The others took several steps backward. Maggie could see beads of sweat on the county attorney’s forehead.
“Sheriff,” Maggie said, “would you please inform these gentlemen that I don’t have the time to make federal arrests right now, but I certainly will do that if it’s necessary.”
The only sound was the generator, a steady hum up on the ridge, muffled by the trees. A fork of lightning flashed far over the clearing, followed by a distant rumble. A reminder that time was running out.
“I’ll let you guys know what’s going on,” the sheriff said, and he edged closer to Maggie still keeping a yard between them.
Finally the men turned to leave, casting glances over their shoulders while mumbling to one another. Even the county attorney grudgingly left, after kicking at the ground like a toddler shaking off a tantrum.
When they were past the cattails Maggie said to the sheriff, “I’m Maggie O’Dell.”
She holstered her weapon still watching the men, only looking at the sheriff when he said, “I’m Frank Skylar. What the hell’s the FBI doing out here?”
“Believe it or not, I just happened to be in the neighborhood.” She held back adding “unfortunately.” She started leading him back to the crime scene when she added, “I’ll need you to call the coroner. See if you can get him here before those thunderstorms make it.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a problem.”
She stopped to look back at him, disappointed that she was still going to have him working against her. “And why is that?”
“You just sent away the coroner.”
“One of those men was the coroner? Why didn’t he say so?”
“Actually he did. Oliver Cushman is our county attorney. By state law the county attorney is the coroner as well.”
It was Maggie’s turn to say, “You cannot be serious.”
CHAPTER 9
NEBRASKA NATIONAL FOREST
Maggie didn’t think it possible, but the floodlights made the forest scene even eerier. Stark shadows appeared where none had existed in the darkness. The fallen pine needles and dried leaves came alive. Animals that had been otherwise invisible suddenly became alert, threatened by the light and skittering away. Hank had mentioned something about cougars and bobcats, and Maggie could swear she saw one stalking them from the ridge up above.
Maggie watched as Hank and one of the paramedics gently lifted the boy wrapped in barbed wire onto a stretcher made from a tarp. Rather than carry him up the trail, they had cut the fence that separated the pasture from the forest. They’d take him over the dunes in the back of an ATV to deliver him to a rescue unit waiting on the other side. It was the closest they were able to get a rescue vehicle and they could barely see the halo of the headlights.
Maggie walked with them through the narrow paths of tree trunks, pretending to help carry a corner. She knew the two men could do so easily but she couldn’t break the connection with the boy. Earlier, as soon as she started to trail out of his line of vision his head started pivoting around, frantically searching for her. But the paramedic had given him an injection to relax and sedate him and now the boy finally closed his eyes. So she escorted them to where the cattails grew taller than her, to where the ATV idled. One short climb over the sand dune and she knew he’d be safe.
She hurried back and started helping Donny prepare the next of the wounded when she saw a man appear at the top of the dune. Backlit by the headlights behind him, he looked larger than life.
Maggie glanced at Donny who had noticed, too.
“The sheriff?” she asked.
“Probably.”
Within seconds another silhouette appeared on top of the hill. Then another. Two more. And still another.
“They know this is a crime scene, right?”
When Donny didn’t answer she glanced back at him. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
She counted six men. One started down the hill toward them.
“We have to limit how many people come inside the perimeter,” Maggie said. “You told me most of the injuries weren’t life-threatening, right?”
“That’s right. The rescue crew knows we’re bringing them out to their unit. They’ll set up a triage area on the other side of that sand dune.”
“Then who are these guys?”
The others started following the first.
“Donny?”
“Could be the mayor. City councilmen. Maybe parents. We have two dead teenagers and five injured. They’ll want to see if it’s their own kids.”
“You can’t let them come tromping onto a crime scene.”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t my jurisdiction.”
“It’s not theirs, either.”