31

Big Twenty Township

John Bear and Murphy studied the gigantic footprints in the snow. “At least we haven’t had a snowfall since it took off on foot,” Murphy commented.

“Don’t sell it short, Murph. We ain’t dealin’ with a normal perp here.”

“John you ain’t believing that this is one of them … what did you call it?”

“A Wendigo. Doesn’t matter what I believe—it is what it is and that’s what should concern us.”

Murphy nodded. “Either way, what we got here is one big sumbitch who just happens to be a psycho.”

“Believe what you will, Murph, but I’m not gonna sell it short.” John returned to his snowmobile. “Let’s see where the bastard went. Shall we?”

_____________

They followed the tracks as they skirted the St. Francis River, all the while headed toward Estcourt Station. The going was slow as they had to weave through trees and break their own trail, all the while keeping the mammoth footprints in sight. When the tracks left the trees and entered Airport Road they knew they’d lost him. “Tell you what,” Murphy said. “You head west and I’ll go east, maybe we’ll pick up his trail again.”

John Bear was looking at the sky over the road to the west. A murder of crows was swarming around the woods. “I don’t think there’s any need of that. Follow me.”

They walked down the road a hundred yards and stopped. John stepped into the woods and the trees exploded with crows taking flight.

When Murphy reached John’s side, he said, “Jesus, John, look at all the blood. You suppose it’s … ?”

“It’s arterial.” John pointed to a long stream of blood that looked as if someone had shot it from a hose. He followed the blood trail deeper into the trees and found a copse of leafless red willow bushes. John called out to Murphy, “We got another victim.”

Murphy followed, taking care to step in the tracks John had made. He found John squatting in the thicket, staring at a body. John looked up when his companion stopped beside him. Murphy’s face contorted when he looked at the body. “Sonuvabitch,” he said.

John picked up the dead man’s hands. “He ain’t been here long, rigor ain’t full.”

Murphy looked at the body. It had been eviscerated and there were various organs lying in the three-foot-deep snow. “Was he … ?”

“Eaten? Yes. His neck’s been bitten open, that was the arterial blood we saw.”

Murphy squatted beside John and said, “It’s as if he was killed kosher.”

John stared at Murphy for a second trying to determine if he was trying to be funny or if he was merely stating an observation. He decided that it was the latter.

“You think animals got to him?”

“He hasn’t been here that long, but if he lies here much longer …”

“I know, I got to wait for crime scene. I’m starting to feel like the cadaver recovery unit of the warden service.”

_____________

It took an hour for the crime scene technicians to process the scene. As limited as they were by the snow, cold, and terrain they gathered as much forensic evidence as possible. The only evidence they had on the killer was the gigantic tracks they photographed, hoping to match the tread to pictures they’d taken at the other crime scenes and around the shack in Viverette Settlement.

When the sound of the departing helicopter diminished, John announced, “I might as well go back with you. This trail has been beaten down so much I’ll never determine which way it went.”