William Rabkin - The Call of the Mild

“Unless we gave him a mirror,” Gwendolyn said.

Gus shot Shawn a look-his partner was losing control again. And there was something else nagging at Gus. He wished he could remember what it was.

Shawn clutched his forehead. “What’s that, O spirit of the mountain? You say the wilderness asks for the mighty huntress to accompany the great woodsman?”

“Tell the spirit to put a sock in it,” Gwendolyn said. “I’m not spending a week alone on a trail with Captain Nature.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Balowsky said. “If either one of you turns out to be Rushton’s spy, the other will never let him get away with it.”

“Or her,” Savage said.

“It’s not me,” Gwendolyn said.

“I’m not thrilled about this,” Jade said. “But if they run out of food, Gwendolyn can kill something.”

“Then it’s settled,” Shawn said. “With two people gone, we should be able to stretch the food to cover the rest of us. But to make sure this is absolutely fair, we should take a vote. Everybody in favor of the plan?”

The hands of the waitstaff and the chef were up before Shawn finished his sentence. One by one the lawyers raised their hands until the only one without an arm in the air was Gwendolyn.

“Whatever,” she said.

“That’s it, then,” Shawn said. “Eleven to nothing.”

Gus suddenly knew what was wrong. “Twelve,” he said.

“No, I just counted,” Shawn said. “Four waiters, one guerrilla commando, four lawyers, and the two of us. That’s eleven.”

“There should be five lawyers,” Gus said. “Or at least four lawyers and one grumpy FBI agent.”

The realization hit them all at the same time, but it was Jade who spoke first. “Where’s Mathis?”

“Don’t look at me,” Gwendolyn said. “I didn’t feel the need to hook up with the nearest loser last night.”

“Who was sharing a tent with him?” Shawn said.

“I was,” Savage said. “But I chose to sleep outside last night.”

“As did I,” Balowsky said.

“Has anyone been back in that tent this morning?” Shawn said.

Savage and Balowsky shook their heads. Everyone turned to stare at the blue-and-white-striped tent assigned to Mathis.

“This is ridiculous,” Gwendolyn snapped. “He’s probably in there sulking because we wouldn’t all do what he wanted us to.”

“Or he’s left,” Jade said. “Set out into the wilderness on his own.”

“He wouldn’t get far,” Savage said. “He might be the reincarnation of J. Edgar Hoover, but in the mountains he doesn’t know which way is down.”

“He didn’t leave,” Gus said. Mathis was willing to see them all die in the wilderness before he’d let his suspect get back to civilization. If there had been a second person missing, Gus could have believed the Fed had taken him out. But there was no way he would simply walk away from the rest of them now.

“Statistically, we don’t need his vote,” Shawn said. “But in case there’s an inquiry from the Robert’s Rules of Order people, we should try to include him.”

As the others watched, frozen, Shawn got up from the table and walked to Mathis’ tent.

“You’re missing breakfast,” he said before he pulled open the flap. Then he stopped and stared.

“What is it?” Gus said.

“Well, the good news is we don’t need to save any bacon for him,” Shawn said.

Gus jumped up from the table and ran over to the tent, followed by all of the lawyers. They pushed around Shawn so they could get a good look.

A good look at Mathis lying peacefully on his feather bed. And at the kitchen knife protruding from his chest.

Chris Rasmussen stalked the mean streets of Isla Vista. He’d loved this town, but now it seemed soiled to him. There had been a criminal conspiracy underneath its manicured lawns, eating at the roots of the community like a gopher destroys an entire field of grass.

How had he missed it all? Had he been so busy writing jaywalking tickets he had let the real villains go free? Had they been laughing at him all the time?

However it had happened, he could not let it stand. He’d called Lassiter repeatedly, offering his services, but the detective had said the task force was closed and had hung up on him. No doubt Lassiter was busily figuring out a way to pretend these murders had never happened. He was up against forces greater than himself-and he was folding.

Henry Spencer had understood that. Rasmussen saw it all now. The great detective could tell that the fix was in, that when the rich and mighty got involved, the pursuit of justice took a backseat to the protection of power. That’s what he had been trying to tell Rasmussen at Ellen Svaco’s house. That’s why he walked away from the case. Detective Spencer thought he was protecting his new protege.

But Officer Chris Rasmussen neither needed nor wanted protection. He wanted to do his job. His duty. He wanted to see the guilty punished and the innocent protected. That was all that mattered to him.

In a way he was touched by Henry Spencer’s desire to shelter him. He supposed the thought was that if Rasmussen walked away from this, he’d survive to protect and serve another day.

But the law didn’t work like that. You couldn’t simply choose which criminals you’d stop and which you’d let go. Once you started down that path, there was no way back. You weren’t the law anymore. You were just a hired thug with a badge silk-screened on your chest.

Years ago Rasmussen had rousted a bunch of students who were drinking on the beach long after closing. He confiscated their beer, smothered their campfire, and wrote them all tickets. Normally during an encounter like this he expected some mild-mannered abuse. But this time had been different. The kids were polite, even pleasant. And one of them had offered Rasmussen a bit of wisdom he’d treasured ever since: “The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.”

That was the way Chris Rasmussen had always enforced the law, and the way he always would. When a crime was committed, it had to be investigated and the guilty punished, no matter who it was. Maybe the Santa Barbara Police Department didn’t work that way. But that wasn’t going to stop Chris Rasmussen. He had his badge and he had his gun, and that was going to be enough.

Just a few hours earlier, Gus had wanted nothing more than for the bickering among the lawyers to stop. Now that it had, all he wanted was for it to start again. What had replaced it was so much worse: a hostile silence marked only by suspicious glares and the tromping of feet on the forest floor.

They were marching down the same trail they had taken before. It wasn’t just Savage and Gwendolyn. It was all the lawyers, along with Shawn and Gus.

Shawn’s plan had been a good one. It would have sent the group’s two strongest hikers down the mountain, almost guaranteeing they’d make it to a rangers’ station. Even if one of them had been the smuggler or Rushton’s spy, the other would have made sure the mission was carried out. And best of all, it removed two of the most annoying bickerers from the campsite, ensuring that the rest of them could enjoy the time they spent waiting for rescue.

But that plan couldn’t work once they found Mathis’ body. “We have to face the truth,” Shawn said. “One of our group is a murderer.”

“You don’t know that,” Savage said. “For all we know it could have been one of them.” He waved a hand at the acting troupe, who were huddled together as far from the lawyers as they could get without leaving the safety of the camp.