roar. Fierce, menacing, and metallic.
“Takes a mite to get used to that sawmill,” Adams said as he shuffled down the main corridor. “Nowadays I barely even notice it.”
Barely even
“I remember the first time I visited the mill, back before I worked here. ’Round ’70, ’71, I ’spect. Noise hurt my head so bad I stared wearing earplugs. ’Course that didn’t set too well with the regulars. They marked me down for some kind of sissy boy, if you know what I mean. So I took out the plugs and learned to deal with it. Haven’t had any problems since. Oh, I get some ringing in my ears from time to time, but not enough to complain about.”
I think I’ve got plenty to complain about already, Ben thought, but he decided to keep it to himself. He wasn’t at all sure he could make himself heard over this din anyway.
They emerged in the main part of the building, the mill itself. Ben saw the long ramp where timber was loaded and the conveyor belt that brought it steadily closer to the big blade. And a big blade it was, too. Enormous-at least six feet in diameter, maybe more. Big enough to split a house, Ben thought, much less some puny five-hundred-year-old tree.
Ben watched as the men below used a large yellow crane to hoist a particularly large trunk onto the ramp. Another man in a hard hat standing a few feet from them pushed a button, and the conveyor belt lurched into action. A few seconds later, the huge rotating blade was slicing clean through the trunk like a knife through butter.
“Trunk like that, they’ll have to split three or four times ’fore it’s manageable enough to transport,” Adams explained. “Be different if we were on a waterway, if we could float the timber to market the way they used to do. Even those big eighteen-wheelers like the one you got to see up close and personal have their limits.”
The sawmill blade finished subdividing the trunk. A whistle blew somewhere outside. The workmen checked their watches. A few moments later, the blade began to slow. The insistent whine of the engine dropped in pitch until, to Ben’s enormous relief, the noise faded.
“You’re in luck, son,” Adams said, chuckling. “Mid-morning break. Engine’ll be down for fifteen minutes. We can talk.” He gestured for Ben to follow. They returned to the main corridor, then took a sharp left. Ben caught his reflection in a window as they passed; there was a streak of blood across his left cheek. He raised a sleeve and tried to make himself more presentable.
A few moments later, they were in a room that appeared to be Adams’s office.
“Sorry about the clutter,” he said. Clutter was an understatement. The office was packed with huge piles of paper, maps, and charts filling every available bit of floor space. There was a desk, but it was so buried under food wrappers and empty beer bottles that there wasn’t a place to put a pencil. There did appear to be some framed photos hanging on the wall, but the trash and debris were so dense Ben couldn’t tell what they were.
Check that, he told himself. There was one picture he could identify. It hung just behind the desk. A framed four-by-seven photo, slightly yellowed, of a teenage girl receiving her high school diploma. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the girl was a considerably younger, though no less shapely, version of Granville Adams. Prosecutor Granny.
“That’s my baby girl,” Adams said as he wedged himself into the space between his desk and the wall. To Ben’s surprise, once the litter was rearranged a bit, there turned out to be a chair back there. “So you know her?”
“I do,” Ben said, not adding that he had a damned hard time thinking of her as anybody’s baby girl. Most likely she ruled the roost from the day she came home from the hospital. “She’s prosecuting the Gardiner case.”
“ ’Course she is,” Adams said, beaming. “She’s the D.A., ain’t she?”
Ben nodded. “You must be very proud of her.”
“That, son, is one whale of an understatement. Hell, I’ve always been proud of her.” He gazed out his window, a large wall-length aperture affording a commanding view of the front parking area and the forest beyond. “Only had one time up at the plate-she’s the only child I’ve got. But man, what a home run I hit. I never seen the like anywhere. Drop-dead gorgeous, ambitious, hard-working. And smart?” He made a long, low whistle.
“She is all those things,” Ben agreed. And a few more he wasn’t going to mention.
“I don’t know where she got it all. Not from her daddy. That’s for damn sure.” His smile faded a bit. “My wife Jenny died before Granny turned five.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“Don’t worry about it, son. It’s been a long time.” He pushed himself up in his chair. “No, I had to raise that girl all on my own. Though the truth of the matter is, she raised herself.”
Ben could well imagine. He wondered if this might be a good time to lead the conversation to the more pressing matter at hand. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Dwayne Gardiner? And his murder?”
“You’re welcome to ask,” Adams replied. “Like I told your little lady on the telephone, I don’t know how much help I can be.”
“Did you know Gardiner?”
“ ’Course I did. He was one of my boys. Had been for some ten”-he shrugged-“I don’t know, twelve years.”
“Did you like him?”
“You bet. He was a good man. Hard worker. Even though he was only thirty and change, he was a logger from the old school. One that didn’t mind pulling a long day and working up a good sweat. Knew the value of hard work. Knew the importance of what we’re trying to do. The lifestyle we’re trying to preserve.”
“Did he have any friends? Family? Wife?”
“He had a wife all right. Lu Ann is one of the shapeliest, sexiest numbers in these parts. Not pretty in a classy way, like my little Granny. But she did have a certain appeal for a certain type of man, if you follow my drift. Like the type that likes to get drunk and do the hokey-pokey in the back of a pickup truck.”
Ben nodded. He thought he got the general idea.
“ ’Course Dwayne had plenty of friends, too. All his logging buddies, all the boys who spend every other night of their life out at Bunyan’s slurpin’ tall cool ones.”
“Any enemies?”
Adams pressed his lips together, as if trying to think how exactly to put it. “I wouldn’t say enemies, exactly. Dwayne never did anything that would cause a man to have enemies. But there was some … friction. Between him and some of the other boys.”
“Over Lu Ann?”
“You’re a quick one, ain’t ya?” Adams winked. “Yes, sir, when a man has a wife like Lu Ann, he’s bound to be just a wee bit jealous. Almost has to be, really.”
“And had reason to be?”
“ ’Course I wouldn’t know any of this from personal experience, you understand, but … I think it might be fair to say that some of the boys aren’t always too good about honoring the sanctity of the marriage contract. If you know what I mean.”
Ben did, and he was glad to hear it. This was the first glimmer he’d had of a possible motive for Gardiner’s demise other than eco-terrorism. “Do you know of any specific cases?”
“Oh, no. Nothin’ like that. I just know that with a gal like Lu Ann, the possibility is ever-present.”
Well, it was a start, anyway “Any other problems in Gardiner’s life? Anything that might’ve caused some ill will or rancor?”
“I don’t know if ill will is exactly the right word …”
“Don’t worry about the words,” Ben urged. “Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
After a few more moments, Adams spoke. “I mentioned before that Dwayne was a logger’s logger. A true believer. Someone who was willing to take a stand to preserve our way of life.”
“You said it, but I didn’t really understand it.”
“The logger is under attack right now, son. Least that’s how we feel about it. There are folks out there threatenin’ our way of life.”
“You’re talking about Green Rage.”
“I am.” He licked his lips. “I don’t know where you stand, son. I don’t know if you’re really into this tree-
