Chapter 5
Knox had argued with him about where to wait in the inn.
He had wanted to bundle up and sit in a rocking chair on the front porch.
She had pointed out that first, no one sane sat outside at night in the snow “in the Adirondacks in freaking December, Chief.” More convincingly, she’d suggested anyone with information to share might not want to be seen entering the well-lit front door, visible to drivers on the road.
Instead, they were inside, which was a great deal more comfortable, he had to admit. Knox was on her phone in the kitchen, trying to talk her son Hudson through his paper on a book about rowing in the Olympics.
“Okay, so this paragraph is where you’re telling us about the lead character, but it has to relate to the first paragraph.
” There was a pause. “That’s interesting, but does it tie into the theme?
” She swung back and forth on the island stool.
“I know, but just writing down things about him isn’t analyzing the book, it’s just making a list.”
God help him. He was going to be doing this in … Russ mentally calculated the years until Ethan was in seventh grade. Sadly, despite being an old dad, chances were low he’d be dead by then and thus able to weasel out of helping with themes.
He shut the Paul Doiron mystery he’d brought along and tossed it on the coffee table.
As compelling as it was, he was in no mood to get lost in a book.
What had he been thinking of, taking them up here and just announcing to the world and his wife that they were looking for Kevin?
He didn’t have any more authority than a school-crossing grandmother.
Less. He should have taken the evidence from Yíxīn Zhào to Lyle and the Essex County Sheriff.
Yeah, they might alert the militia nuts, but at least they could go door-to-door.
How was he going to proceed tomorrow? Hang around the post office asking everyone coming through the doors?
Wasn’t that some sort of federal offense?
A rap broke his concentration and brought him upright. “What was that?”
Knox pointed to a dark hall off the kitchen. “Babe, I gotta go. Keep working and I’ll call you back later if I can. Love you.” She pocketed her phone.
A hanging chain turned on an old overhead light. The short hall, lined with hooks and barn coats and shallow pantry shelves, led to the back door. He could see the outline of a man through the rippling glass panes. The man rapped again, then gestured toward the doorknob.
“Here.” Knox twisted an ancient rotary switch, and the outdoor light went on. The man turned so they could see the patch on his olive-drab parka.
It was a New York State Forest Ranger.
Russ opened the door. “Hi, Officer. What can we do for you?”
“May I come in?” He didn’t quite wait for an invitation, stepping into the hallway and causing Russ to step back.
He pulled his knit hat off his head and brushed the dusting of snow that had accumulated on his shoulders.
He looked expectantly toward the kitchen.
“Maybe we could move in to where we’re not squeezed together like sardines? ”
He had a good technique, polite, but putting himself on the first foot.
Russ gestured toward Knox, still pressed into a jumble of hanging jackets, and let her precede him into the kitchen.
The ranger’s gaze swept the open room and he moved to the archway, where he had a clear view of the living room and the stairs. “You two the only ones in the inn?”
“We were told it’s not snowmobile season yet.” Knox sounded annoyed. “Can you identify yourself, Officer, or do you not do that in the Department of Environmental Conservation?”
He finally looked at her—twice, that was the Knox effect—and managed an apologetic smile. “I’m Paul Terrance. I’m a ranger, which you obviously recognize if you know the DEC. Can I ask you two folks who you are and what you’re doing here?”
She crossed her arms. “Is this the greeting everyone gets in Newcomb?”
“Knox,” Russ growled.
“Everyone who shows up and announces they’re looking for a white supremacist militia.”
“Knox, show him your ID. Officer Terrance may be able to help us.”
She sighed ostentatiously. “I don’t think you should bow to police overreach.” She pulled her badge out of her purse and flipped it open for the ranger, whose eyebrows went up.
“Police overreach? You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Officer?” He turned toward Russ. “And you are?”
“Russ Van Alstyne. Recently retired chief of the Millers Kill PD.”
“Very recently.” Knox snapped her badge shut. “His picture’s still on the town’s website.”
“It is? Huh.”
Terrance had been standing at an erect posture that would have made Russ’s first drill sergeant proud. Now he unzipped his parka and leaned against the archway. “Explain. Please.”
“We’re trying to locate a former officer of mine,” Russ started.
“My partner,” Knox interjected.
“He transferred to the Syracuse PD, and then got loaned to a combined task force for an undercover operation—”
Knox cut him off. “Which brought him back to our area.”
Russ looked at her. “Is that relevant? Anyway, the operation was an investigation into potential domestic terrorist groups.”
“But,” Knox held up her finger, “it got pulled because someone up the ladder didn’t like what they were finding out.”
Russ pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. It got pulled because the funding was reallocated. So Kevin went back to Syracuse—”
“And disappeared.” Knox threw her hands out as if Kevin had performed some magic trick. “No contact with his friends, no calls to his parents—he didn’t even call us about the election.”
“That’s true,” Russ acknowledged, “but he was still in contact with a novice lawyer from the state AG’s office. The two of them cooked up this harebrained scheme to continue the investigation on their own dime, as it were.”
Knox shook her head. “Communicating through a dead drop. That’s actually just the damn mail.”
Russ turned toward the ranger. “The only leads we have are to this post office. He’s mailed a few letters from here. So … we’re following up on that.”
Terrance looked … either inscrutable or dazed, it was hard to tell. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, “This sounds like one of the stories my old tóta tells. Very detailed, and yet also somehow impossible to understand.”
“Look—” Knox began.
The ranger held up his hand. “Just let me, please.” He shrugged off his parka and hung it over the back of one of the barstools. He turned to face them. “A Syracuse detective named Kevin—”
“Flynn. And he’s not a—”
Russ laid his hand on her arm. “Knox. Let the man think.” What he didn’t say was, He could skunk our whole half-assed investigation, such as it is, if he’s not happy with us.
“Kevin Flynn is undercover with a militia group that you believe is in this area because of contacts through the post office.”
“Yes,” Russ said firmly.
Terrance looked at them. “And neither of you have any investigative authority to be here.”
Russ didn’t want the ranger going down that path. “How about you, Officer? What’s your interest in the militia group?”
Terrance pressed his lips together. “We’ve had reports of unsanctioned activity around the Santanoni Preserve. Suspicious groups. Gunfire during nonhunting hours. Possible unpermitted camping. And then four days ago, the ranger in charge of this area dropped out of communication.”
Knox looked at Russ. “I hadn’t heard anything about a missing peace officer.” Normally, any suspicious activity involving a cop went out to every department and branch of law enforcement in the state.
“It’s not unknown for us to lose contact. Pierre’s an old hand, and if he had radio problems or his truck broke down, he knows how to survive and trek out of these mountains.”
Russ opened his hand. “But…”
“But he hasn’t walked out. Hasn’t shown up at any of the fire towers and hasn’t been seen by anyone at one of the trailheads.”
“Could he have made a lean-to and hunkered down?”
“He could. But the weather’s been good these past several days.”
“So why wouldn’t a woodsman who knows the terrain hike out.” Russ nodded. “You think he’s been injured?”
“That was my first thought. But there’s this so-called militia that I keep hearing about.” Terrance shifted his weight, exposing his sidearm. “You two are here looking for them; what can you tell me? Are we talking about your average Meal Team Six wannabes? Or are these people serious?”
“That’s … one of the things we want to learn from Kevin.”
“We saw the information from the terminated investigation,” Knox said.
“There were a number of guys who had assault or domestic violence arrests. But there’s no way to connect any of them to whoever is—might be—camping out here.
All I can say is I know Flynn, and he’s smart, and if he’s been with them for a month or more, it’s because there’s a good reason to keep eyes on. ”
“I agree.” Russ shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “What was your plan for finding your missing officer? That’s a hell of a lot of square miles to cover.”
For the first time, Terrance looked frustrated. “I’m trying to find air search support, but it’s difficult. We’re short-staffed all the way around.”
“Short-staffed.” Knox frowned. “Is that why the DEC only sent one guy? I mean, you came on assignment, right? This is the missing officer’s patrol area, not yours?”
“No, my area is closer to Akwesasne. But I know Santanoni well.”
There was something in the young man’s expression that looked … Russ couldn’t define it. Shifty? Embarrassed? He mentally snapped his fingers. Guilty. “You haven’t been assigned to search at all, have you?”
Terrance gritted his teeth. “Pierre has gone missing.”
“Do your supervisors believe that?”
The ranger sighed. “No. It’s only been four days, and two of them were the weekend. Pierre’s been known to enjoy his time off. But he’s not at his house. I checked.”
Knox gave Russ a look. “What makes you think he’s in trouble, then, instead of sleeping it off in, I don’t know, Lake Placid?”
The ranger crossed his arms over his chest. “I had a dream.”
Knox leaned back. “You had … a dream?”
“Dreams are important. They’re the way our unconscious minds synthesize information we’re not even aware of.”
“Yeah, but they’re not usually used for law enforcement purposes.”
Russ broke in. “Officer Terrance, are you Iroquois?”
The ranger resumed his perfect, DS-approved posture. “I am. Mohawk, to be exact. But this isn’t some sort of woo-woo mystical Indian act. There’s scientific evidence behind—”
Russ raised his hand. “I trust you. I call it intuition, and it’s been right more than wrong in my experience.” He gestured to the kitchen island. “Why don’t we all sit down, share our intel, and see if we can make some headway on this?”
Knox took a seat. Terrance leaned against the island.
Russ spread the hunting and hiking guide map he had brought across the slick white surface and grabbed a pen from a mason jar near the fridge.
“Okay, we’re here.” He circled the intersection marking the inn.
“Here’s the Newcomb Post Office.” Another circle.
“We know when the militia comes to town, they drive. There’s no way you can just off-road in this area, so where are they stashing their vehicles? ”
Terrance took the pen. “There’s trailhead parking here, here, and here.” He added three slashes to the map. “Moose Pond Road goes way up toward the High Peaks, and there are places you could pull off far enough to call it parking. The problem is, the first good snow and you’re stuck in place.”
“Is there any private land in the area?” Knox leaned onto the island to get a better view. “I know the Park is a mix of private and public; maybe they’ve got a sympathizer. Or they’re just squatting now the summer people are gone.”
“This,” Terrance traced a roughly rectangular shape marked out in lighter green than the rest of the map, “is the only parcel not managed by the state. But if you follow its road, you can see it’s a lot closer to Tupper Lake than here.”
“So it doesn’t make sense they’d be driving down to Newcomb.”
“Right.”
Russ put his finger on the closest trailhead. “You said hikers hadn’t seen Pierre. Did you happen to notice the cars and trucks parked when you were asking around?”
Terrance shook his head. “Nothing that stood out. I was looking for Pierre’s truck.”
“Would you be able to identify any vehicles that are still there if we go back?”
The ranger looked at him. “I would.”
“Then that’s where we start.”
Knox pinched her fingers together, framing the “five miles” distance on the map legend. “That’s an awful lot of miles to cover.”
“You’ve got that right.” Terrance made a noise in the back of his throat. “We could really use one of the DEC’s spotter planes.”
Russ smiled. “You’re in luck, Officer. I may have someone who can help with that.”