Carlyle said, “We need to bring our search team to the lodge. I have an idea where Sutcliffe’s headed right now.”
“Where?”
“Johnston Mountain. And I’ve got a pretty good idea why he’s going there.”
Sixteen
At five that afternoon, Bognor, Pierce, and Morris fought their way through a gauntlet of TV cameras and print reporters surrounding the lodge and locked themselves in Marshall’s conference room.
Although sunset was still three hours away, the room was bathed in darkness. Two troopers stood outside the front door and a half dozen others were patrolling the woods surrounding Ryan Marshall’s property.
Carlyle, who had changed out of his rafting gear, walked into the room and sat next to Bognor.
Bognor peered at him. “You look beat.”
“I forgot what that river’s like. My arms feel like I’ve been hauling sandbags around all day.”
“Welcome to middle age.”
“Beth will see this on tonight’s news. If we don’t catch Sutcliffe soon, my marriage may be over.”
“They’re calling you a hero.”
“Who’s saying that?”
“The rangers in your boat, that’s who.”
“Don’t congratulate me yet.” Carlyle stood up and poured himself a coffee. “Anyone hear how Marshall’s doing?”
“The hospital’s not talking,” Bognor said. “The building’s locked tight. No one gets near him without a damn good reason.”
“Is his business closing down?” Carlyle asked.
“He’s got no reservations and the State has pulled his license,” Morris said. “There’s nothing else for him to do.”
“What about next season?”
“I heard that his father is talking about selling the business,” Bognor said. “You ever think about becoming an outfitter?”
“Me? You must be out of your mind.”
Someone banged on the Conference Room door.
“Caleb,” Bognor said, “would you mind seeing who that is?”
When Pierce opened the door, Alan Metzger, the stringer for North Country News, pushed his media badge into his face. “Can you confirm the rumor that David Sutcliffe murdered those two guides?”
“How’d you get into the building?”
“Is it true that Sutcliffe’s an eco-terrorist?”
“Are you looking to be arrested for trespass and harassment?”
“You have any idea at all where Sutcliffe’s at?”
“Get the hell out of the lodge.”
“Who’s in the room behind you?”
“None of your business.”
“Did he really set off a bomb in the gorge?”
Pierce turned to Bognor. “Sheriff, okay if I pepper spray him?”
“Caleb, watch it.”
Pierce grabbed Metzger by the neck, shoved him into the corridor, and slammed the door.
“If you’d left this operation to us,” Morris said, “we wouldn’t have a killer on the loose now.”
Bognor waved off the comment. “Right now, I want to know what we do next.”
“Figure out how to narrow our search radius,” Carlyle said.
Morris pulled out a map. “I’ve got cars patrolling all major roads from Albany to the Canadian border, as far east as the Mass. line and west to Syracuse. Both lanes of the Northway have been blockaded. Warren, Hamilton, and Essex are on lockdown.”
“You can pull those cars back,” Carlyle said.
“You mind telling me why that is?”
“I think he’s going to stay put in Warren County.”
“This going to be another one of your theories about how we deal with hardened criminals?” Pierce said.
“Let’s look at what we know about Sutcliffe. First, he’s never strayed outside this region. Second, the gorge is the only place where he feels safe.”
“Which means exactly what?” Morris said.
“We’ve got to focus our search on an area where he has resources.”
“I need specifics.”
“I’m not done. Those antique tools and disguises may hold the key to finding him. That and why he seems obsessed with the logging community.”
“Where are you going with all this?”
“While I was on the computer in Marshall’s office, I discovered that Sutcliffe didn’t have a criminal record. Then, on a hunch, I went back a hundred years and did a search on homicides in Hamilton County. There was something about the way our guy’s been behaving that struck me as familiar.”
Pierce shook his head. “Another history lesson?”
“This region’s always been a fairly lawless place,” Carlyle said. “But I hit pay dirt when I came across the records of the Pasco affair.”
Grace Irwin walked into the conference room. “You all go on with what you’re doing. Just ignore me.”
“You can’t just barge in here,” Pierce said. “We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”
“I won’t be but a minute. Since this business is in the shitter now, I figured I’d just pick up my last paycheck.”
Pierce stood up. “You can get your money after we capture Sutcliffe.”
“Grace,” Carlyle said, “sit down a minute, will you?”
She sat next to Carlyle, as far from Pierce as she could get.
“Did you know Dave Sutcliffe was Sam Pasco’s grandson?”
She dropped her backpack on the table. “Are you shitting me?”
Morris was twisting the thick gold ring on his right hand. “Who’s Sam Pasco and how is he connected to these crimes?”
“Every criminologist in New York State has studied the Pasco case,” Carlyle said. He explained that Alvin (Sam) Pasco was born in Stony Creek in 1897, just ten miles from here. “Pasco and his brother-in-law, Joseph Woods, the trigger man, murdered his father, Leander, one night as the old man was coming home from a bar in Thurman.”
“What happened to them?” Morris said.
“A jury found Woods guilty of murder. He was the first man from Warren County to die in the electric chair.”
“And Pasco?” Bognor said.
“He served eleven years and was freed in 1926.”
Pierce sat back down. “How in hell can you connect our case to something that took place eighty years ago?”
Carlyle looked down at his notes. “When Sam Pasco got out of prison, he came back here and married Alice Roberts. In 1929, they had a girl they named after her mother. Thirty years later, she married Robert Sutcliffe, a local farmer. Robert is David Sutcliffe’s father.”
Bognor looked at Carlyle sharply. “Robert Sutcliffe? Are you sure?”
“Sheriff,” Grace said, “There isn’t much to do around here but drink and nurse grievances. It’s him.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Grace, tell them the rest of the story,” Carlyle said.
“Alice and Robert Sutcliffe held a series of dead-end jobs. They were
