“I ran out on you once already,” I said. “I’m not ready to do that again, just yet. Unless, of course, you start fooling around with other guys.”
She softened her expression for a moment, but then shook her head. “You’re the one who’s technically a fugitive from Robbins County,” she said. “The one who’s got bench warrants out, and the guy who removed Rowena Creigh’s least useful part. You’re the one who needs to get out of here. Hayes could solve his problem by handing you over to Mingo, and it would be perfectly legal, if not his sworn duty.”
I picked up the pages of my handwritten report. “I’m Fed-Exing this to the Bureau’s Charlotte field office today. I think you should do one, too, if you’re up to it.”
“Fine,” she said. “I will. And if I get into trouble, I’ll make sure Hayes knows that you’ve done that. But lemme tell you what: I want personal satisfaction here. And now I don’t have a career or anything else standing in my way anymore. I should have done this years ago.”
“All of us, you, me, Greenberg and his crew, all of us have bounced off every time we’ve gone into Robbins County,” I said. “Speaking from personal experience, I don’t recommend any more frontal attacks.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I’m going to send my report to a couple of television stations in Raleigh,” she said. “The legislature’s still in session, so that ought to stir up some noise. Really, it’s time for you to get out. You’ve done more than your share.”
It was my turn to smile. “Okay, Carrie. I get the picture. You don’t love me anymore.”
She made a rude noise and looked around for something to throw. Then she grinned.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got my cell number.”
“Where will you go?” she asked immediately.
“What you don’t know can’t be forced out of you,” I replied, semi-facetiously, “but probably back to Triboro. My lawyer keeps telling me to get back to civilization or his fees are going to double.”
“Smart lawyer,” she said.
I went over to her. Removed the coffee cup. Sat down and gathered her into my arms. “You’re okay, for a girl,” I said. “You’re smart, gutsy, and easy on the eyes. If I’m slow on the uptake, it’s because I’m a guy.”
She folded into me and put her hand on my face. We sat like that for a while.
We spent the rest of the morning resorting all our equipment between our two vehicles. I still had Nathan’s ten-gauge, and Carrie had her nine. I went to a nearby grocery store and brought her back some light food from their salad bar, and then we said good-bye. She said she’d find another place to stay, and one perhaps not quite so easily available to police inquiries.
As I drove off, the whole thing, of course, felt wrong. Part of it was my own sense of duty telling me not to abandon a fellow cop, even if neither of us was officially a cop anymore. But she was tough and she had no illusions about what she was doing, even though I didn’t think much of her plan or her chances. The same arguments that she’d made about Hayes solving his Richter problem applied to her, and she had to know that. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out any way to go into Robbins County and do something to or about the Mingo-Creigh Axis of Evil. Mailing in my report to the Bureau would either provoke something or it wouldn’t, and I had no leverage there, either. Her idea of throwing some sensational stuff into the media pipe might be more effective than my sending in a report to the boys in the seriously gray suits.
I stopped by Marionburg’s version of a mail store, looked up the Charlotte field office in a federal directory, and fired off my saga of battle against evildoing in the Carolina mountains. I’d addressed it to the special agent in charge, whom I knew by name, in hopes that at least an executive assistant would read it. Otherwise it would go to the mail room and into the Letters-from-Santa pile. Which provoked a thought.
I called Carrie on her cell phone and got voice mail. I told her to make sure she said in her submission to the Raleigh media that a report had been filed with the FBI in Charlotte. If my magnum opus did get lost in the mailroom, there’d be the scramble from hell to find it down in Charlotte once that tidbit came out in public.
As I came out of the mail store I was nearly run over by a Park Service Jeep backing out of a parking place in the crowded lot. The driver was Mary Ellen Goode, who was, somewhat to my surprise, glad to see me. She looked much better than the last time I’d seen her. The circles under her eyes were much diminished, her expression was sunny, and she was well on her way to regaining her status as one of the brightest objects in Marionburg again. Since it was getting close to lunchtime I suggested we go grab a bite. We ended up in one of the tourist cafes along the main drag, surrounded by lots of flatlanders with aching feet. We took a table in a back corner and ordered lunch.
“You look terrific,” I said. “What’s changed?”
“Believe it or not,” she said, “this is my last official day with the Park Service. I was actually in there mailing a box of my desk stuff to Wilmington.”
“Wilmington.”
“A new chapter in my life, I hope,” she said. She’d resigned from the Park Service and accepted a faculty position at UNC Wilmington down on the Carolina coast. No more unruly tourists, guns, pepper spray, grouchy bears, budget cuts, lovesick bosses, and other adventures in the western mountains.
“That’s great,” I said. “As I remember, we talked about this back when, well, you know.”
She nodded. “I resisted the whole notion at first,” she said. “But then, just for the hell of it, I went online and took a look. My first application was accepted immediately. Pay raise, my federal retirement transfers, and totally new surroundings.”
“And no more cat dancers, mountain lions, or ex-cops ripping up your life, either,” I said.
She frowned for just a second, and I mentally kicked myself. Then she waved it off. “That’s all in the past,” she said. “Besides, I took a look at the faculty picture gallery. I do believe I might do some damage down there amongst all the women’s-studies, post-post-deconstruction sisterhood.”
I laughed. This was more like it-she was a beautiful woman in the prime of her life, and she absolutely ought to go break some hearts. Our food came, and she asked what I’d been doing since we’d last met. I told her not much, not willing to resurrect all the Sturm und Drang of the last few days. I could just imagine how the rest of lunch would go if I described taking Rue’s head off on that dirt road, or how I was actively avoiding not one but two local sheriffs who were interested in arresting my interfering ass, if not worse. This wasn’t the kind of place cops would frequent-I hoped, anyway-but I’d noticed that the courthouse was only a few blocks away.
Then I remembered something. I asked her how things were going at the ranger station and, as casually as I could, whether or not the DEA still had that cabin up in the park. Turned out that, yes, they did. I moved the conversation on to other things while wondering if I could find that cabin again.
We said our good-byes in the parking lot, after which I drove over to the local supermarket. From their parking lot I put a call into Baby Greenberg and, for once, got him. No, they were not using the cabin, and, to his knowledge, neither was anyone else. He said that I was, of course, not authorized to use that cabin, and I promised him solemnly that I would never do such a thing. He was glad we had that cleared up. I told him that I’d been ordered to get out of Carrigan County, but that Carrie Santangelo planned to stick around and I was nervous about leaving her alone. He immediately wanted to know why she was staying, and I suggested he might want to come by said Park Service cabin this evening. I promised him a steak and some scotch, which he said sounded appealing, even if it did involve my being in the very cabin I was not authorized to be in. I asked him if he was working anything over on this side of the park, and he said no.