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Authors: Jonathon King
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revving that V-8 and be out of there in record time.
Next I dialed Billy’s private number and he clicked in before the second ring.
“Yes.”
“Hey, Billy.”
“Max? It’s unlike you to call when the sun is down.”
“I need to see you.”
“OK. Shall I meet you at the ranger station?”
Billy could sense my urgency and was instantly turning up his efficiency.
“No. I need you to pick me up at the southern access park, the one along Seminole Drive.”
“All right.”
“It’s going to take me an hour to paddle up there.”
“Anything you want to tell me now?”
“No. I’ll see you there.”
I turned off the phone and stuck it into my bag. I knew I was being paranoid, but I wasn’t going to discuss the GPS unit over the phone. I’d spent very little time with the electronic surveillance guys in Philly but the stories that got passed around about cell-phone intercepts were legion.
I quickly dressed in a pair of thin canvas pants and a dark long-sleeved shirt. I stuffed some other clothes into my travel bag and put on my black, soft-soled Reeboks. I then pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag that I used for storing salt and sugar. I put the GPS unit inside, sealed it, and then wrapped it tight in a piece of dark oilcloth I used to keep things dry in the canoe. If I met anyone along the way and had to dump the unit in the river, it might stay until I could come back for it later.
Before walking out the door I slathered some insect repellant on my face, neck and wrists and put out the lamp. My night ritual began again.
I headed upriver, slow at first, breathing in the thick smell of marsh and wet cypress. It was dark and this time the waxing moon was shrouded in high cloud. But even in that uneven light I could follow the water trail south into the current. Within a few minutes my eyes adjusted and I could pick out the edges of the root tangle and tree boughs. I’d been this route so many times I could almost time the upcoming curves and turns around the cypress knees and fallen logs. Still, I kept glancing behind me, expecting to see the beams from spotlights swinging through the vegetation in search of my shack.
I’d tucked the wrapped GPS under my seat so I could get to it quickly and wedge it into a root hole if I had to. Maybe they’d wait until morning. Hammonds and his crew had already had a taste of the night out here. The word would have gotten around. Serving a warrant in unfamiliar territory is full of the same unpleasant possibilities whether you’re in a place like this or in some dark tenement house in the city. You don’t know what’s coming around the corners. You don’t know what kind of reaction you’re going to get from someone when you tell them you’re the man, and all their rights to be secure and private in their own home have just been flushed. I didn’t like doing it myself as a cop and I didn’t like the idea of it being done to me now.
I picked up the sound of the water spilling over the dam ten minutes before I got there. The current strengthened and I had to drive the bow in to get around the eddies to the concrete abutment. I yanked the canoe up and onto the upper river and started again.
As I passed the spot where I’d found the dead child, the moon broke through a gap in the clouds and raised the light. Somewhere in the canopy a barred owl let out its double set of notes.
Hoo. Hoo.
It was the first time I’d heard that species on the river. Who indeed, I thought.
When I reached the access park, Billy was waiting, sitting in his car along the entrance road with his engine and lights off. The park was deserted at this hour. The place is used almost exclusively by canoeists and kayakers, and calling it a park is giving it too much glory. There is a single canoe concession that rents boats and paddles. The owner is a tobacco-spitting transplant from Georgia who is long gone by 5:00 P.M. when all his rentals are due back in. A single bare bulb glowed over his
Next I dialed Billy’s private number and he clicked in before the second ring.
“Yes.”
“Hey, Billy.”
“Max? It’s unlike you to call when the sun is down.”
“I need to see you.”
“OK. Shall I meet you at the ranger station?”
Billy could sense my urgency and was instantly turning up his efficiency.
“No. I need you to pick me up at the southern access park, the one along Seminole Drive.”
“All right.”
“It’s going to take me an hour to paddle up there.”
“Anything you want to tell me now?”
“No. I’ll see you there.”
I turned off the phone and stuck it into my bag. I knew I was being paranoid, but I wasn’t going to discuss the GPS unit over the phone. I’d spent very little time with the electronic surveillance guys in Philly but the stories that got passed around about cell-phone intercepts were legion.
I quickly dressed in a pair of thin canvas pants and a dark long-sleeved shirt. I stuffed some other clothes into my travel bag and put on my black, soft-soled Reeboks. I then pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag that I used for storing salt and sugar. I put the GPS unit inside, sealed it, and then wrapped it tight in a piece of dark oilcloth I used to keep things dry in the canoe. If I met anyone along the way and had to dump the unit in the river, it might stay until I could come back for it later.
Before walking out the door I slathered some insect repellant on my face, neck and wrists and put out the lamp. My night ritual began again.
I headed upriver, slow at first, breathing in the thick smell of marsh and wet cypress. It was dark and this time the waxing moon was shrouded in high cloud. But even in that uneven light I could follow the water trail south into the current. Within a few minutes my eyes adjusted and I could pick out the edges of the root tangle and tree boughs. I’d been this route so many times I could almost time the upcoming curves and turns around the cypress knees and fallen logs. Still, I kept glancing behind me, expecting to see the beams from spotlights swinging through the vegetation in search of my shack.
I’d tucked the wrapped GPS under my seat so I could get to it quickly and wedge it into a root hole if I had to. Maybe they’d wait until morning. Hammonds and his crew had already had a taste of the night out here. The word would have gotten around. Serving a warrant in unfamiliar territory is full of the same unpleasant possibilities whether you’re in a place like this or in some dark tenement house in the city. You don’t know what’s coming around the corners. You don’t know what kind of reaction you’re going to get from someone when you tell them you’re the man, and all their rights to be secure and private in their own home have just been flushed. I didn’t like doing it myself as a cop and I didn’t like the idea of it being done to me now.
I picked up the sound of the water spilling over the dam ten minutes before I got there. The current strengthened and I had to drive the bow in to get around the eddies to the concrete abutment. I yanked the canoe up and onto the upper river and started again.
As I passed the spot where I’d found the dead child, the moon broke through a gap in the clouds and raised the light. Somewhere in the canopy a barred owl let out its double set of notes.
Hoo. Hoo.
It was the first time I’d heard that species on the river. Who indeed, I thought.
When I reached the access park, Billy was waiting, sitting in his car along the entrance road with his engine and lights off. The park was deserted at this hour. The place is used almost exclusively by canoeists and kayakers, and calling it a park is giving it too much glory. There is a single canoe concession that rents boats and paddles. The owner is a tobacco-spitting transplant from Georgia who is long gone by 5:00 P.M. when all his rentals are due back in. A single bare bulb glowed over his
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