Overkill(15)

The sound had been manmade.

He flipped his cap back around and pulled the bill down to just above his eyebrows, then continued along the familiar path, being careful not to step on a twig or loose rock or anything that could signal his approach.

As he crept through the trees, his house gradually came into view. First, the clearing, an apron of hearty grass that surrounded the house itself. Next, the north-facing exterior wall dominated by the stacked stone chimney. Then the porch that ran along the entire length of the south side.

Zach stopped.

The oversize front door marked the center of the porch. The door was flanked by large windows, two on each side of it… one of which was being peered through by a man in a law officer’s uniform. His cupped hands formed blinders that were pressed up against the windowpane.

His Smokey the Bear hat was occupying the seat of Zach’s rocking chair, and that pissed him off more than anything.

Still unmoving, Zach looked several degrees to the left. A Bronco was parked in the cul-de-sac. Its all-business tires were caked with mud. It had a serious light bar on the roof, a heavy duty grille guard, and an official insignia on the door.

Zach’s porch had one plank that squeaked when stepped on in a certain spot. He realized now that was what he’d heard, not the vehicle’s engine as it had come up his drive, indicating to him that the cop had been poking around his property while he was ascending the mountainside.

Zach emerged from the cover of the trees. “See anything interesting in there?”

The man spun around. His expression gave away his embarrassment at having been caught, then he gave a shrug and a grin. “Mr. Bridger? Zach Bridger? Your truck’s here.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward Zach’s pickup. “I figured you were at home but hadn’t heard my knock.”

Bullshit. Zach walked toward the porch, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to hear first what this guy sporting a shiny badge had to say.

As he came down the steps, Zach sized him up. He was shorter and stockier than Zach, and spent a lot of time lifting weights. His buzz haircut suggested former military. He had a tattoo on the side of his neck, some kind of symbol, but Zach couldn’t tell what it was. He had a swagger just a shade off belligerence.

He’d been looking Zach over, too. “Been out hiking?”

“Um-huh.” Zach glanced beyond the guy at the window through which he’d been peering. “What have you been doing?”

The officer closed the distance between them and extended his right hand. “Deputy Sheriff Dave Morris.”

Zach shook his hand.

The deputy grinned. “Of course I already know who you are.”

Zach acknowledged that with a curt hitch of his chin.

“You’ve lived here for a while now.”

“Three years.”

“Funny that our paths have never crossed.”

“Not so funny,” Zach said. “I don’t go down into town that often.”

“Yeah, but I don’t stick to town. I’m out and about, all over the place,” he said, making an expansive gesture. “But I heard you keep to yourself. Don’t like company.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked westward at the sun that had just sunk below the crest of the mountain across the river, casting Zach’s property in shadow.

When Morris came back around, he hiked up his belt, which seemed to have the entire inventory of a police department’s arsenal attached to it. Zach supposed the move was made to signal that he was getting to the purpose of his visit.

“Mr. Bridger, the folks over on the eastern face—”

“Over on the eastern face there aren’t any folks left. GreenRidge Incorporated has run them all off.”

“I was referring to the folks of GreenRidge Incorporated.”

Zach had known that, of course, but he said, “Oh, pardon.”

“Well, they’ve been experiencing some, uh, vandalism to their property.”

“Vandalism.”

“Nothing real serious so far, but it’s a nuisance, and, added up, it’s costly to repair, replace, and clean up the damage done.”

“What damage?”

“They’ve had their signs removed or defaced. Windows of buildings under construction have been broken out. Last night a backhoe had some rather crude messages spray painted on it.”

Zach just looked at him and said nothing.

“So they asked me to come over here and check on you, see if you’d experienced anything like that, had any intruders.”

“Not until five minutes ago.”

Morris dropped the friendly manner. “I’m not an intruder.”

“A window peeper then.”

“I represent the sheriff’s office.”

“You’re official.”

“Damn straight.”

“Then the next time you want to look inside my house, bring a search warrant. But you won’t find a can of spray paint because I don’t own one. And if I wanted to deface a sign or a backhoe I wouldn’t leave a message for those GreenRidge folks that was ‘rather crude,’ it would be downright obscene.”

“Everybody’s said you’re a jerk.”

Zack placed his hand over his heart. “That really hurts my feelings.” He stepped around the deputy, mounted the porch steps, and picked up the hat lying in the seat of his rocking chair. “Don’t forget this.” He sailed it toward Morris like a Frisbee.