Chapter 7
Clare had just finished packing Ethan’s diaper bag when she heard the knock on the kitchen door.
Her first thought was Cal followed us, because if there was a parish emergency, someone would call her.
Her next thought was Oh God, Russ. She flung open the door.
Her heart stopped when she saw Hadley Knox and Paul Terrance. She covered her mouth.
Paul held up his hands. “Your husband’s okay, ma’am.”
“We think he’s okay.” Hadley shot Paul a look.
Clare nodded. She stepped away, waving them in. When she could speak, she pointed to the coffeemaker. “Help yourself. I need a moment.”
She went upstairs to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She looked in the mirror, breathing in. Out. In. She was dressed for work, black clericals waiting for her to put the collar on. She looked a hundred years old.
Tiny and Yíxīn were on the landing, both still in pajamas. Tiny was clutching Rose. “Is it Cal?”
“No.” Clare coughed. “Something’s happened with Russ. You two had better come down.”
Clare poured herself coffee—her hand only shook a little—while everyone introduced themselves in the living room.
She gave Ethan, amusing himself in the playpen, a zwieback to chew on, wondering how she would survive if he never had the chance to know his father.
She dragged a narrow chair beside the sofa and sat. “Tell me.”
Hadley told her. The militia camp, and Russ in it, and Kevin, too. Paul’s uncle, dead. The lieutenant at the sheriff’s office who needed more evidence.
She set her mug down. “If he needs more to go on, let’s give it to him. Yíxīn, tell them about the license plates.”
“We found what looks like their vehicle depot and communications center yesterday, while we were, um, getting Tiny. There were four trucks with snowmobile trailers. I ran the plates; two of them are registered to people Tiny already identified as being associates of her husband. The other two don’t have any arrest records and aren’t on my watchlist.” She stood.
“Let me grab my folder from the dining room, you can see for yourselves.”
“Tiny said the hunting shack belonged to her husband, Cal March.” Clare nodded toward where Tiny was sitting, Rose on her lap.
“What’s the communications part?” Hadley asked.
“There was a radio repeater.”
“That means there’s got to be another one somewhere else to receive the calls.” Paul nodded. “Ham radio makes sense as a workaround for the lack of cell signals in the mountains. They call for supplies, whoever the contact is gets the message, and he drops off food or whatever at the cabin.”
Yíxīn returned and handed Paul her file. He flipped it open and started reading.
“Let’s summarize.” Hadley stood up. “There’s a militia called Noble Train operating in the area.”
“Knox’s Noble Train.” Tiny looked around the group as if waiting for someone to scold her.
“Thanks, yes. Cal March, known white supremacist, is a member. We assume, but have no proof, that some of his associates are also members.”
“We have at least two of them parked at his hunting shack,” Yíxīn pointed out.
“Yeah, but we don’t have any solid link between the shack and the militia group. Just conjecture.”
“You sound like Lieutenant Pelletier.” Paul handed her the folder.
“We also don’t have any link between the militia and the person who killed Ranger Laduc. It’s all just pieces, hanging out there, disconnected.”
Paul shook his head. “We’re going to need a warrant to search the camp for weapons to connect one of them to Pierre’s death.”
“Which we’re not going to get until we have something to justify it. Right now, they really could just be a group of guys winter camping after hunting season.”
“A group of guys who took my husband prisoner.” Clare frowned.
“Cal March is the linchpin.” She ticked off on her fingers.
“He’s confirmed as a member of the militia.
We’ve got photos of the supplies he’s storing in his house, which could be used for an IED or some other type of explosive.
He owns a hunting shack near the militia camp, where more of these neo-Nazis’ trucks are parked. ”
“Cal’s not a Nazi!” Tiny looked horrified.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “If it goose-steps like a duck…”
“What if…” Clare paused. “What if Rick Smith could confirm the men who own those trucks are members of Knox’s Noble Train? Would that be enough, with the mysterious death and Russ’s … situation?”
Hadley looked dubious. “Is he likely to agree to sign a statement?”
“He doesn’t need to, not for a search warrant.” Yíxīn pointed to her. “The standard is ‘upon knowledge and belief.’ If he admits it in front of an officer of the law, she can make the statement.”
“Me?”
“You and Clare, since she’s the one with the personal connection.” The lawyer tilted her head toward Paul. “I doubt they’d open up to colored folks like us.”
The ranger snickered, then grew thoughtful.
“Lieutenant Pelletier wants to see what you have in your file so far. I’m heading back up there for the medical examiner’s report on my uncle; you should come with.
You’ve got more knowledge of the background to this case than any of us.
I think you could be really persuasive.”
Yíxīn looked pleased. “Thank you.”
“Tiny.” Clare leaned toward her. “If Officer Knox and I go to the Smiths, could you watch Ethan? Would you feel safe here alone?”
“We’re not far from the station here,” Hadley said. “If anything spooks you, you can dial nine-one-one and somebody will be here right away.”
Tiny nodded. “I’ll do it.” She looked around at them, her eyes growing red-rimmed again. “I’m sorry about everything.”
Clare shook her head. “Tiny, we wouldn’t know about any of this if it wasn’t for you. If everyone comes home safe, it’s going to be thanks to you and your bravery.”