P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke,” she said. “You’re either with the good guys or you’re not. Hayes has been doing the ostrich act for too damn long. Time somebody braced him up.”

“If he does have a heart condition,” I said, “it tends to sap the do-something right out of a guy.”

“Then he should retire and let someone else do the job. Right now the Creighs are walking all over him.”

“So you don’t think he’s dirty?”

She shook her head. I agreed with that assessment. “So how the hell do we prove this business with Grinny Creigh and children in Robbins County? And do that all by our lonesome?”

She grunted defiantly and sipped some of her scotch.

“We still have Baby Greenberg as at least a passive ally,” I said. “I don’t know about Sam King-he tried to make it look like he was washing his hands of this mess, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Whatever they’re doing, they won’t tell me,” she said.

“Right, so we have to figure out some way to blow this thing open. We need to find the children.”

She looked over at me in the darkness. “No shit, Sherlock,” she said, somewhat more amiably. “And how do we do that? You got a plan?”

“I got the glimmer of one,” I said. “What’s the very last thing the Creighs would expect us to do right now?”

She thought for a moment. “Come back at them?”

“Bingo,” I said. I explained what I had in mind. “So that’s what we’ll do,” I concluded. “But first we’ll need to execute a little cover and deception. And for that I need to go see Sheriff Hayes and eat some serious crow.”

I went out to my Suburban and drove out of the lower lot and up into the main parking area. One fire engine was still there, along with a state police crew, wading through three feet of white foam as they began the fatality investigation. The remains of the Dodge were covered in yellow rubber drapes, surrounded by several yards of police tape. There were a few gawkers out in the lot, but not very many, courtesy of the nauseating vapors exuding from the charred wreckage. I got a whiff as I drove by, and I drove over to the sheriff’s office in Marionburg with all the windows open.

Hayes’s office was still going strong after the incident at the hotel. I walked into the main reception area and told the sergeant on duty that I needed to see Sheriff Hayes.

“This is not a great time for visitors,” the cop said.

“Why don’t you tell him that Mr. Richter is here to apologize.”

“Richter. Right. Heard that name earlier. You sure you want to do this?”

“It can’t get much worse,” I said. He gave me a look that said, Oh, yes, it can, but went into the sheriff’s office. Five minutes later a deputy I didn’t recognize came out to reception and called my name.

“Sheriff says you can have three minutes,” he announced. He looked both ways and then said, “You sure you want to go in there?”

There’s an echo in here tonight, I thought. “Can’t wait,” I said, and he rolled his eyes. I was most definitely in deep shit with the Man.

Hayes was sitting behind his desk when I was ushered into his office. Gone was all the previously sympathetic friendliness. In its place was a steely glare, backed up by all the authority a southern county sheriff can muster, which is considerable. For a moment I thought maybe I had made a mistake coming over here. I noticed a small yellow prescription bottle next to his in-box. I skipped the pleasantries.

“I came to apologize and to tell you that we’re leaving,” I said. “Sam King advised the same thing, so we’re going to get out of Carrigan County and leave you in peace. I think Ms. Santangelo was out of line with what she said, and neither she nor I nor anyone at SBI thinks you’re involved with the Creighs or anything going on in Robbins County.”

“That’s nice,” he growled.

“Well, it’s true,” I said. “And how you handle the situation here is, of course, your business. We’ll need the morning to get our shit together.”

“That harpy going, too?”

“It’s Harper, but yes, sir. And I’m sorry for that mess at the hotel tonight. I don’t know that that was the Creighs, but I suspect it was.”

He relaxed fractionally. His face was no longer dark red as it had been in the cabin. In fact, he looked a little gray around the edges. “I had our people call Mingo’s office once we ID’d the car,” he said. “The license plate came up Robbins County and listed the registered owner. Mingo sent a deputy over, and he gave us a tentative ID on the owner. The occupants are all stumps, of course; they’ll require dental identification.”

“Let me take a guess on the owner,” I said. “A guy named Lucas Can?”

His eyebrows went up. “How the hell did you know that?”

I explained the background. “He said he’d made the Creighs’ shit list for screwing up the hit on Carrie and me in the river. My guess is they gave him one chance to redeem himself. They sent along two helpers to keep him honest. He’s the one Sam King was setting up on to get Carrie back.”

“Should have left that little witch over there,” he said, starting to spin himself up again. “Who’s that goddamned woman think she is, anyway?” Then he stopped, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You say you’re leaving. Where are you going?”

“Away?” I said, echoing his earlier words.

“How far away?”

“Far enough to be out of your hair.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said.

“I know it isn’t,” I replied. He just stared at me for a long moment. He started to say something but then sighed and set his jaw.

“You told us to go, and we’re going,” I said. “Why not just declare victory?”

He leaned forward in his chair. “If you guys get yourself into any kind of crack up there with Mingo or the Creighs, do not, repeat, do not expect me or any of my people to come bail you out, understand?”

I nodded.

“And for the record, I’m telling you not to go back there. Let the appropriate authorities work the Robbins County problem. Neither of you fits that category anymore, right?”

I nodded again.

“Okay, then. We’re done. We’re still cranking out paperwork on your latest mess. Out.”

Back at the cabin I found Carrie busy sorting out her equipment. The two shepherds were in attendance, watching with their usual interest. Everything is a great adventure to a shepherd.

“He buy it?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “And he made it pretty clear that if we do go back there, there will be no cavalry from Carrigan County.”

“Never expected any,” she grumped. “Guy’s lost his nerve. He’s afraid of Mingo, and that’s the long and the short of it.”

“We have until noon tomorrow,” I said. “Time enough for us to get what gear we need and then to make our move. I’ll call Mose Walsh.”

“Go in daylight?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “The Creighs and Mingo own the night in Robbins County. I think if we just drive in there, go straight to Laurie May’s, we’ve got a pretty good chance of remaining undetected. Her place is nowhere close to town.”

She plopped down on the bed. “What we don’t know is whether or not she’ll let us hole up there again,” she said. “Or if she’s even there. They may have done something to her.”

“Or worse,” I said. “She might be part of it. That’s one loose end we need to work out. But that’s the only place I can think of to base, now that we’re been thrown out of here.” As I said that, though, I had another idea.

“What?” she said.

“We could base up in the national park,” I said. “Remember that cabin we used? The one that’s been requisitioned by the DEA?”