Scare Tactics by John Farris Page B

lake and the public area. The caravan park was full. Men were pitching horseshoes to one side of the children’s playground.
    “Do any fishing while you were here, Mr. Flynn?”
    “No, I don’t kill creatures for sport. Nor do I eat their flesh.”
    “Must have been tough on you, finding something to whet your appetite at the All-Niter.”
    “Not at all. I ordered bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, and had them hold the bacon. Here we are.”
    The deputies looked around. They saw nothing to indicate that anyone had camped there recently: the area was immaculate.
    “Didn’t you ever build yourself a fire?”
    “Fires aren’t allowed away from the public area. But I seldom have need of a fire, no matter where I am.”
    “Donnie, turn Sugarpie loose here a minute.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    As soon as the shepherd was off the leash, she came up to Hero, sniffed at his desert boots and frayed jean cuffs. Hero regarded her with a relaxed smile. When Maxwell snapped his fingers the dog wheeled and began coursing through the area, pausing only to pee next to a stump. Maxwell snapped his fingers again. Sugarpie began doubling back, suddenly broke off, and stopped to sniff the needle-covered ground by a mossy boulder.
    She barked, then began digging with both front paws at the base of the boulder.
    The Lieutenant glanced at Hero, who was paying no attention to the shepherd. His gaze was fixed on the shining surface of the lake, as a powerboat towed a pair of skiers in the direction of the dam.
    “Let’s heave that rock out of the way,” the Lieutenant said. “Mr. Flynn, you just stand quiet there. Move without my permission and I’ll have to put Sugarpie on you, and I guarantee you won’t find her as friendly as she’s acted toward you so far.”
    “I can probably budge it myself, Harve,” Maxwell said, inspecting the boulder. “Looks like it’s been moved already. There’s pine needles stuck to one side here.” The deputy squatted, keeping his back straight, and slowly turned the boulder over. He whistled, and Hero returned his gaze from the distant shoreline of the lake. There was a lump in his throat, a tingling in his hands.
    “Harve, come have yourself a look at this!”
    Maxwell rose and took his revolver from the holster, stood facing Hero while the Lieutenant walked over to the boulder and snapped on his flashlight. He studied what had been concealed beneath the boulder.
    “What are you looking at?” Hero asked them.
    The Lieutenant reached for a stick and lifted a pair of heavily soiled, lime-green panties from the ground.
    “I reckon you never have seen these before?” he said to Hero.
    Hero shook his head.
    “Or that knife that’s lying there all gobbed up with her blood?” The Lieutenant’s face was reddening from outrage. “Mr. Flynn, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Taryn Melwood.” Hero heard the click of the hammer on the other deputy’s revolver as he cocked it. “Donnie, will you kindly read this son of a bitch his rights after you cuff him?”
    “Hands behind your back,” Maxwell said, circling Hero carefully.
    “This is a mistake,” Hero said, his voice calm though his heart was hammering. “I could not have killed Taryn Melwood, or anyone else for that matter. I am not capable of violence.”
    “Maybe you had some help,” the Lieutenant suggested.
    “I had nothing to do with her murder! Someone, obviously, wants it to look as if I did! Given time, I should be able to discover who that person is.”
    “Is that a fact?” The Lieutenant walked back to Hero as the cuffs went on. He stared belligerently at their suspect. Youthful, despite the gray in his beard, his sun-parched face. “You are some piece of work, Mr. Flynn. I don’t believe I’ve ever run across any such as you before.”
    “No,” Hero said. “I’m quite sure you have not.”

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    Sheriff John Stone, Please Leave Me Alone
    T hey booked Hero at the Sheriff’s station, a