hugging crap or if you’re just a lawyer tryin’ to make a few bucks. But there are people-criminals, is what they are- determined to make it impossible for a man to make a living in the logging business. Folks who want to see the lumberjack become an extinct species.”
“And Dwayne was upset about this?”
“Dwayne came from three generations of loggers.” He nodded his head grimly. “Yeah, I guess you could say he was upset about this.”
“Upset enough to get himself killed?”
Adams leaned back against the wall. With his head so close to the photo of his daughter, Ben could easily see the resemblance. “I’m going to tell you something that’s not altogether public knowledge, son, and I hope you’ll respect the confidence in which it’s given.”
“If it doesn’t relate to the case, I won’t tell a soul. If it does, I can’t make any promises.”
“Fair enough.” Adams eased forward. “We in the Magic Valley logging community have been aware for some time now that there is in our midst a … well, what’s the word? Turncoat? Quisling? Someone reporting to the other side.”
“A spy? But why?”
“Too many times, these Green Rage punks have known what we were doing, known what we were planning to do, almost as soon as we knew ourselves. The first few times, well, you just write it off to chance. But after a while it becomes apparent that somebody’s doing some talkin’.”
“What kind of talking?”
“Like tipping off Green Rage when we’re planning to move into a new area.
“You mean, when you’re trying to quietly go after the old-growth trees that are supposed to be protected?”
He held up his hands. “I don’t want to quibble with you, son. I know that won’t get us anywhere. Just suffice to say that we knew someone was talking.”
“Did Gardiner know who it was?”
“No, he didn’t.” He set his lips firmly together. “But he was determined to find out.”
“Did he have any leads?”
“It’s possible, but if he did, he didn’t share them with me. I do know this-he’d been asking some of the boys some pretty pointed questions, and some of them didn’t take none too kindly to it.”
“I don’t understand that,” Ben said.
“You got to understand what’s goin’ on here. Like I said, we loggers feel like we’re under siege, like someone’s tryin’ to rob us of our way of life. What I never understood is why these eco-people, these high-minded out-of-towners, think they know more about the forest than we do. Or why it is they love trees more than they do people.” He sighed. “I could never trust someone who puts trees first, because I know that deep down, that person doesn’t love his fellow man. Probably doesn’t love himself. Gives me the shivers to think about it, really. How can you appeal to a man’s humanity if he doesn’t have any?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a sign of self-loathing to respect the natural forest.”
“And why do you folks think you’re the only ones who respect the forest? Let me tell you something, son. We loggers respect the forest-more than most. We have to; it’s our lifeblood.”
“How can you say you respect something you’re tearing down?”
“We are not tearing down the forests. But we’ve got a job to do.” Adams pressed his spread fingers against the desk. He was an amiable man, but Ben could see that his patience was being tried. “Do you know how many people the logging industry employs? How many families depend on logging for their livelihood?”
“But there are other ways to make a living. You don’t have to kill trees.”
“You don’t have to defend murderers, either. But some folks still do it.”
Ben decided to take that kick in the teeth with his mouth closed.
“For every tree we cut down,” Adams insisted, “we plant two in its place.”
“Which is admirable,” Ben said. “But as a scientist was explaining to me just yesterday, the forest doesn’t grow back the same.”
“Why should it? Nature is about change. This planet has changed constantly since life began.”
“But surely rows of evenly spaced saplings are no substitute for a vibrant, wild forest.”
“If you were one of the men who depended on logging for a livelihood, you’d see it differently.”
Probably true, Ben realized. Probably very true. “How many of those men are there? I understand logging companies are employing fewer men every year.”
Adams tilted his head to one side. “Well …”
“Profits are way up, but employment is way down. Why is that?”
“It’s these eco-terrorists. Spiking trees and blowing equipment. We have to cut back.”
“According to my client, you hire fewer men because you’re replacing them with machines.”
“There are advantages to mechanized labor,” Adams admitted. “You don’t have to worry about machines going on strike or complaining about unsafe working conditions. You don’t have to pay Social Security on a machine, or for that matter, health insurance or disability benefits. Which is pretty important, since statistically the average logger will be disabled before he turns fifty-two.”
“I read that logging is the most dangerous occupation in the country, bar none.”
“It’s true. Still, it’s been our way of life, and we’re not going to let you tree huggers-”
“Wait a minute. I’m not a tree hugger. I don’t even like camping. I like air conditioning and wall-to-wall carpet.” Ben squared himself opposite Adams’s desk. “But I can’t stand an entire industry claiming it’s noble because it puts people first, when in fact it’s simply using people to make profits. And if it’s replacing men with machines, it should admit it, instead of using environmentalists as scapegoats.”
Adams drummed his fingers on his desk. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m beginning to be sorry I pulled you away from those boys outside.”
“You pulled me away when you wanted to. When you thought I’d learned a lesson and would feel indebted to my rescuer.”
“
“Don’t try to con me. I’ve got eyes. And you’ve got a great view.” Ben gestured toward the wide window behind the desk, with its spacious view of the front parking area. “You could’ve stopped that show outside before they’d dragged me an inch. But you didn’t. You waited for the right moment.”
“I don’t know what-”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you stage-managed the whole thing. Had some of the boys get a bit rowdy so you could come in and rescue me. See if you could win me over to your side.”
“You’re just as sick and paranoid as those criminals you work for.”
Maybe so, Ben thought as he stared down at Adams’s angry face. But at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure what to believe. Or who.
Chapter 21
Ben was almost out of the sawmill when to his amazement he saw Amos Slade sitting in a comfortable chair in what looked like the mill kitchenette. He was flanked by a coffeepot and vending machines; he had a half-eaten cruller in his left hand.
Ben knew it was like bearding the lion in his den, but for his client’s sake, he plunged in. “I thought you had no official ties to the logging industry?”
“Mr. Kincaid.” Slade smiled; bits of doughnut glaze crinkled along his lips. “I don’t have any official ties. But they are kind enough to give me a place to rest my feet from time to time.”
“Unofficially.”
“But of course.” Slade pointed toward a box on the table. “Care for a doughnut? We’ve got jelly-filled.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“You have a disagreement with Adams?”
“What makes you think that?”
