The Totem

"What you're telling me is that we won't find any answer."

"What I'm saying is, we don't have the time for trial and error."

"Look, there has to be some logic to this," Dunlap said.

They turned to him, the city man who pla

"Logic? Where the hell is logic?" Slaughter demanded.

"You'd know the way to do this if you were still in Detroit. Think of everything that's happened as a group of crimes you're plotting on a grid of city streets. Diagram it for the pattern."

"But there isn't any pattern," Rettig said.

"Of course, there is. Don't think about what's happened in the town. Just concentrate on incidents near the mountains. I've been here only since Friday, but I spotted right away that everything has happened on the western section of the valley."

"Don't you think I know that?" Rettig said impatiently.

"Use it!"

Slaughter shifted his attention to the map. "Okay, if you're so confident. Why not? It's worth a try. We haven't anything to lose." He drew an X. "That's Bodine's ranch, pretty close to where we found the abandoned truck. Here's the lake where Altick's men were lost."

"And here's the deserted compound."

"Don't forget your own place," Rettig told him. "It's obvious those weren't bobcats. You live near that section, too."

"Can you think of any other things?"

"The ranchers who reported mangled cattle live over there, and that hippie staggered into town from that direction."

There were X's all across that section of the map.

"I don't see what that accomplished," Slaughter said.

"I do," Lucas answered. "Draw some lines up toward the mountains. Intersect them."

Slaughter did, and the men grouped around the table, frowning toward the map.

"Well, it's high up. That's what you expected," Slaughter told Rettig.

"High enough that people don't go up there much. You see that there aren't any trails marked."

"What's this broken line here?" Slaughter asked.

"That's the railroad that went up to where they used to mine the gold back in the old days. It's all broken down now."

"Mine the gold? Mine what gold?"

"This was once the richest section of the state. Back in eighteen ninety-five. There used to be a town up there."

And Slaughter felt the chill begin.

"Dear God, the answer's been there all along, and we were just too dumb to see it," Owens said.

"The ghost town," Rettig said. "They called it Motherlode. It's hard as hell to get there now that we don't have the railroad up there. I mean, there's no wagon road, no trail. That's why they built the railroad in the first place."

"Motherlode, and there are shafts that cut in through the rock walls. If you knew what you were doing, you could live up there a long time. All those miners did."

"And now the hippies," Slaughter said.

"And now the hippies," Owens echoed. "There's no telling what we'll find up there."

"I'm sorry, Slaughter. "Parsons' voice came strong across the room. They whirled and looked beyond the glass partition at the group of men with rifles who were hurrying through the main door, standing in the middle of the larger office. Parsons was ahead of them, looming huge and staring toward the glass partition.

"You keep barging in. It's not a habit I admire," Slaughter said.

"Well, this will be the last. You'll have to come with us."

The room was silent. The shuffling feet had stopped. The officer on duty at the radio was frowning. The three men who'd been answering the telephones halted in mid-sentence. They made brief remarks and set down the phones. At once, the phones started ringing again.

"Pull the jacks on those things," Parsons said. "I don't want to hear them."

They were looking first at Slaughter, then at Parsons.

"Pull the jacks, I told you."

They leaned down quickly, pulling out the jacks.

"That's better. Now we won't be interrupted. Well, you heard me, Slaughter. Let's get moving."

"Where? What for?"

"I just declared emergency conditions."

"I don't-"

"This is what you'd call a citizen's arrest."

"You're joking."

"Am I smiling? Move before we make you."

"But you can't be serious."

"I'm not prepared to argue. It's a known fact that you wouldn't follow orders."

"That's because you didn't want to deal with this."

"Do I appear as if I'm not prepared to deal with this? Your logic's not convincing. You've been acting on your own without authority. Your methods have been irresponsible. You've let this thing get out of hand while you, the medical examiner, and Owens were conspiring to hide evidence of murder."

"What?"

"The boy the medical examiner slashed open in the morgue. The boy was still alive. You think I don't know about that? Once I figured that the parents would be suing us, I had a second autopsy performed. That slash is hardly what you'd call professional. Oh, sure, the medical examiner worked hard to make it seem a part of his procedure, but he didn't do it well enough. We're holding all of you until we learn the truth about this."

"Not including me." Dunlap stepped ahead. "I don't know anything about this."

"But you've seen enough to be a circumstantial witness. Slaughter bragged about that. And this fellow here. I don't know how he's involved in this."

"I'm passing through," Lucas said.

"You're Wheeler's son. I know that much by now. You used to chum with all those hippies, and we can't afford to trust you. How much money do you have?"

"I don't see-"

"How much money?"

"Ten, maybe twelve dollars."

"Not enough. You're a vagrant, and we'll likely find a record on you once we start investigating. All of you, I'm tired of waiting."

"What about me?" Rettig stepped forward.

"I have nothing I can claim against you. Actually I'm putting you in charge, although I'm still suspicious of your friendship with Slaughter. Make one move to help him, and you'll join him. This department's been in bad shape for too long. I mean to put some muscle in it. I won't ask you anymore, " he told them. "Rettig, take his gun."

But Rettig hesitated.

"It's all right," Slaughter told him. "Every second we argue, there's more trouble outside. Do what he tells you. I'll make good on this."

Parsons laughed. "Sure you will. In your own jail. Let's get this finished."

Rettig looked at Slaughter, then took Slaughter's gun. The men with rifles stepped ahead to form a cordon, and the five men went out, guards around them.

Rettig watched as Parsons remained in the office and studied the map.

"How much help did he call in?" Parsons asked.

"Sheridan and Lander, places like that."

"Well, I think that I can keep them quiet, keep the word about this strictly in the valley. I don't want those ranchers ruined. Did he call in the state militia?"

"He wasn't sure yet." Rettig had troubled speaking.

"Good," Parsons said. "I stopped him just in time. Slaughter meant to ruin everyone."

"I hardly think so."

Parsons tapped his fingers on the map. "Rettig, what I need now is cooperation, someone who can do the job. Are you prepared to help, or aren't you?"

"Yes, I want to help."

"Then there isn't any problem, is there? You stay, and you work to keep the town safe. I have people who'll be downstairs watching Slaughter."

"But that reporter. Surely you don't think you can muzzle him. Eventually he'll write about the valley."

"What, a drunk, a common lush? When I'm through smearing his reputation, there won't be anyone who'll listen to him. Plus, there won't be anything for him to see. He'll never have the story."

"He can try."

"But he'll need evidence, and if you think your chief was good at cover-ups, you haven't seen what I can do. When I'm finished, this place will be happy valley. We'll have had a small exaggerated rabies scare."