Part 7
No one interrupted Marcy.
She stared at the floor as she spoke. A Black Alder supervisor had hired her to mark wildlife trails on private timberland. The work paid cash and took place at night, when she could leave her twelve-year-old daughter with a neighbor.
“At first, they told me the traps weren’t supposed to close,” she said. “They said they were testing animal movement.”
Renee remained seated, her pen still.
“When did you realize that wasn’t true?”
Marcy swallowed. “When I found a fox in one.”
The hall seemed to contract around her.
“I called the supervisor. He told me to leave it and go home.” She rubbed her thumb across the seam of her coat. “After that, I stopped setting them. But I kept taking the money for another week because I was scared they’d come after me.”
“Did you work near Kestrel Ridge?” Renee asked.
Marcy nodded. “I saw the cages.”
“More than one?”
“Two. Not at the same time.”
Rook stood.
His eyes fixed on Marcy, but his body remained relaxed. She looked at him and covered her mouth.
“That’s the second dog,” she whispered.
A chair scraped near the wall.
A young man named Tyler Shaw rose halfway, sat again, then forced himself to stand. He drove nights for a subcontractor and had been in the trail-camera photographs.
“I hauled the loads,” he said. “I can show you the routes.”
Renee closed her notebook. “Why are you telling us now?”
Tyler looked toward Rook. “Because they’re saying the dog went bad.”
Eli felt the Shepherd press against his leg.
“What happened?” Ben asked.
Tyler’s face had gone pale. “They called him Kane. He stayed by the access road and warned us when anybody came near. He wasn’t trained to chase people at first. Just alert.”
“At first?” Renee said.
Tyler glanced toward the doors, checking that they were closed.
“A game warden came onto the site last fall. Vale was there. He told Wade to send the dog after him.”
Rook’s ears flattened.
“Did he?”
“No.” Tyler’s voice broke. “The dog moved between them. When Wade tried to pull him back, Kane stood in front of the warden and wouldn’t move.”
Eli looked down.
Rook was staring at nothing in the hall. His breathing had become shallow, the same way it had in the cage.
Tyler continued. “They said he’d failed. One of them hurt his leg, and after that they kept him chained. He still warned us when trucks came, but he wouldn’t follow the attack signal.”
The two-finger command.
The whistle.
Rook had not been discarded because he stopped being useful.
He had been condemned because, when ordered to harm someone, he chose the person who needed protection.
Tyler removed his phone and handed it to Renee. It contained photographs of load sheets, text messages assigning drivers to unmarked routes, and a video taken from inside his cab. In the footage, Black Alder trucks entered the national forest after midnight while Warren Vale’s SUV waited near the gate.
“I kept it because I thought they’d blame the drivers if anything happened,” Tyler said. “They already started moving equipment. Vale knows somebody talked.”
“How soon?” Renee asked.
“Tonight.”
Another man stood. Frank Delaney owned a small licensed logging crew and had spent the meeting with his arms crossed.
“Black Alder underbids everyone because they’re stealing half the timber,” he said. “That isn’t protecting jobs. It’s killing the companies that follow the rules.”
One statement opened the way for another.
A mechanic admitted removing company decals from trucks before night runs. A gas-station clerk described fuel purchases paid through numbered cards. Marcy identified three trap lines and the supervisor who had hired her.
Renee and Ben moved witnesses into separate rooms to preserve their accounts. Federal prosecutors received photographs of Tyler’s phone while the warrant applications were updated.
Near midnight, Renee returned to the hall.
“We have signed warrants,” she said. “The county yard, Vale’s office, the maintenance property, and the Crownline landing.”
Ben began assigning deputies to traffic control and perimeter positions. Federal agents were already moving north from the regional office.
Eli looked at Rook. “We stay here.”
The dog had done enough.
Outside, engines sounded on Main Street.
Tyler ran to the window.
A black SUV passed the Grange Hall, followed by a pickup towing an enclosed trailer. The trailer’s rear vents had been covered with plywood, but the outline of an old kennel-company logo remained visible beneath fresh paint.
Rook saw it.
A growl rose from his chest, deeper than any sound Eli had heard from him. He moved toward the door and stopped, waiting.
Tyler pointed through the glass.
“That’s Vale,” he said. “And that’s the trailer they used for the dogs.”
Red and blue lights appeared at the far end of Main Street. The black SUV accelerated…
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