Mortal Fall (27 page)

He didn’t answer, just looked away and crossed his arms, his eyes going to some distant place, a withdrawal into himself that said he trusted no one and had decided it was best to completely ignore the law, to ignore me, even to ignore the hate he was feeling. His face calmed slightly, and the room grew still. Then his gaze shifted casually and I saw his eyes settle on my chest where I had my ID clipped to my shirt pocket. At first, his eyes were blank, unobserving and withdrawn, then he squinted as something dawned on him. The corners of his mouth slowly curled into a smile and he allowed himself a big grin. “So, you cousins or brothers?

“Who?”

“You and Adam.”

“It’s a common name.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He started to laugh. “Now, it makes sense. I didn’t think I was going to enjoy this little talk, but now, well, now I’m thinking this might be fun.”

“What’s fun, Dorian?” I felt my control over the interrogation begin to wither. I saw Ken sit taller out of the corner of my eye.

“This.” He opened his palms out to the sides and let out an exaggerated sigh like he had just taken in a big dose of fresh air. He even acknowledged Ken—smiling at him—for the first time. “Your boy Adam,” he finally said. “Might want to check with him if it’s connections to Sedgewick you’re after.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because your brother’s the one who’s helpin’ that poaching ring out for a little extra cash, and they’re the ones not wanting the feds anywhere near the land your researcher was on.”

“What poaching ring?”

“Like I said. Best have a little chat with your bro. And while you’re at it, make sure you clear my alibi with Melissa.”

“Even if I do, you’ll still be appearing before the magistrate in a day or two, unless of course, you give me information that’s a little more helpful. I need more than some vague reference to some poaching ring.”

“I gave you information,” Dorian said. “Really not my fault that you happen to be related to the guy.” He laughed again as I stood up.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” I said, reminding him of his arrest, cautioning him again and going through his rights. Dorian didn’t look at me once. I put my pen back in my pocket and went to the door. “We’re far from done with you,” I said as Ken stood up and followed me out.

“Don’t you need his last name?” I heard Dorian yell as the door shut behind us, his laugh echoing through the halls. “Harris,” he yelled louder. “Harris. But of course I don’t need to tell you that.”

• • •

In the observation room, Ken and I stood for a moment and watched Dorian as he sat motionless and composed in his chair, a satisfied glare frozen on his face and his hands on the table. It was earlier than I expected, going on eleven and I had to remind myself that we’d gotten to the bar in the early evening by six thirty and had made the arrest only an hour later. Gretchen had left to grab some coffee, and Brander was in the evidence room labeling Dorian’s things and making sure the paperwork was all in place. I would have a report to write as well before I left, so I turned to Ken and said, “Thanks for coming. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“But aren’t we going in again?”

“There’s no point. He’s done. Look at him, full of piss, vinegar, and satisfaction. He’s too full of himself to understand the trouble he’s in even after we explained it to him. Some guys strap on bombs in the name of their crazy beliefs. He’d never do that—too much of a coward—but he wouldn’t bat an eye at some jail time.”

Ken stared through the glass. Dorian reached up and smoothed his Fu Manchu slowly and rhythmically.

“I’m actually surprised we got as much as we did from the guy though.”

“So”—Ken bit his lip, then looked at me and tossed it out—“what’s this about your brother?”

“You heard him. Apparently he thinks my brother, Adam, is involved in a poaching ring.”

“You know anything about that?”

“Not a thing,” I said flatly. “I don’t have much contact with my brother. We parted ways years ago. I’ll ask Albertson about it in the morning.”

“How did he put it together?”

“You were in there. He saw my badge.”

Ken eyed me suspiciously, waiting for more of the story, but I didn’t tell him about my brother being in the bar, even though Ken must have figured that there was more to it. He continued to look at me, part surprise, part concern—perhaps part disappointment—that I wasn’t giving him more. “You think he’s just dickin’ you around?” he finally said in the quiet room.

“Good chance he is,” I said. “Look, why don’t you go home to your family and we’ll look into this stuff in the morning. I’ll need you to check on his alibi first thing.”

More disappointment flashed across Ken’s face to be dismissed. He was amped up and not ready to leave, maybe wanted to go in again, but I knew we were done for now with Dorian. Besides, Ken had given me mixed messages about this line of work. “
I guess it’s harder for you to understand. I mean, you don’t have kids
,” he had said to me.

“The only thing that might possibly faze him is a few days in a holding cell with lots of time to think about what life will be like without all his
lee-tle friends
.”

Ken smiled at my Tony Montana imitation and gave in. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. Better get some ice on that eye of yours. It’s not looking too good.”

I felt the ache of the night in every part of me, especially my upper back where I’d hit the wall. The pain was quickly and violently spreading to my muscles and bones like shrapnel. Since Gretchen worked for the county, Deputy Brander had let her watch with him from the two-way as we talked to Dorian before leaving for coffee, but she had moved to the sitting room after returning with a few cups and one of those instant ice packs she’d grabbed from a convenience store. She had patiently waited for me to finish my paperwork and come out, and some part of me felt relieved. When I saw her, I attempted a smile, but winced instead.

“I figured I better wait for you after you sent Ken home,” she said. “You forget you don’t have wheels?”

“I guess I did,” I said. “But you didn’t need to wait. Brander could have given me a lift.”

“It’s no problem. Let’s get some ice on that.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and we walked out to her car and she drove me home. It surprised me that there was still a slight glow outside, like when you exit a movie theater and expect it to be dark. The sun had dipped well below the western horizon, but still sprayed the sky above the mountains a singed tangerine color. I figured that in spite of the recent rain, there were fires starting somewhere, maybe Idaho or Washington, for the typical pink sunset to turn so amber. The vibrant, yet unnatural and eerie glow felt as if it were predicting a very uncertain journey. I also had the strange sensation that the sky pitied me somehow. Gretchen insisted on helping me in, even though I told her I was fine. I only agreed because I sensed it was her way of processing what had just occurred, but I really wanted to be alone.

Even after questioning Dorian, Adam’s face was still in my mind. Seeing him had rattled me and I could feel a shakiness somewhere in the center of my chest. I hadn’t seen the guy in four years and when I finally did, he’s showing up like he’s in some Clint Eastwood movie saving my ass in a ridiculous, honky-tonk bar situation up the Line and mentioning Lara’s family reunion? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and worse, lurking dark and murky like fish in deep water, were thoughts of what the hell Adam was involved with to have that kind of power over the likes of Martin Dorian. And now, I had Dorian telling me that Adam was involved in some poaching ring.

Gretchen made me sit and asked if I had any rubbing alcohol, which, of course, I did and she grabbed it from the bathroom above the sink along with a cloth. She wiped the blood off the side of my eye even though I told her I could do it myself. I felt strange getting such close attention from her. She was the first woman since Lara to get this personal and face-to-face in a decade, and her energy, her perfume surrounded me and made me feel dizzy. I had been punched in the eye and my head bashed against a wall, which also wasn’t helping me feel grounded.

“So we did get some action after all,” she said.

“Not exactly special ops caliber.” I chuckled.

“Yeah, well, like you said, what’s a fight when you’ve got three against one?”

“Story of my life. I looked at the rag she was holding, a few streaks of pinkish red on it. “Look,” I added. “I meant what I said in the car. I’m really sorry about bringing you tonight. I should have thought it could have gotten crazy like that. These guys just don’t like anybody poking around in their business. They’ve got too much to lose.”

“What exactly do you think they have to lose?”

“I’m not positive, but Albertson with FWP thinks he might be part of a militia group, stockpiling weapons. He’s on that hate-group site called Whitesquad. I’m pretty sure the guy I got his name from is using meth, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some connection there as well. And now we can add some kind of poaching to the mix.”

“Is poaching that serious?”

“It may not seem like it to the average person, but I used to be a game warden and I can tell you—it’s a different breed that can serial-kill animals. Poachers see them as objects existing for their own pleasure, their own games. They love the stalk, the more illegal, the better, because it raises the thrill. They enjoy the slaughter, often leaving the animal’s body to rot, maybe taking the antlers at best. Sometimes, depending on the animal, they take the pelt. Some cases involve huge rings for commercial trade. Guys like Dorian, my brother, they know this land in and out, and they can help people who pay large prices to illegally kill elk, moose, wolves, grizzlies . . . and I mean, opportunities to take in thousands and thousands of dollars. There is a market for the elusive wolverine pelt too.”

“Sounds like Africa.”

“Yeah, there’s more of it going on than most people know about.”

“But why then would Dorian be stupid enough to mess with the law? Seems like it would just invite trouble.”

“Exactly, but these guys think differently. Force, fear . . . It’s the way they operate. It’s how they know to deal with things. The canyon is a world they feel is unto itself, apart from the norms, I suppose because jobs are hard to come by. It makes them feel like they can get away with more than you or I would ever consider.” I knew I was being partially unfair and a little dramatic. Of course, not everyone in the canyon acted this way, and I was being critical having partaken in the Bear Bait case that involved the making and dispensing of methamphetamines. And sitting with a throbbing head wasn’t helping. “Plus they hate the government, they hate the police, and they hate being told what they can and can’t do, thinking anything can be solved with enough firearms. They have a sense of entitlement that is beyond arrogant and that invites stupidity.”

“Which makes you think about what happened to Wolfie.”

“Yeah, sure it does, but I don’t have anything substantial but some hearsay suggesting he and Dorian had some words. Probably similar
to the ones he just had with me. Threatening him to stay out of
his
woods.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Complicated. Now I know why I like the crime scene. I don’t have to solve it, just determine what’s there and what’s not. And, I certainly don’t have to deal with morons like Dorian.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied my eye, then set the rag down on the coffee table before us. “I don’t know. You might need a stitch or two.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got some of those butterfly bandages around.”

“Oh good. In the medicine cabinet?” She stood up, and immediately the loss of her proximity was perceptible. “I’ll get ’em.”

“Do you mind grabbing some Advil while you’re there?”

She came back and handed me the bottle of anti-inflammatories and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. She sat back next to me and placed a bandage on the skin between the corner of my right eyebrow and my eye. Then she took her forefinger and traced it over another scar I had right above my right eyebrow. “What happened here?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first punch I’ve taken in my life.” I sighed. “Look, the guy in there who called Dorian off,” I said. “He’s my brother.”

“Yeah,” Gretchen drew it out. “I figured based on Dorian’s smugness there at the end of the interrogation. So
that’s
why he came to the rescue.”

“Not really. He’s been a bully my whole life. Coming to the rescue isn’t exactly how things go with him. He’s usually the one
creating
the situation that needs rescuing.”

Gretchen didn’t say anything. Just waited for me to say more.

“I haven’t seen Adam in years. It’s a long story.”

“So you didn’t know he was going to be there?”

“I had
no
idea he’d be there or that he hung out with those assholes. I didn’t even know he was in the bar. Where did he come from?”

“Not sure. I think he’d just walked in unless he’d been at a different table or in the men’s room or something. It was really crowded. You could have missed him easily.”

I agreed. I thought about telling her more, about Adam’s fight with
Phillips that I’d heard about the previous year and about his days at the academy, but something stopped me, perhaps the image of Adam and Mark Phillips crazily going at each other in the same irrational way Dorian had come at me. Suddenly, I felt tired and didn’t want to talk about him anymore.

“He’s quite a bit taller than you,” she said.

“You like to be direct, don’t you?” I laughed. “Yeah, he got my father’s height. I, unfortunately, got my mom’s. She was only five three. Thank goodness I surpassed that.”

“What are you going to do about Dorian?” she asked me.

“Not sure, but I think I’ll question him again after he’s had a chance to simmer in jail for a bit, thinking about his weapons, and in the meantime, I’ll continue to do what I know how to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Investigate him and his clan.”

• • •

Gretchen made some tea and we sat on the couch facing each other and talked about her. I found myself relaxing in her company. She had come to the United States eleven years before when she was eighteen to study economics at a small university in Tacoma, Washington. Money had been available from the Norwegian government for students wanting to pursue business—a push from all the Scandinavian countries to educate their young in the markets of the world.