Deer Season (7 page)
“Lynne, I hate to admit it, but lately I haven’t seen much television. I’m seldom home before 7:00 and by 11:00 I’m reading or sleeping.”
“Let me explain, then,” said Lynne. “The series followed the same format that I’ve used for several years on our special issues section. I’ll develop a topic over a week or two to provide a more in-depth report on a matter that is currently of interest to our viewers.” She paused, held Ray in her gaze, and then continued, “Like after the migratory bird die-off in October along the Lake Michigan shore; I did a series on invasive species and how they affect our local ecology. In August I did two weeks on global warming.”
Again her phone chirped.
“Do you need to take a call?” Ray asked.
“No,” she responded, after looking at the ID of the caller.
“These other series, did they produce any threatening letters?”
“No. In fact I seldom get letters, letters like that, snail mail,” she motioned toward the stack of envelopes. “Who writes letters? I get lots of e-mails and a few phone calls.”
“Threatening, obscene?”
“Never. After the global warming piece I received a few e-mails that were fairly hostile. I was accused of being part of the liberal press that peddles junk science. One writer said I was an ‘Al Gore, Michael Moore fellow traveler,’ whatever that is. Like I said, hostile but not obscene.”
“Since the letters seem to address this last series you did, can you tell me about it? Was there something that might have set this person off?” Ray asked.
Lynne pondered the question before she started to answer.
“Like I said, it was on gun deaths in children and adolescents. We’ve had three tragic deaths like this in our viewing area in the last six months. In each case the guns were left around the house where the child could easily get their hands on them; they weren’t locked up. I researched this topic on the web, most of my data came from the Centers for Disease Control and various medical groups. I also provided some comparisons between the U.S. and other industrial countries.”
She stopped for a moment and looked directly into Ray’s eyes. “I am passionate about this subject, but I was doing my best to let the numbers do the talking and not do any preaching. The last couple of segments of the series dealt with gun safety, things like trigger locks and storage safes. My thesis for the whole series was that if adults acted responsibly and kept guns under lock and key, we could really do something about this problem.” She paused briefly. “That tragic wounding of the high school kid from Sand River brings ….” She let her sentence hang.
Ray nodded his agreement. “And you got these letters,” Ray responded. “Anything else?”
“Like I said, lots of e-mails, most were very positive. Then there were a few from NRA types. You know, the kind of people who get upset if you mention guns and laws in the same sentence. They don’t listen to what you’re saying; they just send you some of that old, tired propaganda. ‘Guns don’t kill, people do,’ and that other one about outlaws ending up with all the guns.”
“Have you shared these with your husband?”
“I don’t want Dirk to know about them. It would only make things worse.”
Ray didn’t respond. He held Lynne in his gaze and waited.
“Most marriages have some rough times,” Lynne finally said.
Ray watched a wave of emotion sweep across her face. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or sadness, or a combination of the two.
“We’re not going to be together much longer.” She paused for a long moment, then continued, “He seems to care about the twins; he’s good to them and occasionally spends time with them. But he’s not happy with me.” Another long pause followed. Lynne played with a strand of hair. “He’s been very upset with me, especially since I’ve started seeing a psychiatrist. Dirk accused me of having an affair with….”
“The psychiatrist?” Ray finally asked.
“He’s a lovely older man. He’s in his late sixties, but Dirk won’t let go of it. He also complains about the au pair.”
“What’s the problem there?”
“He doesn’t like the idea. Says people should raise their own kids, not that we could both work without this kind of help. And he doesn’t like the au pair we currently have, Marie. She’s a lovely young Frenchwoman who has just graduated from college. She wanted to live in the States for a year and work on her English before she started graduate school in international business. I think she’s a real find. The twins are four, what a great time to start them learning a second language. They’re having so much fun with French. But Dirk hates France or anything French. And Marie is smart and sophisticated; when Dirk has tried to flirt with her, she’s just put him down. He’s not used to that. So she’s one more thing he’s angry about.”
“You don’t think Dirk sent these.”
“Can you imagine him taking the time to cut all those letters out?”
“I just needed to ask. I would like to send these to the State Police lab, perhaps they can find some prints or something else that might lead us to the sender. We’ll need a set of your prints, also. We use a kind of scanner now, it will just take a few minutes.”
“No problem,” Lynne responded.
“What can be done to increase your security?”
“I’ve already talked that over with the station manager. In fact, I would not be here if he hadn’t insisted on it. I can ask for a driver if I feel one is needed. And when the kids need to be chauffeured, I’ll let Marie do most of that. But I don’t want Dirk to know.”
“That makes things difficult for me. If I can’t make people aware of these threats and ask them to be especially vigilant….”
“Sheriff, can I call you Ray?”
“Of course.”
“Send the letters to the State Police lab, but don’t do anything else, please. I promise to be very cautious. Look at those letters. The guy is a crackpot, probably a middle school kid.”
“Crackpots can be very dangerous,” Ray responded with some obvious irony that wasn’t lost on Lynne.
“Please, just send the letters.” Lynne pleaded.
“I’ll share these letters with Sue and have her send the letters to the lab. We will respond quickly if we find anything. It’s very important that you let me know if you see anything unusual or suspicious. Will you promise to do that?”
“Yes,” she responded.
“Are you afraid of Dirk?” he pressed.
“No, not really. He has a lot of anger, but he has never been physical with me. I don’t think it would ever come to that.”
“But you’re not sure?” Ray asked.
“I’m not alone, Ray. Marie is there all the time. And I don’t think Dirk would hurt me.” Lynne’s phone chirped a third time; she looked at the display. “Listen, the station is trying to reach me, something must be going on. I better run. Thank you for your time,” she said, getting out of her chair and gathering up her purse.
Ray stood and took her extended hand. “Please keep me in the loop.”
“I will,” Lynne responded. “I promise.”
Ray watched her depart, then settled back into his chair. He had a sense of uneasiness as he started to read through the letters a second time.
“Ray, sorry to disturb you again,” came Lynne’s voice from the open door. “I just wanted you to meet Marie Guttard, our au pair. Marie, this is Sheriff Ray Elkins.”
Ray came around his desk and accepted Marie’s extended hand. She was his height, or perhaps slightly taller, very slim, but muscular, with unnaturally reddish hair in a stylish cut. “Welcome to our community,” he said, noting the strength in her handshake and her alert, intelligent manner. He wondered how much of a culture shock Marie was experiencing in rural Michigan.
“Thank you. I am happy to be here. It is very beautiful.”
“We’ll let you get back to work,” announced Lynne. “I just thought it would be good if you met Marie.”
“Yes. Thank you for bringing her in. Good to meet you, Marie.” Ray fished for an appropriate phrase from his college French, but couldn’t quickly retrieve one.
“Goodbye,” called Marie, as Lynne led her away.
Donna Bateman rammed the Chevy pickup down the unplowed two-track, the rearwheels spinning in the deep snow. She finally brought the vehicle to a halt where a heavy cable strung between two steel posts blocked the road.
She reached behind the seat and retrieved a gun case and a box of shells. “Come on,” she demanded in an irritated tone.
“But Mom, I promised the judge I wouldn’t get near a gun. You were standing right next to me in the courtroom. I don’t wanna get my ass thrown in jail.”
“Clay, just shut up and do what I tell you. I’ve got the gun, not you. Besides, who will see us out here? Bring that bag of beer cans.”
“Why are we doing this,” he asked as he tagged along after her. “You were totally pissed when Gavin gave you that gun. You told me he should have got you something nice, not a goddamn deer rifle. Why do you want to learn how to shoot it?” he asked, following her into the abandoned gravel pit.
“Gavin is crazy as hell. I may have to use it on that son-of-abitch if he comes bothering us. The trouble he got you into leaving that shotgun around.”
“Shit, it wasn’t his….”
“And maybe I’ll take up hunting.”
“You’re going fucking weird.”
“Stand those cans out there on that bank,” she ordered. When Clay returned to her side, she had the rifle out of the case. “How do you load this damn thing, anyway?”
Clay released a clip from the rifle and held it out. “You’ve got to load this first,” he explained, handing the rifle back and taking a box of shells from her other hand. He filled the clip and then demonstrated how it slipped into the rifle.”
“Can I shoot now?” Donna asked.
“No, you’ve got to get the first bullet into the chamber. Push that rod back and let go. Good, now you are ready. Look through that sight. Is it in focus?”
“Pretty good.”
“Get the crosshairs on one of the cans and release the safety.” Clay guided her hand, and she pulled the safety off. “Pull the stock against your shoulder and gently squeeze the trigger.”
Donna jumped at the sound of the explosion. She rubbed her shoulder with her left hand. “Damn. That hurt like hell,” she said.
“You need to pull the gun tighter to your shoulder.”
“Did I hit anything?”
“Yeah, Mom. You got some snow. Here, let me show you.” Clay took the rifle from her hands, slid his left arm through the sling, stopped momentarily to alter its length, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and adjusted the telescopic sight. “God are you stupid, you didn’t put the safety back on. The gun could have gone off when you were handing it to me.”
“Shut up and shoot.”
Clay pulled the trigger; one of the cans went tumbling off into the snow. He pushed the safety on and handed the gun back to his mother.
“You didn’t tell me about this strap,” she said. Clay helped her adjust the sling.
“Pull it tight to your shoulder,” he instructed, “and take the safety off.”
“Did I hit anything?” Donna demanded as she recovered from the kick of the rifle.
“Which one were you shooting at?”
“The one on the left.”
“It didn’t move. Try this,” said Clay, as he readjusted the sling. He got in a prone position and carefully sighted the rifle. Donna watched as two cans disappeared, one after another.
“You want me to get down in the snow?”
“It’s easier to steady the rifle, Mom. Just do what I tell you.”
Donna followed his model, sending four beer cans flying in rapid succession.
“Good job,” said Clay.
“That’s not hard at all,” Donna responded, scrambling to her feet. “I thought there was some big deal about shooting a deer. It’s a piece of cake. Anyone could do that with a gun like this. Where did you learn all this stuff?” she asked, looking at Clay.
“Gavin taught me,” he responded, pulling the clip from the rifle and checking to make sure the chamber was empty.
“Good old Gavin, a regular Boy Scout,” she responded bitterly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Ray woke suddenly from an uneasy sleep, startled by the brightness; the moonlight, reflecting off a carpet of fresh snow, poured through the large window on the side-wall near his bed. Ray pulled himself out of bed, glancing at the clock on the dresser on his way to the bathroom; it was a few minutes after 3:00 a.m. Returning to the bedroom, he stood at the window and gazed at the snow-covered slope below. The moon, more than three quarters full, hung in a dark blue sky. The oaks and maples, skeletal-like without their foliage, cast gray shadows across the otherwise glistening blanket of snow.
Ray had checked the weather on his computer before retiring. Another large storm system was heading into the Great Lakes region from Canada, the leading edge of the massive front having already crossed the southern shore of Lake Superior.
But as he looked out at the sky halfway through the night, there was no hint of the approaching storm. He changed his sweat-soaked t-shirt for a clean one and climbed back into bed, repositioning a large block of foam under the knee of his still tender leg.
As he lay there looking at the moon in the trees, the memory of a dream he was having just before he awakened started to come back. The dream wasn’t new; it was a variation of one that he had had many times since discovering that he had fathered a daughter years before. In the dream Ray is trying to hold onto a relationship with the girl’s mother, a relationship that in reality had been a brief summer romance. He had been home on leave from the army; he was in his early twenties.
In the dream he is a young man again and has prophetic powers. He is trying to persuade Ashleigh’s mother not to go back to California; if she will stay with him, their daughter will be protected from a horrible tragedy later in life. The dream always ends with him standing alone on a Lake Michigan beach just before the sun drops below the horizon, possessing prescient knowledge but powerless to change the future.
It took Ray a long time to fall back asleep. Later he woke to the sound of the wind, a howling gale. As he opened his eyes he could see the snow being blown into the thick woods in the gray dawn. The storm had arrived.
