The crow had taken wing while my attention was elsewhere.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but go to hell.”
“I told you you’d be pissed at me. And, buddy, I hate to have to say this, but as mad as you are at the moment, please don’t call Aimee Cronk. There are prosecutors in the AG’s Office who would like nothing better than to rope you in for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
The first thing I did after I hung up was try Aimee’s cell.
I expected to get her voice mail at least. Instead I received an automated intercept message: “We’re sorry. We are unable to complete your call as dialed. Please check the number and dial again, or call your operator to help you.”
That clever, clever woman. Knowing her phone could be used to triangulate her location, she had removed the battery. Chances were, she had packed up the kids, left my house, and driven to meet Billy. Where did that leave them to run? The cops would be waiting at the apartment in Lubec.
What had Pegg told Billy?
When I talked with the young CO back at the hospital on the day of the stabbings, he had clearly been scared, confused, and full of doubt.
Dawn Richie’s husband had supposedly committed suicide by poisoning himself with carbon monoxide. That the Peggs had died under similar—allegedly accidental—circumstances couldn’t be a coincidence. The similarities were either the work of a killer using a tried-and-true method to kill again or a deliberate attempt to incriminate Richie by making the connection almost comically obvious.
I couldn’t think of a damned thing to do except wait. With luck, Aimee would reach out to me on a prepaid phone she’d bought at one of the bargain stores she frequented.
In the meantime there wasn’t another soul who could help me.
No sooner had that thought passed through my mind than I realized what a dunce I was being.
She picked up on the second ring.
“It’s about frigging time,” said Dani Tate.
She had been finishing up her patrol when she heard about the horrific death of Tyler Pegg and his family. After clocking out, she had spent the past couple of hours on the phone and at a computer at the Troop A Barracks, bringing herself up to speed. She’d even learned about Billy Cronk going AWOL.
“They’re keeping his escape quiet so far,” she said.
“Why?”
“Bad press. It raises questions about the governor’s judgment, pardoning him.”
“Klesko told me they were going to issue a BOLO.” The acronym, which stood for “be on the lookout,” had replaced the old all-points bulletin everywhere except on television cop shows. “Something is seriously wrong with this, Dani.”
“Gee. You think?”
“I tried to call Aimee, and it’s pretty obvious she destroyed her phone to keep from being tracked. I guarantee when the cops get to my house, they won’t find anyone home.”
“You must have some idea where they’d go.”
“They’ve both got relatives Down East, but Aimee’s too smart to go where they’d be looking for them.”
“You think she and Billy are together?”
“It makes sense that he called her from a pay phone asking to be picked up.”
“The special statement I’ve seen says she’s driving a blue 2006 Tahoe. Maine Purple Heart recipient plates. License number BB544.”
“Billy would have swapped out the plates with something he pried off an unattended vehicle. I’m finding it hard to focus on the most important question here—who murdered Pegg and his family?”
“Maybe no one. People die of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Pegg knew something about what really happened at the prison—the actual reason Richie and Mears were ambushed. And now the conspirators think Pegg shared his suspicions with Billy before he died.”
“Is that your working hypothesis?”
“For the time being, until I can learn more and come up with another one.”
“What are you scheming, Mike? I hope you’re not planning on driving down to the Pegg house in Thomaston.”
“It occurred to me.”
“You have to realize the more you try to help Billy, the less anyone will trust you when the time comes for you to vouch for him again. The facts won’t matter. You’ll be viewed as unreliable and probably an accomplice to his escape.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You could go visit your wolf. Lizzie Holman told me his fever’s down and he’s fully conscious. He ate an entire Smithfield ham.”
“When did you speak with Holman?”
My tone must have transmitted some of the unease I was feeling at Dani’s involving herself so deeply in Shadow’s convalescence.
“I’m not butting into your life, Mike. She actually texted me because she couldn’t get hold of you, and you’d mentioned we were friends. Check your messages, and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”
I did, and she was.
“I heard the she-wolf last night,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. She is still alive, Dani. I don’t know for how long. She seemed to be up on one of the Mount Blue spurs. I’m still not sure if I should try to live-trap her or let her go, hoping she heads back into the Boundary Mountains.”
“Trying to trap her would be an adventure.”
“A futile adventure.”
“Fun, though.” Her tone was both excited and wistful. She missed being a game warden, I could tell.
At precisely this moment in the conversation I realized how much I wished we were having this conversation in person.
“You’d love the cabin where I’m staying. It’s on the shore of Tantrattle Pond. Do you know where that is?”
“You keep forgetting I grew up over the gap in Pennacook. We used to ride our sleds over that way in the winter. There’s an ITS trail that goes right past Tantrattle.”
“Do you want to come up?”
“I have to work again in less than nine hours, Mike. I’m exhausted and not going to drive up for a quickie. It would make me feel cheap, for one thing.”
She had wounded me with the accusation. “That’s not what I had in mind. I want you to see
