Claws (13 page)

Twenty-Four

One shot could be an accident. Even two shots could mean a careless hunter with bad eyesight and a worse aim. Jackson still wiggled to a window, peeked out, and called for backup. While he waited he tried to think of a reason someone would shoot at him. All he came up with was what Jessup had said about the white-militia group wanting to replace him as Chief of Police. He remained on the floor, his body pressed to the wall, but there were no more shots. John and Brian and Angie showed up within twenty minutes.

If it was not an accident, Jackson knew the shooter would be gone. He sent John and Brian to search the perimeter anyway. If it was an accident, some hunter was in for an unpleasant surprise. After the two men left, Jackson and Angie searched for the bullets. They couldn’t find the second one, but the first bullet had passed through the house and broke a window before burrowing in a gnarled Siberian crabapple tree. Jackson dug out the bullet with a pocketknife and said, “Oh Christ!”

At sundown Jackson entered Benson’s Sporting Goods. Buck Benson was an avid hunter and more knowledgeable about guns and ammunition than anyone in the county. If Benson couldn’t help him, Jackson would try the state crime lab, although he knew their analysis could take weeks.

He found Benson in his office in the back of the store. Benson had the patrician look that a few lucky aging men get. “Sorry to disturb your supper,” Jackson said. He had phoned Benson at home and asked him to return to the store.

Jackson laid the splayed bullet on Benson’s desk. Although the bullet was flattened from going through a house and into a tree, it still was larger than an unfired .38 caliber bullet. Benson whistled. “A big boy.”

“That much I know already, Buck. But could a gun that fired this thing be used for hunting lions?”

“Not unless you want to blow a hole you can see through,” Benson said with a laugh. “Leave it with me for a half-hour; I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I appreciate it,” Jackson said. Benson was already taking measurements as Jackson left. He was halfway to the police station when he got the frantic call from Katy.

The motel parking lot was full when Jackson pulled in. He left his Jeep blocking two cars. A small group of
men had gathered, some of them snickering and pointing to a rainbow palette of panties and bras attached to the motel wall like mounted trophies. Jackson suggested the men find better things to do, and they wandered off, grumbling.

“These things all yours?” Jackson asked Katy as he walked up. She was pacing back and forth. Tucker Thule was blocking the doorway to her motel room.

“What do you think?” she snapped.

“Anything else disturbed or missing?”

“I don’t know. He won’t let me in.”

“It’s a crime scene,” Tucker said. “I told her that.”

“Where are your guns, Katy?” Jackson asked.

“In the truck. Your truck. They’re safe.”

“I need you to talk to the guests here, Tucker,” Jackson said. “Somebody must have seen something.”

“Roger that.” Tucker hesitated. “You mean now?”

“Yes, now,” Jackson said. “Start at the far end of the motel.” Jackson waited until Tucker was gone. “You can gather up your clothes now, Katy. You want help?”

She shook her head no, her eyes glistening.

Jackson tried to avoid watching Katy remove her lingerie, but he had seen everything already. He was no expert, but he knew granny-panties from thongs – butt floss Sadie Pope called them – and he knew the difference between
the plain cotton panties Iris usually had worn in Colorado from the lacy sexy ones she started wearing once they moved to Idaho. Katy seemed to have underwear for all occasions.

Once Katy was done, they checked her motel room to verify nothing had been stolen. After that, they went together to the motel office to talk to the owner.

“Any idea who did this?” Jackson asked Neil Fennis.

“Nope. Kids maybe. But it’s more likely somebody who doesn’t like her trying to shut down our lion hunt.”

“What?” Katy said. “What are you talking about?”

“Same thing I’m wondering,” Jackson said.

“On the news a couple hours ago. Some smug, bunny-lover in Colorado said he filed an injunction to stop our lion hunt. He especially mentioned Miss Osborne’s name. Said she was a big supporter of what he was doing.”

Jackson looked at Katy and frowned. “What’s he talking about? What injunction? Who in Colorado?”

“I didn’t … I didn’t tell Stan to use my name.”

“Stan?”

“Stan Ely. We talked about him the other night.”

“So you know about this injunction business?”

Katy hesitated before saying, “Sort of.”

Jackson continued to frown at Katy, although he spoke to Neil. “How’d they get in, Neil? Lock wasn’t jimmied.”

“Maybe the door was left open,” Neil Fennis said.

“And maybe someone gave them a key,” Katy prompted.

“Jackson, I have a motel crammed with hunters. I can’t watch them all.” To Katy he said, “It’ll be better for everyone if you find another place to stay.”

“There is no other place,” she said. “You know that.”

“My new price is triple what she’s paying, Jackson.” Neil Fennis shook his head. “I gotta hand it to Iris and Dell. This lion safari is just what the town needed.”

“Except for people getting killed, you mean,” Jackson said. Fennis scowled, but before he could argue, he was called away to handle a check-in, and Jackson told Katy, “I’ve got an extra bedroom at the house. You can stay there. Should have offered it to you before.”

Jackson saw from her expression that she was hesitant about accepting. “Look, you can’t stay here and I –” His cell phone rang, and he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the caller ID. “I need to take this,” he said. He walked outside into the early darkness. A few minutes later, Jackson left Katy at the motel to pack up, while he returned to Benson’s Sporting Goods.

“Elephant gun,” Benson said when Jackson entered the office. “The shell is a five-hundred. Big as you can buy without a special permit. I don’t sell a single rifle that
can fire them things, although I can order the guns and ammo. Can’t tell you the exact model and make, but I put together a list of a half-dozen rifles it could be.”

He handed a slip of paper to Jackson. A Weatherby Mark V was near the top of the list. That was the rifle Dell had shown Katy and Jackson a couple of days earlier.

“My things were trashed and now I’m being evicted,” Katy snapped. She had called Stan Ely as soon as she finished packing to move to Jackson’s house.

“F-me,” Stan said. “Katy, I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing like asking me first, Stan.”

“But I did,” Stan argued. “You said if the injunction hit a snag, I could use your name as a supporter. Katy, we didn’t hit a snag; we hit a brick wall. The good judge I told you about; well, we lost him. He had emergency bypass surgery today. So our hearing got reassigned, and this time we drew some Bush appointee. A black female judge that’s so far right she makes Justice Thomas look like Martin Luther King. We don’t have a chance in hell.”

“You still should have cleared it with me,” Katy said, but even as she said it, her words were losing their sting.

“My Hollywood connection says there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Controversy will help you sell books.”

“Your Hollywood connection probably isn’t surrounded by angry hunters with big guns,” Katy told him.

As Shane slid the Toyota to a dusty stop outside the dark house, Jesse turned off the blaring music. At least he was playing Black-Eyed Peas instead of 50 Cent. Jesse’s tastes ran to Taylor Swift, Josh Ritter, and the Beatles.

“You don’t have to hang around,” Jesse said.

“Maybe I want to.”

“You don’t even like horses.”

“But I like you.”

She smiled at him but still shook her head. “Touie could be nervous. He doesn’t like being away from home.”

“Maybe it’s you that’s nervous?” He ran his hand up the inside of her jeans and kept going until she clamped his hand between warm thighs. “Maybe you’re afraid you can’t trust yourself in the barn? All that soft hay –”

“You wish!” she said with a giggle. “Okay, but if you’re coming in, stay behind me.” She squirmed out of the truck and, without looking back at Shane, hurried to the barn in the glow of an outside light.

Jesse slid the barn door open. Even before she turned on the interior lights, she knew something was
wrong. Touie was stomping and snorting inside his stall. “Stay back,” she told Shane. He was too close behind her.

Jesse spoke softly as she approached the gelding, but he still pawed the straw on the floor, threw his head around, and flared his nostrils. When she reached her horse, she offered him a sugar cube, something she seldom did, since it was unhealthy for Touie. At first Touie ignored her, but as she continued to coo and offer the treat, he finally took it out of her hand. She felt his hard teeth and large, soft lips, the hairs around them tickling her skin, and said, “I’m glad you’re home too.”

“Do I have to stay out here all night?” Shane said. He didn’t wait for an answer before he stepped inside.

Touie immediately pulled away from Jesse and snorted. “Easy, easy, boy,” Jesse said. “Shane, I told you –”

“I didn’t do nothing,” Shane said.

“Easy, easy.”

“So what’s wrong with him?” Shane asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s got him –”

Before Jesse could say, “spooked,” they heard the growl of a big cat. Touie reared and struck the air with his hooves. Jesse jumped back to avoid being hit and stumbled. With nothing but air to grab onto, she fell and smacked her head against a large, wood support beam. Her face drained of blood, her eyes rolled, and she dropped to the floor.

“Jesse!” Shane ran toward her. “Jesse,” he said again as he knelt over her. “Jesse, come on!”

When Shane heard a second growl, he looked up and saw the giant cat in the open doorway. Kali’s head was lowered. Her amber eyes swung from the panicked horse in the stall to Jesse and Shane and then back to the horse. Kali showed her teeth and gave a half-growl and half-hiss.

Shane looked around for an escape route or for a weapon. Another door was at the opposite end of the barn, but it was closed. There were stairs going up to the loft, but they were too far away. Closer, he saw a ladder to the same loft. Maybe he could carry Jesse over his shoulder like a fireman and climb the ladder. Maybe. He said her name again, and this time she moaned. Shane glimpsed something metal and a second later realized it was a pitchfork. He looked back at Kali; she had crept closer.

Shane got up slowly and inched his way toward Touie’s stall. Shane’s eyes never left the liger, and Kali’s eyes never left the horse and the boy. Touie was banging and kicking against his stall. A wooden slat splintered.

In slow motion Shane picked up the pitchfork. With his other hand, he nudged open the gate to the stall. At
first Touie didn’t react to the offered escape. He continued to rear up and snort, his eyes wild with fear.

By the time Shane returned to Jesse, Kali was seconds away from reaching them. Shane felt his body react to the fear. He fought against it. No way he was going to let this become the aspen grove all over again. “Jesse, wake up,” Shane pleaded. “Please. You gotta wake up.”

Kali unleashed a louder growl and dropped into a crouch as Touie bolted from the stall, racing toward the open barn door. Kali sprang at the gelding, but the liger was positioned to spring forward, not sideways, and there was little thrust to her attack. Touie easily avoided Kali and disappeared into the night. In a flash Kali recovered and went after the horse. Kali had failed once to kill the prey; she didn’t intend to fail again.

Shane wobbled on weak legs to the barn door and shut it with a bang. He then slid to the ground, leaned back against the door, and sucked in his first deep breath in minutes. A moment later Jesse opened her eyes and moaned.

Twenty-Five

Angie parked her Subaru behind the Methodist Church, three blocks from Sharon’s bungalow on Grouse Road. She had her police uniform in a garment bag and other items in the Buckhorn Bank gifted carryall slung over her shoulder. There was no traffic, and in most houses the curtains were drawn. She was a block from Sharon’s house when she saw the truck. The lights switched from low to high blinding her, and she shielded her eyes until the pickup sped past, its radio spewing country music. She turned and watched the truck speed off. The rear of the truck was crusted with mud. In the dark and with the truck moving, she could not read the license plate number. It was an Idaho tag. The pickup left her feeling uneasy, and when she arrived at Sharon’s house, she did not mention her encounter. She simply listened to Sharon prattle on and on about school.

When the phone rang, they were on the couch, with candles their only light, and neither of them interested in talking except to say, “yes, yes,” or “do that,” or “don’t stop.” The machine picked up the call. Seconds later, they heard heavy, sexual panting and faint country music.

“What the hell’s that?” Angie asked. She lifted her head off Sharon’s stomach and eyed the answering machine.

“Kids from school, I guess.”

“Doesn’t sound like kids to me,” Angie said.

Sharon turned away. “It’s not the first time.”

“First time?” Angie said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He never speaks. Just breathes like that.”

Angie sat up. “You said he.”

“So?”

“How do you know it’s a man?”

Sharon shrugged. “I’m just guessing.”

“Well, he’s not guessing. He knows about us.”

“Let him. I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do,” Angie said. “You’ll lose your job.”

“Then I’ll do something else.”

“Well, I don’t want to do something else. I’m a cop and –” Angie stopped. “Damnit! Why’s this happening?”

“You’re not the one he’s bothering, Ang.”

Angie went to her carryall and took out the rubber dildo that she had cut off her locker door. “This was super-glued inside my locker at the station.”

Sharon made a noise much like a puppy dog whine.

The phone rang again. Before Sharon could stop her, Angie jumped up, grabbed the receiver, and said, “I’ll find you, asshole. Just wait. I’ll find you.”

The Knights of the Golden Circle had never met twice in one week until Wednesday night. This time there was no pretense of a card game. Each man made his own excuse to his wife or girlfriend or made none at all. The meeting was again held at the Umfleet’s log house. It sat a half-mile off the blacktop on a dirt and gravel road that was a dead end. By nine-thirty six vehicles had traveled down the road. The last person to arrive was Tucker Thule.

“Nice of you to come,” Fred Bulcher quipped as Tucker set down a twelve-pack of Miller cans.

“Had something to do,” Tucker said. “And I had to help with the big panty investigation.” To everyone’s delight, Tucker shared the details of Katy’s lingerie spectacle. Besides Fred and Jerry, tonight’s group included a corrections officer, a middle-school teacher, and a sawmill worker. “So what’s going on here?” Tucker asked as the laughter subsided.

“We’ll tell you,” Jerry said, “while you hand out them beers.” Marcy, Jerry’s wife, unwilling to play hostess again, was in their bedroom watching taped episodes of
American Idol
. “The law find Ronnie yet?”

“Nope. But I think the Big Chief knows something.”

Fred snorted. “I’ll tell you exactly where Ronnie Greathouse is. He’s laying in a ditch somewhere dead.”

“Or ratting us out,” the schoolteacher said. He wore an outdated crewcut and had a beer belly.

Everybody started talking at once. After five minutes, Fred hushed the bickering by saying, “Bag this shit tonight. The main thing you missed out on,” he told Tucker, “is hearing this plan Rip has for us to make money off the Idaho Lion Hunt thing.” Rip Baxter was a corrections officer at the Saint Anthony Work Camp.

“Thought we were robbing a bank?” Tucker said.

“Ronnie’s big idea?” Fred snorted again. “We’re patriots, not bank robbers. Our fight’s with baby-killers and the godless politicians in Washington. And we don’t need to play Jesse James to get rid of the mud people and wetbacks. Just listen to Rip’s plan. And next time we meet, Tucker, get your ass here on time.”

“So you in charge now, Fred?” Tucker asked.

Fred laughed. “Hell, I’ve always been in charge.”

Jesse and Katy were snuggled up on the couch drinking hot chocolate and talking about horses when Jackson got
home Wednesday night. After saying hello, he locked up his handgun and removed his equipment belt and joined them.

“I see you two have met already.”

“Jesse’s been the perfect host,” Katy said.

“God, Dad, her life is so cool.”

Jackson smiled.

Katy quickly said, “Jesse’s been telling me about Touie and this race she’s training for.”

“What’d Doc Willis say? How’s Touie?”

“Good, he’s good. But really skittish.” Jesse did not mention that it had taken Shane and her an hour to locate Touie and return him to the barn. Touie was unhurt, and they did not see the liger again. Nor did she say that she had barely gotten home before Katy arrived. “But I’m going to keep Touie in the barn. Not out in the corral.”

Jackson was surprised. “Touie hates being locked up.”

“I know but … it’s better than some stupid hunter shooting him.”

“Speaking of hunters,” Katy said, “how’d it go today?”

Jackson scoffed. “Just one tiger killed. At this rate, we’ll be hunting lions and tigers at Thanksgiving.”

Jesse yawned and soon went to bed. After Jackson and Katy made plans to go liger hunting on the farm Thursday afternoon, Jackson also said goodnight. In the bedroom his blue uniform was still tossed across a ragged old armchair he was too fond of to throw away. He had left the uniform there after Ed’s funeral on Tuesday. He folded the trousers and slid them over a wood hanger, hung the shirt over the pants, saw the black armband, and finally remembered Ed’s letter. He had forgotten to go see Eileen Stevens and get the letter. I’m losing it, he thought.

The first thing Katy did when she was alone in the guest room was to take out her 13 inch Macbook Pro. Before Jackson came home, while she was alone with Jesse, she felt chilled and had asked her about lighting a fire. The fireplace was laid with logs but was unusually clean.

“We never use it,” Jesse had said. “Well, Mom and me, we used it a few times when Daddy was gone. But he could smell it, so we stopped doing even that.”

“Your father doesn’t like a fireplace?”

Jesse shook her head no. “Doesn’t like fire.”

When Jesse didn’t say anything more, Katy dropped the matter. Now she
googled
Jackson Hobbs; Fort Collins, Colorado; Nancy Larsen; and methamphetamine bust. By the time she shut down the computer and went to bed, she had a better idea of why Jackson didn’t use the fireplace.

On Thursday morning Jesse had her dad drop her at school a half-hour early. “You’re not gonna believe this,” Jesse said the moment she reached Missy, waiting for her outside the entrance. Jesse dragged her friend off to the side where nobody could hear them. She told Missy about the liger, being knocked out, Touie’s escape, and all the rest.

“Shut up!” Missy said when Jesse paused for breath.

“Don’t never, ever tell anybody. Not even Buzz.”

“Oh my god! You could’ve been killed.”

“I would have if Shane hadn’t been there.”

“Shane? So what, now you really do like him? But you said –” Jesse’s face got red. Missy gasped, her mouth wide. “Oh my god! You’re finally going to do him.”

Jackson drove from the high school to Reynolds’ Auction Barn on Hawk Owl Road. The wood siding was faded, the paint flaking, and the cattle pens needed repair. But none of that mattered today. Today, the auction barn was the center of attention. It was where the killed lions and tigers were weighed, measured, and photographed. Then the animals were picked up by taxidermists or skinned out and the remains destroyed.

Although it was not yet eight o’clock, the barn was crowded with hunters and gawkers. A group stood around the spot where a lion and two tigers were laid out side by side
on tarps. The animals looked dirty and their skins dull. Flies swarmed over them. Jackson didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife or rebirth or a judgment, but he was certain there was something magical about life, and that whatever is magical was gone out of the cats now.

A large whiteboard was set up. It tallied seven cats already killed. According to the scoreboard, and Jackson’s own calculations, six tigers, nine lions, and one liger remained. Jackson knew that at least four people had died. The scoreboard did not keep count of the people.

Jackson left after a few minutes. On his way out he spotted Dell Tapper and Fred Bulcher in the parking lot. He couldn’t hear them, but their conversation appeared to be heated. He thought about the gun that Dell owned and the bullet that might have been fired at him, but it wasn’t the right time or place to ask about it. He avoided the two men, drove off, and headed to the police station.

It had been five days since Ed was killed and Jesse narrowly escaped with her life; four days since they found the Cheneys and learned how many big cats now were roaming free; three days since he first saw Katy in Utah; two days since Wade died; and one day since somebody shot at him. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Thursday would bring.