After that Sean drove more slowly, leaning forward and with hands clammy on the steering wheel. A scribbled note on the side of the map told him to watch out for a red mailbox at the turnoff for the cabin. He nearly missed it—it was half hidden in the bushes—but he spotted it in time and took the turn. At every turn he took, the road deteriorated—the drive that led to the cabin was just dirt. At some point someone must have laid down gravel; he could see the remnants, but most of it was buried under dried mud and leaves and other debris. He gave a silent thank you that it hadn’t rained recently —the car could never have handled the track if it was wet.
Sean came upon the cabin through a sudden break in the trees.
It was a smal log structure with a wraparound porch. There was a generous clearing in front and to the left of the cabin, and there was a stream too, a little way down and farther to the left. It should have been a pretty place, but it wasn’t. Maybe it was the early morning sun, only weakly filtering through the trees, but the cabin looked brooding. Not the kind of image you’d see on a vacation home listing, that was for sure. Sean stopped the car wel back from the cabin and turned off the engine. There were signs of life—smoke rose from the cabin’s chimney—but . . . and it only just occurred to him—how was he supposed to contact Sam without attracting the attention of Sam’s grandparents? Shit. What could he do? Lurk out here and hope that Sam wandered out for some early morning fishing? That seemed both pointless and stupid. There was just as much chance that one of Sam’s grandparents would emerge, and maybe run him off before he had a chance to even let Sam know he was there.
Sean got out of the car and walked toward the cabin. He mounted the steps of the porch and knocked firmly on the screen door. There were two rocking chairs on the porch, hand carved by the looks of them, and an untidy bundle of fishing rods, waders, tackle boxes, and jackets piled off to the right. Footsteps approached from inside and Sean gathered himself. The door opened. The man standing just inside the cabin was Jerome Pierce, in ful uniform, gun in holster, a cup of coffee in his hand.
Sean took an instinctive step backward. Jerome Pierce’s first response was a jaw drop; his second was to look past Sean, out into the clearing, as if to check to see whether Sean was alone. Seeing that the clearing was empty he turned his attention back to Sean, shook his head in mock regret.
“You people never give up. I thought you’d have learned your lesson.”
That single step backward was the only backward step Sean took. Fury rose up inside him, and he stepped forward instead, getting right into Pierce’s space. Pierce was the bigger man; Sean didn’t care. He wanted to provoke him, wanted a fight, the satisfaction of landing one decent punch on this preening asshole.
“And what lesson would that be?” Pierce stood for everything he hated about the world and the fact that he could stand there in complete confidence, a sneer on his face and a threat in his words, was so stomach-churningly offensive that Sean couldn’t take it.
“You don’t belong here,” Pierce said. “Why don’t you go back to your little col ege and tel your professors that you need to be taught some manners. No one invited you here. This is private property.”
“It’s not your private property though, is it?” Sean said. “Were you invited here?”
Pierce smiled. “Oh, Sam Senior and I go way back. I’ve got something of a standing invitation, you might say.” He took a sip from his coffee. “The family have made a complaint about you.
Harassment. I’m going to give you thirty seconds to get in your little piece of shit car, and get off this mountain. Otherwise you’re going to find yourself back in a cel by lunchtime.”
Sean’s anger sharpened to the point of hysteria. “You are so sure of yourself, old man,” Sean said. “You think you’re high up on the hil and you’re untouchable. You’re so far gone you can’t even see it when someone’s coming for you. You’re so far gone you can’t even see when they’re at your gate.”
That got to Pierce. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Rawlings,” Sean said. “I’m talking about your wife’s brother. Mindy’s poor dead brother. Did you think we wouldn’t figure it out?” Sean shook his head mockingly. He felt an almost manic excitement. Provoking Pierce was crazy, but in that moment it was also exhilarating. “Al it took was to get to know you a little, you see. Once we figured out that Jerome Pierce only ever acts in his own self-interest, it didn’t take us too long to figure out the rest.”