“Oh?” Laurie questioned. Taken aback, she exchanged a quick glance in Jack’s direction. Wordlessly he communicated the same reaction, but only she responded: “How so? We’ve been truly impressed by the sense of tranquility and the beauty here. To Jack and me, it seems like a Valhalla, although we can’t imagine what the weather is like here in January.”
“Coming from where you do, I can understand why,” Bill said. “I suppose my biggest headache is staffing. My budget has been drastically cut by necessity. Before the Bennet Shoe factory closure, we were a fifteen-man force. Now we are down to five, which makes scheduling difficult.”
“I never thought of that,” Laurie admitted.
“I’m sorta in the same boat as the only doc in town,” Bob said. “But at least I get to go home. Bill rightly insists the police station is manned twenty-four seven.”
“I do, indeed,” Bill agreed with an emotional nod. “And on top of that ever-present stress, there happen to be some troublesome undercurrents in this town, which keeps us law enforcement folks on edge.”
“Oh?” Laurie questioned again. “One would never guess. Like what?”
“For instance, we unfortunately have a homegrown right-wingextremist group that’s become progressively emboldened, particularly of late.”
“Oh, right,” Laurie said. “We’d seen signs for the Diehard Patriots when we first drove into town, and then Bob told us about them. But Bob hinted they weren’t really a problem. Is that not true?”
“Maybe from his point of view,” Bill said with emotion. “But from my perspective, it’s just a matter of time before someone is going to get hurt, and I’m talking about getting really hurt. Yet we can’t stop them. One of the members’ family owns a significant chunk of land with an abandoned farmhouse. It’s on the road to the Rubington Paper Mill. That’s where they usually go at night for their so-called tactical maneuvers and shoot their assault-style weapons. Unfortunately, as I said, I can’t stop them, especially since it’s outside the town limits. But even the county sheriff, who I’ve talked to about the problem, can’t stop them because it’s private property. Anyway, it’s got all these generally pissed-off, conspiracy-minded young men, driving around town with AR-15s, many with bump stocks, in their truck cabs and Glock pistols in their glove compartments, meaning we’re outgunned big-time. Worrying about it keeps me up at night.”
“I can understand,” Laurie said, and indeed she could.
“It all stems from the unfortunate closure of the Bennet Shoe factory,” Bill said with his voice continuing to rise while his tanned face flushed with a reddish tint. “Little did we know back then that we were going to be ultimately saddled with our own native militia after so many of our young men—unmotivated individuals who didn’t fit in socially from what I can see—faced poor employment opportunities and then blamed their problems on globalization, immigration, and multiculturalism rather than take responsibility personally.”
“Interesting,” Laurie said. She glanced briefly at Jack, wishing he’d say something, but he seemed content just to listen and sip his beer. Turning her attention back to Bill, she said: “I can see you’ve given this issue a lot of thought.”
“It’s hard not to,” Bill said, his voice calming significantly to Laurie’s relief. “It’s a problem I think is all over postindustrial rural America. The Bennet Shoe factory closing turned a lot of families upside down here in Essex Falls, including Ethan Jameson’s. I know for a fact that boy suffered terribly due to serious domestic abuse. Over many years he struggled, and ultimately he turned into a quintessential white supremacist, rest his soul. I understand from Bob that you all will be autopsying him in the morning.”
“That’s our plan,” Laurie said.
“I’ll be relieved to find out exactly how he managed to kill himself,” Bill said. “Having no idea has had me terrified that someone else could suffer the same fate. Four other kids from our town all work out there at American Pest Control. That pesticide stuff scares me, toxic as it is.”
“I hope you don’t have too high an expectation of what we can do,” Laurie said. “As we told Bob, we’ll ultimately confirm he died of a poisoning, if that is indeed the case, but being more specific will involve sending specimens to our toxicology laboratory. Tomorrow we’ll probably have a pretty good idea if the cause of death was poison or not, but we won’t know the specific agent—although from his reputed symptoms there’s a strong suggestion it was an organophosphate or what is called an anticholinesterase.”
“Any and all information will be helpful,” Bill said.
“We’ll certainly provide all the information we can,” Jack said, entering the conversation to Laurie’s relief. “But talking about Ethan Jameson brings up the issue about the Netherlander militiamembers that he was responsible for inviting to Essex Falls. Bob happened to tell us that you went out to the Bennet Estate and talked directly to them.”
“I did,” Bill said. “There was no way I wasn’t going to check out a group of foreign militia members who were planning on staying here in our town for a month, supposedly instructing our local militia in military tactics. It all seemed suspicious to me.”
Jack smiled. Bill had pronouncedforeignas “fa’ren,” exactly how Bob had described. “Bob told us that you found them pleasant.”
“I did,” Bill said. “There’s no doubt whatsoever. I’m not sure what I expected, but they were ultimately rather delightful with noticeable English or British accents, which I was told they’d gotten from having spent time studying in the UK. I spoke mostly to the one who seemed to be in charge. I guessed he was in his mid-forties, which I later confirmed when I checked his passport.”
“So, you had a good feeling about them when you met them?” Jack confirmed.
“I did,” Bill said. “They were very respectful and entirely cooperative. When I asked to see their passports, there was no hesitation or argument. And I believe my initial evaluation was right on. The whole time they’ve been here, there haven’t been any problems whatsoever. In fact, they have pretty much remained isolated out there at the Bennet Estate except, of course, when they’ve participated in the Diehard Patriots nighttime tactical maneuvers. Hell, they may very well be the reason the Diehards haven’t had any accidents, so I give them credit for that. What’s surprised me is that they have rarely come into town during the day except for one who plays basketball.”
“Yes, I met him this afternoon,” Jack said. “I even had a short conversation with him at the end of our game before he had to rushoff to catch his ride. He’s certainly a pleasant enough fellow and a decent player although he fouls a bit more than is customary. I suppose that’s how they play in Holland.”
“Probably so,” Bill agreed. “I’ve never been much of a basketball player myself, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Have you paid them any subsequent visits?” Jack asked.
“I haven’t because there hasn’t been any reason,” Bill said. “They are obviously private people and keep to themselves, which I respect.”
“So, you haven’t seen their brewery that Ethan’s girlfriend told you about Monday when you spoke with her?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Aren’t you curious about it?”
