A Fountain Filled With Blood

Ingraham and the mayor laughed. “Seriously,” he continued, “there’s not as much call for foot pursuit as you’d think from watching TV shows. And fortunately, the criminals around here tend to be in worse shape than I am.”

“The crime-rate statistics I studied before we bid for the Landry property indicated very little other than small-scale property crimes and domestic violence,” Opperman said. “One of the attractions for tourists is that this area is safe.”

“That’s true,” Russ said. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

Ingraham turned to his partner. “You do know the police are investigating a serious assault that took place Wednesday last, don’t you? The victim had actually been at the inn where I’m staying right before he was attacked.”

Mayor Jim Cameron leaped in, a reassuring look pasted on his face. “But that’s very, very rare. And the doctor who was attacked was local. I don’t think we’ve ever had any incidents involving tourists, have we, Chief?” He went on before Russ could respond. “I think it’s the influence of our superlative setting. Surrounded by magnificent mountains, pristine lakes, and fish-filled rivers, who can fail to feel happier and more relaxed?”

Plenty of folks, Russ thought, but he kept his mouth shut.

Ingraham laughed. “You don’t have to sell me, Jim. If I didn’t believe this place would draw in visitors, I wouldn’t have picked it for the new resort.”

“It is a site with a lot of visual appeal,” Opperman said. “I’ve flown in several potential investors, and I always swing through the mountains and over the surrounding countryside on those trips. Everyone comments about the extraordinary setting.”

“So, you’re definitely going ahead with the construction?” the mayor said.

“Well, like I said at the meeting, we will as long as we don’t have any trouble from the DEP.”

“Good,” Cameron said. He looked as though he was about to say more, but instead, he closed his mouth and nodded.

Russ thought maybe a change of conversation would be in order. “You said you fly, Mr. Opperman?”

“We hire pilots as necessary, but I’m licensed for both our two-engine prop plane and the company helicopter.”

“What type of helicopter?” Russ asked.

“Why?” Ingraham said. “You like to fly, Chief? John could take you up sometime. No problem.”

“No, but thanks. I’ve got a…friend who used to fly, that’s all.”

The noise from the spectators in the park had surrounded them with a constant hum. Now Russ could hear yells and cheers. “They must be coming in,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on how the roads are clearing. Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”

The coed hikers must have headed for greener pastures at some point, because Kevin Flynn was moping about the squad car, looking like a dog left too long outside a store. “Everything okay?” Flynn asked, raising his voice to be heard above the cheers of the crowd around the finish line. Runners were pounding through makeshifts chutes, drenched with sweat despite the cold weather, as a large digital clock displayed their times in tenths of a second.

“No problems yet,” Russ said. He slid into the car, closed the door, and rolled up the window so he could hear Harlene over the noise outside. Flynn hopped in the other door. “Dispatch, this is fifteen fifty-seven.”

“Fifteen fifty-seven, this is Dispatch.”

“The runners are coming in. Make sure those intersections are getting opened up as soon as possible.”

“Roger that.”

“Any news?”

“It’s been pretty quiet so far. There was a fight out to Lockland’s Whispering Pines campground. Somebody pulled out their RV without disconnecting the water and sanitation lines, and Lockland decked the damnfool.”

Kevin snickered. Russ shot him a look. “They get it all sorted out?” Russ asked.

“Yeah, Lyle convinced the RV guy not to press assault charges and Lockland not to press vandalism charges. Lyle said he hadn’t smelled a stink like that since his brother’s cesspool overflowed.”

“Remind me not to complain about sweaty runners. Anything else?”

“We got a call from Bob Mongue over to the state troopers’ headquarters. They’ve got a possible on your red Chevy.”

Russ sat up straighter. “Yeah? Where?”

“The Burgoyne campground on Route Four, south of Whitehall. Big ’ninety-seven pickup with Pennsylvania plates. Good-sized crunch in the right rear.”

“They run the plates?”

“They’re doing it now. Sergeant Mongue’ll call back when they’ve talked with the driver and checked his ID.”

“Raise me as soon as you know anything, Harlene.”

“Will do. I’ve got one more thing for you.”

“Okay.”

“Mrs. Bain called. Thought she saw a man poking around her house, trying to get in.”

“Oh for—” He clenched the microphone and took a deep breath. “How long has it been since her son came for a visit?”

“ ’Bout three months now.”

“Okay. She’s definitely due for a prowler. There’s a copy of the last incident report in the files. Get that out and change the date, will you? That way, it’ll be ready to go when she asks for it.”

“Roger that. Dispatch out.”