided to leave this door open while he checked the other doors, if only to improve the air.
Which one next? He looked down at the floor of the cages to see if he could determine whether the muck was any fresher in one or than in the other. The straw was such a mess, he couldn’t tell. The left one, then. He opened it and found yet another passageway, this one a little higher but just as narrow. This time, he bent down and looked at the mud on the other side of the doorjamb. Were those prints? Yes, they were. Fresh? Who the hell knows, he thought. My tracking skills haven’t improved since the last time I saw some of these. No fresh air moved out of this passageway, however, so he pushed the door shut, not bothering to reset the locking bar. He wondered how far back those tunnels went, and he wished the dogs had been braver. On the other hand, everyone always said they were smart dogs.
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