IN HER DREAM—OR WAS IT DELIRIUM?—she was rolling, rolling, rolling on the forest floor, a dead soldier unfurled from a Stars and Stripes shroud. She came to a stop on her back, face-up, blind to the light. The darkness was a living, breathing, pulsating thing, and it enveloped her. Shuttered her brain. Swallowed her whole. Sucked the soul right out of her. And left the remains to the feeders.
* * *
A SLAP OF cold and wet hit her chin. She opened her eyes to a blur of tawny fur and a sweet dark muzzle nuzzling her face. Elvis.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. He seemed as happy to see her as she was to see him, licking her nose and cheeks and ears thoroughly.
Troy was right behind him, a headlamp bathing her in red light.
“How did you find me?”
“Patience sent us.” He held a flashlight with one hand and held back Susie Bear with the other. The Newfie mutt strained at her lead, looking like she’d like to get in a lick or two of her own. He told her to sit, and she did so reluctantly, scooting close to Mercy until her shaggy butt was right up to hers. Elvis sat, too, and they both regarded her as if to say, Do something useful.
“Is Elvis okay?”
“He’s fine, your grandmother says so. But what about you?” Troy squatted down to get a good look at her. His flashlight hurt her eyes, and she blinked. “Sorry.”
“I’m good. Just don’t like the light.”
Troy touched the bill of her baseball cap softly. “What happened to your head?”
“Someone hit me from behind. Knocked me out. But I’m good now.” Which was at least mostly true. She was feeling much better now that the canine cavalry had arrived.
“I’m taking a look,” he said in a heavy voice that told her there was no point arguing with him. He slowly removed the Red Sox cap, careful not to hurt her. Still, that gentle movement brought tears to her eyes. She shut them, quick.
“Sorry.” He brushed away her hair gently with his fingers and examined her skull. “Some bump you got there.”
Mercy remembered to breathe. “I’m fine.”
“No blood that I can see.” He pulled an ice pack out of his first aid pack. “Here. That should help. At least until we can get you home and shave your head.”
“Don’t even think about it.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. The cold felt so good against her sore skull she almost cried with relief. Her nausea subsided and she was able to think more clearly.
“Did you see who hit you?”
“No. They came up behind me. I didn’t hear them until right before the blow. Too late.” She told Troy about the baby wailing and Elvis running toward the cries.
He frowned. “You should have waited for backup.”
“They’re all gone now,” she said. “But there’s something I need to show you.”
“Of course there is.”
She started to rise, and fell against him.
“Whoa.” Troy caught her and helped her up, his strong forearms supporting her as she wobbled to her feet, one hand still clutching the ice pack to her head.
“I’m good.”
“Take it easy.”
“You really have to see this.” She led him and the dogs back down the old logging road to the compound. Both Elvis and Susie Bear danced around, tails flying, eager to search, but as instructed they accompanied Mercy and Troy as they walked over to where the dead body lay.
The game warden shook his head. “What is it with you and the woods?”
She chose to ignore that remark. “Rufus Flanigan. Stabbed just like Don Walker.”
“The bird-watcher who called in on the AMBER Alert?” He seemed surprised.
“If that’s what he really is.” She pointed her flashlight at the belt buckle. “Same as the one we found buried with the bones.”
“And the tattoo.”
“Yes.”
“I’d better get this called in.” Troy looked around. “It’ll be a while until the techs can get here. Will you be okay while I secure the scene?”
“I’m fine. I can shine the flashlight for you.”
Troy looked doubtful but she knew he would choose to believe her so that he could do what needed to be done for the investigation.
She watched him go through the vic’s wallet just as she had done. He snapped photos with his phone and secured the crime scene with quiet efficiency. She did feel better, but then she had Elvis and Susie Bear on either side of her, bolstering her up, the furry ballast she needed to maintain her balance. Troy shooed away the scavengers, more effectively than she had done, and covered the corpse with a plastic tarp from his pack. He roped off the scene with duct tape, then turned to her.
“Anything else you’d like to show me?”
“The rest of the compound. I took a look around, but I wasn’t too steady on my feet. I might have missed something.”
“You?” Troy laughed. “Impossible.”
She flushed.
“I need to examine the area anyway,” he said. “And I’m sure between the two of them, our sniffer dogs will find whatever can be found. Even if we miss something in the dark, odds are they won’t.”
She stepped forward to lead the way and tripped over a branch. Troy caught her again, and though she tried to wave him off, he insisted on helping her.
“Just hang on to my arm,” he ordered. “You don’t need another bump on that head.”
“Yes, sir,” she said lightly.
“You are one stubborn soldier.” But he didn’t let go and she didn’t shake him off this time.
She hobbled through the compound on his arm, shining the flashlight and pointing out the areas of greatest interest like some woodlands tour guide. She felt ridiculous but tried not to let her pride hamper the investigation.
They let the dogs go, and they bounded ahead, following their respective noses. She and Troy made their way around the encampment, and in and out of the first two tent cabins. As they explored, she briefed him on the activity she’d witnessed before she’d been knocked out.
Susie Bear loped around with her usual good cheer, covering the ground within the fence from end to end. Elvis circled the compound in his own aggressive fashion, stopping at several spots, including where the truck had been parked and loaded. He headed for the Quonset hut and sat on alert at the door, while his Newfie companion settled in front of the third tent cabin, the one which had housed Amy and the baby.
Mercy and Troy checked out the tent cabin first. They congratulated Susie Bear on finding the baby bottle, slipped her a treat, then joined the shepherd at the Quonset hut. The shaggy black dog sat next to the elegant Malinois, two energetic canines on alert.
The door was shut, the padlock in place.
“This is where the steel trunks are?” he asked.
Oops. She hoped that was a rhetorical question. Maybe he wouldn’t connect the dots.
“It’s locked,” he said.
Uh-oh. She didn’t know whether to lie and say the lock wasn’t there earlier when she went in or to come clean. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to let a game warden know she went around picking locks at crime scenes. Even one who seemed to be on the side of truth and justice.
“There weren’t any locks on the tent cabin doors,” Troy went on. “There must be a reason they locked this one.”
Mercy pulled away from him, whistling for Elvis. She watched as the sleek shepherd raced toward her.
“What do you think?” He regarded her with amusement.
“Huh?” She had a feeling that playing dumb with him wouldn’t work. You couldn’t fool a good cop, and even though he spent most of his time in the woods Troy Warner was still a good cop.
“You picked the lock, didn’t you?”
She felt her face flush, but she met his look head-on. She was a good cop, too. Or at least she had been once upon a time. “Maybe.”
“Two working dogs have alerted to this building.” He grinned. “That’s probable cause. Let’s see you in action.” He held up the flashlight for her.
Mercy picked the lock quickly and handed him the open padlock.
“Outstanding,” he said.
She stepped aside and the dogs barreled into the steel building, heading straight for the trunks that lined the rear wall. Troy nodded toward the locks that protected them and she picked those, too. She showed Troy the packing material and metal shavings and the pebbles and the short piece of det cord.
“Is that our explosives alert?” He looked at Elvis, who sat at attention at her side.
“It must be.”
“It’s not much.”
“They could have more with them.”
“Or they could have used it to take down trees to clear the area. Loggers use it out here all the time. Or maybe it’s all that’s left from Wolfe’s days blowing up logging trucks.”
“Maybe.”
“I need to get to a place where my sat phone will work.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“I found something in the woods, just outside the perimeter.”
“Okay, let’s see it.”
Mercy led the game warden and the dogs to the snipped section of the barbwire fence and drew it apart.
“I guess that’s how you got in,” said Troy with a smile.
Through the opening they all went, trailing her as she trudged to the art installation in the trees, spotlighted now in the bright beams of both flashlights.
“What is it?”
“It’s one of those natural sculptures that Dr. Winters told us about. You know, the art that Adam Wolfe was making instead of the bronzes of her.”
“Okay.” Troy ran his hand along the arch made of stones, then stepped back to view the entire piece again, from the dry riverbed of fractal rock patterns to the crown of the arch itself. “I like it. It’s kind of ingenious, the way it melts into the landscape.”
“I know.”
“But what’s this got to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure,” Mercy said. “But I feel like we’re missing something.”
“We’ve got three dead bodies and a disappearing mother and child and the possibility of explosives. I’d say we’re missing about everything so far.”
She showed him the Greek lettering. “I hope your Greek is better than mine.”
“It’s not.”
“It must mean something.”
“I’m sure it does, but probably only within the context of the artwork itself.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“What else could it mean?”
“I don’t know. But I think this piece is trying to tell us something.”
Troy looked at her. “I think you got hit in the head and need medical attention.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mercy.” He took her arm gently. “We need to go. Now.”
“Okay.” She knew he was right. Not about seeing a doctor but about getting back. “What about Amy and Helena? I’m worried about them. If the vic was right, they’re in real trouble.”
“We’re doing everything we can to find them.”
“Okay.” Still, she wanted to get out of here so she could look for them herself. “But they need to know that Amy is trying to save her baby, not abandon her.”
“Understood. Do you think you can make it back to my truck?”
“I can drive myself.”
“Not a good idea.” Troy frowned. “Besides, someone slashed your tires. You’re not going anywhere in that Jeep for a while.”
“Seriously?” In her frustration Mercy shook her head, then winced. Her skull still ached when she moved too fast.
“You need to get that injury checked out. I’ll arrange a tow for you as soon the crime scene techs have come and gone.”
The man didn’t miss a trick.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Let’s let Patience be the judge of that.” He smiled at her.
Smart-ass, she thought. Invoking her grandmother’s name was not playing fair.
But she smiled back at him anyway.
They put the dogs on their leads and left the compound through the entry gate, setting off down the logging road. Mercy insisted on proceeding on her own steam, without the game warden to lean on. He shrugged and kept on walking, but she knew he was moderating his speed on her behalf.
She was grateful to him for that.
“This case is getting crazier by the minute,” she said, hoping to engage Troy and distract herself from the pain.
“I know.”
“So many pieces to the puzzle.”
“That’s assuming it’s just one puzzle.”
“It’s got to be connected,” Mercy said, wincing as she stumbled over a large root. “Think about it. In the past couple of days, Amy ran away with the baby from a Vermont Firster’s compound and three guys with Vermont Firster sympathies turn up dead.”
“True, but that doesn’t explain the twenty grand we found in Walker’s recliner or the guy who broke into your house.”
“And shot Elvis.”
“And shot Elvis,” he repeated.
The shepherd barked as if he were protesting the very bullet that grazed him. Maybe he was.
“And what’s Dr. Winters got to do with it?” Mercy asked.
“Maybe she’s a Vermont Firster, too.”
She laughed. “The only Vermonter she’s putting first is herself.”
“Thrasher would agree with you. He says she’s a piece of work.”
“Amy says her boyfriend has a lot of groupies. I guess she could be one of them.”
“She did call him a genius.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t really fit the groupie profile.”
“Which is?”
“You know, adoring young women who’ll follow rock stars anywhere.” Mercy rolled her eyes, and even that small facial movement hurt her head.
“Sounds more like Amy.”
“Yeah. And look where that got her.” Mercy sighed. “God, I hope she and Helena are all right.”
“From what you say, she’s pretty sensible for a teenager.” Troy slowed down some more and took her arm. This time she let him. “She’s probably just lying low somewhere with the baby.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I agree that Dr. Winters is not a groupie,” said Troy, bringing the subject back to the professor in a sweet if obvious ploy to ease her mind.
“I bet she has her own groupies.” Mercy smiled at him. “Impressionable young college students hanging on her every word … while they wonder if she’s wearing any underwear.”
Troy colored, and she laughed. “She’s the kind of woman who collects men.”
“The south of France.”
“Exactly.”
“Which brings us back to the Vermont Firsters,” said Troy. “What a weird group.”
“We’ve got the activist and artist Adam Wolfe, the lowlife Donald Walker with the tattoo, and the belt-buckle guys.”
“The body in the woods aka Wayne Herbert, and the bird-watcher from Canada.”
“Right,” said Mercy. “And that guy Max, who was at the compound. And who might be the guy who broke into my house.”
Troy raised an eyebrow.
“I can’t say for sure,” she admitted. “Amy says Max is Adam’s best friend. She’s scared of him.” Mercy was getting tired, and her head pounded with every step. Elvis stayed close by her side, nudging her hand with his nose as they plodded along.
“So far, the compound is the common denominator.” Troy still held her arm, helping her over the roughest patches of the trail. “Not much farther now.”
“I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “The compound is where Elvis alerted and we found the det cord.”
“Wolfe has been in trouble for blowing up logging trucks. Maybe he’s planning on blowing up more.”
“That doesn’t explain Max or the truck or its unknown contents. Contents that Elvis alerted to. We need to figure out where that truck was going.”
“And why.”
“It can’t be a coincidence that all this has happened in the past few days.”
“Things do appear to be coming to a head.”
They reached her Jeep just as she was sure she couldn’t take another step. She sighed at the actual sight of her slashed tires and leaned against the hood to rest for a moment. Troy excused himself to call Thrasher.
She waited, brooding over the evidence they’d found so far: the explosives, the truck, the timing.
The timing.
Timing was everything.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip.