'Ten four, Bert.'
'Jim!'
'Ten fucking four.' The sheriff's voice was low, almost loving, but it had a frazzled edge.
De Gier pressed his microphone. 'Sheriff?'
'Ten three, sergeant.'
'I may be late, Jim. Madelin Astrinsky has asked me in for a drink. I am on my way there now.'
The radio chuckled. 'Good for you. Are you still on Main Street?'
'Yes.'
'I want to talk to you for a little while. Don't go to her just yet. Go up Main Street and keep on going. There will be some elm trees on your right. You know what elm trees look like?'
'I think so.'
'Tall straight trunks that only fork high up. They died some years ago, but the town hasn't allocated money for cutting them down yet. Died of your Dutch elm disease. Stop there. Keep your engine running. I'm out of town now but coming back.'
The elm trees reached up with great surging gestures. The bark was peeling off and waved slowly in the dying breeze. The naked ghost trees impressed the sergeant. Corpses, skeletons almost, but still expressive of the life power that had made them grow into huge symbols of the planet's urge to join the sky. The small blue car had slid to a stop facing some dried-out weeds that threw shadows on the snow, a moving bristle of sharp black lines. The windows were icing over and de Gier scraped them. He saw the white glow of the landscape stretching away on both sides of the deserted road. The cruiser's lights appeared in the curve ahead and approached rapidly. Its growing bulk seemed evil, a disturbing entity about to interfere with his bliss. He got out of the car and the frost bit into his face. He impatiently adjusted his raccoon hat, but the tail still dangled over his face. That hat had been bothering him in the car too, but he hadn't dared take his hands off the wheel. He couldn't take the hat off now either, as it was protecting his ears.
The sheriff waved invitingly, and de Gier stumbled to the car's rear door, which had swung open. The cruiser's back seat was a simple wooden bench, and the windows on each side of it were barred. There were no handles on the insides of the doors.
'Hope you don't mind sitting in the prisoners' quarters, sergeant, but we won't keep you long. Just wanted to fill you in.'
The sheriff had opened the thick glass partitioning behind the driver's seat. The chief deputy filled the right side of the front seat. He was eating his turkey sandwich.
'They did the trick of the door on you, right?'
'Yes.'
'They've done it before, a perfect trap. I asked you to meet me because mere's a CB radio in the store and they have our channel. Was it on while you were there?'
'No.'
'It'll be on now. I've asked for a scrambler, but the state can't afford it. Everything we say on the radio is public knowledge. The door trick didn't work, did it? You all seemed quite merry when we came in. What happened?'
De Gier told him.
'Yes, I thought I heard music at first, but that store is so dark you can't see what's going on. Good, so that's the first round won. But the gong sounds again. Now Madelin wants you, right? That's good too. You should be able to get some information.'
'How long has she been with the gang, Jim?'
'I am not too sure. Bernie's an expert on local history. Tell him, Bernie.'
The fat deputy swallowed and turned. 'Ever since the gang formed, sergeant, ten years ago maybe. They were youngsters then, and we used to run them in for slashing tires and breaking windows. They used to be a public nuisance, but it was all easy stuff. They're different now.'
'Do they have records?'
Bernie looked at what was left of his sandwich. There was nothing left. He folded the plastic, making the crumbs run into his hand, and ate them. 'No, not really. That early stuff got wiped out because they were underage, and after that it was just speeding and drinking in a vehicle parked in the public road.' He yawned and looked at his watch. 'Another half-hour, Jim.'
'I did a little work today, sergeant,' the sheriff said. 'I saw the town clerk. Cape Orca has three present owners. There's Mrs. Wash, of course, she owns the bulk of the land. Then there's Michael Astrinsky, who has bought all the vacated properties, and Suzanne Opdijk still owns her house and land. You might count Jeremy as a fourth owner since the island is his and the island is in Orca Bay and Cape Orca embraces that property.'
'Astrinsky? Did your realtor friend tell you about the real value of Mrs. Opdijk's house?'
'Yes, ninety thousand. And Astrinsky offered thirty you said.'
'So Astrinsky is playing Monopoly, trying to get a whole street. What would he want with the street?'
'A marina perhaps,' the sheriff said. 'He could build a jetty with a little port for pleasure craft. It wouldn't be a bad proposition.'
The sergeant looked at the metal bar separating him from the driver's seat. The bar was worn smooth by sliding handcuffs. 'Yes. And Astrinsky took off for the Bahamas. Any chance of getting him back for questioning?'
Bernie laughed. 'Astrinsky? He's a big shot, sergeant. He knows the governor. He's a town selectman. He's the president of the Blue Crustaceans. Everybody owes him favors. Astrinsky is a big fish in a small pond.'
The sheriff nodded. 'I could make him come back if I asked the state cops to start an official investigation, but what do I tell the state cops? No, sergeant, it's just us, puttering around. You did some puttering today. How is Jeremy these days?'
The sergeant reported on that morning's visit. The radio came on and Bernie answered the call.
'Game warden here,' the radio said. 'That you, Bernie?'
'Yes.'
'Got that dog?'
'I thought you were going to kill that dog.'
'No,' the radio said. 'And you know it. We agreed twice now that you were going to do it and this is the third time we're agreeing. Let us know when you've got the dog. Better let us know tomorrow.'
'Ten four,' Bernie said. He pushed the microphone back into its clip and cursed.'
'Same ten sixty-four again, Bernie?' the sheriff asked.
'Yes, Jim, same old ten sixty-four. They're passing the buck to me and I pass it back.'
'Not this time, it seemed to me,' the sheriff said.
'What's a ten sixty-four?' de Gier asked.
Bernie was studying the dashboard. His face was impassive but there was some movement in the rolls of fat in his neck. 'Dog-deer complaint, sergeant.'
'Dogs hunting deer?'
'Yes, sergeant,' the sheriff said. 'The dogs go after the deer but so do the tourists. We like to sell them hunting licenses and cabins and supplies and anything else they think they need. It's part of the business of the county. The game wardens are supposed to patrol the woods, but they use helicopters. They don't like to work on the ground; they reckon we can do that. If they see a dog hunting deer they'll track the dog and find out who owns it, and they'll warn the owner once. The second time they shoot the dog from the chopper. But the dogs are getting clever, and hide when the chopper is around so we have to come in and do the job.'
'Right,' Bernie said. 'And we're busy. Everybody has a dog here and nobody ties the dog up. The dogs chase anything they see and deer are the biggest thing they see, and they don't kill the deer, they just cripple them. One dog can cripple a dozen deer in a day.'
'So you shoot them?'
'Sometimes. The locals don't like us shooting then-dogs; they like us to warn them. So that's what we do. We go around warning dog owners. I've warned the owner of this particular dog a dozen times. And every time old Bill says, 'Sure, Bernie, won't happen again. I'll tie him up.' But he never does. And I never see the dog. Bill hides him when he sees the cruiser. Bill has lived here all his life. He runs a saltwater farm. A very crafty man, old Bill
