Ryan and I made our way in the Bronco to the summit of Rich Mountain where the fire tower loomed, keeping a vigilante gaze over the valley and surrounding mountainsides. The closest point by car to the scene of the attack on my father’s expedition, it seemed the logical place to go in order to get our own closer look. It seemed logical for us to go together, since Temperance's sister had an emergency and was unable to allow her to free up. I had picked him up at the station, since we figured that we'd return there after if we found anything, Ryan driving since he was more familiar with the biking trail we were going to be driving up to get to the top of the mountain. The air was crisp as it wafted in through the open windows, the Bronco bouncing on its suspension up the dirt road that was more conducive to mountain bikes and hikers than it was a sports utility vehicle. The dirt and rocks crunched under the tires, giving off groans and pops like the ancient mountain itself had started to stir, and its joints, still for millennia, needed to let off some gas before resuming their work. As we finally crested the mountain, the sound of dirt and the occasional rock gave way to the crunch of chalky gravel under the weathered metal tower that stretched like a sentinel in the sky over the mountain top, we both noticed the other vehicle at the same time.
“The chief is here.” Ryan noted as he pulled alongside the Lincoln Continental sedan, an antique cherry police light in its dash as the only indicator of its official position as the Police Command Cruiser of the Deep Springs Police Department. It belonged to the Chief of Police, David Beech, who had been the Chief of police since I was a kid. Beech had been the one that offered me a chance to join the department, telling me that as soon as I graduated High School, and went to a police academy down in Buncombe and passed, that the job was mine to be had. Naturally, not wanting to be trapped in this town of mine, I'd refused, instead joining the Navy, but Beech had been a major motivating factor in my career as a Master at Arms, having inspired me to attempt that track with his faith in me.
“I guess he’s down at the site? I don’t see him up here?” I said as I pushed myself out of the vehicle into the crisp mountaintop air. The kind of crisp the betrayed the idea of an early snow being on its way, tinged with the slightest hint of woodsmoke from citizens in the various valleys of the area keeping low fires in wood stoves, readying them for their task of keeping homes warmer during the cold mountain nights to come.
“I suppose so.” Ryan said, the crunch of gravel that heralded his boots coming up behind me, both of us looking down the hill towards the scene of the attack, invisible in the distance through the twisted curtain of trees that wound around the footpath that had been scarred into the landscape as one of the premier hiking trails of the East Coast. “Well, I suppose let’s git and let you get your bearings.” he said, stepping past me and following the trail. Falling in step behind him, I tried to not let the sinking feeling I had about the place take root in my mind, somewhat unsuccessfully. It was a low grade panic, a sense of unease and dread that starts in your pelvis and works its way up to your lungs like honeysuckle vines and starts to choke off your breath at the root. I’m not sure if it was the attack, Dad missing, or just my brain feeling unfamiliar with this place that it felt should be familiar to it, but something felt terribly off about the whole area. Like a hidden mist was lingering low over the ground, waiting to trap an ankle and cause an injury. Like the trail itself meant to cause harm to passers through.
We walked the half mile north to the site of the attack, and didn’t see Beech the whole way, which I found more than a little surprising. The man must be pushing 80, maybe even 90. Ryan interrupted my train of thought by saying my name in a whisper and tossing his right hand in the air, indicating for me to halt. I did so and looked past Ryan to see what he was looking at when I saw Beech. The best way to describe him that came to mind was as if Mr. Magoo had come to life in a more cartoon accurate live action rendition. He was barely 5 foot tall, maybe 5’1” on a good day, he was dressed almost exactly as I always remembered when I pictured him. A dark blue windbreaker that had “Deep Springs Police Chief” embroidered where the chest pocket would go, dark slacks that covered what appeared to be the only upgrade to the wardrobe. Apparently the chief had given in to his advancing age and graduated into orthopedic Velcro-secured shoes as opposed to the dress shoes or boots that he used to wear when I was young. He was almost completely bald, with a few wisps of stark white hair contrasting against his only slightly less pale skin. I cleared my throat to call out to him, to let him know we were coming, as he was facing enough away from us to not see us, but Ryan shushed me. “Don’t. It’s not good for him if we startle him like this.” Which led me to taking another look. Ryan was right, something was off, because the Chief, my grandfather, didn’t appear to be looking at anything specific in the scene, instead staring fixed into the trees as if a sight unseen had hypnotized him. My heart plunged. Not both my grandfathers having the same issues. “The chief hasn’t been… great.” Ryan commented, slowly starting to move forward towards the chief, keeping his movements slow and fluid, like a jungle cat as he continued in a gentle whisper, indicating that I follow him forward. “Here lately, he’s been, well, distracted isn’t the right word.”
“Dissociatively disconnected from reality?” I questioned, my eyes narrowing at Ryan.
“Maybe that. I prefer to think of it as he gets deep in thought.” Ryan’s tone didn’t change, but I’d known him long enough to pick up on the subtle shift in his octave that indicated he was distressed by this fact. As we got to the chief, Ryan started to quietly say “Chief?” to get the older man’s attention, before placing a hand on his shoulder.
The chief started, flipping around like a copperhead with intent. I saw Ryan’s right hand cross the front of his body, arresting the chief’s right arm at the wrist, preventing it from coming in front of his torso, and I saw why. The chief had a snub .38 in hand. “Now chief. You know my feelings on getting shot in the line of duty. Again.”
“Boy?” Beech croaked, as if he’d been standing and breathing through his mouth for hours before we’d gotten here. He looked bewildered at Ryan for a moment, and then at the gun in his hand. He slid it back in the pocket of his windbreaker and cleared his throat, grumbling out “Well you know, if you didn’t sneak up on people like that.”
Ryan sighed at the chief. “I didn’t sneak. And Judah was even louder than I was. It happened again, didn’t it?” Ryan looked down at the older man who didn’t give an inch.
“Not a word Thompson. Not another word on it.”
Ryan sighed again, but acquiesced. “I brought Judah up here to help me go over the scene again. I figured his experience might help with what all these armed fellas were doing up here, and what they might have been shooting at.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at me, suggesting that the chief might still only have tunnel awareness of his surroundings and have only picked up on his trusted subordinate’s presence.
“Judah huh?” Beech said, looking around Ryan’s slim form at me. “Welcome back son, I wish it’d been under better circumstances. How’s the big city-and-or-ship-depending-on-the-year life?” He smiled broadly at me, his craggy features folding around a stretched, still toothy mouth.
“Well, it was getting pretty quiet and boring, so this seemed like something to do I guess, sir.” I said, adding the authoritative title to the end of the sentence both out of habit and respect for the elder man.
“Yeah..” the old man said, a single finger coming up and touching the side of his nose, and then sliding into a point in my direction. His ice blue eyes twinkled in a knowing way. “Those first several days of retirement often can be.”
I looked at him incredulously. I had just finalized my retirement right before Ryan called me down here. I hadn’t even explicitly told Ryan that I was retired. How on earth?
“Pays to know things boy.” Beech said, that damned annoying twinkle in his eye still present, now filled with a boyish mirth at my obvious dumbfoundment. “Now. Let's get to how you…” He emphasized this with a point of his finger again, his demeanor shifting into a more serious tone, “...can help us.” He spread his hands around the area of the trail, that now taking in I could see the remnants of caution tape, and the evidence of 4 wheelers being used, probably to transport the bodies and evidence out. However,
“Wait. Where’s everyone else?” I asked, looking between Ryan and Beech. “SBI at least, Forestry? There’s definitely a cross-jurisdiction to be had here-”
“There is no cross-jurisdiction on the county level boy. The only jurisdiction..." a frayed baritone floated down the hill from the darkness, its cadence the practiced skill of someone used to commanding a press conference. "...is mine.”
Looking towards the direction of the new voice, I took in a long, slender man, impossibly large, seven foot to an inch from this distance, dressed in a smartly pressed olive uniform jacket over tan front creased pants, as he stalked deliberately down the trail. He wore a wide brimmed hat over a grizzled, craggy face, that had frown lines deeper than some of the valleys that cut into the mountainsides around us. “You don’t belong here. This is an active investigation. Go on before I arrest you for obstruction.” His badge flashed in the light of the headlamps as he squared up to our group. That brass gleamed in a been polished deliberately to stand out.
I’m not a combative person, at least compared to how I’d ever been in my youth, but I’m not one to be bullied. I turned my full attention to the newcomer, shifting my body to face him fully, meeting force with force. However, Ryan and Beech seemed to have a different idea, as Ryan put a hand on my shoulder, and Beech deftly stepped around me and placed himself in the path of the newcomer.
“Joshua. Fancy seeing you up here. I figured you’d be off campaigning, not worrying yourself over us hillfolk.”
From behind me Ryan whispered “This is Sheriff Cooperfield. I don't know if you’ve picked up on it already but watch out. He’s a piece of work. Like a rattler with a toothache level piece of work.”
I settled into my stance, letting my anger subside a little bit. They were right, I’m the one reenacting Stranger in a Strange Land, let the ‘locals’ handle this.
“David. I’d thought you’d finally retired.” Cooperfield said with a barely held sneer of contempt. “I’m always here for my constituents, and I don’t appreciate you allowing a civilian up here that could corrupt the quality of evidence of the scene.” Cooperfield’s words were cordial, almost cloyingly sweet and empty of substance, masking instead the contempt that he apparently held for Beech. Some unspoken grudge between them that was just under the surface.
“Well, we wouldn’t need to worry as much about the corruption of evidence had something not waylaid the SBI agents that were on their way here.” Beech pointed out. “But that’s neither here nor there, more to the point of your accusations, I’ve not let a civilian up here, I’ve contracted a consultant. I don’t know if you’ve formally met Judah here, he’s the son of the missing man and also happens to have had a long career in the Navy as a Ma- well, in their police services.” Beech apparently decided that using my actual title would mean nothing to Cooperfield and he’d have to explain it.
“A consultant? And the town council approved this I imagine.” Cooperfield said, in the same tone of incredulity that someone that had stacked a deck of cards who found himself at the business end of a straight flush might have.
“Oh, they don’t know yet. Not that it matters, bringing on consultants as long as it stays within the budget of the department is fully under my discretion. As you should well know, considering you instructed them on what to write as to what I could and couldn’t do with my own department.” Beech said, allowing himself to sneer in his tone as he referenced Cooperfield’s influence on town politics. “So if you’ve got more to say administratively about the selection process, let's wander up the path and say it. But for now,” The old man turned and faced Ryan and I “I want you two to canvas for anything we missed this morning, and come up with a narrative based on your observations, Judah, detailing what your experience tells us happened to the people up here.” Ryan and I both nodded as Beech turned away, back towards Cooperfield. As they went up the trail, I heard Cooperfield all but shout “It’s a bear attack. I don’t see the purpose-” before getting quiet enough or far enough away as to not be heard.