Рита Браун - Fox Tracks

“Ben, if you do catch them, they’ll get off with a slap on the wrist, right?”

“Every now and then justice really is served, but it is frustrating for me and the team. I’ve got good people in this department. They put up with a lot and they aren’t exactly well paid.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because I really believe in law enforcement. If we are equal before the law then we have a stable and fair society. People can deal with pain better than injustice. I believe that.”

“But you must pursue this contraband case, right?” asked Sister. “Well, I guess it’s not a case yet.”

“I think it is,” said Ben, surprising her.

“You do?”

Ben trusted his master. “I’m pretty sure Carter Weems was part of it. We checked out his past convictions, all of them in North Carolina. Transporting illegal liquor, transporting tobacco up north. He got off over and over with a decent lawyer, and I know he couldn’t afford the lawyer. How could he? He blew his money. But whoever he worked for helped him out, and I expect his contacts were wide. If Weems hadn’t been a drunk, he could have been a real player.”

“Networking.” Sister laughed.

“Works in every business,” Ben said.

“I’m so glad I talked to you,” said Sister. “You make me think.”

“Back at you. You know this county better than I do. You know all the skeletons in those closets.”

“Some, but when I think about it, they are all skeletons of personal pain, the desire for social approval. For my generation, such events as a child out of wedlock, infidelity, or being homosexual oppressed people terribly.” She laughed again. “Well, not everybody.”

He laughed, too. “Hey, two fox dens in Walter’s shed? Why?”

“It’s not really two dens. It’s two entrances and exits and there will likely be more outside. Foxes aren’t the best architects in the animal kingdom, but they see the possibilities. For instance, when we draw down Broad Creek over at After All, have you ever noticed the den openings right above the creek, two or three feet above the water? They’re dug right into the creek bed.”

“I have,” said Ben. “I always wondered what the foxes did when the water rose.”

“That’s a fire exit, sort of. If a fox is besieged, he or she can always go through one of the tunnels, come out and jump into the creek, which will wash away scent. Foxes adapt, not just to weather and food conditions, they adapt to the hounds. My hounds possess drive, so the foxes around here need to be resourceful. They adapt, and far more quickly than we do.”

“You don’t say?”

“You’d better believe it,” answered Sister. “The fox isn’t hampered by any belief system. He or she reads nature exactly as it is. And we are part of nature. I swear to you, Ben, they know us better than we know them.”

“Perhaps if you’re the hunted you have to.”

She considered this. “Yes. That’s why I think criminals in the upper ranks are often smarter than the rest of us.”

“They certainly aren’t hampered by morals.” He waited a beat. “Actually, that’s not quite true. In many cases, there really is honor among thieves. It’s unreasoned violence that captures our attention. Maybe because if we admit it, we are all capable of it.”

“True. Well, this has been a refreshing morning phone call. I am wide awake, alert, and ready for life.” Sister loved a challenging talk, especially with someone she respected.

“That it is. Now I need a promise from you and it’s not about foxhunting.”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t go down to Walter’s shed and don’t go to where we found Carter’s body.”

“Umm. If you tell me where the speed gun is today, I won’t.”

Ben feigned shock. “As a public servant, I can’t do that. I do know, however, that you suffer from lead foot, especially on Soldier Road.”

“Ben, you’ll make a Virginian yet.” She laughed at this Ohio transplant. “I promise. Do you mind telling me why?”

“The perp or perps could go back. I’m less worried about the shed than that abandoned road at the Lorillards’. We’ve scoured both places thoroughly, but Weems’ body lay a long time on that old road. The killer could have dropped or left behind some evidence, and it is driven down in the mud. Say you’re that person, you put your hand in your jacket pocket you wore when you killed Carter. You discover a lighter or a trinket is missing. Even a match pack. But you can’t look for it while the corpse is fresh. He may have gone back, but if he did lose something and he didn’t find it, he’ll be worried now.”

“What about Gray and Sam?”

“I told them to steer clear, too. Our budget is so tight I can’t spare anyone to watch it full time, but I sent Jake over there, to sit in that road out of the woods, oh, maybe once a week. It’s a long shot.”

“Ben, you have a lot on your mind.”

“Everyone does.” His voice was warm. “The people who coast in life are the ones I feel sorry for.”

“Well, you and I will never need sympathy then.”

After bidding him goodbye and hanging up the phone, she tossed on her old flight jacket and went outside to the kennels.

Shaker was in the boys’ big run while Tootie was with the girls.

“Everyone okay?” Sister asked Shaker.

“Asa’s a little sore. He’s taken his canine Motrin.” Shaker smiled, mentioning Rimadyl.

“This really is his last year, isn’t it? Thought it was last year, but he’s so tough and he keeps up.” She opened the gate into the enormous run, dotted with large pines and oaks. “Asa, you’ve got some aches and pains. No hunting Tuesday and Thursday. I need you Saturday.”

“I can go all day every day,” he bragged.

She looked into his soulful brown eyes. “Saturday’s tough territory.” Then she said to Shaker, “I think a few of our ‘P’ and ‘D’ girls are due in season, maybe March.”

“They are. A couple of ‘T’s,’ too.”

“Give them another year. I don’t like to breed a hound until he or she has hunted two full years, as you know.”

“Right.”

“No hurry, but think about the ‘D’s’ and ‘P’s’ you’ve hunted over the years. I’ll go back through the bloodlines. Way back. We should breed this fellow.”

“All right. We should breed Dragon, too.”

“No, his brother. Dragon is too much trouble.” She knelt down to pet Asa, then stood up. “I’ll go check our new kennelman,” she said, meaning Tootie.

She walked around to the girls’ yard, separated from the boys’ yard by a twelve-foot-wide path, easy to mow in summer.

“What are you doing in here?” Sister smiled at Tootie.

“Cleaning up, getting to know everyone,” said Tootie. She might be a college dropout, but she was far from lazy.

“I didn’t expect you to come work in the kennels.”

“I know, but I like it and I’ll do as much as I can on the farm until I get a job. And even then, I’ll still do chores in exchange for my rent.”

“All right then. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the barn.”

As it was Betty’s day to help in the barn, the two friends knocked the chores out in no time.

“Looked at the weather?” Betty asked.

“Did. Looks like it’s going to stay cold with some snow on Saturday. We should still be able to hunt this Saturday.” She closed a stall door. “Course, you never know.”

“Well, we hunt Skidby on Tuesday, Little Dalby on Thursday, and Tattenhall Station on Saturday. I wish I knew Skidby better,” Betty said of the newer fixture.

“Yeah, we lose it during deer season, and it takes years to really know a place. This will be our second year, but you know, that’s hunting.”