“There could be other boats like this one.”
“Probably.” Carlyle turned over the kayak and reached inside. “Jesus Christ.” He held up a tool topped by a ten-inch spike on one side and a six-inch curved barb on the other.
“What in hell’s that?”
“It’s a peavey. Just like the one they found near Blake’s body.”
Wells took the device from Carlyle’s hand. “Why did he bring it all the way in here?”
Carlyle stared at the waves filling the Narrows. “Some people get fixated on weapons, old knives, bayonets, or antique rifles. Often it’s something they’ve inherited from a favorite relative. When the pressure on them becomes too great, these objects make them feel invulnerable.”
“What’s the connection with the peavey?”
“It may remind him of a disturbing event he can’t get out of his mind.”
Wells handed the tool back to Carlyle. “Some family thing?”
“Maybe. Whatever it is, this peavey is one way we can figure out what’s going on in his mind.”
“But why carry around something so awkward?”
“It could make him feel he’s got some special power. Who knows, he may even believe he’s defending a way of life he shares with that relative. I’ve been sifting through the records of online antique shops. It’s a collector’s item. Sooner or later, I may come across a paper trail that will lead us to anyone who’s purchased one.”
“What about the carabineer? Why hang it where someone is sure to see it?”
“He may believe no one would ever walk all the way down here. Or maybe he’s just taunting us.”
“You have any idea yet what the peavey and the attacks on Marshall tell you about what’s going on?”
“It suggests, and I’m just guessing at this point, that our guy has deep roots in this community. If so, he may see the outside world as hostile and frightening.”
“But these attacks on Marshall, what’s that about really?”
“This guy probably thinks he’s on some sort of crusade. That’s how he may justify the deaths of Sanders and Blake.”
Wells grabbed the front loop of the kayak and began dragging it toward the water.
“What the hell are you doing?” Carlyle said.
“I’m depriving our enemy of a vital asset.”
“Leave it,” Carlyle said. “I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled a three-inch Spyderco knife from his pocket and punched four holes in the top of the kayak.
“Are you crazy?”
Carlyle stood up. “This should get his attention. He’s a tightly wound guy. If he goes ballistic over this, he’s more likely to make a mistake.”
“You’ve been around Betts too long.”
“Maybe it’s about time we started fighting back.”
It began to rain heavily as Carlyle and Wells retraced their steps through the beech forest. Water washed off the hills, and the trail quickly turned to mud. Tiny fluorescent green buds, like Christmas lights, sprouted from every branch.
After two hours of slow hiking across now-slick rocks, the two men broke free of the undergrowth. Carlyle dropped his backpack and gazed at the Sheriff Department’s cruiser sitting just off the road, twenty yards east of the trailhead. “Look who’s here. Captain America.”
The door opened and Pierce, clutching a twelve gauge in his right hand, spilled out of the driver’s seat. “Well, well, if it isn’t Butch and Sundance.” He walked across the road.
“Caleb,” Wells said. “What are you doing out here?”
Pierce propped his shotgun against a tree. “Bognor and I are trying to make sure you two don’t get your asses shot off. Why in hell’s name can’t you just let the authorities handle this investigation?”
“What are you talking about?” Carlyle said.
“How long have you boys been out there on the trail?” Pierce said.
“Four hours,” Wells said.
“And you didn’t hear or see anything unusual?”
“Caleb,” Carlyle said, “for Christ’s sake. Will you tell us what’s going on?”
“It seems as though our friend has decided to begin terrorizing locals now. Some guy wearing a full black beard and a Paul Bunyan outfit, plaid shirt and leather boots, ambushed a teenager hiking alone on Kettle Mountain.”
“Where’s the kid now?”
“At the state police barracks in North River. His parents are on the way over there.”
“Did he describe this person?”
“When the kid stopped crying, he said the beard was fake, but the axe was real.”
“What’d he do to the child?”
“He tied him up with duct tape and left him lying ten yards off the trail.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No, but this guy we’re after has a real sick sense of humor. He gave the kid a water bottle and told him if he moved before an hour was up, he’d come back with the axe and his parents would have to pick up body parts all up and down the mountain.”
Pierce got back in his car and rolled down the window. “One more thing. Bognor says to tell you DEC wants you in Albany Saturday morning. Some guy named Elliot is on the warpath.”
Thirteen
Saturday
After being kept waiting for twenty minutes, Carlyle and Bognor were ushered into a conference room on the eighth floor of DEC headquarters. It was 10 a.m. They found Karen Raines standing next to Abel Elliot.
Raines motioned for them to sit down. “Sheriff, the commissioner believes we need to make more progress in your investigation. He’s asked Abel to evaluate the way you’re handling the situation in Warrensburg.”
“I understand what’s going on, Karen,” Bognor said. “Shit runs downhill. It’s my turn to get called on the carpet.”
“Not at all,” Elliot said. “But before we begin, I’d like to ask Ric how things are going at the university.”
“You’re referring to my application for tenure.”
“I just wanted you to know that if it doesn’t go well, you should apply for a job in our Policy Enforcement Unit.”
“I’m a criminologist, not a cop.”
Elliot stood up, walked to the south-facing windows, and turned down the blinds. “Let’s hope your investigation is successful, then.”
Raines turned off her cell phone. “I think it’s time to hear your report. Abel has a busy schedule today.”
Carlyle described how he had
