“Ten-four.” I was really, really tempted to ask if they had somebody in custody, but I was aware that the media were probably monitoring our radio traffic even then.
“You think they got him?” asked Hester.
“I'd think so,” I said. “But maybe not.”
“Hard to think why else they'd call us up,” she said.
“If I'm gonna miss lunch,” I replied, turning onto the main northbound highway, “they damned well better have a warm body for us.”
They did, as it turned out.
“Eighty-one, Three,” I said into my mike, as I got within a mile of the bluff.
“Three, go.”
“I'm a bit less than a mile from you.”
“Ten-four, got you in sight. Pull in here,” he said, and I saw a figure in blue jeans and a dark green jacket step onto the highway on the bluff side. There was a sheriff's car parked in a level area just off the roadway, where the county kept a gravel pile for use on the roads. The figure waved, and I recognized Old Knockle. As I got closer, I saw there was a blue Chevy parked ahead of the squad car, and as I pulled in, I saw that it had Wisconsin plates.
As we got out of the car, I said, “Don't you ever sleep?”
“Only got an hour to go. Hello, Hester.”
“Right,” I said. “What you got?”
“Well, we were up the road there, me and Tillman, and we were comin' in to relieve the other guys, and I noticed this car, here. Ran the plates, and they're expired. To a woman named Gunderson, over by Madison.”
“Okay?” I was awfully eager to see what else he had, but I didn't want to rush him.
“Well, while Tillman was checkin' under the seats,” he said, provoking a wince from me, “I looked up there.” He pointed to the bluff. “There was a fellah up there lookin' back at me.”
“Recognize him?”
He pointed to his glasses. “Surprised I even saw him, Carl.”
“What'd he look like?”
“He's just a man in a gray sweatshirt with a hood, I think. Not much more. Anyway, I yell at him, and he just stares at me. I holler 'Who're you?' and he just motions like he wants me to go away.”
I hate to admit it, but my heart rate was elevating.
“Where'd he go?”
“Well, he sort of disappeared, Carl. But I think he went back toward the top of the bluff.”
“And where's Tillman?” My heart sank. Tillman was about twenty-five or so, and had been a reserve for about three months. A great kid, but I was pretty sure he didn't fully appreciate some aspects of the job. Like risks, for example.
“He took up the hill after him,” said Knockle. “Told me to stay here, and call for help.”
I looked up the bluff. There was a ravine that was full of big rocks and old, fallen trees. But it looked passable, at least up into the tree line.
“How'd Tillman get up there?”
“He went up the ravine, Carl. Didn't look too easy. You better watch your step.”
“No shit.” It was no time for pride. “Did he have a walkie-talkie?”
“No, we only got one, and he told me to keep it 'cause he'd need both hands.”
I looked as Hester went by me, toward the ravine. “Coming?”
My good slacks. My better shoes. Damn. “Yeah, I'm coming.” I reached into the car, and pulled out the walkie-talkie, and slipped it into my back pocket. “The team you were going to relieve still up in the woods?” I asked Knockle.
“I ain't heard from 'em, Carl, and I called three or four times.”
“Did you use your walkie or the car radio?”
“Oops. Sorry, I used the walkie.”
As I headed toward the ravine, I said, “Use your car radio, get some more people up here, and get your shotgun out and keep your eyes open. I don't want you getting hurt on me. You're too old to bury.”
He grinned. “You bet.”
The damned ravine was really wet, to start things off. The rain had soaked the rotting timber that was crammed into the rocky waterway, and there was still a thin trickle of runoff flowing down from the hill. On top of that, everything was covered with soggy, moldering leaves. And I could catch the occasional whine of a mosquito as I took my first steps onto the big rocks. Great. My good slacks.
Hester was ahead of me, and I wasn't able to gain on her at all. It took both hands just to stay upright, and the handholds I found among the decaying branches were treacherous because the sodden bark just peeled off in my hands. Underneath, the smooth wood was slippery as the rocks under my feet. But, up I went. I was pretty certain that, as we passed the limestone bluff and went up into the wooded area, the footing would get better, and the slope would be less steep. I was half right.
After about three or four difficult minutes, I saw that Hester was stepping spryly from a boulder and into the tree line. About a minute later, I went for the trees at the same place. The footing was a little better. The slope, unfortunately, was steeper.
I kept losing sight of Hester as she moved about among the big maple and walnut and pine trees. I stopped to catch my breath, and heard her call out.
“What?” It was difficult to get much volume, I was breathing so hard.
“Here…,” she said.
Well, swell. Two more gulps of air, and I headed upslope again. Then I heard another voice, and realized she was talking to Tillman. They seemed to be stationary. Good. I slowed a bit, as the tone of their voices didn't seem especially urgent. By the time I got to them, I was only breathing sort of hard.
They were on either side of a rock outcropping that jutted out from the hillside about twenty feet. It was a good ten feet high, and seemed to be split about down the middle by a fissure that was about four feet wide.
I've been around long enough to realize that, when there's an officer acting really alert on either side of an opening, with a gun in his or her hand, that there's a very good chance there's somebody inside that opening. Somebody who's being difficult, at best.
“What's up?” I said as I moved to the right, or Tillman side, of the split.
“I think he's in there,” he said. “I saw him go in. I don't think anybody could climb up the inside of that to the top up there, do you?”
I thought of the wall outside Alicia's apartment.
“Don't be too sure,” I said. “You heard anything since you saw him go in?”
“Nope.”
“Hey, you in the rocks!” I shouted. “Out, now!”
Nothing.
“Police! Come out now, and keep your hands where we can see 'em!”
Still no response. I remembered when I was a kid, and we would think there was something fierce or ferocious in a hole. We'd grab a stick, and poke it in the hole to see what might come out. Nothing ever had. Buoyed by memories, I nevertheless realized that poking a stick into the crack between the halves of the outcropping wasn't quite the solution we needed. I looked around, and saw several small rocks that had flaked off the limestone over the years. I picked up three nicely shaped ones, hefted them, and decided they'd do admirably. I whistled softly through my teeth. When Hester and Tillman glanced toward me, I held up the rocks and made a tossing gesture. They both nodded, and returned their gaze to the target area. I holstered my gun, and lobbed the first one at the ffssure. It bounced off to the side. Close, though. I tossed the second one about seven or eight feet higher, and saw it enter the crack. It clattered off the sides twice, and then I heard a muffled thump.
“Hey! Stop throwing the damned rocks!” came from the split.
I was grinning from ear to ear at that point. “Come out slowly and with your hands where we can see them!”
“Okay, okay.” With that, there was a shuffling and a grunting, and a man emerged, hands up, head down, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans. His head was down more to avoid thrown rocks, I thought, than
