Forbearance

By Deborah Menard

From a very early age, Emilys father has mentored her in criminology, and she has a promising career as a detective in the city of Manchester, New Hampshire. Now a two year veteran of the police force, she is gifted in her investigative skills, but empathy for innocent victims causes her insomnia, guilt, and symptoms of disassociation. She has turned away from God for His allowance of horrible things to happen to children and good people. Her effort to temporarily take leave and re-group and at the same time stand in for soon to be vacationing, Constable Pete Hines, in his peaceful little town, sends her straight into a foreign and frightening environment of wild animals and poachersand to the aid of a rookie game warden who is in imminent danger of losing his life. In her struggle to maintain her own equilibrium, what she didnt count on is falling in love with Daniel and also with this (in her mothers words) poverty-row town. Daniel is a fl awed and sacrificial hero. Though agile and intuitive in the ways of the woods, this PHD graduate in Wildlife Biology only became a game officer so he could be near his grieving foster mother as she endures the death of her biological son. Daniels authority is put to the test because the previous game warden looked the other way on poaching, and the poor people of this area liked it better that way. Here in Kaskitesiw, hunting is an equalizer and problems are resolved within the darkness of trees. Gently and not so gently, Emily encourages Daniel through physical healing. Yet her guilt festers for the victims she wasnt in time to save and depression, over what humankind can do at its worst, threatens to take her from her career, Daniel, and even her own life. Daniel must find trust in God once more before he can begin to help Emily. But when he does it seems as if he is too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449754259

Deborah Menard

In college, I majored in English and minored in journalism, but I have learned much more through life experiences, reading, and practicing my writing skills.  I have been writing and storytelling all of my life in a variety of ways, but I had to work, not always in my chosen field.  I am also a wife and partner and raised two children, jobs that took precedence over anything else.  There was no time to write a novel. Retired now, I have time.  I am happiest when I am weaving words.   I live in the hills of New Hampshire in a very remote area.  As a semi-self-educated biologist and botanist, I am enamored with all God's creations, and it saddens me to see them treated so thoughtlessly today.  My commitment to raising awareness that wildlife deserves respect and humane treatment, protected times and sheltered places, is the theme of my first novel.  

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

One more hallway to go and Emily Harrigan would be done with her search for illegal drugs at the high school. As she dug through each student’s locker, she felt more like an intruder than a law officer. It seemed like a stupid waste of time, considering that the students had been made aware there would be a search.

Lunch was over, and the children were quietly working in their classrooms.

She studied a moldy sandwich with disgust then put it back into a student’s locker as the heavy doors at the end of the corridor clanked open and then slammed shut behind what looked like a young boy. He was probably a freshman student, coming back after a doctor’s appointment, or he had merely dawdled on his way back from lunch. Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. It was evident that his eyes hadn’t adjusted from sunlight to the dim hallway, for he hadn’t seen her.

Emily shut the locker door quietly and watched him. Except for a strip of dyed red hair, his head was shaved. Shiny rings pierced his ears and lower lip. A lot of kids dressed in this Goth manner. This early September afternoon was too warm for a long black coat, but with teenagers, it’s how you look, not how you feel.

His shoe squeaked on the polished linoleum. Emily edged between two sections of lockers, not sure why she felt the need to conceal herself.

The boy hesitated, his eyes on the door of a classroom across the hall and just beyond Emily. Behind that door, she heard a teacher say something lighthearted and the students laugh in response. He glanced backward, and his hand went under his coat.

As he passed by, she could see his cheeks, molded with baby fat and flushed, probably from overheating because of his coat. He couldn’t be older than fourteen. The enraged eyes didn’t fit the rest of his young face. As he reached the door, she saw the pistol.

Emily lifted her own gun free of the holster and in a steady voice commanded, Don’t touch that doorknob.

The boy flinched at the sound of her voice, and then his young body heaved with a shrug of capitulation.

Just put the gun on the floor. Turn around, and we can talk about this.

The boy began to turn, raising his arms slowly in a pose of surrender.

Put the gun down! she commanded.

He faced her, and the anger in his beautiful blue eyes was gone. His expression was like that of a young child — sad and wanting to be consoled. He kept raising his hands, the gun still in his right palm, his finger still on the trigger.

Emily’s heart momentarily stopped beating. Holstering her own firearm, she lunged for the boy. Before she could grab the gun, he bent his wrist and fired. She had been a step too far away.

Emily caught him as he fell to the floor. Rescue, I have a 10-54 — Unity Street High School — West end. Do you copy? Repeatedly, she called on her radio for an ambulance while trying to stop the bleeding on the side of his head. Do you copy? she cried out again.

A 10-4 came back over the radio.

Teachers rushed to lock classroom doors in simultaneous precaution, and frightened shouts came from the children behind them. Emily wept, looking down at the dead boy in her arms. Once more, she had been too late.

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Before the ambulance pulled away, Alex Droger’s mother arrived, supported on both sides by women equal to her size and voice. Standing before the screaming mother, who was intent on accusing Emily of her son’s death, all Emily could say was I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

The mother cursed her, saying that Emily had given the boy no other choice than to commit suicide. The woman on the mother’s right spit at Emily. She felt helpless to do anything, even to leave. These women were right. She hadn’t done enough. She wasn’t quick enough.

Captain Horan was suddenly there between her and the three women. He took Emily’s arm, and she was vaguely aware that he was leading her away. Passing the girls’ restroom, her senses returned, and she pulled her arm from the captain to go inside.

There was no one else in there. She removed her uniform jacket and began rubbing at the bloodstained fabric under the cold water. As she watched the pink liquid go down the drain, faces appeared in the water. There was the little girl at Bow Park, swirling downward, into nothingness; the nurse from St. Catherine’s Hospital, circling the sink with her dead, terrified face …

Emily jumped as the school bell rang in the hall, signaling the end of the day. She wrung out her jacket as best she could and rinsed her tear-reddened eyes. Staring into the mirror she caught the glint of the medal at her neck and gripped it hard whispering, God, if I had prayed, would I have reached him in time? Then her face twisted in anger. And because I didn’t, You let him die? She tossed the paper into a trash can and, with resolve, returned to the chaos outside the building.

As she reached the parking lot, she could hear two men arguing from yards away. It took only a second to recognize the voices of her father and Captain Horan, her boss. She wanted to avoid them but knew she couldn’t. Undoubtedly, they were talking about her show of weakness in front of the boy’s mother, adding this latest example to a growing number of circumstances when she hadn’t kept her emotions in check as a law officer should. Tentatively, she approached them, listening.

She is a detective, Joe! What was she doing here? Henry Harrigan demanded to know.

She’s still a rookie cop with extra duties. It was a routine locker inspection. Captain Joseph Horan looked toward his old friend. You remember the drill. Henry, she re-holstered her gun. What if that kid had fired on her instead?

You’ve always said Emmy’s instincts were solid.

Henry, you taught her — put her on the fast track to detective. But you couldn’t teach her how to stay above all this. She’s had too much of it lately —first that little girl, then the nurse, and now this — enough to jolt anyone.

So what are you saying, Joe?

She needs to get off the streets for a while. I’ve been trying to convince Seth to take her on a vacation. The police captain angrily slapped at the report from the teacher closest to the scene of the suicide. Why’d you push her into the force? You, above all people, know what it can do …. His voice trailed off as he saw Emily approach.

Henry Harrigan turned to look at his daughter.

Well, that puts the finishing touches on my day. The two men I respect the most, arguing my fate. Her expression was humorless. As Emily took the report from Horan, the captain walked away, muttering to himself.

Bad day, Henry stated flatly.

Emily squinted up at her father. Not one of my best. How’s yours going?

There is no comparison. Your mother has me moving furniture.

For a while they stood in silence, idly staring at the commotion around them. There was the normal parade of school buses waiting to take the students home. This daily routine was made surreal by the flashing lights of police cars, the whine of sirens and the relieved wails of parents clasping their young.

Then Henry spoke. You’ve had quite a string of bad days lately.

Emily couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid of betraying her overwhelming sadness. They were all dead; she hadn’t saved any of them.

Think you need to see someone?" Her father asked.

Go to a shrink? What? And risk losing the greatest job in the world? Her tone was sarcastic though her expression was visibly pained.

That’s your mother talking. No matter what Mom says, seeing the police psychiatrist is a good idea. It’s worse out here now. Homicide detectives never use to run into these crimes involving kids so much.

Don’t give me that, Dad. There were just as many pedophiles, rapist and suicides. You saw plenty.

It was different, Emmy. There was still some sense of decency back when I started on the force. Even so, when the work started to get to me, I talked it over with the doctor.

And because of talking it over with a doctor, you were, as Mom puts it, ‘let out to pasture.’

Emily and her father had always been honest with each other. For as long as she could remember, Emily had been treated as the third member of an adult trilogy, rather than the late-born and only child. Often caught up in her parents’ volatile relationship, she sometimes felt like the only adult.

I was ready to let go. Thirty years on the Manchester PD was enough. Dr. Brandon didn’t have anything to do with my decision.

I hear you, Dad, but I don’t want to take a chance of losing my job. She lowered her voice as if sharing a well-kept secret. I’m likely to get a sympathetic boot behind a desk, knowing the captain. She signed the report she’d taken from Captain Horan, confirming that the teacher’s affidavit coincided with what she knew had happened. And if Cathleen Droger decides to press charges, I’d better not be clinging to the leg of a therapist.

Who?

That’s the dead boy’s mother. The words dead boy swirled behind her tired eyes, making her feel dizzy. She wants to believe I drove her son to shoot himself.

Henry shook his head sadly. Everyone else is to blame.

Emily tilted her head so that it briefly touched her father’s arm, comforted by his understanding. He’d always been her hero, standing by her through skinned knees and prom pimples. But he couldn’t help her now. I know I need a break from this. Captain thinks I should take a vacation with Seth, but Seth can’t go away right before the real estate markets drop off for the winter.

Saints be praised for such bad timing. Henry lifted his eyes to heaven.

Emily smiled. Seth isn’t so bad. In spite of her father’s joking, she felt sick inside. What about that job your friend, Bill Hines, asked you about?

What job? Henry watched a student run sobbing to her mother, and he took an uncomfortable breath. Oh, standing in for Bill’s son, Pete! Pete wants to go on a cruise with his wife. I’ve got to call him about that. Thanks for reminding me.

He was wondering if you’d sub as constable in that—what’s that little town up there — Kassy — Kisscassy? Emily prompted him. The one near Errol.

Your mother made up my mind not to go. She doesn’t want to give up the last bit of warm weather and she’s got me doing some sort of Honorable Leaf Bearer thing at the Fall Foliage Festival. I think Bill just wants an excuse to go fishing with me, anyway. This time of the year, his son could leave and nobody would notice that the constable was gone. Nothing ever happens up there.

Tell him I’ll come up and do it. Pete can go on his cruise. Emily smiled, in spite of herself, as she stared at her otherwise distinguished father. Honorable Leaf Bearer?

Let’s get off that subject. Emmy, it would be a whole month in a town where, maybe once a year, some hunter shoots his big toe off. That’s it! Then Henry scratched his cheek thoughtfully. It would be restful. Old Ely Pike, the game warden, takes care of what’s happening in the woods, and there is nothing but woods up there. It’s only bear-hunting season, so there isn’t much going on, even for him. He cocked his head and continued. Emmy, it’s really remote. Your mother will have a fit.

We will allude that it’s a ski town, with rich ski bums milling around.

Henry chuckled. He had green eyes like hers. At sixty-three, his hair still had some red in it. Much to her mother’s chagrin, Emily had been determined from a very young age to follow in her father’s footsteps as a homicide investigator.

I just need to get away for a little while. That’s all. I haven’t taken any personal time in the two years I’ve been with the department, and I won’t have to if I go as a ‘loan-out’. From what I gathered, hearing you two talking, I think Captain Horan will agree.

Emmy, Captain Horan means well, but you can’t run away from your problems. I know all this is keeping you from sleeping.

And how do you know I’m not sleeping, Detective Dad? She couldn’t disguise the touch of umbrage in her voice. After all, she reasoned, she was twenty-four years old, in her own apartment, with her own life — if you could call it that.

Because, Detective Daughter, it was from me that you got your intuition. He sighed heavily and looked away. And because your mother told me. All right, I’ll call Bill and Pete tonight. Maybe this is a good idea. I wish I was going with you. It’ll be boring for you, but it’d be great fishing in that swamp up there.

But then you couldn’t be Honorable Leaf Bearer! Emily teased and then followed the direction of her father’s gaze. A well-groomed man in a blue blazer was coming their way.

Henry lowered his head with a whispered oath.

Seth Horan, the police captain’s son, was coming from his real estate office, a block away. Em, my dad just told me about the shooting! he shouted as he approached. It was great you got that kid before he shot up the whole school.

I didn’t ‘get’ him, Seth. Emily turned her head slightly so that Seth’s kiss brushed her cheek instead of her lips. He committed suicide.

Well, if you hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have killed himself.

Thank you, Seth, Emily said, sighing.

I meant—

I know what you meant. She smiled sadly, wishing he would take her in his arms and melt away this torture in her mind. But that wasn’t Seth’s style.

He pulled out two tickets from his pocket. Hey, guess what I have.

What do you have? Her smile was bright but her voice weary.

Remember that Broadway show that you’ve always wanted to see? It’s coming to Boston.

The Lion King? Her heart lifted momentarily.

Close, he said. God, you look terrible, Em. What are those things under your eyes? They look like bruises.

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Emily glanced at her father as if to admit his instincts were right about her insomnia.

Emzee, try to look like my pretty redhead next Saturday. We’re going to Beantown, and we’re going in style. I’m not telling you what we’ll see, but be ready. I’ve got to go. I’m about to unload that old mill building for a very nice price.

The old New Hampshire Wool Exchange? Henry called after him. The one that’s about to be condemned?

Seth turned, walking backward, his arms spread wide. Buyer, beware. He knows it’s in bad shape—wants to make it into a mall. That’s what he is going to call it, the ‘Mall on the River.’ The guy is loaded.

Henry put his hand on Emily’s back. That boy is nothing like his father. Let’s go home. Mom is making corn beef.

As gently as she could, Emily pulled free. I’m not coming over tonight, Dad. I’m really tired.

He looked confused. You have to eat!

Believe it or not, I do have some food at my apartment. She tried to say it kindly, but she could tell by her father’s expression that he was disappointed. Okay, but I’m going to leave right after dinner, as soon as you make those calls to Bill and Pete Hines.

Henry expressed relief as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

I’ll be along soon, she promised. With a beleaguered expression, Emily watched her father walk away. If she was at the dinner table, her parents wouldn’t fight. Getting away for a while would be good. Her parents would just have to manage on their own.

CHAPTER 2

The drive north was beautiful. Being early September, the leaf color was a month away from its peak. Still, the White Mountains, with their dark ravines and breathtaking heights, made her gaze in awe at the wild splendor.

After that pleasant sojourn through the higher terrain, she found her passage to the little town of Kaskitesiw confounded by the very tool designed to provide accurate directions. Her GPS was useless. First, it directed her down a desolate logging road and then a gravel dead end. Shutting off the device, she searched through her glove compartment but couldn’t find a map of New Hampshire. Who uses maps anymore? She searched the side pocket of the car door, hoping her father had put one in there, and once more came up empty handed. She thought about using the police radio but didn’t want to seem inept in front of the man she was taking over for. Pulling out her cell phone, which she hadn’t thought to re-charge before she left, she called Triple A and after waiting so long that she thought she would lose battery power, she finally received directions. Apparently they had trouble finding the town too.

Her father had spoken the truth. Kaskitesiw looked more like an abandoned bus stop than a town. At least it has a gas station, Emily thought, and she pulled in, deciding that she had better gas up while the opportunity presented itself.

A car was parked by the single pump which boasted only one nozzle, so Emily waited, glancing at her watch. She had ten minutes to get to the police station; she thought she could see the building, which Pete had described, from here.

Emily got out of the Mustang and looked at the pump. It was cash only — no place to slide a credit card.

A woman came from the shack-like building and glanced around quickly. She saw Emily and smiled, touching her cut lip. Her face looked bruised. You have to pay inside first, she offered meekly, fumbling with the nozzle as if she had never pumped her own gas before. I…I will be out of your way in a minute.

Take your time. Emily smiled back, lifted the lever for her and went into the dilapidated structure, which smelled of oil and old newspapers.

The young attendant didn’t look up, oblivious to her presence. His fingers clicked away at a computer game.

I’d like to buy some gas, she said, putting a twenty-dollar bill on the desk where his feet were propped.

The game still held his full attention.

She reached across the desk and pulled out one earplug by the cord. I’d like twenty dollars’ worth of gas, please.

The boy glared at her. He looked to be about the same age as the student who had died in her arms. Instead of high-end gothic fashion, this one’s flannel shirt was naturally frayed and his jeans stressed, not by a designer’s hand but by sliding in dirt. The dirt was still there. Scowling, he scooped the money into a drawer.

As he readjusted the earphones on his head, Emily went to the door and looked through the greasy window. The woman had finished pumping gas into her tank and was hanging up the nozzle with a shaking hand. The pump meter registered eight dollars and forty-six cents. Emily bet that if she opened the attendant’s drawer she would find eight dollars and forty-six cents, right down to the penny.

Emily turned the sticky doorknob and started out, just as another vehicle came into the station. Before the black SUV slowed to a complete stop, a man jumped out and headed toward the woman. With terror in her eyes, she tried to climb into her car, but the man grabbed her arm and pulled her back out.

Bailey told me you was leaving town. This is the thanks I get for buyin’ you a car? the man shouted, unaware of Emily standing in the half-open doorway. You been getting ideas from that game warden, haven’t you — been talkin’ ta him ’bout me!

Richard, no! The woman tried to pull free. You might need me to pick you up in Berlin. I’d need more gas.

A car horn sounded.

The man she called Richard yelled toward the driver of the SUV, Hold on! Can’t you see I’m busy? He turned back to the woman. His bulbous nose was cratered with black heads and his long, scraggily hair hung dark and oily. I’m gettin’ that bear. Claret ain’t stoppin’ me. Got it? I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t get back to the trailer right now and quit talkin’ ta that Injun.

Excuse me … Richard, is it? Emily’s voice was controlled, almost pleasant. Take your hands off this woman.

Richard looked both angry and surprised to see another person standing near his wife’s car. This ain’t ya business.

The SUV driver started to back out. I’m leaving! he yelled. Apparently, he didn’t like the altercation at the pump. You’d better remember what I’m here for!

Emily looked at the man in the SUV. He was plump and perspiring in a red wool hunting outfit.

Now, Mr. Patta’son, don’t you go running off! Richard yelled, momentarily distracted, and then he turned his vicious eyes back to Emily.

Let go of her. Emily lifted the police badge from her sweater pocket.

Richard cursed his luck, and seeing he was about to lose his ride, he let the woman go and started running for the SUV.

Get into your car, ma’am, and lock the doors. Emily said holding the car door open for her. Do you want to press charges?

The woman shook her frizzy clay-colored hair. Her actions were bird-like—dark eyes darting quickly around and hands fluttering at Emily, as if she could sweep her out of the way. Close up, the contusions on her face looked new. He don’t mean nothin’! Don’t mind him, but … thank you. I gotta go ’fore he comes back over here.

May I have your name?

No, please, I gotta get out of here. The woman jumped into the car and took off, heedless of her speed in front of a police officer.

Emily looked back to the SUV and saw Richard pounding on the passenger window of the slow-moving vehicle until it stopped. The door opened, and he got in. The black SUV swung wide and went in the opposite direction. Emily was thankful for that; otherwise, she’d have been compelled to pursue.

Emily wrote down the license plate numbers of both cars, pulled the Mustang forward, and had begun filling the tank when the boy attendant, minus his earphones, came out.

He pointed to her car. Is that yours?

Emily nodded and asked, What’s your name?

Tommy. It’s a sixty-nine Mustang, isn’t it? He walked around the vehicle, keeping a respectful foot away from the polished black car.

It is. Why aren’t you in school, Tommy?

It’s after school! There was exasperation in his voice, like she should know this. Then his eyes saw the blue bar in the back window, and he shot her a nervous glance.

Emily looked at her watch. You’re right! Tommy, do you know that lady who came in before me?

That’s Teresa Faidlee. He went around to the front grill and saw the small blue lights mounted on both sides of the license plate. Walking back, he took the nozzle from her. Here, I’ll do that for you.

Did you happen to see the man with her?

What man? Tommy peered in the windows of the car, ogling the electronics. You’re some kind of a cop, aren’t ya?

Some kind. Better slow down—I only gave you a twenty. Emily was watching the gallons roll by. His first name was Richard.

Musta been her husband. My dad calls him an A-number-one turd. There was disgust in Tommy’s voice, but then he perked up. This gotta V8 engine?

It’s a Shelby. Can you tell me where the police station is? Emily looked once more at the only white clapboard building she could see with an American flag hanging above it.

This is a Shelby? He had to touch it now. Wicked awesome!

Is that it? she asked, trying to redirect his attention.

Ayuh. Are you going to tell Pete that I was playing games? I’m sorry about being rude. Tommy was sincere, now that punishment might be a possibility.

Not this time. I have an appointment there. She watched the boy gaze adoringly at the car. He almost looked Asian, with almond-shaped eyes. When he glanced at her shyly, she grinned. Neat, huh?

Totally. The boy pulled out the nozzle and hung it up. She could take thirty.

Emily got into the car with a smile. She could take forty.

CHAPTER 3

You need a haircut! Pete swatted the back of the game warden’s head with a baseball cap embossed with the word CONSTABLE. He put a paper bag on his desk and noticed Daniel’s glance at his watch.

Pete looked at his. It was three o’clock. He was almost late for the new arrival and began his list of excuses. Alley Rondo had a dog complaint, and Raden Whitmore is fighting over that east survey stake again. That woman from the conservation committee got in on it. I had to call the forester out. It’s just getting too damn crowded up here.

The man in the green uniform, with the seal of New Hampshire on the sleeve, kept on writing.

I’m serious. New recruit like you shouldn’t be giving Kaskittyway’s finest a bad name with hippie hair, Pete said.

Kas-ke-tay-a-say-uw. Daniel pronounced the name with uncharacteristic frustration. I haven’t had time. I’ll ask Anna to cut it tonight.

Geezum, Daniel, lighten up! Kaskittyway, Kaskittywah, Kaskittywumpum! I don’t care. Can you believe it? Susanne and I are on vacation in two — count ’em —two days. In the meantime, I’m ‘batching’ it tonight with a grinder, beer, and the first game of the season. He leaned on the game warden’s desk and widened his silvery blue eyes. Then I’m going to watch boxing until my eyeballs fall out.

Did Susanne go to her mom’s? Daniel asked quietly, still writing.

Yep, she took the kids to Littleton. Then it’s on to the Bahamas, baby! Three weeks, just her and me! All smiles, Pete tossed his cap onto the coat rack, exposing closely cropped, graying blond hair that had receded to the crown of his head. Oh, which reminds me, did you say you were going to see Anna tonight?

Daniel nodded, studying the computer screen. I’m going to split some wood for her.

Susanne wanted me to drop this by her place, but if you’re going? Pete set a bag on Daniel’s desk with a heavy clunk.

The warden lifted out one of the two half-gallon jars of homemade sauce and frowned.

Pete knew Daniel didn’t mind taking Susanne’s chili sauce to his foster mother but he would have to walk much of the way on a steep, uneven path — with this extra weight, along with his axe, and whatever else he was taking Anna.

At least it’s downhill, Pete said, looking over Daniel’s shoulder at the report he had been writing. You’re not going to catch Faidlee, and he’s going to wind up suing you for harassment.

If I can just get Teresa to tell me where Faidlee set up his bait site, we can bust him on poaching and solve the domestic abuse problem at the same time. The young warden tossed his pencil on the papers with frustration.

Fat chance! Pete said and went over to the coffeemaker. Teresa’s scared of her husband. She’s not going to press charges; ‘sides, when the judge lets him go for poaching, which he always does, he’ll come back, and it will be worse on her.

Not if I can make it stick this time. She’s been telling me some interesting things about Faidlee’s activities. Daniel picked up the pencil and bent his head back over his work. I think she’s just about had it with him. He roughed her up again last night.

Pete dripped some of the hot coffee on his hand and shook it off, splattering Daniel’s desk. So that’s why you’re ticked off. Daniel, you went to school with her. The little mouse is not going to testify against her husband, and you can’t prove Faidlee is the one putting that bait around.

She doesn’t have to testify. Faidlee is getting as sloppy as you. Daniel got up and wiped at the coffee spots with an old towel. He got his legal bear the first day of the season and let everyone know about it. Now he’s bragging that he has ‘clients.’ He doesn’t have a license to be a guide.

I sure hope not. Pete took a swallow of the hot liquid, wincing.

Daniel slumped back into his chair. Weathered lines from spending a windy night watching from a forested knoll, were written on his dark face. I know he’s selling the gall bladders though Canada to China.

Can you prove it?

Daniel lowered his eyes, and Pete knew the game warden was hiding his uncertainty.

Pete remembered he’d been twenty-five once, like Daniel, full of idealism and vigor. But his take-on-the-world mentality had tempered into a just-doing-his–duty mind-set after too many of his cases were dismissed by the court system.

One thing Pete had to say for the boy — there was no quit in him. Probably came from living with his ornery foster mother. Nobody but the local priest got a kind word from Anna. When they were kids, Daniel and his foster brother, Rusty, were shoved around by that little Cree woman to the point where anyone who didn’t know the circumstances would have called social services. But that would have been a mistake.

Without a father around, the bigger boys took Anna’s cuffing with a sense of humor and, it seemed like, they had a desire for more, especially Rusty, the younger one. Folks sensed she loved them deeply and they her. Daniel gave up his future which, he’d worked so hard for, in order to come back to Anna when Rusty died.

Can you prove it? Pete persisted. "Where’d you get the information about his selling gall bladders?

Daniel leaned forward, aggravation written on his face. I’ll get it when I catch him taking one out of a kill. He pulled the keypad toward him. I was sure he was going to shoot a bear over that bait pile on South Worth Road. A round ear tag was left on the sheep carcass. I traced it to the farmer. Felton is the only one who uses those tags. He says they don’t get ripped out of his animals’ ears as easily as the others. And he told me the slaughterhouse he used.

So?

Daniel blinked back at the report he was writing. Mike White said Faidlee picked up a barrel of renderings for, as he put it, ‘getting rid of a coyote problem around his house.’

What does that prove? the constable asked. "Murky White sells more guts than meat. It’s a wonder the health inspectors haven’t shut him down. And besides, a lot of people bait coyotes if they’re hanging around too close.

The bait wasn’t anywhere near Faidlee’s house. I staked out the pile for two days.

Let me guess: no sign of Faidlee.

I will get him, and I would give you the collar if it would stop him beating up on his wife, Daniel said determinedly. Too bad you won’t be here, and I’ll have to do it alone.

Unfair! Susanne and I haven’t had a vacation in years!

Daniel kept writing, ignoring the constable’s outburst.

Besides, you won’t be alone. Pete had Daniel’s attention now and decided to taunt him. "Hey, Joe had a good joke today,