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Officer Timothy Simmons arrived at the Blackwater campgrounds ten minutes after noon. He’d been dispatched to investigate the death of a camper.
Sunshine warmed his cheeks as he exited the vehicle. The temperature hovered a few degrees above seventy.
Two RVs were parked along the campground. The closest one faced east, the other north. Empty beer cans littered an area where a campfire had been burning. Smoke wafted from the ashes.
The door of the nearest RV swung open, and two men appeared stepped onto the landing, one after the other. Both men staggered down the steps.
One of the men stood over six feet, with mangy hair. The second was short and plump. Both appeared to be in their early forties. And they reeked of alcohol.
“Glad you’re here, Sheriff,” Mangy said. “Some guy got mauled by a bear.”
Simmons was certain this hadn’t been relayed in the nine-one-one call. Otherwise, the game warden would’ve been dispatched. He thought about calling this in but decided it could wait until he determined if what Mangy said was true. After all, there was no telling what the man saw in his drunken stupor.
All three walked along a dirt trail. Simmons noticed the sandy path was covered with a variety of shoe and boot prints. He didn’t see any animal tracks. When he turned back, the two men were struggling to keep up.
The three men continued down the path for about another hundred yards before coming to a bicycle lying on the ground.
Next to the bike lay a man with half his head missing. By all appearances he’d died from buckshot and not at the hands of a bear.
“Do either of you know this man?” Simmons asked.
“No,” Stocky said. “He arrived late last night. This morning he hopped on his bike and sped away. Several minutes later, I, um, uh, heard him scream. When I ran to see what happened, he was dead.”
Simmons nodded, but the man’s story didn’t sound altogether true.
“Did either of you see the bear?” Simmons asked.
Mangy kicked at the sand with his boot. “No but we heard the damn thing. Scariest noise in my life.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “If I’m lying, I’m dying.”
“That’s true,” Stocky agreed. “If Gary hadn’t decided to ride his bike this morning, he’d still be alive.”
“Yeah,” Mangy said. “Poor bastard never had a chance.”
Simmons stared at the body of the deceased. This was no bear mauling. Even he knew this. But without any incriminating evidence to substantiate these two knuckleheads were involved, he couldn’t arrest them.
He’d turned back to call in the crime scene unit when he realized the men made two mistakes.
Did you find them?
Hint: Look at the dirt trail again.
The two men stated they didn’t know the deceased. But Stocky slipped up and called him Gary. How could he know the man’s name?
The bicycle was their second mistake. There were no tire tracks in the sand indicating a bike was ridden along the path.