Widowmaker (Mike Bowditch #7)(84)

“Or eat some little girl in a red cape,” he said.

“Doesn’t the wolf eat the grandmother?”

We heard a sharp whistle. I turned and saw Sergeant Gordon waving us back up the hill. I would have to mop up the piss later.

“Listen to this,” Gordon said. “Someone shot up a house over in Eustis this afternoon. An old guy was inside watching television. Suddenly, glass started exploding everywhere and he hit the deck. Bullets were tearing up the walls, but he managed to crawl into the bathroom and hide inside the tub. The only thing that saved him was that his son and a bunch of his drinking buddies came riding up on their snowmobiles. By the time they could get the old guy to explain what had happened, the shooter was gone.”

“Who is the guy?” Pulsifer asked. “What’s his name?”

“Ducharme.”

White and Pulsifer grunted simultaneously.

“Let me guess,” I said. “He’s listed on the public registry.”

“Ducharme fondled his seven-year-old niece,” said Pulsifer. “He inserted various objects into her, if I remember correctly. When he got out of prison a few years back, Joe at the Bigelow General Store got a bunch of business owners together, and they banned him from entering their establishments. The only reason Ducharme probably didn’t end up here with Foss is that his born-again son took him in.”

“It looks like our vigilante is just getting started,” Pulsifer said.

“He probably figured what the hell,” said White. “‘I already mowed down ten of them. Why stop now?’”

“So here’s what’s happening,” said Gordon. “We’re all getting our own personal predator to protect.”

“You are shitting me,” said Jeff White.

The sergeant rubbed his bare hands together and blew on them. “If this guy is going from house to house, using the registry to pick his targets, then we have a general idea where he might be headed next.”

“There are dozens of names on that list, just in this area,” I said.

“Shouldn’t we be out on our sleds?” asked White. “If this guy is riding a snowmobile, then we should be out looking for him on the trails, not parked in front of some pedophile’s driveway.”

“Major Carter says it’s all hands on deck tonight, until he can get more of his own men up here. But I expect tomorrow you’re going to get your wish. They’ll have planes in the air first thing in the morning and we’ll be setting up checkpoints all over Franklin and Somerset counties.”

“Crazy night,” said Pulsifer. “The safest people in these mountains are going to be convicted sex offenders.”

Gordon got on the phone again to confer with the state police. Then he huddled with Pulsifer and White to give them their assignments. Pulsifer was given a pedophile nearby in Coplin Plantation. White got a statutory rapist in Rangeley. Neither warden seemed delighted with his chosen blind date.

“What about me?” I asked the sergeant.

“You haven’t even been cleared for duty, Bowditch. Isn’t that what I heard?”

“Yeah, but I can help.”

He removed a key fob from his pocket. “Actually, Jim Clegg said he wanted to talk to you. He should be down in a few minutes.”

“Did he say what it’s about?”

“Not to me,” he said.

I returned to my truck and used a towel to wipe up the urine. I tried letting Shadow out to see if he needed to shit, and sure enough, he did. It was the biggest pile I had ever seen come out of a canine.

How to get him back inside the truck now? I found a box of protein bars I kept in the glove compartment, ate one, and fed the rest to Shadow, who chomped them to pieces, Cookie Monster–style. In my Internet research, I had read something about wild wolves eating twenty pounds of meat a day.

I had no clue how to care for this animal. Maybe I should find a motel room for the night, then swing back to Fenris Unchained in the morning. Hopefully, Dale Probert would forgive my change of heart.

Every time headlights appeared, cutting a hazy arc through the darkness, I figured it must be Clegg, but I was always disappointed. I watched the first ambulance return to begin transporting the bodies to the medical examiner’s office in Augusta. It was followed by a second and a third.

Another vehicle approached from the direction of Route 16, a Ford Explorer Interceptor. I recognized it at once by its midnight blue paint job. I scrambled out of my pickup and stepped into the road.

Russo rolled down his window. I got a whiff of the peppermint gum he had been chewing. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

“I could say the same thing.”

“Thought I’d come over after my shift was done and see how I could help.” Russo’s bland face reminded me of someone who’d been injected with Botox, so that every muscle was paralyzed.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Logan Dyer today,” I said.

“No, I haven’t. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. Logan’s been calling in sick a lot. He’s been convinced he has a brain tumor.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“This morning, he didn’t even bother to call.”

“Really?”

“I’m worried about him. There was no answer at his door just now when I knocked.”