Jack Pine, page 14
“Too bitter.” Tommy shook his head. “I like a mellow roast.”
Reuger sat back with one hand on his mug and yawned. He fingered the initials carved into the table.
“So…what do you have, Tommy? Robbery? Nothing really heavy-duty.” He drummed the table with his fingers and looked at the big man. “But this is a murder here. You could go away for a long time with something like this.”
Tommy Tobin turned, his eyes flickered then his lips slowly pursed. One hand left the coffee cup with three fingers opening like a pledge.
“Ya, I told you the slasher was burning when I got there, you know. I didn’t fucking shoot him.”
Reuger drummed the tabletop then bracketed the mug. He picked up his hat, examining the fish blood staining his nails.
“I know that’s what you told me, but then you disappeared.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Now I have a girl who said she was attacked here at the lodge by a big Indian.”
Reuger lowered his voice.
“I’m not going to lay that at your doorstep.” He leaned close to the table. “The girl wasn’t hurt, so I’m willing to forget it. But if she hadn’t backed up on her story, you would have been in a world of shit.”
“She’s lying,” he muttered.
Reuger leaned back. “How do you know?’
“I wasn’t in the shed.”
Reuger watched his powerful hands close over the coffee cup. His wrists were as thick as branches.
“Who was in that shed?”
Tommy faced him and shook his head slowly.
“Wouldn’t know.”
Reuger nodded slowly. “Like I said, I now have two murders, and you are my only suspect here.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You and I go way back, Tommy, but I can’t look the other way on this one.”
His hands closed around the mug again.
“So, unless you can tell me something different,” Reuger stared at him, “I have to look your way.”
His lips quivered and nostrils flared, a breath of air escaping like some animal tired from the chase. He stared at the cup with cuts and lacerations on blackened fingers. Tommy’s eyes went to the bar door then back. He breathed again and shook his head.
“I knew I shouldn’t have fucking gone to work that day—”
It was the front window exploding like glass cymbals that dropped both men to the floor. The bullet split the glass and glanced off the mining helmet against the back wall. Reuger rolled off the chair and pulled Tommy down with him. The big man fell on Reuger’s chest, and he felt the air leave his body. He pushed Tommy off and scrambled to his feet and pulled the Colt.
Reuger crabbed through the broken glass with the curtains whipping up in the lake breeze. It was the sound of the bullet zinging off the miners’ helmet that stayed with him. That helmet was three feet above Tommy Tobin’s head. He stared into the night and heard the whine of a motorboat but saw no lights. He stood slowly and could hear the motor heading for Canada.
“Jesus Christ,” Ben Johnson cried out, staring at the glass on the floor.
Reuger looked at him wearily and holstered the Colt. Tommy stood by the table, his olive skin now pale. The long white curtains whipped up like an errant ghost.
“Somebody took a shot there,” Al Hanes nodded, his eyes bright under his green hard hat.
Ben shook his head and walked through the glass.
“You got an enemy out there, Reuger.”
Reuger turned and followed the trajectory of the bullet and saw the dent in the helmet. He looked at the far wall and saw a white slice in the knotty pine. Ben nodded to Tommy Tobin.
“Or maybe he does.”
Reuger saw Tommy’s face and motioned back to the table. He was scared and he wanted to use that if he could. Tommy stared at the table with his long black hair silky in the dull light. Reuger leaned forward.
“That was a warning, Tommy.”
“Ya, no shit,” he grunted.
Reuger pulled the legal pad over. He scavenged the man’s face, his position, his posture his breathing. Tommy’s eyes went to Ben Johnson standing by the open window.
“I can’t protect you, Tommy, if you don’t help me,” Reuger stated, staring straight ahead. “Next time they won’t miss.”
He breathed heavily, his eyes dull. Then he shook his head.
“It was that tree hugger…Jorde,” he said just above a whisper. “I saw him shoot Foster dead.”
Reuger stared at him.
“How could you tell he was dead?”
“There was blood all over the place in the snow.”
“It wasn’t snowing, Tommy.”
“Ya, I know,” he shrugged. “But it looked like snow with that fucking blood everywhere.”
Reuger leaned back and wiped the fatigue away. He looked at the black and white pictures of loggers on the wall and the miner’s helmets. The coffeepot swirled a thread of steam. Tommy didn’t cross his arms or look away.
“Why didn’t you tell me that the first time?”
“None of my business you know. Those tree huggers can make a lot of trouble for a logger. I figured he try and say I did it. You know, blame it on a fucking Indian the way they always do.”
Reuger turned to the bar where Ben and Al Hanes had disappeared.
“You aren’t blowing smoke, are you?”
Tommy rolled his shoulders.
“Why do I care? I’m telling you what I saw there.”
Reuger clicked a pen open and dropped it on the legal pad.
“Write it out for me there. Every detail you remember about that morning.”
Tommy sat and clawed the pen and began to print. He scribbled all over the page.
“She died?”
“Ya,” he nodded, throwing the pen down.
Reuger reached into a Hershey syrup can of pens and pencils and scribbled on the page.
“That one works.”
Tommy tore out the paper and balled it and threw it toward the trashcan. He picked up the pen and began writing again. Reuger heard the screen door slam then boots on the front step. Ben Johnson’s truck started up in the night.
27
REUGER WALKED DOWN the path with the .30.06-caliber round in his pocket. He had dug it out of the soft pine with a knife from the lodge kitchen. He saw Patricia in a chair on the dock and approached the dock cautiously and felt the breeze off the lake again. She raised a glass to her mouth and stretched out her legs. He saw the blue flowery dress when she turned around.
“Did Kurt enjoy cleaning the fish?”
“Natural-born fish cleaner,” he nodded walking up next to her.
Patricia fingered her drink and looked down.
“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at the drink in her hand. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
He wasn’t going to bring it up. He had decided he would show Kurt how to clean the fish then leave. But he had seen her on the dock, and he felt angry, even hurt. Even then he promised himself he would just be polite and say hello and leave. But now it was out there, and he lost the tight rein on his emotions.
“You always bushwhack people?”
Patricia nodded slowly. “I guess I deserve that.” She looked up. “But you haven’t been exactly forthcoming about what’s going on around here.”
Reuger crossed his arms.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were working for?”
She slid her fingers back through her hair and shrugged.
“You never asked.”
“Weak defense.”
“I’m not on the defense.” Patricia stood up from the chair and faced him. “You obviously weren’t telling the truth before. A suicide?”
Reuger shook his head.
“I didn’t have all the evidence then.”
“So you go from a suicide to the easiest target around?” Patricia frowned. “That doesn’t sound like good police work.”
Reuger felt slightly ridiculous with his arms crossed like a mad little boy, but this woman just kept coming at him. He tried to laugh lightly, but it sounded hollow and fake.
“What do you know about police work?”
She tipped her chin up.
“I know bad police work when I see it, and I know an agenda when I see it.”
Reuger laughed again, this time more successfully.
“You mean like working for a radical environmentalist?”
“Or logging interests.”
Now she crossed her arms. Reuger considered leaving; he considered kissing her.
“You watch too much television down there.”
“Maybe you don’t watch enough,” she said lightly. “Ben Johnson is playing chess, and you are one of his pawns.”
“I don’t take sides,” he said flatly. “I can’t help what Jorde tells you.”
“Oh, come on!” Patricia glared through the darkness. “You view anybody who’s not a logger as an intruder!” She lowered her voice. “You believe the wilderness is for men like yourself and everyone else are just tree huggers or swampys.”
Reuger rested his hands on his gun belt.
“So they brought you up here to defend Jorde?”
Patricia lifted her hand. “I was working for Earth First in Chicago and they asked whether I would consider moving. I was with the EPA before that—ouch!”
He waited while she slapped her legs and arms.
“Why aren’t the mosquitoes going after you?”
“Are you wearing perfume?”
She glanced at the inside of her wrists.
“Never wear perfume in the Northwoods.”
“Whatever,” she muttered walking to the end of the dock.
Reuger watched her sway though the darkness, then walked after her down the dock. The barrels underneath sunk in the lake, and he felt a cold mist on his face. The stars burned over the lake. Patricia stood with her back to him. Reuger pushed back his hat and rubbed his jaw.
“We don’t know each other very well,” she said facing the lake. “But when they asked if I would consider moving up here, I looked at it as a way to get away. My son needed to get away.” She shook her head wearily. “Of course just when I come, all hell breaks loose.”
The wind teased her hair along the back of her white neck.
“It’s been this way for the last five years,” she said dully. Patricia turned and he saw her eyes were wet. “Thank you for taking Kurt fishing.” She wiped her eyes quickly. “I know he enjoyed it.”
She turned and walked back down the dock. He scuffed his heel on the plank wood then followed her.
“Goddammit,” he said under his breath. “Hey!”
Patricia turned, and Reuger swept off his hat and kissed her in the middle of the dock. Her lips were soft as he felt her thighs against him and the pressure of her breasts. He kissed her the way he wanted to when he first saw her on the road. When they came apart, she breathed heavily and put her head against his shoulder.
“That was a surprise,” she murmured, feeling a tingling in her legs, resting in his arms.
Reuger felt his throat tighten. All he wanted to do now was make love to this woman. They kissed again, this time slower as they explored each other’s bodies. He felt her pressing against him and could feel the hard muscles of her abdomen then her pelvis. He pushed his hardness against her with his hands slipping down her thighs. She pulled back and glanced toward the cabin.
“Where’s Kurt?” she asked, kissing his neck.
“He’s up at the lodge.” Reuger glanced to the cabin then kissed her again. He felt her lean back in his arms and stare up at him against the glittering sky.
“Want to go for a swim?”
He smiled. “I don’t have a suit.”
“So?” She stood back. “Who said anything about suits?”
Patricia reached back and pulled the dress over her head in one fluid motion. He saw her tan lines creasing ivory skin as her bra snapped away. Her breasts were high and erect. Patricia stepped out of her panties with thigh muscles flexing between the small mound. She walked the dock and jumped into the water and re-emerged further out with her hair smoothed.
“Oh, it’s wonderful! It’s warm. Your turn!”
“I’ll just watch you here,” he called.
“Oh, come on!” She splashed water onto the dock. “Get your ass in here!”
Reuger glanced back toward the cabin then slipped off his vest and flannel shirt, slipping out of his boots and dropping his jeans. He jumped in feeling the rush of cold water, then the buoyancy lifting him to the surface. She swam past him and he felt her thighs and breasts warm and slippery. She floated backward with nipples clearing water then emerged on the dock in a wash of splattering liquid.
Reuger swam slowly to the dock and hoisted himself up. He could feel his heart. He lowered himself and kissed her wet lips then her neck, licking her hard nipples. She arched on the plank wood as her wet hair slapped the rough dock planks. She held his neck and spread her legs further then started to move. She arched again with the downy curve of her neck under his hand. She slapped the rough planks with her hands and lifted her chin to the sky.
He bit her nipples. She clawed his back.
28
“NEVER SEEN A grown man eat that a way before in my entire life!”
Bruce Anderson rose up with his mouth full of yellow paste. An air-conditioner blew red ribbons from the window behind him and teased a smoldering cigarette in a glass ashtray. The sticky residue of fried food clung to the pale green walls.
He motioned to Gus, gasping for air.
“Only way to get your mouth around these deli sandwiches here!” He waved them in. “Air-conditioning,” he said after Reuger swung the door shut.
Bruce wiped his mouth with a napkin and sipped from a Coke bottle then hit his chest and burped. They sat down in the cheap green armchairs, then Gus stood and leaned against the wall. Vinyl paper spread out on the desk and splayed points around the room. Cigarettes were snugged in a sand ashtray like buoys on a sea.
“Little early for lunch, Mr. County Attorney?”
“Ya, but this is breakfast here,” he said, potato salad sticking to his mustache.
He pushed the food away like a man about to play cards and pulled a Camel long from his desk drawer. He slapped the drawer shut and leaned back in a cloud of smoke and crossed a tennis shoe across his knee. Reuger nodded to the desk.
“What happened to the Marlboros?”
“Ya,” he grunted looking at the cigarette. “Lower tar and nicotine.” He inhaled again then leaned forward. “What can I do for you, gentleman?”
Reuger pulled out the lined yellow paper.
“Tommy Tobin’s statement saying he saw Jorde shoot Foster Jones.”
“That was fast,” he muttered, studying the paper. “His grocery list here?”
“Other side.”
“Oh.” He flipped the paper over and shook his head. “Ya, I can’t read this Indian scrawl,” he grumbled throwing the paper on the blotter with doodlings of coiled springs. “Tell me what it says there.”
Reuger pointed to the desk.
“Says he saw Jorde burn the slasher, and when Foster came on him with a gun, they struggled and Jorde shot him.”
Bruce yawned.
“How’d he see him?”
“He was going to work. He worked for Foster.”
Bruce leaned back in his swivel chair and clasped his wrist over his head, holding the cigarette hostage.
“You believe him, then?”
“So far.”
Bruce exhaled smoke and stubbed out the cigarette. He glanced at the egg salad and brushed away a fly.
“And what about Carter, then?”
“Jorde asked him to spike the tree.”
“Ya?” Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Did he do it?”
Reuger shook his head.
“Then we’ll have to let that ride for now,” he muttered, clasping his hands like a sumo wrestler contemplating his next chess move. He picked up a piece of paper next to a letter opener. “Got a letter here from an attorney named Patricia Helpner.”
“Jorde’s attorney,” Reuger nodded.
“Ya, apparently. Letter says you harassed her client there, and she requests I keep you from speaking to her client anymore, or she’s going to slap a suit on the county.” He put the paper down. “So you see, Reuger, these people don’t fuck around.” Bruce leaned back like a man on a life raft. “Then your boss comes to see me here yesterday, too.”
“Riechardt?”
“Ya,” Bruce nodded, picking up the cigarettes and tapping out three.
“They for later?” Gus asked.
“You betcha. Now, I’m getting to feel real important here. I don’t usually get a visit from the sheriff, you know.” He gestured to the walls. “I think it was the first time he’s seen my fancy office.”
He flamed the lighter above his head. Gus pointed to the cigarette.
“How come yer didn’t just smoke the last one down there?”
“It’s better for you if you just smoke them halfway down, but Riechardt,” he continued, clapping the cigarette into his mouth, “he wanted the same thing you did when you came to see me. Wanted to know if I could make a case against Jorde with his gun.” He tapped his ash. “I told him he needed more than just a gun here for me to take on these environmentalists. Didn’t like that at all.”
Bruce looked like he wanted to spit. He moved forward, leaning on his elbows, smoking like a general.
“What’s the sheriff getting into this thing here, Reuger?”
“Couldn’t answer that.” Reuger put on his hat. “Can you make a case?”
He reeled back, hands behind his head. Bruce shook his head doubtfully.
“Mmmm, this Tobin, Reuger, he has these priors, you know.”
“I gave him the priors, Bruce.” He nodded across the desk. “So did you.”
His lower lip curled over his upper. His eyes changed.
“Girl called me a few days ago. Right after I saw you. Said she wanted to tell me something about what happened in the wood shed at Pine Lodge.” Bruce frowned and tapped his cigarettes. “So I’m thinking, what the hell is this now? If I use Tobin, and it turns out he’s molesting white girls in woodsheds, then I got my dick in the crack.”
