Chapter 4 #2
Etienne clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this.”
“Yeah, but what if I don’t want it?”
As soon as Casey drew close enough to see the trespasser’s face clearly, he realized that he did know who it was. Suzie Warner’s father.
David Warner looked like a dead man walking. Casey’d last seen him at one of the so-called community safety meetings run by Fred Russell, the island’s leading conspiracy theorist.
“Mr. Warner, hello,” Casey called out as he neared him.
Warner paused, bent over, with the shovel stabbed into the wet ground. He did not turn around or acknowledge Casey’s greeting.
“Mr. Warner, it’s me, Ranger Lundin,” Casey said.
He stepped closer but not so close that Warner could surprise him with the shovel.
Even a man in his seventies could wield one of those with precision.
“This is an active crime scene, Mr. Warner. There are No Trespassing signs posted for a reason. It’s illegal to be here.
I have to ask you to pack up your belongings and leave. ”
“She’s here,” he replied, his voice hollow, almost haunted. “Somewhere here. She’s not the only one. There are more. I have dreams about them.”
That response wasn’t disturbing at all.
The trickle of anxiety Casey had been fighting returned stronger than before. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if a place was going to be haunted, it would be this site.
Casey circled Warner so he stood in his field of vision. Paul and Etienne kept a safe but easy-to-cross distance away, something he was grateful for. After what had happened last fall, he appreciated the backup.
“Sir, I need you to put the spade away and leave the scene.”
Finally, Warner looked at him. Casey had been around Suzie’s father only a few times, and that had been months before Eli Rizzi blew up the county by admitting he’d had a hand in the death of two Heartstone girls years before.
Casey had attended the community safety meeting so he’d have an idea what Frank Russell and his group of fellow conspiracy theorists were up to.
He’d tried to be neighborly as well and had said hello to Warner in passing.
If it weren’t for his distinctive pale eyes, Casey might not have recognized the man now.
“Mr. Warner, do you remember me? Ranger Casey Lundin,” he tried again.
“The forensics team has left for now, but they plan on returning, so this area is still off-limits. What they’ve found so far has been sent to labs to be properly identified.
But you must know that. Someone came to you and your wife”—crap, were the Warners still married?
Was Mrs. Warner even alive? Casey wasn’t sure he’d ever had contact with her—“and took DNA samples, am I right?”
Mr. Warner nodded but the movement was vague, unfocused. He had the impression that Warner was looking over Casey’s shoulder and reliving the past, wishing it had been different.
As far as Casey could tell, the cairns Warner had stacked didn’t infringe on the Do Not Cross tape, but having to remove a bunch of rock piles wouldn’t make any of the forensics team happy when they returned.
Warner didn’t pose an immediate threat except perhaps to his own health. Casey moved to his side and clapped him gently on the shoulder. The man felt boney and slight under Casey’s palm; a stiff wind would knock him over. But from what Casey’d witnessed, he was stronger than he looked.
“If”—Casey hesitated, trying to find the most innocuous word—“the remains”—wince—“West Coast Forensics have found are your daughter, they will let you know.”
“My girl, she needs a proper burial. Not this.” He swept his free hand out, encompassing the yellow tape as well as the forlorn tree stumps that remained after Snowcap ownership had clear-cut the land.
Casey nodded. He understood Warner’s pain, as much as he could anyway. He’d never had a family member go missing, but he had waited in a state of controlled despair for almost twenty years until his brother was freed.
It occurred to Casey that he was only just starting to comprehend the true ripple effect that the disgraced and now dead Eli Rizzi had had on Heartstone Island and the rest of Twana County.
How many others were grieving, whether for someone lost to them or someone who’d been unfairly persecuted by Sheriff Rizzi and his minions?
Regardless, David Warner could not continue to interfere with the site.
“I truly am sorry, Mr. Warner, but you can’t be here. You’re trespassing, and I could be wrong about this”—he wasn’t—“but Sheriff Eagan might be forced to give you more than a warning about impeding an ongoing investigation if she finds out you’ve been up here.”
He held out one hand, hoping that Warner would voluntarily give him the shovel.
Casey couldn’t help but glance at Warner’s face again. The haunted gaze and sharp cheekbones hinted at many sleepless nights. He hadn’t looked like this last summer, had he? He made a note to ask someone to check in on him, Greta might have an idea.
The three of them stood next to each other and watched Warner’s taillights disappear around the first bend in the road.
“He’ll be back,” Etienne said.
“No doubt in my mind,” said Paul grimly. “He’s compelled.”
“Will you be offended if I take a rain check on lunch?” Casey asked the two men, although the thought of missing out on one of Etienne’s meals disappointed him.
“But of course not,” said Etienne. “However, we will return you to the masses with a baguette for you and one for Greta. As a thank-you for making the trip up, yes?”
“I’m sure Greta will be pleased to learn that you’ve referred to her as ‘the masses.’ She’s always wanted to be one of those, probably has the t-shirt,” Casey joked with a humor he didn’t quite feel.
Over the course of his career in Forest Service law enforcement, Casey had learned that just about anything was possible.
Mr. Warner was older. What he wasn’t was weak or infirm.
Casey’d watched him swing his shovel and lift heavy rocks.
And like many old-timers in the area, Warner knew his way around a rifle. Was it possible that he killed Calvin?
“Before I head back, do you mind showing me where Calvin Perkins’s body was found? Do you have the time?”
The pair shared an amused glance.
“Certainly. We are not toppling foreign governments today,” Etienne said.
Paul elbowed his partner sharply in the side but laughed.
Casey shook his head. He did not want to know.
This time Casey followed Etienne. Casey noted that the man was very quiet compared to Casey’s tromping.
Paul was somewhere in between, not silent but not announcing his presence.
They retraced their steps to the far side of the Snowcap acreage, crossing what Casey considered the property line, and began to head northeast through scrub and Oregon grape, basically following a game trail.
Another ten minutes and Etienne stopped near a cedar tree that was at least seventy-five feet tall.
“Here. A rainstorm washed away the snow, which made it quite easy to see the tarp that did not belong.”
For the three of them, the hike had been fairly easy. Casey imagined a seventy-something-year-old man in not great health dragging a dead body this far. Probably not. Calvin had been a big guy and Warner was definitely not. And he couldn’t see Warner working with a partner.
Casey crossed him off his mental list, ashamed for having put him there in the first place.