Bleeding Green (6 page)

Chapter 10

E
rnie
drove Laurel’s truck at the required 25 mph down the main park drive. As he drove by the ranger station, he slowed to 5 mph. Discovering her broad-brimmed green sun hat on the passenger seat, he composed it on his head. Grinning like a fool, he slumped in the seat. If anybody saw him, specifically a ranger, they would think he was Laurel.

He scowled as he noticed the leather clad steering wheel was sticky. Looking at his hands he saw dried blood all over them. This wouldn’t do. He hated anything sticky. That damn woman had bothered him for years. Now he was done with her. He could place her in a checked-off box of tidying up the clutter in his life.

His fingers drummed a beat on the steering wheel. Why wouldn’t that damn song leave his head?
Night and Day, you are the one
. He didn’t realize he was humming the tune. His torso rocked slightly. Better. He felt better already.

As he drove down Timucuan Springs Road, his right foot itched to put the pedal to the metal. The gas gauge read three quarters of a tank. A white notebook was wedged between the seat and the middle console—the vehicle log. He smiled, then frowned. His right hand plucked the notebook from between the seats and he hurled it to the passenger floor. Double-dang-dammit it all! He didn’t know the password for Laurel’s gas card. As clever as he was, he had forgotten that minuscule detail. He had scooped up the fallen keys by the chase door. Yup! He was one smart feller.

He rocked more vigorously. Not a problem. He had sixty dollars in his wallet. That ought to get him across the Georgia border.

Sounds came and went. Pain with a thousand razors raked her body. Struggling to connect a sequence of thought through the fog, her head was swirling as if she had gulped a whole bottle of single malt. The piercing pain in her back overrode all the other stabbing aches. Laurel fought to open her eyes. As she concentrated on a red blinking light, she realized her eyes were open. Why couldn’t she move?

Reality surged over her in a flood of nausea. She was in the chase. Sounds began to make sense. Every time the red light blinked, she heard her coworkers on the radio that seemed to be suspended in black midair. She could hear people using the restroom, campers talking to each other as if she was right in the room with them.

As memory returned, she realized that she was unable to move. Her legs were bent at the knee and her ankles tapped to her wrists. Pure agony had escalated to a scale where she was unable to make sense out of what was happening to her.

She heard Boyd’s voice in the darkness and realized he was talking on the radio. The sound brought comfort.

“Bill, this is Boyd.”

“Go ahead, Boyd!”

“Are you late field?”

“10-4 on late field.”

“Could you come by my office when you get the chance?”

“Copy that. On my way. Be about ten minutes.”

Laurel slipped back into oblivion.

Boyd Warner eased out of his office chair and stared out the window. He had a feeling. Something wasn’t right. He had tried to get Laurel on her office intercom for the last two hours. He’d also tried to raise her on the park radio and her Nextel speaker phone. She had left no message on the dry board in the hall. This was a cardinal rule that each of the administrative staff did, so the others would know where they were. After all, there were several thousand acres to manage and many miles to negotiate in the Florida wilderness. As park manager, Boyd was a stickler for each person writing their name on the board—even if it was only for lunch.

Janice LaPlume’s growl filled the room. “Boss, you okay?”

He turned toward the intercom with a jerk, “Something’s not right.”

“You can say that again! Get yourself out there and start lookin’ for her.” Janice had heard the radio calls. “What do you need—God to send you an invitation?”

Boyd sauntered down the hall toward Janice’s office. An ironic smile lifted one side of his mouth. This woman got by with murder the way she treated him. He loved it. If it wasn’t for his assistant administrator’s guidance, the park’s ship would have sunk three years ago when he became captain! She was the ballast.

He leaned against the doorframe, directing a stare at her. “Past time for a smoke?”

Janice gave a harrumph reminiscent of Maxine, the grumpy old lady cartoon character. Clipped-out cartoons of Maxine were tapped to her computer, giving the unwary person fair warning of the type of woman they were tangling with. “You got that right! Can you answer the phone while I go outside?”

Boyd opened the office door with a flourish.

As Janice brushed by him, she said, “Either you get the troops out there and find Laurel or I will!” She stabbed her finger at him, “I feel it too.”

His voice raised in defense. “Hang on. Hang on. I’ll send Bill out to have a look around.”

Janice snorted as she settled her petite self on the concrete bench that was her own smoking area. “Do you see her car?” She stabbed her cigarette in the direction of Laurel’s Toyota Truck. “That girl leaves every afternoon at four sharp! She’s still accustomed to rushing home so that the caretaker that took care of her mother can leave. Laurel hasn’t lost that habit.” She tapped her delicate gold wristwatch. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 4:30.” The Newport wobbled dangerously in the corner of her mouth.

A cloud of dust followed the E Z-Go as Bill roared down the sandy road toward the administrative offices. He braked to a stop by the front steps.

Janice smiled as she eyed the young man. Good God, he was easy on the eyes! If she was thirty years younger …

Bill looked up at Boyd standing on the porch. “What’s up?” He could smell the tension in the air.

Boyd cleared his throat. “I know you are very busy at this time of day, but I need for you to do something.”

“You got it! What is it?”

“See if you spot Laurel’s truck anywhere in the park.”

Bill didn’t need to be told twice. A sober look crossed his face as he nodded. “I’m on it.” He held up the radio. “I’ll give you a heads up as soon as I see her!”

He backed up the four-wheeler and zoomed away.

Janice exhaled a long stream of smoke. “You get going, Boyd. I don’t like this.”

He was already going down the steps at a fast pace. Boyd gave her a half-wave as he almost jogged to his truck.

Violent shivers shook her body. If the tape wasn’t on her mouth, she knew her teeth would be chattering like crazy. Was she dying? Laurel could feel her blood seeping onto the cold concrete. Breathing was not an issue anymore. Did she even need air? Dear God, she hurt.

Fuzzy and lightheaded, she couldn’t figure out what was real life. She wanted to plead with her brother, Andrew. Beseech him to understand. The next image slid to her children. So young and sweet. They were on the beach in South Carolina. Her mother smiled at her. Brodie reached out both arms to her. She was so cold.

The changing scenes and complex patterns swirled like a circus gone mad. These kaleidoscope images swirled into nothing. Darkness knocked her out.

After tearing around the various locations of the main day-use part of the park, Bill zoomed into the campground. He circled all three loops looking for Laurel’s truck. Nothing. He started to exit the campground then braked. He turned the four-wheeler around and headed for the volunteer host campsite.

He spotted, Rick, the volunteer host, on the high side loop sweeping his outdoor carpet under the pullout awning of the RV.

Staying on the E Z-Go, Bill turned the key to off. “Hey, Rick, how’s it going?”

Rick grinned at the young ranger. He liked this particular guy. Compared to some of the staff, Bill was easygoing, quiet and polite. “Not bad! Yourself?”

The expected smile didn’t appear on Bill’s face. Instead he appeared worried. “Hey! Did you see Laurel today?”

Rick leaned on his broom. He scratched his head of thick gray hair. “Yup, I did. Saw her walking to the bathhouse around lunch or maybe it was later. Figured she was just lookin’ things over. Why?”

Bill looked through the pine trees to the restroom. He didn’t answer. After a few seconds passed, he drove over to the bathhouse. Shutting off the engine, he sat waiting and looking. He pushed the button on his radio. “Laurel, this is Bill.”

Nothing. He felt a bit foolish. He got out of the vehicle and sauntered toward the building. He heard the faint jingle of a song. At first it didn’t register, but it kept repeating. When the thought penetrated his mind he stopped walking—a cell phone. He looked around and tried to locate the tinkling notes. He stared at the empty woods and picked up his pace toward the sound. It stopped. Bill continued forward. In the brown pine needles, he saw two black objects. One was the park’s Nextel phone that only the manager, assistant park manager, biologist and the park services specialist carried. His heart beat quickened as he picked up the black hard case with a Blackberry in it. Laurel’s phones!

He turned in a 360-degree pivot. Everything seemed quiet and calm. As he reached for the radio that was hooked on his shoulder lapel, he froze. Bending over he picked up some pine needles. Blood. Dried blood. He ought to know what dried blood looked like as he had three small children of his own that were always banging their knees or some other part of their anatomy.

He grabbed the radio off his shoulder as the hairs on his neck stood on end.

“Boyd?” The urgent tone of his voice strangled the word.

“Go ahead, Bill”

Bill rolled his shoulders trying to loosen up. Why in the heck was his voice shaking! “Can you meet me at the high loop in the campground?”

“Be right there.” Boyd’s deep voice eased Bill’s apprehension somewhat.

“Bill copies.”

Chapter 11

H
is feet rooted to the earth, Bill Olson tipped his head back and stared at the blue November sky. The pine trees swayed as a soft blowing wind sighed through the needles. Good God! Where should he start? The pounding of his heart squeezed his throat. Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip. Assess the situation. Part of his Fire Academy training jumped into his mind. The Briefing Checklist was on the back page. Risk Management—identify known hazards and risks. Identify control measures to mitigate hazards/reduce risk. He could see the black letters on the white page of the little yellow book:
Incident Response Pocket Guide,
small notebooks that all firefighters trained under the National Wildfire Coordinating Group (NWCG) were supposed to carry on their person while burning, whether a wildfire or a prescribed burn. His heart slowed. He wiped the sweat off his lip with the back of his hand. He scanned the area gathering information.

About two hundred yards away, he saw the gray door of the chase. Looking behind him, he took a cautious step back. This gave him a better view through the pine trees. What was it about the door that kept pulling his gaze?

Once more, he stared at the dark, bloody pine needles. Bending over he could see some darker spots a few feet away. He began following this faint trail. The blood droplets continued to the sidewalk outside the door.

Opening the door to the chase, he flipped on the light switch by his left hand. At first the macabre scene made no sense. The horrific sight of Laurel lying on her left side bent backwards in an impossible position paralyzed him for a frozen moment in time. Blood had pooled all around her.

He took two gigantic steps in and fell to his knees. Resting his callused, huge hand on her right shoulder, he gave her a gentle squeeze. Bending close to her pale face he said her name. She didn’t respond. He settled his rump back on the heels of his boots scanning the narrow closet.

The park radio was duct tapped to the huge hot water heater. Not knowing whether to mar the scene by moving her, he was momentarily gripped by indecision. The faint movement of her chest got the best of him. He dug out his cell phone from his front pants pocket. With trembling hands he managed to get the camera app on his phone. Without changing his position, he took several pictures of her. Tears were filling his eyes as he grabbed the pocket knife out of his other front pocket.

A shadow blocked the light from the bare swinging 65 watt bulb. He snapped his head around. Relief surged through him. The park manager, Boyd Warner, stood about three feet from him. Bill watched Boyd’s face blanch as all the blood drained from his skin.

Boyd leaned his left hand on the gigantic water heater and swallowed with difficulty. A wave of nausea swept through him. “Jesus Christ!” These words were whispered in horror. “Is she breathing?”

Bill nodded yes and held up his four-inch pocket knife. He choked on the words, as he said, “Shall I cut her free?”

“You call 911?” Boyd saw the cell phone in Bill’s left hand.

“No, sir, I took pictures before I moved her.”

Boyd grabbed the Nextel off his waist and dialed 911. After relating the specifics to the dispatcher, he placed a call to the district bureau chief, John Staley. He kept the conversation brief and precise. John was on his way to the scene. Making one more call in terse half-sentences, he related the scene to Lieutenant Carolyn Meer, their DEP law enforcement. Carolyn said she would be there in fifteen minutes. Laurel was a dear friend of hers. Those fifteen minutes were shaved from the normal 30-minute drive where she was on the northern property of the park.

“Go ahead, Bill. Cut her loose.” Unnecessary as it was, he added, “Be careful with her.” As fast as the queasiness hit, the feeling was pushed away by a white, hot anger. He could feel his face flushing as his heart hammered surging the blood through his veins. He slammed his fist into the water heater. Pain shot up his arm.

Bill twisted his head in alarm at the sound. “Boyd?”

“God dammit, god dammit, god dammit!” Boyd pounded the water heater with his forearm.

Lifting his left arm, Bill wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve, attempting to clear his vision as the tears coursed down his cheeks. Tucking the phone back into his pocket, he cradled his right arm around Laurel’s chest while he sliced the gray tape. Her black shoes plopped on the floor with a soft thump as her torso sagged into his strong right arm.

Boyd leaned over Bill’s shoulder stretching out his arm to help, but the gesture was useless. The closet was so narrow that it was hard to move.

Bill pointed a shaking finger at Laurel’s wrists that were pulled through the belt and bound with tape behind her back. In a horror-struck voice, he said, “Look! That son-of-a-bitch! I’m going to kill him.” He felt Boyd squeeze his right shoulder.

In a voice as calm as death, Boyd said, “Cut the tape. Can you carry her outside? I can’t help you. This hell hole is too narrow.” He was tempted to yank Laurel’s radio loose from the water heater but realized it was part of the crime scene so he left it.

“Got her, Boss.”

Unbinding Laurel, he scooped her up in his arms, in the same way he picked up one of his small daughters.

Side-stepping out of the chase, Bill reached the sunlight. He laid her body on the concrete sidewalk as if laying a newborn baby in a cradle. The dappled sunlight played over her body, revealing her bruised face and sliced chin that had clotted with dried blood.

Bill kept his large hand under her head. “That was a lot of blood, I think she’s hurt bad.” He glanced at the blood-soaked knees of his dark green pants.

Kneeling beside Laurel, Boyd said, “Keep her neck straight. I want to see her back.”

Bill slid his forearm under Laurel’s head and placed his left hand on her forehead.

“Ready?” Boyd asked as he glanced at Bill. He placed a hand on the young man’s arm. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

Bill gave a robust sniff. “Yup. I’m good. Thought I might toss my cookies but now I’m so mad, I just want to strangle the SOB that did this. I’m gittin’ over it. No, I don’t want to strangle him. I want to torture him slow. Real slow.”

A grim smile touched Boyd’s lips as he gave Bill’s arm a pat. “I know just what you mean, buddy.”

Their eyes locked in mutual understanding. Bill liked the feeling of support from his supervisor. A fellow could always count on Boyd to back him up. Not all managers had that quality. He knew that from many of the stories the rangers exchanged about their personal experiences in other parks around the state.

In tandem, Bill supported Laurel’s spine as Boyd gripped her shoulder and hip turning the limp body a few inches, as he peered under her. He saw the blood-soaked shirt with a four-inch tear near her right shoulder. Blood was seeping out of the wound.

Bill watched Boyd’s face sag as if he had just lost twenty years.

Bowing his head for a moment, Boyd said, “Looks like she’s been stabbed pretty good. Let’s lay her back.”

Sirens shrilled in the distance.

An ambulance followed a large red fire truck. Taking up the rear was the county sheriff.

Boyd strode out to meet them as they parked in empty campsites in front of the bathhouse. He gave them a quick rundown on the scene as they all jogged to the back of the restroom.

Rounding the corner, the paramedics rushed to take over Bill’s job. One of the men placed two fingers on the carotid artery in her neck. He bent low turning his head sideways to see if he could hear or feel her breathing. “Got a pulse! She’s breathing.” Looking up at his partner he said, “Get a stretcher over here and let’s get some fluids going.”

Lt. Meer and Bureau Chief Staley rounded the corner of the bathhouse at a jog, colliding with the beefy paramedic. With brief apologies exchanged, Meer and Staley rushed to Boyd.

John Staley nodded at Boyd, “She alive?”

“She’s breathing. Just barely.” A wry smile sat on his lips for a moment. He nodded back at his chief, with a voice full of irony, said, “You know that expression we use in the park service for dedicated, devoted employees? Well, Laurel Grey is truly bleeding green.”

Lt. Meer scanned Boyd’s face as he answered. She saw intense concern and fear. Checking to make sure Laurel was receiving prompt medical care, Carolyn approached Ranger Bill and grasped his elbow, noting the yellowish-green color of his face.

“You okay, Bill?”

Bill nodded at Lt. Meer. “Yes, ma’am. But I don’t know if she’s gonna make it.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he hung his head.

She gave him a half-hug with one arm. In a low voice she said, “Laurel will make it, Bill. She’s a fighter.” She hugged him again. “Are you able to answer some questions and take me through the events as you saw them?”

Bill lifted his handsome face and sparks seemed to shoot from his cornflower blue eyes.

“Lieutenant, we have to catch this sick bastard!”

“We will, Bill. We will. We already have a pretty good idea where to start. Now ...” She was interrupted as Bill dashed for the woods.

Making it about twenty feet he leaned against a pine, falling to his hands and knees vomiting.