Chapter 21 - Jordan
TWENTY-ONE
JORDAN
Coyotes provide many ecosystem benefits, such as controlling rodent and other small mammal populations. They will consume nearly anything, including rodents, rabbits, birds and eggs, reptiles, fruits, and plants, as well as pet food, human food, and trash.
—California Department of Fish and Wildlife
The dim red sun was dropping toward the treetops as Jordan crossed the packed dirt in front of the trailer complex, heading toward the open door of the barn.
“It’s Sheriff Jordan Burke!” he shouted. “We need to talk!”
Fisk came around a corner carrying a shotgun in the crook of his arm.
Jordan showed his open hands. “You can put that down. Just here to ask you a few questions.”
Fisk pressed the safety with his finger and leaned the shotgun against the side of the porch, taking his time.
“Thought I heard a critter out there,” he said matter-of-factly.
“See anything?”
Fisk shook his head. “A few days ago, I found coyote scat with wool in it.”
“You need a license, even to shoot coyotes.”
“Not if they’re threatening my livestock.”
Jordan didn’t want to get into it with him. The fact that he had heard an animal and not found one was more urgent.
“Have you seen any people up here?” he asked. “Anyone you don’t know?”
“Well, I recognize you, but I wouldn’t say we know one another.” Fisk appeared to think about it, then shook his head. “Couple of kids on dirt bikes last week, but that’s about it.”
Jordan nodded at the shotgun. “You scare them off with that?”
“What do you think?”
“I think an escaped convict came through here. A blond woman in civilian clothes. She’s originally from LA, but now she’s been on the run for twenty-four hours and could be getting desperate.”
Fisk’s mouth curled in a smirk. “What, desperate for a latte?”
“Desperate enough to throw herself into the rapids to get away from me. Her name’s Cara Campbell. She’s an Instagram influencer convicted of murdering her husband, so we consider her dangerous, although we don’t believe she is armed. I’m asking you point-blank: have you seen her on your property?”
Fisk kicked the dirt, spat in it, and laughed. “I do believe she was on the arm of Brad Pitt.”
Jordan had had a half-dozen encounters with Fisk over the previous dozen years and had always known him to be brusque and taciturn. Never in all that time had the man made a joke, let alone two.
“Answer the question.”
Fisk seemed to sense something before he did, looking up and over Jordan’s shoulder. A second later, Jordan heard the high whine of a big engine in low gear, rocks rattling off an undercarriage, and wide tires sliding in the dust.
Jordan turned to see Wen and her team climbing out of the black Ford Explorer with tinted windows. Unholstering their guns.
He turned again and saw Fisk pick up the shotgun.
Caught in the middle.
“Who the fuck are they, Sheriff?” yelled Fisk.
“Feds. US Marshals. Here with the search party,” said Jordan, keeping his voice as even as he could. “Nobody’s here for you.”
Wen and her team were fanning out, taking cover.
“Drop the shotgun, now!” she shouted.
Fisk aimed the shotgun at Jordan’s stomach and moved closer, careful to keep Jordan between him and the Marshals. “This all some kind of trick? Let them use you as a decoy?”
“Not helping, Wen!” Jordan called over his shoulder. “Everything is fine here.”
“Then tell Jethro there to drop the gun, get on his knees, and put his hands behind his back!” yelled Crosby.
“Not gonna happen,” muttered Fisk.
“You saw her, didn’t you?” pressed Jordan. “How long ago was it? Are you protecting her?”
“Get down, Sheriff!” barked the big Marshal. “I have a shot!”
Jordan stayed between them as Fisk moved backward with careful steps until he was partially hidden behind the barn, only the shotgun barrel showing.
“Get to safety now, Burke!” screamed Wen.
He turned around and faced them, exasperated. “Goddamn it, I’m just talking to the man. This is not how we’re going to do this! Back off and let me do my job!”
Nobody moved for a full minute. Then Jordan heard Wen say something to her team. Still with guns trained on Fisk’s location, they retreated to the Explorer. The doors closed and Wen backed it down the road.
“I suppose you want my gratitude for that,” Fisk said, showing a sliver of his face.
“I want to find Cara Campbell. Let me search and then I’ll go.”
“You’ll go now.”
“I’ll come back with a warrant.”
“That’s what it’s going to take.”
“Don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”
Fisk’s visible eye stared at him implacably. “For you, or for me?”
Jordan knew they were done. As he turned to go, he glanced inside the open door of the Quonset barn and saw a pair of sheep shears and what looked like wool.
Not wool.
Ratty blond hair extensions.