He staggered up the beach, fatigue from the long drive and hard swim coursing through him. He dropped on his back, making an angel in the hot sugar sand.
Red and Frenchie were smiling. It was quintessentially the Hank they used to know.
“Feel better?” Frenchie asked.
“Much.”
“Your secret playground is now a crime scene.”
Hank sighed and rose to his elbows, surveying the quiet blue bay. “Yeah. Can’t believe it. So what are you thinking, Coach? What’s the plan?”
“That you search alone, but keep Red close. Whether you use her or not is your call, but communicate through her. She’ll communicate with the rest of us. She knows all the contacts we might need. We’ll try to keep the place locked down for however long you say.”
Hank recognized that it was a good approach, using Red to handle the problem of his being an outsider. “If I don’t catch him or cut a hot trail in three days then I don’t have an edge and I’m gone,” Hank said. “I won’t hang around for the tally-ho enterprise, thank you very much.”
“Can’t keep the lid on this much longer than three days anyway,” Frenchie said.
“I thought I’d take Potawatomi Trail and camp tonight at South Point. Start out first light. Red can drop off at Pewabic on the way there.” Negwegon had four pocket parks along its shoreline, all consisting of a small open beach, picnic table, privy, and firepit: Pewabic, Blue Bell, Twin Pines, and South Point.
“I got a two-seventy with a big Zeiss in the prowler if you want it.”
Hank considered. The moment was like so many that had occurred in the last decade. Utterly incredible. Four-ton Humvees tossed in the air like toys. Half-conscious terrified souls getting their heads sawed off in front of cameras. Endless streams of impoverished refugees. Now, here, take this rifle son and go shoot the guy who used to be your best friend and by the way since you’ve been gone your house is only worth half of what it used to be.
“I’m not here to be a sniper. I’m here to try up close and personal. Putting one into him at three hundred yards is a job for someone else.”
“Lee is not a job,” Red said.
Frenchie looked hard at her. “Take a knee,” he said. Without hesitation Red dropped to a knee. Hank pulled himself up from the sand and took a knee beside her. It was a familiar position for them and they couldn’t help exchanging a smothered smile at Frenchie’s unique mixture of coaching style and law-enforcement leadership. He didn’t look particularly impressive standing there in his Little League outfit.
“Feel kind of awkward,” Hank said. “I’m the only one not in uniform.”
Frenchie ignored him. “You said Lee’s not a job. You’re wrong. That’s exactly what he is. You’re not here because you’re friends of his. You’re here because you’re cops, cops who have an advantage that just happens to be friendship.
“A good argument could be made that you’re exactly the wrong people to do this job — too close to the perp. Judgment will be for shit. But I figure my job is to minimize bloodshed and you two have the best chance of doing that. I won’t have this command for long. Crime’s too big. If I have to bring in the pack, my jurisdiction will be the smallest and they’ll take command away from me in a heartbeat. This is my only chance to do the job my way... and you’re the best tools I’ve got. The goal here is to avoid a manhunt that could become a shootout. The goal here is to protect yourselves. The goal here is not, I repeat, not, to protect Lee. The goal is to get Lee.
“Time to imagine,” he said. “Time to imagine.” He let the words hang in the air.
Red and Hank recognized the introduction. It was the visualization exercise. See yourself launch the three-pointer from the cheap seats and hear the swish as the buzzer sounds. See the pigskin drop from the sky into your hands as you outjump the defensive back and cross the goal line as time expires. See success in your mind and then go make it happen. It won’t be a surprise. It will be an expectation.
“See yourself killing Lee,” Frenchie said softly. He waited a moment. “See yourself killing Lee. If you can’t, go home, because for all we know he’ll kill us all if he gets the chance.” Hank and Red remained where they were. Frenchie left in his prowler.
They unloaded Hank’s Jeep, lashing the kayak, a few supplies, and Red’s backpack to a two-wheel cart. They didn’t talk. They were thinking about what Frenchie had said. They headed out on the northern branch of Potawatomi Trail, which started at the end of the parking lot. There could be no awkwardness between them. They had grown up together, been through too much, most of it filled with extraordinarily fine moments.
“Life used to be simple,” Red finally said. “Used to be Lee’s biggest concern was whether he’d work in the lab or in the field and my biggest concern was how many kids we’d have.”
“Life was never simple,” Hank said. “We were. Young, simple, and having a hell of a good time.”
“We’re not young anymore?”
Hank patted her shoulder. “Haven’t been young for a while now.” Hank had never touched Red, never made a move. Would have blown their wonderful triangular friendship sky-high. Fortunately, he’d always had girlfriends around to take the edge off.
They continued walking down the sun-splashed trail, the cart an easy pull. It dawned on Hank that Lee could be around anywhere. Maybe even near this trail. He began looking around more warily, watching for signs of movement in the woods or unusual shapes. He did that for a while and stopped in his tracks.
“There’s something screwy about the woods,” he said. “Looks different somehow. What am I missing?”
“Look at the ash,” Red said.
Hank picked out a tall ash among the oak and maple and birch and pine and spruce. Its normally dark bark was mottled with tan streaks and large tan areas that looked like rub marks. He looked at other ash. Their dark bark was also mottled in various degrees, and he noticed that some branches were entirely without leaves.
“What is that?”
“Emerald ash borer. Invasive species from Asia. It’s killing all the ash in the park. If we were in one of the ash swamps, you’d have noticed right away. All those trees are dead already.”
“Jesus, if Lee’s been wandering around through all these dying trees, maybe we can lure him out with Prozac. Red, did Frenchie give you any tips about how to handle this thing?”
“Yes. He said not to take any chances with Lee and not to take any chances with you.” She cast him a sideways smile.
Hank laughed. Shit, he’d probably always been an open book to Frenchie and Red. “So what’s your take on this? Frenchie’s sure Lee did it. Are you?”
They walked a bit. Red said, “I would have killed that kid myself if I saw him tearing up our beach with that rig.”
“Amen,” Hank said, glancing at her. The black-red hair against her fair skin always got to him, as did the memory of watching those smooth slabs of muscle at work in basketball and volleyball games. What a specimen she was. Some women are the flame and you rail against being the moth but you never quite make it.
“I made a big mistake,” Red said. “You know how pissed I was at you guys for enlisting. Both of you. You acted like it was a lark, just another sport to go be heroes at. But I had watched my dad walking home from Vietnam all his life. He never made it, so my mom and I didn’t make it either. I didn’t want Lee to bring that kind of life home to us.”
Which is exactly what happened to a lot of vets, Hank thought. Christ, how many times do we have to see this movie?