“You want us to steal the supplies?” he asked.
“No, silly. I want you boys to burn the whole place down.”
He gave her a look of disbelief.
“Burn it down? And why the hell would we do that?”
“You want revenge, do you not? You want Alby out of prison? You need to point the cops in the right direction. You need to make things desperate. Harder for the people in charge. Harder for the locals to trust them. Right now, they have hope.” She turned and took a lit candle off the counter and brought up her two fingers to the flame. “We’re going to extinguish that hope.”
They looked at her in astonishment as she got this wicked grin on her face.
She squeezed the wick, and the flame went out.
TWENTY Dan Wilder
Humboldt County
Receiving a call to deal with a suicide victim was never easy. It was even harder when he found out it was Mayor Peterson. He’d been in earlier that week, wanting to talk to him, but he’d been buried under a mountain of work, wrestling with the weight of an entire community. They all had. Hours of meetings discussing:
Protection.
Decisions.
Strategies.
Militia.
OES planning.
The damn Stricklands and Rikers.
There was no end to the madness.
He sighed. Standing in the home, looking up at the body hanging from the rafters. A wave of tiredness hit him. They weren’t even two weeks into the event, and he’d given up hope. What did that say about what lay ahead? How many more would they find? How many more had already taken their lives or resorted to taking the lives of others? Dan steadied himself against the banister. He’d been lucky to get five hours’ sleep a night. Johnson placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sheriff, why don’t you go home? Let me handle this.”
“No, I should stay.” He wasn’t one to back down from hard work but he’d been putting in far more hours than he should. It was catching up. He felt under the weather. Coughing. Sneezing. Those around him were beginning to steer clear of him.
“I insist. We’ve got this. Put your head down. Get some good rest and join us tomorrow.”
“I don’t know. I really should—”
“Go home,” Johnson said in a demanding tone. “If you keep up this pace, you’ll be no good to anyone. And then I won’t be able to go home.”
It was true.
He chuckled but then felt guilty in the presence of death.
The only positive thing that came out of finding his body was that he knew Peterson was single and had no children.
“Johnson, be sure to check the house. There was no suicide note. I would hate to think that this is…”
“I know,” he replied. “We’ll treat it like any other death.”
He patted him on the back. “Thanks. Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done so far. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“But you would have tried.” He smiled and walked off to speak with several officers.
As Dan exited the home in Greenside Park, he breathed in the afternoon air. He didn’t like leaving them in the lurch, especially at this time, but with many of the locals now helping out, maybe he could step away, cut back his hours, hand over the reins to Johnson more often. Perhaps this event wouldn’t get as bad as he thought if they continued to help each other.
He got back on the ATV and peeled out, heading south toward his neighborhood. There were ten major neighborhoods in the city. Eureka was the largest community in Humboldt County, and he couldn’t help but feel encouraged by the efforts of the people. Crime was up, but they knew that would happen. Home invasions were down. Petty theft was still happening. But maybe that’s where the militia could come in handy. More boots on the ground. More eyes. Tougher sentences.
He’d given a lot of thought to that visit. If they came through, he would be more than willing to have them help continually. Finding good men with military skills was hard, and God knew how badly he needed some assistance to ensure the Stricklands and Rikers didn’t get out of control. The feud between them was a ticking time bomb just waiting to erupt.
Dan’s home was in the neighborhood of Lundbar Hills, a quaint new development situated south of Rosewood, close to a municipal golf course and surrounded by forest. He’d bought it with his wife, Lily, four years ago. They still had no kids, but they preferred it that way. It allowed for travel even though he hadn’t had many vacations lately, but he’d hoped that would change with his position as sheriff. His two-story modest home was on the bend of Patricia Drive.
His neighbors appreciated having a cop nearby, and he’d gotten to know a few of them over his short time there. As he rolled into the driveway, he felt guilty. What if someone saw him? Asked him why he was home? Worse, maybe someone might time how long he was at his house, then turn around and use that data in the next meeting. He was paranoid about stuff like that. He raised the garage door and brought the ATV inside. As he went to close it, he noticed his neighbor Brian Mullen across the street.
While he got along with most of the neighbors, there were a few that didn’t appreciate him because they knew his background. He had to wonder if Hank had been around, spreading lies. He gave a nod but the neighbor simply closed his curtains.
“And good afternoon to
