Mind's Eye - Part 4

The weather forecast was excellent for the next few days. That brought out more campers for the weekend trying to get in one last hurrah before the weather snapped into the frigid range. Jarod reported for work, stopping in to get his duty assignment from Mildred in the station. He brought with him a cup of coffee and a bagel for her from the Old Mill Stream shop, which was only a half a mile down from his temporary home at the Edison Motel.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed as she brought the box of breakfast treats down to her desk. "This is just what I need this morning. It was bingo night at the fireman's hall, and I'm afraid I was up way past my hours. Thank you, Officer Greer!"

"Please, call me Jarod," he said, taking pleasure in the joy he had brought her. He liked doing that for people. Some days, it seemed to take so little to make them happy. Their wonderment was an immeasurable gift to him he was only now beginning to enjoy.

Mildred split the bagel apart and lathered cream cheese on it. She offered a half to Jarod, but he declined. "This so kind of you," she said. "Everything is so far away from the station. We don't exactly have fast food around the corner." She gave a quiet giggle of laughter that was infectious.

Jarod sat on the corner of her desk. "If there's a down side to being in the wilderness, that would be it." He let her consume another bite, then he said, "Mildred, could I ask you a question?"

She nodded with her mouth full of bagel.

"What happened the night Officer Warren was killed?"

Mildred's jaw stopped chewing, and it looked as though she suddenly found the bagel distasteful. She swallowed. As it had the day before, her face became sad.

"It was a terrible night, Jarod. We lost a good friend. Deb was very loved here by everyone. Try as I might, I still can't make sense of it all."

"I'd really like to know how it all happened. Somehow, I don't think Captain Case is going to tell me."

She looked at him solemnly. "Probably not. He blames himself for her death."

"I don't understand."

Mildred paused a moment, as if to decide if Jarod could be trusted. "Neil was her backup on that call. The rains caused a washout in the road he was on, and she went in alone. He thinks she might still be alive today had he been there."

"Would she?"

She shook her head. "No. The coroner determined that there was too much damage to her heart from the bullet. Even if Neil had been there, there wouldn't have been enough time to help her."

"She wasn't wearing a vest?" Kevlar had become standard issue for duty officers in the field.

"As a matter of fact, she was. The investigators said the shot came from up high and that the angle allowed it to enter above the vest. Neil managed to get there before she died, but it was only a few minutes. I just wish he had a few more."

"I take it they were close?"

The smile returned to Mildred's face. "Childhood friends, actually. Neil's taking her death very, very hard. I feel just terrible for him."

"I understand," Jarod said with feeling. He stood and put on his sunglasses. He could have sworn he saw a beguiled look in Mildred's eyes. He felt the heat in his cheeks as he blushed just a bit. "Enjoy the bagel, Mildred."

On his way out to his patrol car, Jarod got the DSA terminal from his own and pushed it into the passenger seat. He found a quiet spot in the park and logged in to Delaware's state police archive. After a quick search, he was looking at the case file on Officer Deborah Warren and the conclusions of her death.

Just as Mildred had explained, the bullet that killed Warren had come down at a sharp angle and entered just above the clavicle. The path documented by the coroner showed an almost impossible turn downward toward her arteries, which were severed, in the final assault. She bled to death at site ninety, in the arms of Neil Case on that rainy night in late July.

No weapon was ever found, according to the state police. After a thorough search of the woods that included a K9 unit, the only evidence found of the shooter was his hiding spot that had been his point of attack. Peter Stoltz admitted in his statement to investigators that he had waited for Deborah Warren to kill her, just as Neil had said.

Deb was a striking woman with blonde hair kept just above the shoulders per regulations. Her sharp blue eyes and crisp features gave her a youthful look that did not betray her age. She smiled happily for her service picture, and Jarod could only infer that she loved her life and her job. That love was a stark contrast to the way her it had all come to an abrupt end. Perhaps the only comfort for her was that she was not alone when death found her. If Mildred was accurate, then Warren had died in the arms of a true friend.

Stoltz was convicted of the murder a little over a month later, fully admitting and pleading guilty to the charges levied against him. The courts placed him in maximum security at Delaware's State Penitentiary for Men. He was sentenced to remain there for the rest of his natural life. He would still have been there at that moment except that someone had orchestrated his escape. He was on the run and free to kill again, something he could do with a thought.

Jarod closed the DSA terminal and took a deep breath. It was a huge risk to use Neil Case as bait, but there was little choice. Stoltz would finish what he started. He would come back to kill Neil when the opportunity presented itself. Jarod only hoped that he would be there to intervene and keep an innocent man from dying.

The patrol radio crackled to life. Mildred's voice rang out from the speaker. "Unit Seven, do you copy?"

He picked up the mic. "Unit Seven, go."

"Jarod, we just got a call from Carl Homer on Old Smith Road. He's complaining of hunters coming on to his property again. Wants someone out there to take his complaint. Are you available?"

"I'm on my way."

After a quick reference to the local road guide, Jarod was en route to a property that was adjacent to the south point of Prime Hook's border. He enjoyed the drive through the park, grateful for the chance to get a feel for the terrain and of where Stoltz might strike. The assassin's profile suggested his programming had made him accustomed to using rural terrain to hide his passage to and from the hit. He was geared to fighting in hostile environments, using the trees and the rocks for camouflage until he safely escaped his assignment.

Jarod remembered Peter's mug shot and wondered if he would look the same. He wondered if he would even recognize Stoltz when or if he saw him. There was no telling how extensive the Centre's training had been or how independently Stoltz was thinking in order to protect his operations. As far as Jarod knew, Peter was six feet, one inch with sandy hair and a gaunt face. Chocolate brown eyes made the sockets look hollow and dead, as though he were in another world that was outside the realm of human existence. After being a prisoner of the Centre, perhaps Stoltz really was.

The property owned by Carl Homer was impressive to say the least. A large log cabin built with virgin pine stood at the end of a long gravel drive just off Route 9. There was man on the porch waiting for Jarod's arrival. His black skin was muscled and youthful against the white hair on his head. His white tank top and khakis stood out in contrast to his dark complexion.

Jarod got out of the patrol car with a report kit and headed for the steps to the porch of the cabin.

Carl stepped forward with a curious look. "You the new guy?"

The pretender held out his hand. "Jarod Greer. I understand you wanted to file a complaint?"

Homer shook it with a strong grip. "Yep, I do," he answered in a deep voice that had an unexpected New England flair to it.

"What seems to be the problem?"

Carl motioned to one of the chairs on the porch for Jarod. They sat down. "I'll tell you what's the problem. The damned hunters is leavin' their traps on my land again. I'm afraid to go out for a walk anymore."

"I see. What kind of traps?"

Carl snorted. "Bear, mostly, but it don't matter much when something get caught in 'em. It bound to kill whatever it get."

Jarod's job was to be a ranger. He was acting as a public servant. In order to fulfill the entire simulation, he would act the part to the last detail. "Can you show me some of these traps?"

The older man gave a shrug and said, "Sure I can, but I don't know what good it'll do. That officer who was killed a few months back used to take reports from me all the time. She even managed to get one the fellas that was settin' 'em, but that was it. As soon as one leaves, another moves in to set some more." Carl cleared his throat and cast his eyes downward. "I'm sorry to hear she passed, by the way. She was a real nice lady."

"That's what everyone tells me," Jarod answered. "So why don't I pick up where Officer Warren left off and go take a look at the traps? Maybe we'll get another one."

Homer's demeanor brightened at the sign of help from the replacement ranger. He led Jarod into the woods, down a path that had been cut through some of the thickets. They came to an area of high grass that lay alongside a medium sized stream. The blades were still bright green, lapping up the last warm rays before the next season entered the area.

"It's right here," Carl said, leading the way.

And there it was. A rusted claw trap sat ready to snare whatever stepped into it. The heavy steel teeth looked like a gruesome mouth emerging from the ground. Jarod approached it cautiously, checking the area around it for others. Getting down on his haunches, he examined it closely. It looked even fiercer than it had from a distance.

Jarod straightened and walked a few steps away toward some fallen branches. He found the thickest one in the bunch and returned to the trap.

"Stand back," he warned Carl.

With a gentle tap, he triggered the plate in the center. The jaws snapped closed with lightning speed, cutting the branch in two. It was a horrifying thought what it would do to flesh.

"See what I mean?" Carl asked with frustration. "I ain't tellin' nobody they can't hunt. I hunt, myself, every fall here. That stuff, though," he said, shaking his head, "that stuff's just not right. Not for man or animal."

They searched the immediate area and found one more. Jarod activated and bound it to the first trap, securing both in the trunk of his patrol car when they returned to Carl's cabin. A little bit of paperwork was filled out, and Jarod was ready to leave.

"If you see anyone or find any more traps, give the station a call," Jarod said.

Carl still looked angry, and he was justified. Not only had someone been trespassing on his property, they were setting dangerous traps that would maim and possibly even kill whatever got caught in them. "I'll do just that. Thank you, Officer Greer."

"Any time." Jarod gave a polite smile and got back in the patrol car.

He got no further than the end of the gravel driveway when Mildred's voice was back on the air. "Unit Seven, Unit One is requesting backup at site eighty-eight. Are you clear from Carl Homer's place?"

Jarod keyed the mic. "Unit Seven, all clear. What's the problem at site eighty-eight?"

"The captain's checking out another party. He'd like to you stop on by if you're available."

He was. "I'm on my way."