“I hope you’re right.”
As they approached police headquarters, they were stunned to see civilian vehicles, most of them four-wheel trucks, parked in front of the squat brick building. Those that the parking lot wouldn’t accommodate were parked along both sides of the street.
“What the hell?” Begley asked rhetorically.
Inside, the anteroom was crowded with men wearing camouflage print hunting garb or similar clothing. Most were armed with rifles. One, Hoot noticed, had a sophisticated bow and a quiver of evil-looking arrows. Everybody was talking at once, and all appeared agitated.
Begley tried to elbow his way through the throng in the general direction of the dispatcher, who seemed to be the target of the malcontent. After several failed attempts, the SAC put his fingers in his mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle. It instantly silenced the babble. Weatherproof boots sounded like a stampede on the hardwood floor as they shuffled one hundred eighty degrees.
With every eye in the room on him, Begley identified himself in a voice that could have cut glass. He was standing with his feet planted wide apart, his hands on his hips. Later, Hoot would confide to his co-workers that the nutcracker had never been more effective.
“I want somebody to tell me what the hell is going on here,” he bellowed.
The crowd parted for the man pushing his way through. Although he was dressed for the Iditarod, Hoot recognized Ernie Gunn. “Mr. Begley, Mr. Wise. These men here are some of the volunteers who’d been searching for Millicent until the storm forced them to stop. Word spread yesterday about the guy who took her. We’ve assembled this morning to help capture Ben Tierney.”
Immediately after his meeting with them, Gunn must have notified all his friends that Ben Tierney was the culprit who had taken his daughter. Those friends had told their friends. Hoot looked into the faces of the armed men and saw the resolve of vigilantes bent on getting their man and meting out their own brand of justice.
Begley ignored the others and addressed Gunn. “I understand your desperation—”
“With all due respect, Mr. Begley, you can’t. You’ve got your girl safe and sound at home.”
“I stand corrected,” he said, speaking humbly. “I can appreciate your desperation to find Millicent. I also commend these concerned friends and neighbors who’ve volunteered their time to search for her. I mean that.” He included every man in his sweeping gaze of the room.
“But, gentlemen, this morning you’re reminding me of a lynch mob. At this point, Mr. Tierney is not a suspect. We have no hard evidence against him. I want to emphasize that. Folks heard his name mentioned in connection to our visit here, gossip spread like wildfire, it went out over the radio, and things got blown all out of proportion. We came to Cleary only to question him, to have him clarify some issues in order for us to eliminate him as a suspect.”
An unidentified voice spoke from the back of the group. “That’s all we want to do, too. Question him.” The tongue-in-cheek remark was met with snickers.
Begley, clearly irritated by the interruption, said, “You don’t need rifles with scopes to talk to a man. A helicopter is due to arrive within an hour. I intend to take it up to the peak. If Tierney is indeed in the cabin recently owned by Chief Burton, he will be asked to cooperate with us and will be questioned according to jurisprudence. He will be afforded his constitutional rights.
“Now, that’s how it’s going to be. That’s the only way it’s going to be, Mr. Gunn. If you and your friends attempt to compromise our mission, or take matters into your own hands, I will use whatever means I deem necessary to subdue you. This is a police matter. As such—”
“Then where are the goddamn police?” Gunn asked angrily.
“Excuse me?”
Gunn flung his arm wide. “These men came here this morning to offer their time and services to you and the police. But our chief of police is nowhere to be found.”
Hoot shared Begley’s astonishment. “What do you mean he’s nowhere to be found?”
“Just what I said,” Gunn replied. “His own men haven’t seen or heard from Dutch since late last night, when he told the dispatcher he was going home for some shut-eye.”
“He told us to come get him if we needed him.” Officer Harris materialized out of the crowd. He’d replaced his uniform with an insulated jumpsuit and a fleece-lined hat with earflaps like most of the others were wearing, making him indistinguishable until now. “I just got back from his place. Looks to me like nobody’s been there in a long time. Not even any ash in the fireplace.”
Begley cut a worried glance toward Hoot. “Perhaps Wes Hamer . . .”
Before Begley could finish, Harris was shaking his head. “He’s AWOL, too. I stopped at his house on my way here. Mrs. Hamer said Mr. Hamer came in late last night, slept for a couple of hours, then left again before dawn.”
“Did she know where he was going?”
“Said she didn’t.”
Hoot didn’t like the feel of this, not at all. Judging by Begley’s dark expression, he didn’t like it either. He pondered it for several tense moments, then said crisply, “Officer Harris.”
“Yes, sir?”
“In the absence of your chief, and until further notice from me, you are in charge of coordinating these men. I want them organized into an official search-and-rescue battalion. Your immediate job is to make certain they have the gear and supplies they’ll need. And I’m talking everything. Ammo. Extra clothing. Compasses. Food. Water. Lots of water. I won’t be responsible for somebody fainting out there from dehydration.”
“Right, sir.”