Jessup took another sip of his drink. “We’ve tried to keep details of the story quiet — places like Cloudwater here, for example, need that kind of publicity like they need a hole in the head. But rumors spread, and the locals all know.”
“I’m sorry to hear about it,” Logan said. “But why the urgency to tell me?”
Again, Jessup hesitated. “I told you the official conclusion of the autopsy. But the fact is, a few of us rangers aren’t so certain. Black bears — the only kind found in the park — aren’t numerous, nor are they known to be vicious. A single death by mauling is very rare, but two…” His voice trailed off.
“There’s a long history of wild animals turning aggressive toward man,” Logan said. “Look at the Tsavo lions.”
“I know. And that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But you have to remember, I spent a lot of summers here growing up. I heard my share of the local rumors and fables. Most visitors here stick to the tamer locales like Lake Placid. Domesticated, populous. They don’t know there are millions of acres out here — not that far of a drive, either — that aren’t like that. Some places to this day have never seen a man’s footprint, or echoed with the chop of an ax.”
“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Logan said gently, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Jessup grinned a little abashedly. “I suppose you’ve sent search parties through the area where the bodies were found, looking for the animal?”
“A brief one. It yielded nothing.”
“Anyway, it sounds like you aren’t satisfied with the official story.”
“I’m not sure I’d ever admit to that,” Jessup said quickly.
“But you think there might be more to the story. That something else might be going on.”
“You know what Emerson said. ‘Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them.’ ”
“I knew you’d get around to Emerson eventually. But why bring it to me? I’m no Natty Bumppo. The last trail I set foot on was Newport’s Cliff Walk, which doesn’t even count.”
“It’s not that kind of skill I’m looking for. I can’t say why exactly, but the peculiar circumstances of these deaths… something feels wrong to me. And I say that as someone who has policed these forests for many years. But I’m too close to this — both as a ranger, and as a resident. I need someone with your objectivity… and your, um, unusual skill set.”
So that’s it. Logan felt dismay settling over him. Although he’d never admit it to his old friend, this was the last complication he needed right now. It was going to be hard enough just summoning the intellectual energy to finish his monograph — what more if he had to traipse around the vast park on a nebulous errand he wasn’t qualified for?
“Look, Randall, I can understand your concern,” he said. “If I was in your position, I’d feel the same way—”
“It’s not that,” Jessup said, a faint hint of stubbornness creeping into his tone. “I don’t feel responsible for these deaths — there are many areas of the park so remote we don’t even try to patrol them. I just feel that if I asked you to take a brief look into these deaths… well, then I’d have done my due diligence. And I’d sleep better at night, knowing that.”
“You say something feels wrong. What, exactly?”
“I don’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you for counsel. But I just can’t seem to shake the premonition that something bad is going to happen again… and soon.”
“I’d like to help,” Logan said. “But I don’t see what expertise I can offer. I’m no pathologist. I’m no backwoodsman. And the fact is I came up here to finish a paper I’ve been working on for almost two years—”
“Just go to Pike Hollow,” Jessup interrupted. “As a personal favor to me. It’s the town nearest the sites of the killings. Go there tomorrow, ask around — under the radar, of course — and then have dinner with me. Meet my wife and kids. And then, if you don’t want to take it further, I’ll let the whole thing drop.”
“I…” Logan began, then stopped. There was no mistaking his friend’s concern. And it seemed pointless to protest anymore. He took a deep breath. “Okay. But your wife had better be a good cook.”
Jessup smiled again — this time with obvious relief. “I don’t think you’ll have cause to complain.” He picked up the leather satchel, pulled out two thick manila folders, passed them over to Logan. “Here are copies of the case files. Look them over when you get the chance. But keep it to yourself. The park is a crazy quilt of overlapping jurisdictions. Since so many of the smaller communities have no police departments of their own, the state police often take the leading role in serious crimes such as rape or murder — not that those are common. It’s true I’m a Department of Conservation officer, authorized to enforce all state rules and regulations, but I’m not really at liberty to bring a layman into the investigation.”
“Great. You want me to investigate, but you don’t.”
“I’m sure this isn’t the first job you’ve taken requiring discretion. I understand your SSBI clearance has an open exit date.”
“I haven’t taken the job, remember? But you’re right. Give me your address, let me know what time dinner is tomorrow, and I’ll see you there.”
Jessup pulled out the small, worn journal again, scrawled quickly on a page, tore it off, and handed it to Logan. “Seven o’clock work for you?”
When Logan nodded, Jessup stood. “Then I’ll let you get settled in. Thank you, Jeremy. I know this is an imposition. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.” His gaze drifted toward the case files.
“Get on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jessup seemed about to say something else. But then he simply nodded, picked up the empty satchel, shook Logan’s hand, seated his ranger’s hat squarely on his head, and stepped out of the cabin into the night.
6
The next morning, Logan had an early breakfast in the big lodge, then got into his car and left Cloudwater. He now regretted promising Jessup he’d look into the murders; in the chill light of day he was even more convinced there was nothing he could add to the official investigation, and his laptop, books, and notes — placed on the living room worktable of his cabin — silently chastised him for not getting immediately to work. But he was to have dinner with the Jessup family that evening; it seemed best to make a cursory effort — Randall had asked him as a personal favor, after all — which would then allow him to report no success and get on with what he’d come here to finish.
And so he pointed the nose of his car westward, following Route 3 as it threaded its way between the steep flanks of rising mountains and along the shores of rushing streams. It occurred to him as he drove that he had never penetrated this deeply into the park before. It was a forty-mile drive to the hamlet of Pike Hollow, and the farther he went, the more the things he was accustomed to seeing began to fall away. First went the summer camps with the fake Indian names and wooden signboards, invariably situated on the shores of lakes. Next went such tourist attractions as the curio shops offering lynx tails and arrowheads and other backwoods bric-a-brac. Then, even the establishments that catered to the locals began to vanish: gas stations; ATV and snowmobile repair shops; turnouts for private logging roads. Past Sevey he left Route 3 for 3A, a narrow road that plunged still farther westward, into a pine forest so deep the overhanging branches formed a kind of woven tunnel, beneath which a perpetual evening reigned. The air became increasingly humid and moist. This road was in far worse repair, its blacktop so cracked and heaved that sections of it could barely be called paved. Passing cars were infrequent. As the reception bars on his cell phone disappeared one by one, Logan became aware of a vague sense of apprehension: if anything should happen to his Lotus Elan S4, he doubted that there was a mechanic within a hundred miles capable of repairing, let alone finding parts for, the fifty-year-old sports car.