Ethan heard the rock-solid Chip draw in breaths, knew he was trying to get himself together, and Ethan felt his own heart kick up, felt the jump in adrenaline.
“Sheriff—Ethan, we’ve got a bad thing here.” Chip’s breathing broke off and Ethan heard him gagging, then vomiting.
Ethan waited. He heard Chip gasping for breath, heard a man say something behind him, heard him chug down some water, spit it on. Finally Chip came back on the line. “Ethan, it’s a dead man, he’s been savaged by a bear, but it’s not right, just not right. Please come fast.”
Ethan drove his Rubicon as far as he could into the wilderness on the fire road, Big Louie in the passenger seat, his head out the window. Then he and Big Louie ran the quarter mile to the southern fork of the Sweet Onion River.
It had taken fifteen minutes, and every one of those minutes, Ethan was thinking,
“I don’t think so, Big Louie,” Ethan said, petting his head as they neared the sound of muted voices. “I don’t believe in coincidences, way too convenient. It’s Blessed, Big Louie, I know it.”
Everyone in uniform within fifty miles was looking for Blessed Backman. Ethan had spoken personally to as many of them as he could and had given out the facts he had, that Blessed had tried to kidnap a young girl and had shot at several police officers. He also told them Backman was a powerful hypnotist, so you couldn’t look him in his face, told them the safest course was to shoot him on sight. If some of them doubted that, they didn’t say so. He knew they would use deadly force, and whatever the legal rules, he knew it was righteous. It was the only way to bring the man down.
Big Louie began to whine, low in his throat. He pressed against Ethan’s leg. The four people, rangers all, stood in the water reeds that grew wild beside the Sweet Onion River, two of them actually in the water up to their ankles.
Big Louie whimpered.
Chip Iverson called out, misery in his voice and in his eyes, “Over here, Sheriff. We haven’t touched anything.”
The four rangers moved aside for him. Ethan looked down at the devastated remains of a man who’d probably been alive and laughing twelve hours before. His body was sprawled beneath a huge willow tree. He indeed looked like he’d been savaged by a bear.
Big Louie backed away, then stopped, threw back his head, and yowled. One of the rangers went onto her knees and hugged him to her, and spoke to him, tried to calm him.
Ethan swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, accepted the handkerchief a ranger handed him, and tied it around his face against the overpowering stench. He went down on his haunches and forced himself to study the man’s face, what was left of it.
Chip was right. This man had been torn apart. One of his eyes was gone—ripped out by teeth or claws—and his other eye stared up at Ethan, sightless, filled with black blood. His throat was torn open, his chest flattened, his entrails ripped out. His clothes were shredded.
“This isn’t right,” he said aloud, twisting back to look up at the four faces. “You can see for yourself—tracks, claw marks, a bear for certain, but here’s the thing. A bear ripped him apart, but why would he do that without devouring him? There are no major parts of him missing.”
Four voices, hollow, terrified, sickened, agreed this wasn’t right. A moment later Ethan saw the tangled threads of a skinny rope beneath one of the man’s mangled wrists. A rope? No animal he knew of could tie a man’s wrist, except the two-legged variety.
Ethan looked at the man’s feet and nearly dry-heaved. The man’s feet and lower legs were mangled nearly beyond recognition. The rest of him was bad, nearly unendurable, but not like his feet and lower legs. Thing was, they weren’t feet any longer, but gore and bone, the ankles nearly gnawed through as—what? As the bear pulled and jerked his body down. Ethan heard Big Louie still whimpering heard a soothing voice. He continued to breathe lightly into the handkerchief. He said aloud, “Look at his feet. Why would a bear do that?”
The four voices were silent.
Chip said, “We found pieces of his boots. They were ripped off his feet and chewed to bits, covered with blood.”
Ethan nodded, then leaned down to gently remove the threads of the rope beneath the man’s wrist.
“What’s that?” Chip asked, staring down at that frayed rope, wet and black with blood.
Ethan showed him. He rose to look up into the thick branches of the willow tree. It didn’t take him long to find the branch someone had tied the man up to. The branch was hanging low, nearly broken off, because the body that had hung from it had been pulled and jerked down. He could picture it happening. Someone tying his wrists together, throwing the rope over a low branch, and hauling the body up, but not too high up, no, only high enough so a bear would have to stretch himself to grab at his feet and ankles, to pull him down.
This was what the killer wanted to happen, what Blessed intended to happen.
Chip said, “The bear must have jerked and pulled until the rope tying his wrists gave way. See, the bear pulled him nearly to the water’s edge, about ten feet from the tree.”
“A bear doesn’t feed like this,” said Primo, a ranger from Montana who’d been at Titus Hitch six months. “Animals eat what they kill. If the bear wasn’t ready to eat him, he wouldn’t have mauled him like that. He’d have just come back later. The sheriff’s right, this doesn’t make sense.”
Chip was shaking his head. He said, “What doesn’t make sense is why anyone would do this to another human being. I mean, what’s the point? Only a monster—”
Chip broke off as he studied Ethan’s face. “You think Blessed Back-man did this, don’t you? He went to all this trouble to kill this man and set him up for the bear to obliterate him?”
Ethan stood up. He still held the rope. “Oh, yes, Blessed did this.” He looked at each of the rangers. “Have any of you ever seen an animal wreak this kind of damage on a human being”—he forced out the words—”without some sort of encouragement?”
Paulie Burdett had been in the Park Service for twenty-four years, and was usually unflappable. But not now. Now he was mad. “In the Serengeti I remember a guide was savaged like this, but he’d been reduced to bones. I’ve never seen animals who went to the party but didn’t eat the cake.”
No one laughed.
“Thanks for that image, Paulie,” Chip said.
Ethan checked the man’s pockets. No ID.
Ranger Junie Morgan said, “We’ll have to check the camps, see if he was out hiking, whatever. So far we haven’t had a report of anyone missing. Listen, Sheriff, if you don’t need all of us, I’d sure like to get started tracking that bear.”
“He had to be dead, didn’t he?” Chip asked all of them and no one. “I mean, no one would haul a guy up and tie him to a branch, then eviscerate him so the animals would come and finish the job... No, I can’t believe that.”
Ethan said, “There’s so much devastation, I can’t even guess the cause of death. The ME will have to tell us that.”
Ethan got the man covered, called his deputies to the crime scene called the county ME. Then he pulled out his cell and called the Hoover Building in Washington, D.C. He was surprised when he was put right through to Special Agent Dillon Savich. He’d expected— what? To be told to leave another voice mail, since the big man was too busy?
A man’s deep voice said, “Savich.”
“Dillon Savich?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Sheriff Ethan Merriweather from Titusville, Virginia, and I’ve got myself a huge problem here.”
“Hello, Sheriff. I gather you’ve already spoken to Autumn this morning?”
