Page 49 of Bait and Switch
“Arson, has to be,” he muttered, wishing Greta was there and not miles away on a different road heading in a different direction.
He arrived at the access to Gordon’s property and maneuvered the truck onto the road. Because of the emergency vehicles that had driven in and out after Dwayne’s death, much of the brush and scrub had been beaten back. Branches did not scrape along the side of the truck as he bumped closer to the dancing light, and in that instant, he thought he saw a figurecarrying something large dart behind the red-orange glow. But it happened too fast for him to be positive.
What he did know for sure was that the shed was engulfed in flames. For now, the stand of trees closest to the tiny structure did not appear to be involved, but if the wind changed, all bets were off.
Next to him, Casey’s phone lit up, illuminating the cab with an eerie glow. Assuming it was Greta, he reached over and tapped the screen to accept the call. He’d just assure her everything was fine and see if she had an ETA for emergency services.
It was not his partner.
“Casey.” Elton’s voice boomed. “Elton here on Gabe’s phone—Gabe’s listening in too.”
Dammit, he didn’t have time to shoot the shit with Elton. Or Karne.
“Sorry, Elton, I was on my way back to your place, but now there’s a situation up here in The Valley. A fire at Gordon’s shack. But there could be something else, maybe,” he spoke quickly. “The blaze is too big for a campfire and who the fuck would be burning brush this time of year? Gotta check it out.”
He eased the truck to the side of the road so that it hugged the gravel drive and would be out of the way of the emergency vehicles, which were still miles away. Forty to forty-five minutes by Casey’s estimate, no less than thirty.
A lot could go wrong in half an hour.
“Wait, Casey,” Elton said, “this is important. We figured out who?—”
Again, Casey thought he saw a figure on the other side of what once had been Gordon’s shed, its outline darker than the shadows. Whoever it was definitely had a similar shape to Calvin, but he couldn’t be positive.
“Sorry, Elton, I really can’t talk.” Without waiting for his reply, Casey tucked the phone away into his side pocket. Leaning over, he grabbed his service weapon out of the glove box and tucked it in his holster, then snagged the flashlight. If it was Calvin Perkins doing some kind of weirdPicnic at Hanging Rockthing—thanks to Mickie for the reference and for making Casey watch some of the oddest movies ever made—he wasn’t stupid enough to approach the man unarmed. Especially if it had been Calvin who’d attacked Carlos.
Whoever was out there had to have seen him arrive. Casey hadn’t bothered trying to be sneaky, but it was likely they couldn’t hear much over the pop and crackle of the burning wood and if they were under the influence of something, he’d deal with that once he assessed the situation.
Popping the door open, he hopped out and stood next to the truck for a second, adjusting to the cold after the warmth of the cab. If he was right and it was Perkins, instinct told him he didn’t have long.
“Hello! This is Forest Ranger Casey Lundin. I’ve called emergency services!” he shouted as he crossed toward the flickering remains of the shed, deciding to leave the flashlight off for the moment. “What’s going on? Is anyone injured?”
Over the years, he’d had to take a few continuing ed courses, and several had been on how to negotiate, but he’d never had to use them before. He remembered that it was good to try and start from the position of offering help rather than assuming people were breaking the law, even if you knew they were. Did it always work? No, but he might as well try. He waited for a count of ten, but there was no answer to his question.
“I’m approaching the structure. Make yourself known.”
Nothing. But he saw movement again, a bit further away from the fire this time.
“Calvin Perkins, is that you out there?” He was glad to have the weighty flashlight in one hand—he did not want to draw his weapon.
Something was off about this. Instinct was telling him to take care. Not just the fire, which was obviously as wrong as the possible Calvin sighting, but Casey didn’t know what that something was yet. He took a few more steps forward. Again, his instincts shriekedNO, but Casey forced his feet to step further away from his truck and toward the small inferno.
“Don’t come any closer,” a distant voice shouted. “One more step and you’re done too.”
Too? What the hell did that mean?
“Calvin, is that you? It’s Casey, Casey Lundin, you know me. What’s this all about? How can I help you?”
“Get out of here, Lundin.” Calvin’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been shouting for hours, days maybe. Casey remembered what Carlos had told them, that his attacker had been a screaming wild man. “This is tainted land. This land killed my brother. My brother, man.My brother.”
Casey thought Perkins was trying to still scream, but the words were coming out in a rasp—his vocal cords were totally blown.
“It’s gonna kill you too. It’s killed before and it will kill again. So much killing.”
Rambling was not a good sign, even for Calvin Perkins, who was not the sharpest tool and with whom Casey’d had plenty of run-ins over the years. This behavior did not bode well for talking him down before emergency services arrived.
Casey stopped moving, tucked his flashlight under one arm, and raised his hands slightly, facing his palms outward. If Calvin was paying attention, he’d see that Casey wasn’t carrying a weapon. Not in his hands anyway.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your brother, I really am. Tell me what’s going on here. I can’t help you if I don’t know the facts.”
