Another few yards, then parting the branches of a tree, Hollis found himself looking directly at the fishing lodge. He stopped short, crouched and regarded the lodge.
There was no sign of life. He noted the curtains of the front windows were drawn. That didn’t mean Logan wasn’t somewhere either in the lodge or near the lodge, watching.
Hollis looked up at the tree. It seemed perfect for his purpose. Within reach were long foliage covered branches.
Taking his hunting knife from his belt, he cleaned off the thick mud from his boots, then, slinging the rifle, he caught hold of the lowest tree branch and began to climb.
He climbed slowly and carefully, taking care not to make movement among the branches. For him it was an easy climb. He swung himself up and up, until he reached nearly to the top of the tree. From this vantage point, he could look down at the fishing lodge and still remain hidden.
Here, he paused. Two thick branches made a comfortable looking fork. He nodded to himself, then settled, his legs astride a branch, his back against the thick trunk. So far, so good, he thought. I can stay up here for hours.
He flung the plastic sack of food on a branch, found a safe place for his rifle, then set the radio transmitter between his legs. He surveyed the fishing lodge. Still no sign of life. This could be a waste of time, but he didn’t think so. Why had the telephone cable been wrenched from its socket? That was the clue. That was the hint that Logan was hiding there with a gun on Weston.
It was now a matter of patience, and Hollis had plenty of that.
By now, Hollis thought, the Sheriff would be back in his office. He switched on the radio. Keeping his lips close to the transmitter, he said, “Hollis. Are you hearing me?”
“Loud and clear, Hank,” Ross said.
“I’ve found a good tree, Sheriff. I can look right down at the lodge and can’t be seen. There’s no sign of life, but the front window curtains are drawn. I guess I’ll just have to wait.”
“You can get me whenever you want, Hank. I’m not moving from my desk. Keep in touch.”
“Over and out.” Hollis switched off the radio. He looked at his watch.
The time was just after noon. Odd, he thought, Weston hasn’t shown himself. One would have thought he would have come out. Maybe he had slept late and was now having a brunch, or maybe Logan was there and wouldn’t let him out. Hollis decided to sample some of Mary Ross’s sandwiches. He opened the plastic sack and found a big pack of ham and beef sandwiches and a bottle of water.
He ate two sandwiches, always keeping his eyes on the lodge. It would be good to have lit a cigarette, but that would be too dangerous.
He re-hung the sack, settled his back against the tree trunk and relaxed to wait.
This was like good old times, he thought. He thought of the most stubborn and dangerous sniper who was nearly, but not quite, as good as himself. This little Vietnamese had concealed himself in a tree. From there, he had picked off two of Hollis’s good friends. Hollis had sworn to get him. He had located where the shot had come from. In the hot, steamy darkness, he had climbed a tree within three hundred yards of the tree in which the sniper was concealed. He had waited for eighteen tense, nerve-stretching hours. That time, he had only two bars of soggy chocolate and his water bottle, not like now with good sandwiches and half a chicken. Hollis nodded. It had been worth the wait. The jungle had been silent. Finally, the sniper showed himself.
He shinned down the tree, lowered his trousers and squatted. Hollis had sent a bullet through his brain. The most satisfactory thing he had ever done in his Army career. And now he was up another tree, waiting to see if Chet Logan would appear.
Patience!
An hour crawled by. Then Hollis became alert. The grinding sound of a car engine in low gear approaching, made him peer forward.
To his startled surprise, he saw a jeep moving slowly along the sodden river road. From his viewpoint, he couldn’t see the driver. He unslung his rifle, watching as the jeep slid on the muddy road, then he saw the jeep pull up outside the fishing lodge. He saw a blonde haired girl, wearing a yellow and red shirt and tight jeans, jump out of the jeep and walk up to the door of the fishing lodge.
Oh, hell! he thought. Here’s a real complication! Who is this girl? What’s she doing here? He pushed aside some foliage so he could get a better view.
She was knocking on the door. In the silence of the forest, Hollis could hear the impatient rapping of her knuckles.
He was now badly placed. He had only a half sighting of the front door. He saw it open. There was a long pause. Faintly he heard voices. It seemed to him, although he couldn’t hear what was being said, there might be some kind of argument. Then he saw the girl push her way in and the front door slammed.
He switched on his radio.
“Sheriff?”
“I’m listening.” It was a relief to hear Ross’s steady, deep voice.
“There’s a development here, Sheriff. A young girl has just arrived in a jeep and she is now in the lodge. The jeep belongs to Cab Calhoun, Jacksonville. Will you check?”
“Back in five minutes,” Ross said and switched off.
Hollis waited, staring down at the lodge. There was no sign of activity.
Maybe, he thought, I was wrong. This killer isn’t there. Weston had been expecting this girl. He could be sitting up in this tree with swarms of mosquitoes tormenting him for nothing.
But Hollis had learned to be patient. Still, letting the mosquitoes buzz around him, he watched and waited.
Ten minutes crawled by, then his radio came alive.
“Hank?” Ross’s voice.
“I’m hearing you.”
“The girl is Perry Weston’s wife. She hired the jeep and told Cab she would be staying a week or so at the lodge. Look, Hank, I think you can come back. You’re wasting your time. I am satisfied this killer did get away to Miami as Jacklin said. There’s a massive hunt on for him. Come on back.”
“With respect, Sheriff, I’m not coming back yet. How do we know Logan isn’t there? Okay, Mrs Weston could be on a visit. She could be walking into trouble. I’m staying and watching. How does anyone know that Logan is out of our district? I’m going to wait.”
“Yeah. Okay, Hank. Keep watch. I’ll stay right here until you tell me you’re coming back.”
“Over and out,” Hollis said and switched off.
Chapter 9
When Sheila Weston turned off the highway and began the descent to the river, she quickly realized that Cab Calhoun’s warning she could have problems became a disagreeable fact.
Once Sheila had made up her mind to do something, nothing, no matter the difficulties, would deter her. She was determined to talk to her husband.
When only ten years of age, she had driven her father’s jeep around his extensive ranch, much to the amusement and admiration of his cattle hands.
She had heard one of the men say to another, “That’s a real hellion.” She had smiled with pride, as she was now smiling to herself, remembering those words.
So, okay, she was then a real hellion, and a hellion she would remain.
Skillfully, she maneuvered the jeep through the pools, the mud and the slime.
She felt the steamy heat pressing down on her. She had taken the precaution to smear her face and hands with anti-mosquito cream so the buzzing swarm didn’t bother her.
Eventually, she reached the big quagmire that had bogged down the Toyota.
Seeing it, she stopped her crawl forward and stared at the mess of water and thick mud. Would the jeep cope? If she got bogged down, she would be in real trouble. She got out of the jeep and walked to the edge of the quagmire. She examined the ground. Either side of this swamp was firm ground. She nodded to herself. Returning to the jeep, she engaged the four-wheel drive, edged the jeep forward so the off-side wheels got a grip on the firm ground and moved forward, patiently taking her time.