He hesitated. “Doing a profile of Sheriff Pete Norton,” he said.
She laughed. “Yeah, he’ll have a few words to say,” she said. “Wait a moment.”
If the woman out front reminded him of his eighth-grade English teacher, the man in the back office looked like former military. Former by 20 years, he’d guess, but he hadn’t lost the haircut or the cleanshaven look, or the posture. Mac was tempted to salute.
He wondered if Pete Norton had served. He would have mentioned it wouldn’t he? Mac frowned. Why had he left California?
“Profile on that crazy asshole?” he said. His name was Edward Peabody. Mac figured ‘sir’ would work.
“You’re not his biggest fan, I take it?” Mac said, laughing a bit.
“Got that right,” he said, then gestured to the seats in front of his desk and sat back down with a sigh. “Should be more diplomatic,” he admitted. “But I don’t know why. He’s already made it clear he’s not going to help with enforcing regs out in the park. Nor is he going to answer a call when my officers need help. So, I don’t see what I’ve got to lose.”
Mac set out his recorder and got permission.
“So, you’ve had problems getting backup from the sheriff?” he asked.
“He’s made it quite clear I shouldn’t bother to call,” Peabody said. “But I insist we do. I’m not giving him an excuse that no one called. And, to be honest, if one of his deputies gets the call, they will often come by. If he’s not there to stop it.”
Mac raised an eyebrow in surprise. “It’s that bad?” he asked, trying to picture deputies undermining a sheriff like that. Then he thought about the Jorgensen situation where he hadn’t backed up his own deputies. Maybe they’re not disloyal — maybe they’re just pragmatic.
“Someone has been taking potshots at my rangers,” he said. “We report it, they do nothing. Thankfully, so far no one has gotten hurt.”
He started to say something, glanced at the tape-recorder, and shook his head. Mac thought he suspected the sheriff knew who was doing it. Or was the sheriff taking the shots?
“How often?” Mac asked.
“Couple of times a month,” he admitted. “I’m pretty sure it’s to spook my rangers. That they’re not actually intending to hit them. But one ranger got hit by some rock on a ricochet. Took a chunk out of his arm, and when he called into dispatch, no one was available. He was able to reach me, and I came and helped him get out. Had an ambulance waiting. He lost some blood. Miracle he didn’t lose an arm,” he said grimly.
“That a problem around the country or just here?” Mac asked.
“It’s a problem if you’re dealing with a constitutionalist,” he said. “And Norton is proud of it. So, no secret. But you get men here who are one step away from disappearing into the mountains, and then you have a sheriff who announces he’s anti-federal control of lands and won’t be assisting? Incidents go up.”
Peabody hesitated, then shrugged. He’d decided to tell them whatever was bugging him, Mac thought.
“About 10 days ago, we got a report of a missing hiker,” Peabody said slowly. “So, we called the sheriff’s department for a search and rescue mission. We have equipment and skilled people, but we don’t have the numbers. With their reserves, they have the numbers. We were shut down by the sheriff himself. He said his people were busy with the Tulip Festival and we’d have to handle the search ourselves since it was on land that didn’t recognize his authority.”
Mac frowned. “And?” he said slowly. Ten days ago? A survival weekend?
“We found him eventually,” Peabody said, his eyes shadowed. “I’m not sure what killed him, we’re waiting on a coroner’s report, but he’d had a rough time before he died.”
“Time of death?” Mac asked.
“We don’t know that,” Peabody said. “We found him that Sunday afternoon. He had fallen into a ravine. Dickens of a time getting the body out.”
“Foul play?”
“Maybe? The body was in bad shape. Maybe he just didn’t see the ravine in the dark, fell in and died there,” Peabody said, but he sounded doubtful. “I’m hoping the coroner can tell us something. But the thing is, if we’d gotten more people out looking on Friday when he went missing? We might have found him before he ended up in that ravine.”
Mac studied the man. Sorrowing, angry, and disturbed. Really disturbed. “Is this the first one of these types of hiker fatalities?” he asked slowly.
Peabody shook his head. “We lose two or three hikers a year,” he said. “The North Cascades is rugged territory and untouched by man. Not many roads. Hikers think they’re skilled enough to handle it, and they’re not. No one should hike alone, to start with, no one. But some try it, no matter how much we preach.”
“Something’s bugging you, though,” Mac observed.
“We’ve found bodies that don’t match any reports of missing hikers,” he said. “I report them to the sheriff, and he laughs at me. Says it’s my problem. I report it to the state, and they’re concerned too, but so far we’ve not made any progress.”
“Someone is using the North Cascades as a dumping grounds,” Mac said flatly.
Peabody nodded. “I don’t know for how long,” he said. “I got here two years after the previous head ranger retired. And I’ve got one more year before I’m retiring. This is beautiful country. Kind of a tradition to come here and retire in place, you know?”
“And instead, you’re facing a serial killer?”
He hesitated. “I don’t think so,” he said troubled. “But I’m not sure what we’re facing. We’ve found four bodies that couldn’t be identified in the last year. Another three hikers who turned up dead. I looked back into the records. Those stats match previous years. So maybe it’s my imagination.”
“Or maybe it’s been going
