Page 1 of The Harborer
Chapter 1
Trivialities
Deputy Sheriff Shane O’Brienwas seven miles north of Fall River, his home base, ready to wrap up a ten-hour shift at the end of another grueling workday. And just in time. An early October storm was moving in, and the gun-metal-gray sky threatened to dump a blizzard-load of snow. “Ten-hour shift” was a laughable description, though. Each of his shifts seemed to stretch way beyond ten, like today’s, which was verging on sixteen.
The worst part of these long shifts? Most of his working hours were spent solving problems that could be taken care of by someone besides him. And it wasn’t that he had an over-inflated image of himself or a runaway ego that needed constant tending, but damn it, he was a trained law enforcement officer and a member of the local search and rescue team. Weren’t there more important things for him to do—like save lives and nab badguys—than track down idiot tourists pitching tents in the middle of trails because those were “the most scenic spots”?
The morning had started with a call from a panicked parent. “There’s an elk herd in the school parking lot, and no one can get their cars out!” Shane had been the closest deputy to the scene and had had to reverse course while he’d been out on patrol. No surprise, by the time he’d reached the school, the herd had moved on and so had the parents. Normally, Sheriff Chesterton would have gone along with Shane’s suggestion to wait, but that same parent was one of the sheriff’s chief donors. With his re-election campaign in full swing, Chesterton had folded like a cheap camp chair in a windstorm.
Yesterday, it had been old Mrs. Danvers complaining about a raccoon staring at her from outside her kitchen window. “He won’t stop looking at me, and he won’t leave!” This was the same woman who reported squirrels congregating on her lawn. During the last big snowstorm, she’d accused her neighbor of purposely directing his snowblower so it threw the white stuff on her driveway. Shane had ended up shoveling it for her.
Grumbling about it wasn’t going to make a difference, though. Besides, the extra work gave him another opportunity to show his superior he could meet any challenge while balancing his time with Search and Rescue, even if those “challenges” could have more accurately been labeled “trivialities.”
Of course, clocking more hours left no time to expand his social life beyond the usual handful of childhood buddies and their significant others. Hell, he didn’t even have time to take care of a dog—not that his landlord would allow one, but still, it would have been nice tothinkhe could come home to some tail-wagging once in a while. Thirty-two years old and single, sometimes it felt as though he was caught in a hamster wheel. Go, go, go and never get anywhere.
Shane stuffed down his frustration—he’d had a lot of practice at it lately—shifting his attention to what hecouldcontrol. Right now, he needed a shower. He needed a beer. He needed sleep. Not necessarily in that order. At least this stretch of road wasquiet, so he’d be back in Fall River in ten minutes. After two more shifts, he’d be ready for his three days of downtime. Maybe. If he didn’t get called out by Search and Rescue, which, with bad weather moving in, was a real possibility. There was an upside if it happened, though. He’d be out of his cramped, lonely apartment, serving someone in need while pulling crisp, clean mountain air into his lungs.
Driving down this ribbon of road flanked by deep timber on either side often elicited unwelcome thoughts of his father, and this time was no different. Was Dad out there somewhere, as yet undiscovered? Or was he living his best life—one that didn’t include his wife and sons—laughing his ass off in Costa Rica or some other tropical paradise? Memories stirred up powerful, unrelenting emotions that Shane struggled to wrangle into submission—maybe because his fatigue had exposed his unfilled cracks.
His radio sprang to life, jolting him from his black mood and saving him from meandering farther down the moldering path that was Memory Lane. “431, copy a crash.”
He keyed his radio. “431.”
Donna clipped in her typical tone. “Vehicle versus elk, Hwy 550, mile thirty-nine. Black Ford pickup, heavy front damage. Injuries unknown. EMS en route.”
“Copy, vehicle versus elk.” He repeated the location. “En route from Fall River, five-minute ETA.” He flipped on his overhead lights and made a U-turn.
“10-4. You’re primary. Animal Control notified.”
“Affirmative. Start a tow, priority.”
“Tow started. Advise on scene,” Donna said.
“431 responding.”
Dispatch: “10-4.”
It wasn’t exactly running down drug dealers, but at least this call was more exciting than dealing with Mrs. Danvers’s endless, trivial complaints. And maybe he’d be saving a life after all.
An hour later, Shanecrossed into Fall River and cruised down Bowen Street—the town’s main drag and only paved road. Despite the dreary, chilly day, townsfolk trundled along the sidewalks, past the mostly shuttered shops and restaurants, and they waved at him as he went by.
A few blocks later, he parked in the lot behind the Sheriff’s Office and entered the building, where a familiar volunteer manned the front desk.
Shane gave him a nod. “Gunderson.”
Holt Gunderson returned the greeting. “O’Brien.” Gunderson was a ranger with the National Park Service and a full-time Fall River resident who occasionally filled in for the Sheriff’s Department. In his late twenties, he was a few years younger than Shane and just as single, so when the sheriff had approached him about volunteering, Gunderson had accepted. And thank God. Being short-staffed sucked. And with Sheriff Chesterton hyperfocused on his re-election campaign, their woeful state of personnel wasn’t going to improve anytime soon.
The volunteer deputy leaned back in his chair. “I hear you had to deal with a messy crash on 550.”
“Depends on your definition of ‘messy.’ A delivery truck had a run-in with an elk. It totaled the vehicle. The driver was lucky he wasn’t injured, though he was plenty shaken. Understandably.” A trained EMT, Shane had checked the guy out and cleared him.
“What happened to the elk?”
Shane pulled off his official beanie. “The driver said it disappeared over the embankment. I looked, but I didn’t find any trace.”
“There’s nothing but dark timber around that area,” Gunderson noted. “No wonder you didn’t find it.”
Gunderson was right, but not locating the animal gnawed at Shane. Stuff like that always did. “Hopefully it survived without any serious damage.” And if it didn’t, he prayed it wasn’t suffering even now as it succumbed to injury.
