The Tamarack Murders (7 page)

Bit by bit the roar of the crowd resumed, although now with a great deal of laughter.

Grid said, “Remind me not to try your patience, Bo.”

Tully smiled. “Ever so often, Grid, a person has to make a grand gesture when dealing with the likes of Slade's' clientele. Among other things, it helps keep our criminals in line and rudeness at a minimum.”

Grid laughed. “It worked on me. I feel a whole lot politer myself.”

Joey, the regular bartender, walked down behind the bar. “Sorry about that, Bo. The kid's new. I suspect he'll mind his manners in the future. Anyway, the bottle is on the house.”

“Thanks, Joey, but we're doing work. I'll put it on the county card. Otherwise folks will think I'm taking graft.”

Joey laughed. “If you don't take graft, Bo, folks will think you're putting on airs! Just ask Pap. It's on the house!”

“You win, Joey!”

Grid said. “You seem to be well known at Slade's, Bo! Who's Pap?”

“My father. He was sheriff of Blight county for many years and holds the record for corruption, womanizing, legal and illegal killings, and the same for gambling. The FBI got after him once, and he ran off to Mexico. Lived down there until the county cooled off enough for him to come back. Slade's is not my favorite hangout, but I do some of my best work here. Bad guys seem attracted to the place. No offense, Grid.”

“None taken. Say, there's a little all-night cafe down the street. What say we move down there, where we can at least hear ourselves think?”

“Good idea! I'll get Joey paid for the bottle of whiskey and drinks and meet you outside.”

“Suits me.”

Joey put the bottle in a sack and handed it to Tully along with his county credit card. “Sorry about the rudeness, Bo. Any time you come in, your drinks are on the house from now on.”

“Thanks, Joey. But I'm afraid that actually would be graft. We'll let the county pay.” He walked out front and looked for Grid, Beeker, and Dance. They were leaning against the front wall of Slade's.

Beeker was tall and husky with a mop of reddish hair, more orange than red, to be exact. The other man, Dance, shorter and skinny with a thinning residue of light-brown hair. Tully had never before laid eyes on either of them. He said, “You fellows must be new in town.”

“Yeah,” Beeker said. “We came here a few days ago to hunt elk. Looked all over for a place to stay and finally found a little cabin outside of Famine.”

“Yeah,” Dance said. “About the only thing it comes with is a wood stove and a view.”

Beeker frowned at him. “The price was right anyway. Nothing. Got a supply of firewood in it, so a least we can stay warm.”

“You're lucky to find anything,” Tully said. “Blight County gets pretty crowded during elk season.”

Grid said, “Hey, it's freezing out here. What say we walk down to the cafe and finish our chat there?”

Tully was surprised the place was still open. The four of them walked in and sat down in a booth. Tully turned the water glasses upright and filled each half full of whiskey. A waiter with sleeves rolled up to the top of bulging biceps walked over and handed out menus. He nodded at the bottle of whiskey. “I'm afraid that's against the law, fellows.”

Tully smiled at him. “I'm the law in Blight county, son. We'll also have a round of coffee.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said and went to get the coffee.

Beeker was holding his glass of whiskey up off the table. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to make another grand gesture, Sheriff.”

Tully laughed. “Don't worry, Horace. I limit myself to one a day.”

The waiter came back with the coffee. “We serve breakfast anytime. You fellas want some?”

“Sounds great,” Tully said. “I'll take hash browns, scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, the bacon crisp.” The waiter looked around the table and got nods from the others.

“The same for all four. What kind of toast—white, whole grain, sourdough, or rye?”

Tully shook his head. No matter how thoroughly you think you've given your order, waiters always have one more question. “White,” he said. The other three nodded in agreement.

The waiter left, returned with four mugs and poured their coffees from a large black thermos, which he left on the table.

Tully said to Beeker and Dance, “I'm sorry to take you fellows away from the pleasures of Slade's, but I'm investigating a murder out on the mountain where you were hunting this morning. You must have left your rifles and hunting outfits in your cabin. Not a good idea if the cabin's anywhere near Famine.”

Beeker said, “Actually it's quite a ways outside of Famine. There's a spring nearby where we get drinking water, but it's starting to ice up. We leave all our gear in the cabin. It's remote enough, nobody should just be passing by.”

“Remote is right,” Dance said. “We might shoot an elk right from our front porch. Grid told us you want to know if we saw anything when we were out on his place yesterday, right Sheriff?”

“Yeah, I need all the info I can get, Ed. Anything you can remember would be great.”

Dance said, “It was plenty cold, I can tell you that. We got there just before all the ruckus started, sirens all over the place. Heard a shot, but figured it was another hunter.”

Tully sipped his coffee. “You have any luck?”

“Naw,” Beeker said. “Not with all that ruckus. I did see a herd of deer come over the top of the ridge right up by that rock knob. It looked for a while like they might wander right down toward us. When they heard the shot, they scampered off, and we never saw them again.”

Tully thought for a moment. “You remember what time you heard the shot?”

Dance looked at Beeker.

“Must have been close to ten,” Beeker said. “I didn't check my watch.”

“That's about right.” Tully said. “What did you fellows do then?”

“A whole lot of people started showing up, so we got out of there,” Beeker said.

“What kind of vehicle were you driving?”

“A pickup. An old Ford but it runs fine.”

“Where did you park it?”

Beeker thought about this for a moment. “Grid had put a piece of orange flagging tape on a tree at the middle of his property and told us there was a wide spot to pull off fifty yards or so farther on. That's where we parked, but when the ruckus started we walked down to the truck and drove back to Famine.”

“You see anything unusual?”

“Naw. Just that herd of deer, if that's unusual.”

“You have scopes on your rifles?” Tully asked.

“Oh, sure,” Beeker said. “That's how I spotted the deer. I was scoping the ridge when the herd came over the top.”

“Where was that again?”

Beeker thought for a moment. “Right up next to that knob.”

Gridley looked at his watch. “Oh, no! I'm late. I've got somebody I have to meet. You fellows help the sheriff out with anything he wants to know, but I have to run.”

Tully said, “Thanks for the help, Grid. It is getting late. But we've got our breakfasts coming. I guess we'll have to share yours.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dance said.

“Me too,” Beeker added. “I'm starving. You're sure this is on the county, Sheriff?”

“Indeed it is, Horace. It's the county's pleasure. If there's one thing Blight County loves, it's hunters. Everyone here hunts. I'm even a bit of a hunter myself. Every fall I fill my freezer up with venison. In recent years, it's been mostly filled up by the generosity of my deputies. I give them time off to hunt. How long have you fellows been hunting elk?”

“Years and years,” Beeker said. “Ever since we was kids.”

“Mostly big game?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dance said. “We love hunting big game.”

Tully thought the cafe's hash browns and scrambled eggs were about the best he'd ever eaten. When they had cleaned all four plates, Dance said, “I guess we better head back to our cabin. Be four in the morning before we get there, so I guess we'll sleep in. Thanks much for the whisky and breakfast, Sheriff. I didn't realize how hungry I was.”

“Don't thank me,” Tully said. “It's on the county.” He glanced at his wristwatch. Eleven o'clock. “You fellas going to stick around for a while? With this cold weather blowing in, the elk hunting will pick up.”

“Oh, yeah, we'll stick around,” Dance said. “We have a week, maybe more”

They walked outside.

“Hope you get an elk,” Tully said. He thought it was highly unlikely, though. If hunters can't tell a herd of deer from a herd of elk, their chances aren't that good. He stopped suddenly. “Oh, oh,” he said. “I have to go back. I forgot to leave a tip for the waiter. The poor devil probably needs it, too.”

“See you around, Sheriff,” Beeker said. They went off down the street.

Tully walked back into the cafe. The waiter was clearing off their table and putting the dishes into a blue plastic dishpan. “Just leave the dishpan and everything else right where it is,” he told the waiter. The man straightened and stared at him. Tully took out his badge and showed it to him. Then he took out his pocket notebook and opened it to two blank pages. “Press the fingers of your left hand on the left page and the fingers of your right hand onto the right page.”

The waiter did as he was told.

“How'd you guess I done time, Sheriff? The tattoos?”

“Naw. Would you take a crappy job like this if you hadn't?”

“Good point. Just for your information, Sheriff, I've been clean ever since I got out.”

“Don't worry about it. Now sign your name on the bottom of each page with your prints. I just want to distinguish them from those of my friends.”

“You're some kind of friend, Sheriff.”

“Aren't I though?” He pulled a roll of cash out of a pants pocket and thumbed through it until he found five twenties. He gave them to the waiter. The man almost fainted.

Tully stepped to the door and looked down the street. Beeker and Dance were nowhere in sight. “Listen to me now,” he told the waiter. “I want you to leave the dishpan, dishes, and silverware right where they are. I'll drive up out front in a few minutes and come in and get them. You make up your own mind if you want to share your tip with the owner as rental for his dishpan and contents.”

“Yeah, right.”

“That's what I thought.”

Tully walked the four blocks down the street to where he had parked his Explorer. Pugh leaned against it.

“You get the license plate on my friends' vehicle?”

Pugh handed him a slip of paper. “Right here, boss. I drove along after them for about a mile, until they took the Old River Road to Famine.”

Tully studied the information. “So they're driving a late model Land Rover. Pretty ritzy. Oregon, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Trailer hitch?”

“No. I think it's mostly their town car. It's all polished up. I doubt it's ever been off pavement. The River Road will be a new experience for it. Maybe they want to avoid driving through Famine. You know, there's plenty of good elk hunting in Oregon. Funny they'd drive all the way to Blight County for elk.”

“Be interesting to see if they bought out-of-state licenses to hunt in Idaho. Must have cost them a fortune. If they're driving a new Land Rover, I guess at least one of them can afford it. Oh, one more thing, Brian.”

“Right, boss, I'll check with Fish and Game tomorrow to see what kind of licenses they bought, if any, and what addresses they used.”

Tully smiled. “You're always one step ahead of me, Pugh. By the way, the names I got are Horace Beeker and Ed Dance.”

Driving out to his house, Tully did a lot of thinking about Dance and Beeker. He didn't want them leaving the county without his knowing it. Hunters who can't tell elk from deer are always worth keeping an eye on. Suddenly, he hit the brakes and made a U-turn on the highway. It had just occurred to him there was something else he had intended to check.

He drove back to town and cruised quietly past 1204 West Hemlock. The house was dark. He drove to the end of the block and came back through the alley. A small garage sat off to one side of the alley behind the Stone's house. The rear end of a bright red car protruded far enough out that the garage doors couldn't close. It was only the second time in recent years Tully had seen tail fins.

The plot thickens, he thought. Grid lets two guys hunt his property who saw deer instead of elk. The flagging tape marking the place where the getaway car turned into the ditch has Grid's fingerprint on it. Now Grid is spending the night with the widow of the man shot on the mountain, a man suspected of being a bank robber. The shooter makes his escape on an ATV on the other side of the ridge. Grid has an ATV. He has a rack full of guns in his house and is an excellent shot. He has a pickup parked out in his woods with two bales of hay in it. The pickup parked on the road after the robbery had two bales of hay in it. Everything about this robbery had been arranged by someone very crafty. Grid is as crafty a man as he's ever met. He would have to take closer look at him. He wouldn't even mind taking a closer look at his wife.

I
t was almost three when he started down the dirt road that sloped across the meadow to his log house. He and his wife, Ginger, had built the house themselves with logs from trees they had cut off their own land. The land had been a gift from a corrupt and violent old man, but enough about his father. Tully still appreciated his generosity. Building the house with Ginger had been the best time of his life. Ginger hadn't remembered it that way, but women tended to be so prissy when it came to wrestling logs.

Halfway across the meadow he braked to a stop and peered at the house. The living-room light was on. It hadn't been on when he left that morning. At least he couldn't believe he had left the light on. He turned off the Explorer's headlights, coasted down to the front of the house, and stopped. He unsnapped the retaining strap that held his Colt Commander in his shoulder holster and pulled the gun out. He opened the car door, got out, and pressed the door shut. Walking on the tips of his boots across the porch, he ever so carefully turned the knob on the front door with his left hand, the Colt Commander pointing straight up in his right, his finger on the trigger. He stepped in.