The Wild Inside (23 page)

“Will do, sir.” Monty took another sip of coffee, and I wondered how the hell one keeps their teeth white if they’re a coffee drinker. I walked away picturing him using those silly-looking plastic trays filled with some type of bleach, then admonished myself for being such a prick for thinking such a thing after Monty had been nice enough to fetch me a cup of coffee.

• • •

When I walked into the rental car agency by the county airport in which Rob Anderson worked and saw a tall man with thinning blond hair punching away at keys on his computer at the front desk, I was surprised to realize that I knew him. Of course, Robbie, Robbie An
derson, who went to Whitefish High School. Even though Flathead High was Double-A and Whitefish only Single-A, our basketball teams sometimes played each other for local rival fun. Robbie was a forward. I played a guard. I never considered myself any good, but since I was tall, everyone told me I should try out, and my ma insisted, saying that the exercise would be good for me. At that point, I would do anything she asked if it made her feel better. Plus I figured basketball was reams better than the therapy I had tried.

When Anderson looked, I’m not sure if he recalled who I was, just that he recognized me. I introduced myself, mentioning basketball, and saw it come together for him. “That must happen quite a bit around here for you, seeing someone from the old days.” I thought of how age had a way of pronouncing people’s flaws once the youthful baby fat was gone. His nose seemed bigger and his lack of chin more obvious.

“Every once in a while.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “And what are you up to these days?”

“Working,” I said. “Mostly out of Denver—where I live.”

“What do you do?”

I filled him in, and he said he vaguely remembered that I used to work on the local force. I told him I was on it in my twenties and asked him how long he’d been working for the rental agency. He said for about five years and shrugged, saying it wasn’t the greatest job, but it beat construction or logging and came with health benefits, something very difficult to get in the Flathead unless you worked for one of the chain stores or restaurants or had a full-time position at the community college or one of the hospitals. Then things fell silent.

“So you’re not here to rent a car?”

I shook my head. “I’m really sorry to hear about what happened to your dog last spring.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “How did you know about that?”

“I’m here investigating a crime in Glacier Park. You hear about it?” I studied his face.

“Sure, read about it in the paper. Weird thing.” He furrowed his brow again. “And that has something to do with my dog?”

“Not necessarily. Just following all leads.”

“Leads? And you’ve got something that connects this to my dog?”

“We’re not sure, but there’s a chance that the victim may have been involved.”

“You’ve got to be kidding?” Rob stared at me, his mouth hanging half open.

I didn’t answer.

“Fuckin’ A,” he said. “Really?”

“Possibly.” I held out my hand. “Again, not a hundred percent sure, but a few fingers have pointed in his direction.”

“Fuck me.” He stood abruptly. He began pacing behind the counter. “Jesus, so the guy who was found dead was one of those bastards that hurt Logan?” His voice was high-pitched.

I gave a half nod.

He stared at me, then slammed the flat part of his fist on the counter. “Yes,” he hooted like his favorite team just scored. “Serves the asshole right. You have any idea what they actually did to my dog?”

“I do,” I said.

“Well, then you know”—he nodded—“you know how bad it was.” Intensity and hatred flooded his eyes.

“I got your name from your vet.” I wanted to suggest that he sit back down, but I knew he was wired now. “I just need to ask you a few questions to just make sure we have it on record that we checked out all avenues.”

He stopped pacing and looked at me. “You mean you think I had something to do with that Glacier Park thing?”

“Like I said, just have to cross all the
t
’s and dot the
i
’s or else we pay later when we get to court. You follow me?”

He studied me, then sat back down and folded his arms before him. “I never even knew who did it.” He softened his voice and fur
rowed his brow. “He was just left there.” He looked down again. “By the fence like that.”

“You said, ‘one of those bastards,’ so you think that there was more than one?”

“Not for sure. I’d heard a few rumors around that there were two guys involved. But I never heard names.”

“Do you remember where you heard the rumors?”

“I think it was from a friend of mine that works in town at that sandwich shop on the highway. She’d heard from her boyfriend or something that he’d heard from who-knows-where that more than one guy was involved. You can imagine how much I talked about this when it happened, to anyone I knew.”

“Have you ever heard of Victor Lance?”

Rob brought one hand to his mouth and waited a moment before responding. “I have.”

I lifted my brow.

“But never met him, just heard the name around. Not sure where and definitely not in conjunction with what happened to my dog. I’d remember that.”

“You can’t remember where you heard his name?” I prodded.

Rob looked at the ceiling, thinking, then shook his head. “Really, I don’t know how I’ve heard that name. Maybe in a bar in C’ Falls or something. I live up that way, you know. I tried to recall when I saw his name in the paper but couldn’t then either. You remember how it is around here—names being thrown around all the time and you think you ought to know someone since it’s such a small world, but you don’t.”

“Do you recall what you were doing on Friday evening around seven p.m. of last week?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” He shook his head.

“Again.” I shrugged. “Just dottin’ the
i
’s and—”

“Crossin’ the fuckin’
t
’s,” he finished. “I was home. Making dinner. Watching TV.”

“Anyone with you?”

“No, but I was online for a while, if that helps.”

I grabbed a card from my pocket and held it out to him. “If it comes to you how you know Victor’s name, do me a favor and let me know. Anything at all can help during an investigation.”

• • •

When I was sixteen, two and a half years after the loss of my father, we still lived in the same neighborhood out of the Kalispell city limits among thick pines and tall tamaracks near the Columbia Mountain Range. It spread out for miles and was more like a wilderness area than an actual neighborhood. The whole place always seemed as if the woods barely tolerated the houses that tried to squeeze in and exist without nature’s permission. Homes were built against hillsides and on top of large, rocky hills as if some houses had won king of the mountain, while others were relegated to hide in the trees below.

Our house happened to be one of the ones on top of a knoll. My parents picked it because they loved the deck that had the illusion of poking right up to a mountain peak even though we were at least ten miles from its base. Because we were on top of the hill, we shared a driveway with a house below us, our drive starting out with theirs, then continuing on and wrapping up and around the back of their house. I only mention it because of Tumble, our black Lab. She would get confused about the house below and sometimes amble into their property as if it were her own front yard. We had a large chain-link kennel for her, but she would sometimes dig out of it during the day when we were at school. She was harmless; she’d just sniff around, then meander back home. But one day, she didn’t come home.

My sisters and I searched for her for a day and a half before we found out what happened. We went to our neighbor’s to ask if he’d seen her, and he told us that he hadn’t, but guilt seemed to spread across his face.

The first evening, when we saw Tumble had escaped her kennel after Mom had fetched us at the library and brought us home, Kathryn and I walked around calling for her as dusk fell on the tall pines, creating a dim void into which Tumble seemed to have disappeared. We kept calling as twilight surrounded us, the air turning cool and the sky a pale, pearly color behind the mountains. The smell of pine permeated the air. We searched until it got completely dark and knew that Ma would be beside herself if we didn’t get home.

Ma told us not to worry, that Tumble would come back by morning or that we’d get a call from someone saying they had her, but I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the same eyes that were unwavering previous to my dad’s death, now forever changed the way a small pond is never the same once an algae bloom takes it over.

But the next morning, a Saturday, came and went with no calls and this time, Natalie and I went looking because Kathryn had a ballet recital practice. We walked the hilly, curvy streets in the warm spring sunshine, thinking every movement we caught in the corner of our eyes might be her, but would turn out to be only the shadow of a black raven taking flight, someone else’s dog or cat crossing a yard, or a child playing between houses. We visited house after house, until on our way back, luckless and defeated, we decided to stop again at our neighbors.

We walked between his truck and his green-camouflage ATV in the driveway, the late-afternoon shadows from the trees making long, dark velvety shapes across his newly mowed spring lawn. Since our family’s loss, I could feel the strange undercurrent of things not being right, of this world’s pain standing so readily behind a mask of everyday normalcy, of fresh-cut grass in the middle of wild woods, spring sunshine on my shoulders, and my sister’s tennis shoes scraping gravel as we walked. I felt as if I wasn’t fully present and things weren’t completely real. And even though it was a bright day, I knew that if you pulled the sunny veil off my sisters’ and my existence, only a raw, bruised dream world of fear, loss, and sadness would remain.

I knocked on the door, the wood hard under my knuckles and the sound of my pounding flat. When he answered, he looked annoyed. “Excuse me, sir.” I swallowed hard. “We were just wondering if you’ve seen our black Lab around yet.”

“I already told you I didn’t,” he said gruffly, his hair short but greasy.

I swallowed hard. “It’s just that we’ve been looking around today and we thought—”

“If you would’ve kept the damn thing on your property in the first place, it wouldn’t be a problem now, would it?”

Natalie and I stood quiet. I could hear anger in his voice, and even though I didn’t recognize it then for what it was—a lack of compassion, something he’d killed in himself somewhere along the way in his own life—I knew there was something more: a type of disgust and antipathy. “I know, sir, but she’s a good dog. She wouldn’t bother anyone.”

He laughed. “If she’s so good, why does she pick on mine?”

“I don’t think it’s serious, sir, when those two go at it. They’re just workin’ it out the way dogs do.”

“Let me tell you something.” He leaned in and pointed a finger in my face. “Your dog was a bully. And she crapped all over my property.” He gestured to the expanse of the yard.

I shook my head but didn’t say anything. I could smell something bitter and sour from his breath. The hot sun had moved between two trees and bore down on my back. I could feel sweat pooling by my belt. The word
was
rang in my ears. I continued to shake my head as if I had no control over it.

“You disagreeing?”

I wanted to scream at him that his little dog starts the tiffs every time by nipping at the back of Tumble’s legs. That my mom was religious about picking up Tumble’s droppings if they were in his yard, but I didn’t say anything. I could only shake my head even though I could see I was making him angry.

“Is that right. Look, you little . . .” he sneered, then spat over me
into the bushes to the side of the walk. “Young man, you don’t know the first thing about animals.” He reassumed his position, leaning toward me and pointing his finger in my face. “I wasn’t gonna tell ya, but maybe you should know. Maybe I should teach y’all a lesson ’bout keeping animals.” He looked at me sharply with eyes close together like a gator. “I had enough. That’s right. I had enough and I shot your goddamn dog, so there, now ya know. That’s right. I had enough.”

I was vaguely aware of Natalie bringing her hand to her mouth and a small sound escaping the back of her throat. She began to wail and ran out the drive to where the two dovetailed. She screamed the whole way up the hill, her sneakers kicking up dust from the gravel. My body felt heavy like cement. I wanted to follow her, say something to her, but I felt like I was underwater, so I stood still and held my breath or else I was certain to drown.

He stared at me, the half grin on his mouth had slowly turned to a fearful look. When my sister screamed and ran, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting that. “Now go on and run home yourself. Go tell your mammie. She can’t do nothing. It was my property and she should’ve kept the damn thing off it.”

“Where is she?” I managed.

“Your mammie? How the hell should I know?”

I shook my head fiercely.

“The dog?” He looked surprised, then pointed to the corner of his property toward the main road. “I buried her over there. Now git, go on home, and the next time you get a pet, keep the damn thing on your own property.”

I went home, my chest tight and burning with anger. We called the county sheriff’s office to report it, but there was nothing they could do. A female sheriff interviewed us, then him, then came back to tell us that he had claimed it was self-defense. I had never seen my ma so angry. She raised her voice and went on about how messed up Montana was, about people caring more about their property than people’s pets.
She kept it raised even after the lady sheriff held up one palm and told her to calm down. Ma said that Tumble had never growled at a person in her life. This was true, Tumble was sweet, always wagging her tail for any stranger, but I secretly had the feeling that she had growled at this man. And I hoped that she had at least done that because I knew that he would have shot her either way. I’d like to think that Tumble knew what I knew: he was a bad apple.