Read Online Deep in the Valley by Robyn Carr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robyn Carr
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like being “fixed up.” The last dish was being dried when, with perfect timing, the phone rang.
“June?” said Tom Toopeek. “I found that Mull boy. And we got big trouble.”
Shell Mountain was back in the Six Rivers National Forest in Trinity County. It wasn’t Tom Toopeek’s jurisdiction, but he had driven around the back roads anyway, inquiring of the Mull family, and eventually someone told him the general locale of their house. When he would have knocked on the door, Clarence fired at him, so Tom sought out some other police before trying to go in. Clarence Mull now held them at bay with a firearm.
Tom didn’t mention to the police he had called upon for help that Clarence had fired on him. Shooting at people was undeniably against the law, but Tom didn’t want to make a commitment to taking the man into custody until he knew more. It wasn’t that he cut corners or did favors—nothing like that. It was a simple matter of always doing what was best for the individual and the community. There might indeed be an argument for letting that infraction go, as the wiser move for all concerned.
He waited for June before deciding, as he often did. More often, he suspected, than she realized.
June and Elmer drove out to the Shell Mountain area, following Tom’s directions. After bouncing along an old, narrow, abandoned logging road for more than thirty minutes, they came upon several police vehicles.
“I believe that’s Stan Kubbicks from the state police,” Elmer said. “But who’s that other guy?”
“I don’t know,” June said, squinting. “Forestry, I think. And Bob Manning, from Alderman Point. Jesus, what a mess this is.”
She parked behind the last of four law enforcement vehicles, grabbed her bag, jumped out of her truck and went straight to Tom. “Thanks for coming out, June,” he said. “Maybe you can help us with this. It appears Clarence is a vet suffering from post-traumatic stress and bipolar disorder….”
“He’s fucked up,” Stan said, and spat on the ground.
“Poor guy,” June said. “Does he say why he won’t let you in?”
“I’ve talked to him, yelled across the yard there, and told him I’m here to give his boy a ride to the hospital. But he’s delusional. He thinks if there’s paperwork involved, he’ll be arrested for something and put in a prison camp.”
“There isn’t any warrants on him, is there?” June asked.
“Naw. He’s just a fucked up old vet,” Stan said. And spat again.
June glared at him briefly.
“Sorry, Doc,” he said contritely. June was positive he grappled with whether he’d been glared at for using the F word or for spitting. Insensitivity toward Clarence’s condition would never occur to him.
June leaned around Tom to peer past all the vehicles. There, settled snugly back in the trees, was a little house made of a variety of woods. Logs, twigs, planks, blocks. Composed of maybe two whole rooms, it wasn’t much more than a shack, really. The old pickup was sheltered by a tarp strung between two trees. Therewas a rail fence around a small portion of cleared yard—probably a garden area, or corral for the jenny.
“Does anyone around here know him?” June wondered aloud.
“People back in here have a community of sorts,” Tom said, “but mostly they’re back here because they want to be left alone. Or maybe they’re hiding from the law. They’re real cautious of each other. And nobody has offered to speak to Clarence on our behalf. Probably because of all the bells and whistles.”
“Is there anyone from the Veterans Administration who could talk to him?”
“Charlie McNeil is a kind of liaison from the VA to some of these dropouts hiding out back here, but we haven’t been able to reach him. If we can make any progress here, Charlie can follow up for us.”
June nodded. “Well, I’ll have to go in there and—”
“You can’t, June. Clarence has a gun,” Tom stated.
“Well, of course he has a
“June?” said Tom Toopeek. “I found that Mull boy. And we got big trouble.”
Shell Mountain was back in the Six Rivers National Forest in Trinity County. It wasn’t Tom Toopeek’s jurisdiction, but he had driven around the back roads anyway, inquiring of the Mull family, and eventually someone told him the general locale of their house. When he would have knocked on the door, Clarence fired at him, so Tom sought out some other police before trying to go in. Clarence Mull now held them at bay with a firearm.
Tom didn’t mention to the police he had called upon for help that Clarence had fired on him. Shooting at people was undeniably against the law, but Tom didn’t want to make a commitment to taking the man into custody until he knew more. It wasn’t that he cut corners or did favors—nothing like that. It was a simple matter of always doing what was best for the individual and the community. There might indeed be an argument for letting that infraction go, as the wiser move for all concerned.
He waited for June before deciding, as he often did. More often, he suspected, than she realized.
June and Elmer drove out to the Shell Mountain area, following Tom’s directions. After bouncing along an old, narrow, abandoned logging road for more than thirty minutes, they came upon several police vehicles.
“I believe that’s Stan Kubbicks from the state police,” Elmer said. “But who’s that other guy?”
“I don’t know,” June said, squinting. “Forestry, I think. And Bob Manning, from Alderman Point. Jesus, what a mess this is.”
She parked behind the last of four law enforcement vehicles, grabbed her bag, jumped out of her truck and went straight to Tom. “Thanks for coming out, June,” he said. “Maybe you can help us with this. It appears Clarence is a vet suffering from post-traumatic stress and bipolar disorder….”
“He’s fucked up,” Stan said, and spat on the ground.
“Poor guy,” June said. “Does he say why he won’t let you in?”
“I’ve talked to him, yelled across the yard there, and told him I’m here to give his boy a ride to the hospital. But he’s delusional. He thinks if there’s paperwork involved, he’ll be arrested for something and put in a prison camp.”
“There isn’t any warrants on him, is there?” June asked.
“Naw. He’s just a fucked up old vet,” Stan said. And spat again.
June glared at him briefly.
“Sorry, Doc,” he said contritely. June was positive he grappled with whether he’d been glared at for using the F word or for spitting. Insensitivity toward Clarence’s condition would never occur to him.
June leaned around Tom to peer past all the vehicles. There, settled snugly back in the trees, was a little house made of a variety of woods. Logs, twigs, planks, blocks. Composed of maybe two whole rooms, it wasn’t much more than a shack, really. The old pickup was sheltered by a tarp strung between two trees. Therewas a rail fence around a small portion of cleared yard—probably a garden area, or corral for the jenny.
“Does anyone around here know him?” June wondered aloud.
“People back in here have a community of sorts,” Tom said, “but mostly they’re back here because they want to be left alone. Or maybe they’re hiding from the law. They’re real cautious of each other. And nobody has offered to speak to Clarence on our behalf. Probably because of all the bells and whistles.”
“Is there anyone from the Veterans Administration who could talk to him?”
“Charlie McNeil is a kind of liaison from the VA to some of these dropouts hiding out back here, but we haven’t been able to reach him. If we can make any progress here, Charlie can follow up for us.”
June nodded. “Well, I’ll have to go in there and—”
“You can’t, June. Clarence has a gun,” Tom stated.
“Well, of course he has a
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