P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“What in the world are you doing up there in black-hat country?” he asked.

I told him, and then described my conversation with M. C. Mingo and what I’d witnessed out on the mountain road. “Normally,” I concluded, “I’d have called that mess in to the sheriff’s office. However…”

“Yeah,” Bobby Lee said. “I see your problem. You think those dogs killed that guy?”

“Several times over, based on the runoff. Then I think they ate him.”

“Wow. Maybe you should do just what M. C. told you to do-get out and stay out of Robbins County. Sounds like they have their own rules up there.”

“What can you tell me about M. C. Mingo?” I asked.

“Not much, Lieutenant. As I recall, he’s not a member of the North Carolina Sheriffs’ Association, and, of course, here in Triboro, we hardly ever have any contact with Robbins County. Heard some stories, but you know how that goes.”

“Well, now you’ve heard a new one.”

“But that wasn’t the sheriff up there on that tree line, was it?” Bobby Lee asked.

I had to admit that he was right. Bobby Lee was often right. I asked if I should make a call to the North Carolina SBI and report what I’d seen. Bobby Lee said he’d make the call and get someone from the SBI to contact me up there in Marionburg, which was exactly what I had hoped for. I gave the sheriff my number at the lodge and thanked him. He suggested I also make a report to Bill Hayes.

When I got back from lunch, there was a message from Mary Ellen Goode. I got her on the phone at the ranger station.

“I have to make a trip up to Crown Lake this afternoon,” she said. “Park Service business, of course. Want to come along?”

“What’s Crown Lake all about?”

“Red rocks?”

It took me a moment, but then I remembered. “Of course it does,” I said. “Where do you want to meet?”

Ninety minutes later we drove into a scenic overlook pullout and parked. I had followed Mary Ellen’s Park Service SUV so that I could bring the shepherds along. She had thought that was a wonderful idea. The view was spectacular indeed, which is typical of the Smokies. Most people came up there to do stuff but spent a lot of time just looking at it. The air was clear and cool, and Crown Lake spread out in front of us in a silvery expanse of lightly rippled water, reflecting the lower end of the Smokies in the distance. The opposite shore was easily a half mile away.

“Are we in the park or in Robbins County right now?” I asked, joining her at the low stone wall. The shepherds were running around the parking lot with their noses down. She was in uniform and wearing a sidearm, I noticed.

“This is the park,” she said. “Robbins County is over on the other side, down that shore maybe two miles. This is where we found Janey’s Jeep. We have no idea of which way she went after parking here, or where she was taking the water samples.”

“Why was she taking water samples?” I asked.

“We keep track of lake acidity to see how much damage the western power plants are donating, season by season. Mainly looking for sulfuric acid, mercury, and other heavy metals.”

“Nothing of interest to the DEA, then?”

“The DEA? Not to my knowledge.”

I saw a trail leading off to the right that roughly paralleled the margins of the lake. “Would she have taken the samples here or walked around?”

“The lake is twenty-seven miles in perimeter, so she would have walked around part of it but not all of it. She was supposed to concentrate on the outflow of streams into the lake, and they’re predominantly coming from that long ridge on the north side. Feel like a walk in the woods?”

“Absolutely,” I said, calling up the shepherds. “Do I need one of those?” I asked, pointing at her sidearm.

“Technically that would be illegal. Practically speaking…”

“Right,” I said, walking over to my Suburban. “Avert thine eyes, madam ranger.”

We set out on the lakeside trail, walking initially north and then curving around to the west once we turned the end of the lake. I carried my trusty SIGSauer. 45-caliber model P-220 in a belt holster, partially concealed by a light windbreaker. Within minutes we’d each acquired a walking stick from the debris along the shore. The dogs were loving it, ranging far ahead and then loping back to make sure the humans hadn’t quit on them. For the most part the trail stayed within fifty feet of the shore, and came right down to the water where spines of the big ridge plunged into the lake. Mary Ellen, like every ranger who goes into the woods, carried a plastic trash bag along for the inevitable litter.

I told her about my reception at the Robbins County Sheriff’s Office. I did not tell her about what I’d witnessed out on the road. She said that she had talked to some of the rangers in the office, but not to her boss, about what Janey had said. They’d all been in favor of her going to take a look. As she said, they were all behind her. Way behind her.

“And what if we turn something up?” I asked. “How are you going to explain that to Ranger Bob?”

“Um, well…”

“You could always tell him that going to see Janey Howard and then coming up here was all my idea. You only came along to keep the Park Service out of trouble.”

She laughed. “I may take you up on that, except I think he already knows I called you in.”

“You’re not afraid you’ll get in trouble?”

She turned to look at me. “You know what? Janey Howard was a nice young woman. She’s a college graduate. She wanted to be a park ranger for the best reasons. Maybe a little idealistic, but, hey, she’s young. And some knuckle-dragging, slope-faced, slack-jawed, drooling brute who can’t even speak English grabbed her, beat her, raped her, sodomized her, and then threw her down a ravine to fend for herself with the coyotes and the bears. I want him dead. I don’t want him arrested. I don’t want him to have a lawyer. I don’t want him to plead insanity. I want him dead. I want him gutted, and I want to film the scavengers eating his guts. And, no, I’m not afraid I’ll get in trouble.”

I stared at her. “Hello, Mary Ellen Goode,” I said.

She looked down at the ground and sighed. “Okay, that’s just me, venting. At some point, reality will intrude. And, sure, we may both get into trouble. You want to turn back?”

“Hell, no. It’s not like you or the Park Service has retained me to do anything. And if I want to ask questions, I can.” I grinned at her. She was embarrassed, but she gave me a defiant smile. The one I remembered. The one that lit up the ranger station. “How much farther to the red rocks?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she said, surprising me. “I actually don’t remember any red rocks on Crown Lake. But we’ve got at least four hours of daylight left, so I say we walk for another ninety minutes or so. If we come up empty, we turn around.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, and called in the shepherds to make sure they didn’t roam too far or scare up a mama bear with cubs. “Did you ever find Janey’s water samples?”

“No, we didn’t. They’re white plastic one-liter bottles. And her uniform and pepper spray are missing, too. Her radio was in the Jeep, along with the usual gear.”

We picked our way through the wreckage of a large tree that had blown down over the trail. “So she left her gear in the Jeep, walked probably on this trail, taking her water samples. So where are they?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If she took, say, six empty sample bottles, and began sampling at that last creek we just crossed, she wouldn’t then continue to carry the full bottles-she’d leave the full ones at each sample point and then pick them all up on the way back, right?”