Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

“I don’t see anyone,” Harv said.

He slowed to ten knots and looked at the water. Smooth. No wind. A slight amount of dust swirled as they went feet dry. He eased forward and hovered over the LZ.

Total focus now. Eyes straight ahead. Ease down on the collective.

A little more…. The helicopter shuddered slightly. They were down.

“I think I need to change my shorts,” Jeremy said.

“Nate’s a good pilot.”

Jeremy pointed. “There’s our man.”

Nathan throttled down and looked up. Their mark stood on the sundeck with his hands on his hips. Even from this distance, he didn’t look real happy. Understandable, but too bad.

“I’m getting out. Harv, you’re on the controls.”

“You sure about this? Maybe we should all get out.”

“That would appear threatening. Jeremy, I want you to get out, but stay here.”

“You got it.”

He climbed out, removed his flight helmet, and walked across the uneven terrain toward the houseboat. Halfway there he stopped. Mr. Houseboat didn’t move.

Nathan cupped his mouth and shouted, “May I come aboard?”

The man put a hand to his ear.

He walked another twenty yards and repeated the request. To his surprise, he received an affirmative nod and a wave over. Well, at least they weren’t off to a combative start. The houseboat looked a lot nicer than the floating wreck he’d expected. The man disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, Nathan saw him reappear at the bow, unlatch a gate in the rail, and slide a gangplank onto the island.

Nathan turned and gave Harv a nod before continuing toward the boat. The man, like his boat, also surprised him. He was clean-shaven and dressed in blue jeans and a black Oakland Raiders T-shirt. In his sixties, he looked fit, except for a slight gut.

“That was some damned fine flying.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said. They shook hands. “I’m Nathan McBride.”

The man studied the scars on his face and offered a nod. “Lars Stiegler. I flew Hueys for the Army in ’Nam. Two tours.”

“Thank you for your service.” Nathan placed Stiegler’s accent as Texan.

Stiegler attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite shine. The vet nodded toward the helicopter. “Bell 407?”

“Good call.”

“Your friends are welcome too. Might as well make it a party.”

“One of them is an FBI special agent.”

“Don’t matter to me. I ain’t done nothing wrong. At least not lately.” This time he did smile, for real.

“I apologize for the intrusion.”

He waved a hand. “I figured you’d come and find me, just didn’t figure it would be from a helicopter. Expect the unexpected.”

“May I ask why you left the marina?”

“That park ranger pissed me off, told me I couldn’t leave. Screw him. Is that your ship?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet it handles like a dream.”

“It does.” Nathan looked up at the canyon walls.

“Truly God’s country. I feel at home inside here… couldn’t tell you why. I just do.”

“No cell phones or Internet. Just you and the rocks.”

“What branch were you in?”

“Marines.”

“Officer?”

“Yes.”

“My father was a bullet catcher. Saw lots of action in Korea, nearly froze his ass off at the Chosin Reservoir.”

“My father was there too.”

“No kidding? You Marines are a tough bunch.”

“Thank you. We don’t need much of your time, Mr. Stiegler.”

“Call me Lars.”

Nathan turned when he heard Harv cut the engine. It would take a minute for the main rotor to wind down. “We were worried you might have a gun.”

“I do.”

Nathan waited.

“Hell, anybody crazy enough to strap himself into a flying blender, hover down this narrow canyon, and land on this rock isn’t a threat. To himself, maybe, but not to me. I have a kindred heart for helicopter pilots. Screw all them fixed-wing pussies. I couldn’t give a hoot in hell about them.”

Nathan feigned agreement. “Amen to that.”

More introductions were made as Jeremy and Harv joined them. Nathan watched Lars size up the new arrivals.

“Come aboard,” Lars said. “I can offer anyone who isn’t flying or on duty a cold one.”

“We’re good,” Harv said.

The interior of Stiegler’s floating home could’ve doubled for a showroom model. Neat to a T. Nathan’s preconceptions had been dead wrong. This man was meticulous and organized. Nothing out of place. Vacuumed. Dusted. No dirty dishes in the sink. Or clothes strewn about.

“You run a tight ship,” Harv said.

“A man’s home is a reflection of how he sees the world.”

“Then you must see the world in a positive way.”

Stiegler popped a Corona. “I do.”

An awkward silence ensued.

“You guys want to know why I’m so positive someone stole my boat and returned it.”

“Yeah, we do,” Nathan said.

“It’s simple. I always tie my mooring rope to the cleat in a special way. Whoever took my boat nearly got it right. It was the same kind of knot, but tied differently. I go left over right on the last part, not right over left.” He waved a hand. “Hell, I know what I know.”

“How easy is it to hot-wire one of these things?”

“I couldn’t say, but they didn’t need to. I’m sure they found my spare key. I keep it on a hook inside the cabinet over the sink. They put it back on the hook backwards.”

“You don’t keep your doors locked?”

“Nope. Despite a few rowdy kids now and then, this is an honest community.”

“Don’t you live on your boat full-time?” Harv asked.

“I do, but I was staying with a cousin in Banning for a few days. But here’s the clincher. I found this under my sofa, just out of sight.” Stiegler pulled a ziplock Baggie from his pocket and handed it to Jeremy. Inside was a piece of dull, silver wire with an offset 90-degree bend on one side. It looked to be about 1/8 of an inch thick. “I’m willing to bet my boat that came from galvanized chain-link fencing. I’ve worked with it before.”

Nathan exchanged a glance with Jeremy. Arthur Kramer’s body had been wrapped in chain link before it went into the water.

“I may not be the brightest bulb in the ceiling, but I’m also willing to bet this has something to do with that body they found a few days ago.”

“This is an important find. Jeremy, can your forensic people magnify the cut edge and try to match it against the fencing found on the body?”

“Yes. It’s like a ballistic signature.”

“I knew it,” Stiegler said. “Pisses me off they used my boat.”

Jeremy tucked the Baggie into his pocket. “Thanks for giving this to us.”

“I wasn’t going to. That lousy park ranger. Do I look like a vagrant to you guys?”

“He called you a vagrant?” Harv asked.

“The jackass. Don’t get me wrong, I like the federal park rangers and think they do a great job, but this particular turd has it out for me. He’s constantly harassing me.”

Harv smiled. “Maybe he doesn’t like the Oakland Raiders. He wouldn’t be the only one.”

“Hey, watch it.”

“Is there anything else unusual or out of the ordinary that’s happened around here lately?” Nathan asked.

“Except all the commotion a few days ago, not really. It’s a fairly quiet place expect for a few partying college students now and then. I don’t mind too much, lots of T and A in the narrows.”

Nathan stood. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time, Lars.”

“Y’all are stand-up guys. I’m sorry I made you chase me down.” He turned toward Jeremy. “If you talk to that park ranger again, will you let him know I cooperated? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already on his way. You raised quite a ruckus landing in here.”