Deer Season (27 page)

“Does Boyd know?”

“Hawkins says Boyd must have his phone turned off, something he does when he wants to be alone.”

“What’s wrong with the private army?” Sue asked.

“Hawkins says this is a police matter. He doesn’t want company personnel involved.”

The gate was up when they got to Crescent Cove. The young, uniformed guard waved them through. Harry Hawkins was in the road waiting, directing them toward the beach. Most of the docking had been removed for winter and was carefully stacked far up the shore, away from the destructive force of lake ice. Hawkins, carrying a map, came to Ray’s side as he emerged

from the vehicle.

“There’s been another development since we talked.”

“What’s that?” asked Ray.

“A second boat has landed on the island at the south end. The person monitoring our cameras says the man was carrying a weapon.

“What kind of weapon?”

“He said it looked like an Uzi.”

Ray look over at Sue. He wondered if he should request the regional SWAT team. He quickly rejected the idea, knowing that it would take hours to get everything in place, especially in this weather.

“I thought this might help,” continued Hawkins, opening the map on the hood of the jeep. Ray peered at a detailed topographic image in the gray, flat light of the rapidly approaching dusk.

“Mr. Boyd is probably here at the old warming house, it’s on the east side of the island, less than a mile from the dock. He likes to go over there unescorted, says he does his best thinking there.”

Hawkins paused briefly, his tone changed. “Mr. Boyd has a very bad heart. I tried to dissuade him from going over there alone. But he’s a very stubborn man, and he’s in control of his own life. I would hope you could get him back here as quickly as possible.”

“Is he armed?”

“He has a deer rifle, probably has a pistol, too. Mr. Boyd collects guns. There are several bait piles of corn and carrots near the warming house. He said he hoped to get a shot at a deer.”

Hawkins brought Ray’s attention back to the map. “There’s a path through the woods to the warming cabin. After Mr. Boyd said he wanted to do some hunting, I had the cabin restocked with food and fuel this morning. You’ll have no trouble following the trail through the snow.”

The Suburban used by the department’s marine patrol rolled in and turned, backing the trailer carrying a Zodiac close to the water’s edge. Ben Reilly came to Ray’s side, joined by Brett Carty, one of the deputies who coordinated the marine patrol. Brett and Ben were already dressed in cold-water survival suits. Ben pulled thick fleece coveralls and dry suits from the back hatch of the vehicle and handed them to Ray and Sue.

“Is there a place we can change into these?” Ray asked Hawkins.

“Follow me,” Hawkins responded, leading them toward the house.

When Ray returned to the shore, Ben and Brett were still packing gear in waterproof bags and boxes and securing them on the interior of the boat. He walked to the water’s edge and peered out at the small island a few thousand yards off shore. The wind had picked up and shifted to the southwest since he had watched Gavin Mendicot launch straight out into the surf; the dark gray water was being funneled between the island and mainland in confused patterns with reflecting waves and a rolling surf. He gathered the three deputies and explained the mission. Then he asked, “Sue, should you stay here and coordinate things as they develop?”

“Ray, if this turns into a crime scene, I’d like to be there early on.”

Ray felt a flash of anger, but Sue was right. Ray knew he was trying to keep her out of harm’s way.

“What kind of boat did Boyd take over?” Ray asked Hawkins, pulling things back into focus.

“It’s a twin-engine Zodiac much like yours. There’s a protected inlet just across from us at the south end of the island, and the dock is still in place. You will have no trouble tying up there.”

“How far is the warming house?”

“Less than a mile.”

“Brett, I want you to ferry people across as needed,” directed Ray. “Get us over and stay with the boat. Also, request a couple of EMT units. Better to have them on the scene if we need them.”

Ray, Sue, Ben, and Brett quickly struggled into life preservers and neoprene gloves and hoods. Hawkins directed his men to get the Zodiac off the trailer and into the water. Brett and Ben loaded weapons and snowshoes, and they pushed the boat out until only the stern was still on the sand. Once the other three were in, Brett pushed the boat out into the chop and scrambled over the low transom. Ray and Sue used canoe paddles to propel the boat into deeper water.

Ray turned toward Brett and pointed in the direction of the breaking waves near their destination. “There’s a shoal there; watch out for the surf.”

Brett nodded his understanding as he started the engines and headed toward open water. The Zodiac bounced along the large waves, rising on the crests and then slamming into the troughs. Ray could feel the sting of the icyspray on his face. As they approached the island, he could see that a narrow fringe of delicate shelf ice had formed at the water’s edge.

Brett, spotting the cove, suddenly made an abrupt turn toward the shore, rising on the lip of a rogue wave just as it was starting to break. Ray grabbed onto a rope at the gunwale and held on with all his might, gravity pulling him toward the icy water. The boat stood sideways on the wave, the powerful grasp of the rolling surf holding it briefly at the edge of its tipping point before the hull crashed down into the trough and starting rising with the next swell, the crest of the breaking wave smashing into and over the left gunwale. He looked across at Sue and could see the fear in her eyes.

Brett pulled back the throttles and continued cautiously along the shore of the island, holding the bow into the waves and moving obliquely toward the shore.

Ray exchanged glances with Brett who appeared shaken by the near capsize.

Reaching the small cove, Brett piloted the craft into the narrow opening and guided it to the dock, the other side occupied by Boyd’s boat. Ray, Sue, and Ben scrambled onto the dock and secured the boat. Brett passed weapons, body armor, and snowshoes up to them.

They traded their life preservers for the body armor and parkas, then buckled snowshoes to their boots. Ray pulled the map from his jacket as Sue and Ben huddled around him.

“It looks like a straight shot to the warming cabin. At this point we want to get Boyd off the island as quickly as possible. Then we’ll try to sort out what else might be going on. Dirk and Mendicot are also out there and armed. Let’s hope they are bogged down in the heavy snow. Stay about twenty yards apart and work alternate sides of the trail.”

Ray took the lead, Sue followed, with Ben in the rear. The trail wound through a dense hardwood forest. Less than a mile up the road, the terrain rose and the woods opened to a treeless plateau. A dark structure stood in the center of the clearing, its somber form silhouetted by the golden glow of the setting sun that had broken through the thick gray clouds.

Ray found a protected position and waved the other two to join him. He was winded from trudging though the deep drifts in snowshoes. “I only want one of us out in the open at a time. When I get there and check things out, I’ll radio what we should do next.”

Ray became increasingly wary as he circled north and followed a ravine to stay below the horizon. Before he had made much progress, he heard the sharp crack of a high-powered rifle. He dropped into the snow and waited, taking time to carefully survey the area. The memory of being wounded earlier in the fall flashed through his consciousness, feeling again the searing pain when the bullet smashed into his leg. Ray pushed the specter back, focusing on the bleak terrain in front of him.

Just as he was about to come to his feet, the roar of a fully automatic rifle echoed through the woods, somewhere off to his left. Ten seconds later, two more bursts. The contrasting roar of the first weapon came again. A few seconds later another blast. Then silence, only the sound of his breathing and the blood pounding in his head. He keyed the mic on his radio. “Hold your positions,” he instructed.

Ray waited, letting the minutes tick by. Eventually, he scrambled to his feet and moved forward, using a ravine for cover as he approached the building from the rear. He started around the building to the front. At the front corner he paused, released the straps and slid out of his snowshoes, and surveyed the long, covered porch that ran along the west-facing wall. Then he saw Dirk, sprinting toward the building, a rifle in his hands. Just as Dirk approached the front steps, Ray came around corner, his weapon at the ready. “Drop it,” he commanded.

Dirk, still running, fired wildly from the waist without aiming.

Ray ducked back behind the corner. He heard Dirk smash into the door, then several more shots, followed by silence.

Ray stood still; he could hear the sound of the wind in the leafless trees and the waves crashing into the distant shore. He climbed onto the porch, cautiously moved to the door, and peered into the room. Boyd was sitting at a table, a kerosene lamp at one corner, a pistol in his right hand, and a tumbler of brown liquor in front of him, a whiskey bottle near by. Dirk’s body was sprawled on the floor just inside the door. His lifeless right hand was still clutching a rifle.

“Come on in, Sheriff,” Boyd said, setting the automatic on the table.

“Want a drink, Sheriff?

Ray didn’t answer.

“Your predecessor appreciated good whiskey. I always trust a man I can drink with.”

“What’s happened here?” Ray asked.

“I came out here to have some peace and quiet; to think things over. Suddenly the door was kicked in by Dirk brandishing a rifle. I got him first. Self-defense.”

“How did he know you would be here?”

“Lucky guess on his part?” said Boyd. He picked up the tumbler and sipped some of the liquor.

“Why would he want to shoot you?”

“He’s a crazy man. Always was. He thinks I’m responsible for my daughter divorcing him.” Boyd held Ray in his gaze a long moment. “I would like to go to the mainland now, I’m not feeling well. I’d appreciate it if you get me back.”

“How about the other shots?” asked Ray, gesturing toward the outside.

“Someone should investigate that,” said Boyd. “Wouldn’t be the first time poachers sneaked onto the island.”

Ray keyed his radio, “Boyd and Dirk accounted for. Come up, be cautious.” He turned his attention back to Boyd. “Can you walk back to the beach?”

“I’d rather not, I’m having chest pains. Maybe you can have my people bring a sled.”

“We’ll get you out of here,” said Ray.

Ray could hear Ben and Sue on the porch. Sue knelt at Dirk’s side, Ben standing above.

“He’s dead,” she said.

“Yes,” said Ray.

They stood for a long moment and took in the scene: the pistol on the table, the glass of whiskey, and Boyd, calmly staring back at them.

“Self-defense,” said Boyd in a firm voice. “Dirk kicked down the door. I shot him before he shot me. Now, Sheriff, I need my medicine. You need to get me back to the mainland.”

Ray turned to Ben. “Get some EMTs over here to check on Boyd before we move him. Then secure the area. There is another shooter out there.” Motioning toward Sue, “We’ll see if we can find him.”

Ray and Sue, back in their snowshoes, followed Dirk’s tracks back off the plateau and headed toward the western shore of the island. Near the edge of woods they found a pile of logs, the tracks in the snow suggesting that Dirk had taken cover behind them. Staying in the shadows of theforest, they worked their way forward, finding Mendicot in an open area less than 100 yards beyond the log pile, face down, an Uzi at his side, almost completely buried in the soft snow.

They carefully rolled him over, and Sue checked for a pulse.

“Anything?” Ray asked.

“Not much,” said Sue as she extracted a small flashlight from her belt. Starting at the head, they quickly scanned his body.

“Big bleed here,” he said, pointing at the left leg. Ray cut Gavin’s jeans open with a serrated knife from the boot to above the knee, Sue illuminating Ray’s work area with a small flashlight.

“Part of his leg is blown away. Let’s get a tourniquet above the wound; maybe we can stop the bleeding. Call for a chopper, we need to get him out of here fast.”

Sue talked to the dispatcher as she pulled off her backpack and retrieved a piece of rope and a headlamp, which she switched on and pulled in place.

Ray slit the pant leg farther, then carefully positioned the rope on the bare flesh well above the wound. He pulled the cord tight and made a knot. “I need a stick or something,” he said looking around. “Give me the flashlight.” He slid the small aluminum cylinder under the cord, then twisted it several times to increase the band’s compression on Gavin’s leg. He tied it in place with the ends of the cord.

“That should stop the bleeding,” said Ray, “if there’s anything left. Is he still with us?”

“Just barely. Very shallow respiration. He’s in deep shock.”

Ray stayed at Gavin’s side while Sue moved into the clearing above them and marked the corners of a possible landing area with four flares. By the time she had scrambled back to Ray’s side, they could hear the slapping sound of the incoming chopper.

Within minutes the chopper had lifted off again, the roar of the jet engine quickly receding as the blinking lights of the craft disappeared into the gray-blue dusk.

They stood for a long moment, the sounds of wind and water gradually coming to the foreground again.

By the time they made it back to the warming house, Ben Reilly was alone, waiting for them.

“What’s happened with Boyd?” Ray asked.

“It didn’t take too long to get the EMTs here, a couple of young guys. As soon as they put him on oxygen he got a whole lot more comfortable. The chopper was on the way to pick him up, but you got first priority. Rather than waiting, they took him out on a sled that Boyd’s people had brought over. I don’t think he liked giving up his chopper ride to someone else.” Ben motioned toward Lowther’s body. “The ME is on his way.”