“I call them precursors,” Hank said. “He never did that kind of shit before. And you don’t know why he got a general discharge, do you?”
“No.”
“No. They keep that stuff confidential for a reason. That kind of discharge is usually for guys too shaky to keep around. I’ll lay odds it involved a bad kill. And a bad kill by military standards would get you the chair stateside.”
“Gets kind of tricky when you start talking about good kills and bad kills in a wrong war,” Frenchie said. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Okay. Fair enough. You’re probably right and I should have seen it coming. But I mean, we’re talking about Lee, Hank. Lee. I took him in one night after a bar fight and he gave me the creeps. Wasn’t the kid I remembered, but I never figured him for a walking time bomb. He was jabbering. Said the world was coming for him.”
Hank snorted. “Well, if it wasn’t before, it sure as hell is now. You look ridiculous in that uniform, by the way.”
“I was holding a practice at Harrisville when I got the call. Went to the scene and then drove straight here.”
“You still haven’t told us why you’re here.”
“You haven’t figured that out yet? I thought you made detective.”
“I want to hear it.”
Frenchie was irritated that he had to ask. He was hoping for a volunteer. “Okay. You’re the only one who’s got a chance to bring Lee in solo with no more violence. No one knows the man like you. No one knows Negwegon like you.”
“Lee knows Negwegon better than anyone.”
“Maybe, but you’re a close second and no one else is even in the same ballpark. Plus you’ve got a shared past you can use to talk him out. Hell, you’ve even got experience counseling vets through your Wounded Warrior work.”
“It should be called ‘Wounded Warrior for What?’ ” Joy interjected heatedly, “and he doesn’t do that anymore. It was making him sick.” She went over and stood by Hank. “He’s done enough. And let me ask you something, Frenchie. Would Lee Weir have killed this boy before he went to Iraq?”
“No way.”
“Then what makes you think he won’t kill Hank?”
Frenchie hesitated. “I didn’t say it wasn’t dangerous.”
Drawing herself up in her best boardroom persona, Joy stepped toward Frenchie and said sharply, “I think you should get out of our house.” Standing there barefoot, all of five foot two and wearing a pink robe with a white fluffy shawl collar, her order did not have the desired effect: Frenchie grinned broadly and Hank laughed.
“Whoa, tiger,” Hank said, putting his arms around her. “Frenchie’s talking business. He’s just talking business. We should hear him out.”
“We’ll hear him out and then you can say no,” she said. Hank could feel the tension in her body.
Frenchie rubbed his tired face with both hands. “Look, I’ve only got two options. You’re one. The other is to let loose the pack, and that scares the hell out of me.”
“The pack?” Joy asked.
“The northern Lower Peninsula is nothing but state parks, national forests, state forests, big private hunting clubs... it’s really a single forest about a hundred miles wide and two hundred miles long, with Lake Michigan on the west and Lake Huron on the east.
“Lee grew up in Negwegon, in the north woods. Guy with his skills, if he decides to hide or fight, hell, it’ll take a ton of manpower to flush him out. I’ll have to round up city cops, state cops, sheriff’s deputies, National Guard to comb the woods section by section. Plus everybody up there owns a gun and knows how to use it. Lee will be just another blood sport to a lot of them, and they’ll be out in force trying to get their picture in the paper. If I go with that pack, we might be seeing body bags until there’s enough snow to track ’im. And today is August thirteenth.”
Joy leaned her head back to look at Hank. He nodded in agreement.
“Hank,” Frenchie said, a look of defeat clouding his face, “I could go to your boss, but you know I won’t do that. But if you do this, whatever decisions you have to make, it’ll be okay with me. I’ll back you, no questions asked. No one expects you to subdue him. Just get him.” That meant no rules — Frenchie was giving Hank an open license to kill.
“You know, Frenchie, for the first time in a long time I feel pretty good about life. Stopped the tailspin.” He squeezed Joy tight. “Why should I take a chance on starting that whole thing again?”
“Because Lee hasn’t been so lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s about choices. I’m living with mine. He can live with his.”
“You guys walked into a shit storm. What happens in a shit storm is all about luck. You tellin’ me you don’t think it’s possible Lee could be sittin’ here with this pretty lady while you’re half nuts and hidin’ out in Negwegon? Why, because you’re so pure of heart?”
Hank said nothing, smiling slightly. That’s why Frenchie was a damn good coach. He knew the buttons to push.
“Nobody knows his favorite spots like you. He won’t be expecting anybody to know that.”
Hank gazed at Frenchie. His de facto father was older now; his black wiry hair had gone salt-and-pepper and his face had earned more wrinkles, particularly around his eyes. So many wonderful days Hank had spent with Frenchie and Lee on the sunrise side of the Big Lake.
“I’ll do it,” Hank said abruptly. “Take me about an hour to gear up.”
Frenchie nodded his head once, emphatically, acknowledging and thanking Hank in that one motion.
“Got the park locked down?” Hank asked.
“Best we can with the manpower. Blocked off both ends of Sand Hill Trail and put a car at the dead end on Lake Shore Road. Got a prowler driving back and forth on Twenty-three between the mountain and Nicholson Hill Road so no one parks and hikes in. Got two deputies at the crime scene. Yamaha is still there. Didn’t want to stir things up, do any searching, until I heard from you. So it’s been quiet at the park.”
“Good. That’s good,” Hank said.
Stunned by the suddenness of Hank’s decision, Joy said nothing and simply followed Hank as he moved toward the bedroom. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned back to Frenchie. “Why didn’t you just call me? Could have saved you a trip.”
“Red said a call wouldn’t be enough,” Frenchie responded. “Said I’d have to talk to you face-to-face. I figured she ought to know.”
Hank winced but said nothing. Red was a struggle he kept to himself.
“Is Red that big girl that’s in some of the pictures?”
“Probably,” Frenchie said. “Coached her just like I coached Hank and Lee. She was the Queen of Title Nine in our area. Real jock.”
“Her hair doesn’t look red.”
“It’s dark red, almost black.”
“Dark auburn,” Joy said.
“She’s one of my deputies now,” Frenchie said. “She was always Lee’s girl, since about the seventh grade.”
Joy sat on the edge of the rumpled bed. She was angry that Hank had reached a decision without involving her. She knew Hank’s relationships with Frenchie, Lee, and probably Red were at the core of the boy he used to be and the man he had become. What did she matter compared to them? She wasn’t sure. She now knew Frenchie for all of twenty minutes and Lee and Red not at all. She had tried to get Hank to open up about them, even tried to get him to take her camping at Negwegon. “Maybe someday,” was all he said.
She sat quietly, clearly at a loss. This was the first time she knew ahead of time that Hank was headed for certain danger. Not an abstract understanding of his job or a talk with him after the fact, but going one-on-one after a crazy ex-Marine who had killed a kid.
Hank stopped stuffing a duffel bag and sat down next to her. “Talk about going from heaven to hell in a matter of minutes.”