2020-09-17 - Where There's Smoke

It's quiet at Branch & Bole just before close today; the customers turned in early, including the allotment gardeners, and there were no late or last-minute tree appointments. August sends Ignacio, Ully, and Thoma home first, and lingers just long enough to make sure the orders are in place and the schedule for the next few days is sorted out.

He pulls on his light, black hoodie, shoulders his workbag, and does a final check of all the locks (back door, front door, side doors, back gate, private greenhouse). He knows everything's in order; it's just an excuse to watch the animals come out into the grotto or the front garden, and listen to the robins call to one another as they argue over who got the fattest worm. Then he's off to his black Outback, thinking about dinner. Dove? Grouse? His luck hasn't been great so far, he'd like to stock up more before they dig into them. Maybe just trout...

That's when a compact 1980s model truck drives by, a tarp covering something in the bed. It's headed towards the outskirts of the city, into a more wooded area. The truck itself is a burnt umber colour.

A car driving by isn't really worth noting, and one exiting the town doubly so. But this one looks familiar in a way that makes the back of August's neck itch. It takes him a second to place it, but when he does, his heart ices over.

It's probably just coincidence. There's a lot of cars fitting the description of 'old, rundown, small truck' in this area. A lot. He wouldn't be surprised if the junk yard's been called in ten times.

Yet conveniently he has to drive that same direction, further out the highway to the forest service road, so he can legitimately still drive home and note where this car is going. Which isn't creepy at all. (Who's he kidding, it's creepy, but his friend was found buried in sand with an octopus for a head; it was creepy long before just now.) Doubly convenient, his car's not a slouch in the engine department, which means he can close up the gap and maybe not lose sight of it, while still maintaining a comfortable distance.

de la Vega's gonna bitch me out for this, he thinks, but climbs into his Outback and heads after it.

The truck doesn't seem to be in a particular hurry. It's driving quite regularly, quite safely, as it heads out of town. The tarp flaps in the back, but it doesn't reveal anything.

That's when August's phone rings. It's Niall on the other end of the line.

One of the best things that's been invented in the last ten years is BlueTooth pairing to vehicle. Granted Itzhak had to set it up for him, but August has never been happier he bowed to peer pressure on that little feature than he is right now. He hits the answer button. "Hey Niall. How you doing." He's trying not to sound harried or...busy...or anything. Totally casual! (August is a horrible liar, this is something anyone who knows him can attest to.)

His driving, however, does remain casual, on account of not needing to actually pick up his phone and unlock it. Technology is awesome.

Drive casual, as the saying goes. The truck continues down the road. Its license plate is visible in August's headlights.

"Hey, mate. Sorry, I know it's supper time." The Kiwi sounds a bit distracted on the other end of the line himself. "But I thought you might want to know that some of my rangers found evidence that someone has been hacking their own trail through part of the Firefly towards the beach. The entrances aren't hacked, but there's a full foot path a couple of meters inwards. Again, could just be kids but it feels a bit fishy."

"No," August says, eyes on the truck, trying to balance the task of listening to Niall and driving super, casual towards home with a possible serial killer in front of him. A serial killer, heading towards his cabin, where his wife--

He makes himself stop gripping his steering wheel. He doesn't know anything. Instead, he says, "Nah that doesn't sound like kids. There's been...what, two incidents on the beach? And I found one of Hank's shoes in the sand by a trail leading off into the woods, might even be the same ones you're looking at." He eyes that license plate. "Hey, can you do me a big favor? I need you to write something down for me."

"Yeah, I mean, there is a trail that people've cut to the beach. The one I found opens up off to the left after a few feet up that path. Sort of hard to explain." There's the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line from Niall. "One sec, lemme find a pen."

The truck speeds up. It's doing over the speed limit now. There's a fork up ahead, one which leads to a rural road and a heavily forested area, another that leads to the coast.

August starts murmuring the license plate under his breath. He speeds up just a hair; enough that the truck won't roar away, though not enough to keep their distance even. He needs to take the rural road, and from there the forest road, so if this guy heads to the coast there's a problem. August will, sooner or later, start driving like he has no idea where he's going. If he happens to be heading into the National Forest as well, it's all good. August can turn out to the small neighborhood he and a few dozen other cabin dwellers call home in a totally innocent and non-stalkery fashion.

"Is that a license plate number?" asks Niall over the Bluetooth, just as the car does indeed veer the forest route. It's notable for August that he lives down here, but the truck doesn't look familiar. Then again, it is a fairly nondescript vehicle, but nevertheless. It's not a deeply populated area.

"It is," August says. "Of an older, foreign, light truck, rust sort of color." He pauses there, hoping Niall understands what he's getting at without needing to actually say it. "I'm on my way home, couldn't help but notice what I was driving behind. Probably nothing." Probably nothing, but it's turning off the highway like the folks who like to live free from HOAs and street lights do, and they found a body in the woods, and a path hacked into them from the beach. Which are all definitely something. "Got that written down?"

People who're familiar with rougher roads have a way of driving them; they know where the long-standing potholes are, where the jog is to evade that poorly-set manhole, when to be in the left or right lane based on poorly-trimmed trees that might scratch your roof and doors. They shift around automatically as they go, and August does that now, without really thinking about it. After three years it's ingrained: slow down just a little right here so you don't bounce coming off this dip, drift a little left past the cow-painted mailbox to avoid screwing up your alignment on a rut that's a foot or more deep, and so on.

He doesn't know this truck. Of course, he's not a car person, but he has lived here three years. Has anyone aside from de la Vega moved into the area in the last few months, anything gone up for rent?

Right. He's on the phone. "Something else to take down--any recent vacancies up in the Byer's Hollow area. That block of land in the middle of the National Forest."

This truck, tellingly, dodges some of the obstacles but not all of them. The big pothole around the bend? Yep. That low-hanging tree? No, that rattles across the roof. Then again, it's kind of a piece of shit truck, so maybe the driver just doesn't care? It's getting to be do or die time for August. The truck seems to be heading deeper into the park, down towards the land of access roads and trailheads, and past where it makes sense for him to be following at this time of night.

"August, are you trailing the fucking killer?" says Niall over the speaker, like his own guardian Kiwi angel.

"I really hope not," August says, tapping a point on Google maps. "Because if so he's way too close to my cabin for comfort." And here's his turn off onto the gravel-covered forest service road. He gives the truck a final look as he slows for the sharp turn, and like that, his Outback is off through the trees.

He doesn't stop until he reaches his perimeter fence. Then he sits there, holding the steering wheel. "It might just be...some truck that looks like it. But I figure we can give it to the cops, as another lead to look into." He unhooks the BlueTooth, flips to speaker and opens his note-taking app. "Okay. Read that plate back to me?"

The truck continues on its way, down a branching access road, speeding up a little when August makes his move to break off pursuit. Then the truck disappears down the dark road. He's not being followed, at least.

"That sounds like a real bad idea. Don't face him alone. If it's him, he's fucking nuts." Niall pauses briefly, then reads back the plate with the correct combo of letters and numbers.

August laughs, a little nervous, a little excited. "Oh believe me, I have no plans to." For one thing, he's not actually sure he can get past his personal issues to hurt someone. (That's a lie but he likes to think it's true.) For another, Eleanor would chain him to the cabin for a year. For yet another, there'd be a line of people ready to yell at him, starting and ending with Itzhak (who would sneak in a middle spot too). And finally if he goes to face a crazy serial killer solo he forfeits his hard-earned and much coveted moral high ground over Alexander when it comes to running off to do stupid shit by himself. That's irreplaceable.

Also, "Alexander said this would be good for Detective Wilkinson career wise. And she's trained and paid to do this. I'm no one's Nightwing." He notes the coordinates from where he tapped on Google Maps, sighs. "Okay. Gonna call this in. So, look--if it was him? Be careful up here around the woods. He's clearly got business around here, of some sort. You and your people."

"Don't worry. No one's going off alone these days. And night patrols tend to go trios. Hell for staffing and for the budget, but I managed to sell it as necessary." Niall sounds like he is relieved that August is not playing vigilante.

A minute or two goes by, and there's suddenly the smell of something burning in the air. Something...well, something not wood. The night is clear, so it is possible, if August looks behind him, to see a tower of smoke coming from the direction the truck went.

"Good." August is well aware how hard a sell that must have been. The NPS isn't exactly swimming in cash these days, not even for a more popular park like Olympic. "You're doing the right thing. Even if the budget's not gonna thank you for it."

He's about to hang up when that smell reaches him. He looks over his shoulder through the back window, grabs his phone and hops out of the Outback. "Ah, fuck. Niall, something's on fire. Call it in, looks like it's--maybe three? miles west and north of me."

"Fuck. Hang on, stay on the line. I'm on my mobile, but there's a land line here at the station." There's a good deal of fumbling on Niall's end. Then there's the off-receiver sound of him talking to the fire department in a way that August hasn't heard him. It's professional and uses shorthand, and he's delivering GPS coordinates rather than a rural address, which he must have looked up earlier.

Before too long, there's the cry of sirens from the main road as a fire truck zips up the narrow road as fast as it can, trailed by an ambulance. The smoke is quite thick now, and there's a flick of red on the horizon.

People are coming out of their cabins onto the gravel road, watching the fire with 'don't you DARE' expressions. It's hardly a forest-level blaze just yet, but they're wary, this lot. More than a few of them have had to load their animals into a trailer and flee. (Everyone in the Hollow has a standing agreement on that front: if someone isn't home, go get their animals.)

"Surprised we made it this far into the year without one," someone comments.

August stares from next to his car. Well, now there's fire trucks and ambulances. Maybe he can go check it out--safety in First Responder numbers, and all. "Thanks, Niall," he says, and sighs. "I hope that's not..." Another person. "I hope it wasn't him."

Eventually, the fire department comes around to check on everyone. They got there soon enough that the smoke and flames stops relatively quickly. Rumors spread before the First Responders get to August, and people are talking about a burned-out truck found at the end of an access road.

One of August's neighbours comes up to him, bundling her robe around herself. "The fire department just got done talking to Paul. Seems they found a truck burned out at the end of a park access road. They haven't found the driver, so they're worried."

August has, by now, hung up with Niall, once they could be sure the fire wouldn't spread. It's a long walk from where the truck was to anywhere else, which means wherever that driver was intending to go probably isn't far. That makes August uneasy, but what can he do? Nothing much except report the license plate, which hopefully wasn't stolen. (Whatever, they can get the VIN off the engine block.) At least it's less likely the guy recognized his car; that's the benefit of being the follower in the dark.

"Park access road," August echoes. Rather than look suspicious asking pointed questions, he just says, "Wonder if some kids stole it for a joy ride." He makes a face to go with this speculation. It's the kind of thing teens in areas like this do; steal old beaters and set them on fire, then run off onto public land where no one can find them.

"That park is dangerous at night," says August's neighbour. She's pulled a joint from somewhere. Ah, good old PNW. "There's a killer, they say." After getting the joint flaring, she offers it to August. "Hope they didn't get too far into the forest. Stupid." She shakes her head. "Coulda set half the park on fire."

Eventually, a firefighter ambles over to take August's statement, to ask if he saw the truck in question. From the weary look on his face, he's not expecting to get any information from him.

August is perfectly happy to take a hit, murmurs a thank you. "Don't forget to save some space in your freezer. Goose season in a little while," he reminds her.

When the firefighter arrives for August's statement he's in the process of feeding the goats. The geese have, fortunately, already been fed, so they don't raise a ruckus at his approach. The ducks mutter, the chickens ignore him. Latte and the minipigs, Bessie and Coltrane, watch from the stormdoor with interest. "Sounds like the truck that was just ahead of me on my way home," he says. "Ratty looking Nissan or Datsun, rust-colored?" He raises his eyebrows.

The firefighter looks surprised when August answers in the affirmative. "Yessir. Listen, the police will probably be by in a little bit to take your statement. Are you going to be awake awhile longer?"

Meanwhile, an NPS jeep rolls by with a cadre of park rangers. August's phone chimes a moment later with a text from Niall.

We're supporting the responders to sweep the woods. Don't worry, we're doing it in teams of four with at least one police officer, and we won't sweep further in than the main trails in the dark.

August nods. "I can be, definitely. Feel free to send them by." No need to fill the fireman in on the huge long story of why August took down a suspicious truck plate. Detective Wilkinson won't need it, and that'll save everyone time.

He tugs out his phone, eyes the text and swipes a reply. Good. Gimme a shout if you need help with something other than apprehending a murderer. Because, well, August isn't sure he'd be remotely good at that. I have climbing equipment if he's putting more shit in or on trees.

The fireman nods and moves off back towards the scene. It's quite a ruckus now, and another fire truck plus a few police cruisers turn up.

I'll keep you in the loop. I'm at the station coordinating with the police. Funny how they don't want the boss doing the legwork.

Then, after a moment, Must run. Touch base soon.

August continues his evening chores as the parade rolls by; his neighbors come and go, drawn away from Netflix and Hulu by a live spectacle. "Damned kids," one mutters. "One day they'll burn us out of house and home."

"Maybe it was the beach killer," someone else comments. "I heard he hid a body in the woods."

August remains silent. None of his neighbors (save de la Vega and Itzhak) Glimmer, so he never engages them with more than mundane talk.

He glances down at his phone. Thanks. Be careful. Stay safe. Feel free to give them the plate number if the truck's was missing, just say you got an anonymous tip.