Page 76 of The Harborer
“Uh, sure?” Hailey pulled out her phone and tapped.
Gunderson turned his head toward Shane. “Hey, you know that picture you were showing me? The map with the trailheads?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“You still got it?”
Shane found the image on his phone and handed it to Gunderson, who moved his fingers over the screen, zooming in, zooming out. He pointed at the blue square with theCinside the box. It was kind of off by itself, and Shane didn’t think Gunderson had noticed it earlier.
Apparently he had because he tapped it. “This spot has been bugging me ever since you showed me this map, and I think I finally figured it out. I’m pretty sure that’s where the old Allen cabin sits.”
Shane didn’t hide his surprise. “Allen, as inMickyAllen?” He’d never heard of it.
“Well, his grandpa’s cabin. Or maybe it was his great-grandpa. Anyway, they had one of those shoestring claims up there. I don’t think it ever amounted to much, but while they were mining it, they put up a rough one-room cabin. TheCcould stand for ‘cabin,’ but what would theStat Mountain Coffee stand for?”
Shane thought he knew.
Hailey held up her phone. “Message sent, but no reply so far.”
Shane gave her a nod of thanks and turned back to Gunderson. “Is the structure still standing?”
“It was when I was up there earlier this year, but it was in sad shape. More of a shack or a lean-to. Could be a pile of timbers by now.”
“How do I get to it?”
Shane’s urgency must have been obvious because Gunderson’s relaxed expression shifted in a heartbeat. “Dude, what are you onto?”
“I’ll tell you in a sec. What road do I take to get to the cabin?”
“County Road 352.”
Shane’s phone rang. “Dispatch” glowed on the screen. “I’ve got to take this.”
Noah had been following their conversation, and his demeanor, like Gunderson’s, had transformed from humorous to stony. He signaled for Shane to follow him, and Shane did. Noahunlocked his office and threw open the door. “Take as much time as you need.”
Shane thanked him and answered the phone as Noah shut the door behind him. “This is 431, Deputy Shane O’Brien.”
“431, Central.” Donna’s tone was brisk, clipped. Shane’s heart stopped.
“Be advised, Unit 346 just called in a blue-gray Ford Explorer, northbound 550, high rate. Vehicle turned east on County Road 352, mile marker four-seven. Plate confirmed.”
Shane’s pulse spiked. “Did he give occupant info?”
“Negative on occupant count or gender. He did report a silver Chevy Tahoe followed Explorer off-road, tight enough to bump. No rear plate visible. One occupant observed. 346 broke off to divert to a 10-50 fatal, marker six-three.”
A hunch made his mind whir. “Central, details on that 10-50?”
“Affirm. Single-vehicle, beige pickup. No further at this time.”
Shane thanked her and tore back into the bar, where he hailed Gunderson. “How much have you had to drink?”
Gunderson gaped at him before recognition dawned. “It’s strictly a Coke night. What do you need?” He whipped out a few bills he smacked on the bar top and began yanking on his parka.
“I need backup.”
“I’m in.”
Minutes later, Shane andGunderson were hurtling north out of Fall River into the inky night in Shane’s GMC Sierra. Gunderson had grabbed a few extra supplies from his own personal vehicle, including his GLOCK 19 and extra magazines. Shane had liberated his full-sized service weapon, a Sig Sauer P320, from its in-car gun safe and made sure his Daniel Defense AR-10 was stowed below his back seat before they’d started out.
