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    Fox Goes Hunting: Gabriel Hawke Novel, #5
    Fox Goes Hunting: Gabriel Hawke Novel, #5
    Fox Goes Hunting: Gabriel Hawke Novel, #5
    Ebook265 pages3 hours

    Fox Goes Hunting: Gabriel Hawke Novel, #5

    By Paty Jager

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    About this ebook

    Book 5 in the Gabriel Hawke novels

     

    While teaching a tracking class at a Search and Rescue conference in Iceland, Oregon State Trooper Gabriel Hawke discovers a body in a boiling mud pool. The body is the young man Hawke's class is tracking.

    Unable to walk away from the gruesome death without helping to find the killer, Hawke follows the clues and discovers the victim had few enemies, and all of them have alibis. The killer is cunning like the fox, but Hawke is determined to solve the homicide before the conference attendees head home in five days. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWindtree Press
    Release dateJun 1, 2020
    ISBN9781952447068
    Fox Goes Hunting: Gabriel Hawke Novel, #5
    Author

    Paty Jager

    Paty Jager is an award-winning author of 51 novels, 8 novellas, and numerous anthologies of murder mystery and western romance. All her work has Western or Native American elements in them along with hints of humor and engaging characters. Paty and her husband raise alfalfa hay in rural eastern Oregon. Riding horses and battling rattlesnakes, she not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it.

    Read more from Paty Jager

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      Book preview

      Fox Goes Hunting - Paty Jager

      Chapter One

      Standing in line behind other pre-conference participants for one of the largest Search and Rescue (SAR) conferences Gabriel Hawke had ever attended, he felt as if he’d been swallowed by a whale and was one of the hundred other fish trying to find balance inside the beast’s belly.

      I should have never let the lieutenant talk me into this, he muttered under his breath.

      Your lieutenant. My group captain told me to get up here and learn more about what happens on the ground.

      Hawke turned to the female voice and found a woman he’d guess to be in her forties. Her skin had seen a lot of sun, giving her a leathery appearance.

      She held out her right hand. Mayta Moore, RAAF Australia.

      He grasped her hand and gave it a firm squeeze, which she returned. Hawke, Oregon State Trooper, USA. He’d been told SAR members from around the world came to Iceland for their biennial conference. He hadn’t expected there to be so many people and from such faraway places. And this was just the group who’d arrived two days early to participate in the pre-conference courses. One of which he was teaching.

      You work the air or the ground? Mayta asked.

      Ground. Usually horseback or foot. You? He walked forward as the line moved several feet.

      Air. RAAF, that’s the Royal Australian Air Force. She said it as if he didn’t have brains enough to be at the conference.

      He nodded and concentrated on moving forward in the line.

      Hawke! Over here! A young man in his twenties waved a hand in a come over here manner.

      Since the man had called his name, Hawke nodded to the woman and headed to the table where the young man sat.

      How do you know me? he asked.

      I’m in charge of registering all the speakers and instructors. We have your photo in the conference book. He held out a hand. I’m Jón Einarsson. Just call me Nonni, everyone does.

      Ok, Nonni. This is the first time I’ve been to this conference or any this size. What do I need to do?

      Have you checked into your hotel? Nonni held a large manila envelope out to Hawke.

      Yes. I arrived this morning. I’m staying across the street at the Center Hotel. It may not be the conference hotel, but it’s easier to get here, and I prefer a quieter place than where other attendees are staying.

      The young man smiled. I read all about you. You are Native American and a very good tracker. Because I am so excited you are here, my father, Einar Leifsson, the conference coordinator, said I could help you with your pre-conference course.

      Another attendee walked up to the table. Hello, Nonni. Do you have my packet ready?

      Hawke could tell by the way the man spoke he was British.

      One minute, Reggie. I’m just finishing up with Hawke. The young man smiled at the newcomer and turned his attention back to Hawke. I would like to be the person you track for your course tomorrow. Will that work for you?

      Hawke nodded. I was going to ask your father who he would suggest. Can we meet sometime this evening to go over my thoughts?

      I would like that very much. What room are you staying in?

      Three-fourteen.

      I’ll come by when I finish here, unless you will be out?

      I doubt I’ll be doing anything other than sleeping. Hawke put the manila folder into his backpack and spun around, scanning the area for stairs to take him to the bottom floor of the Harpa.

      What type of course is that gentleman teaching? the British man, Reggie, asked.

      Hawke didn’t wait for Nonni’s explanation. Usually, the first thing he did after registering, was scout out the rooms in the building where the event would take place. But after the four hour flight, the layover in a busy airport, another six hours on a plane full of people, and now the crowd registering for the event, he was ready for some alone time. Not to mention sleep. How anyone could sleep on a plane, he’d never know.

      He passed the elevator on his way to the stairs. The doors opened and more people poured out. Hawke hurried by and then took the stairs at a leisurely pace. He’d seemed to be hurrying from place to place since he’d left home. Savoring the feeling of relaxing, he breathed a sigh and hoped he’d make it through the next five days.

      He grinned. After the conference, Dani was flying in to join him for a week. When he’d mentioned he was coming to Iceland, she’d said it was one place she’d not managed to hit while flying for the Air Force. The next thing he knew, she told him she’d purchased a ticket to arrive the day after his conference finished. And he’d better plan on staying a week to travel about the country with her. When he’d asked for two weeks of vacation, Sergeant Spruel’s eyes bugged out and he’d started asking Hawke if he had a medical issue or if his mother had one.

      In his sixteen years as a State Trooper, working as a Fish and Wildlife officer in Wallowa County, he’d only asked for two weeks off when his mom had a medical emergency. He preferred to take a couple days here and there rather than be off for so long.

      He’d miss Dog, his horse, and mule, but they were being well taken care of by his landlords, Herb and Darlene.

      Walking out into the overcast day, growing grayer with dusk, Hawke navigated across the four lane streets parallel to the Harpa and the harbor, and the other street turning in front of his hotel.

      Stopping and facing the tall Harpa building, he allowed the colored oval-shaped panels of glass to soothe his frazzled nerves. The building had given him energy two hours earlier when he’d stepped onto the sidewalk and dreaded registering. Now, knowing he wouldn’t have to set foot in it again until tomorrow, he could drink in the calming aesthetic.

      He entered the Center Hotel. The young woman behind the desk greeted him. You are popular. I have three messages for you.

      Thanks. He took the messages and headed to the elevator to take him to his third-floor room. A room which overlooked the Harpa and harbor.

      Inside his room, he slapped the packet Nonni had given him on the dresser and dropped onto the bed. The first message was from Sergeant Spruel wanting to know if he’d arrived. The second was from Darlene. Also wanting to know if he’d made it, and the third was from a person named Sigga, wanting to meet for drinks in the Bergmál bar in the Harpa at 8 PM tonight.

      Uncertain who Sigga was, he put that one to the side and texted both his sergeant and his landlord that he was settled into his room and registered for the conference.

      Drinks at 8. He glanced at his watch. He had three hours until then. A two-hour nap was in order.

      <<>><<>><<>>

      Hawke stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of his hotel as Nonni and three other people, also in their twenties, walked into the hotel.

      Hawke. I am here to visit with you. He waved to the young people following him. These are Ásta, Bragi, and Katrín. My friends.

      Nice to meet you, Hawke said. He glanced at his watch. I had a message to meet with someone named Sigga at eight in the Bergmál bar at the Harpa.

      They hid snickers at his pronunciation of the bar’s name.

      Yes, she is a member of SAR. She will be your helper for your seminar. Nonni shrugged. If you wish to speak with her, we can follow and talk with you when you and Sigga are finished.

      It would be rude to not meet with this woman even though the young man made as if it wouldn’t be a big deal to blow her off. He came here by request of his lieutenant to be a representative of the U.S. and to perhaps learn some new techniques from the Icelandic SAR members. He might as well deal with Sigga and then Nonni. That way they would all be ready to roll tomorrow for his class. Come on along. If you know who she is, you can point her out to me.

      The quartet of Icelandic young people chatted in both Icelandic and English as the five of them crossed the streets to the Harpa.

      Can you tell me, is this a conference center? Hawke asked the young woman walking beside him. He believed Nonni said she was Katrín.

      A concert hall first, then conference center, and restaurants, also a place to purchase things. She smiled as he held the door open for her. This is the gem of our city. The colored glass walls are a piece of art. What better place to have concerts and plays?

      Hawke had noticed the stores on the ground floor when he’d entered the building earlier. Now they were closed for the evening. Yet, there was still a lot of activity. Mostly on the second floor where he could see conference attendees were still arriving and registering. He was glad he’d been early and it was behind him.

      Nonni led the group under the open loft above and down a hall. The girls moved closer to the boys, and Hawke realized they were two couples out having a good time.

      It had been a long time since he’d hung out with other couples his own age and enjoyed an evening. In fact, it hadn’t happened since his divorce thirty years ago. After the destruction of his marriage, he’d stayed away from women, involvement, and having a good time. Until Dani Singer came into his life. He was crazy at his age to get hot and horny over a woman. But there it was. He’d fallen hard for the ex-Air Force pilot. So much so, she was meeting him here to spend a week together exploring Iceland.

      He shook his head and followed the group of young people into a classy restaurant with a ground view of the harbor and businesses along the shoreline. The moon was out just enough to give an ethereal light over the boats, water, and buildings outside the wall of windows.

      Hawke, Sigga is over there, Nonni said, drawing his attention from the view and back to the room.

      A tall, slender blonde sat at the bar beyond Nonni’s pointer finger.

      We’ll be over here when you are finished, the young man said, guiding his group to a small table near the wall of rectangular beveled glass.

      Hawke walked over to the woman and held out his hand. Hawke.

      She glanced at his hand, then up at his face. Sigga. She grasped his hand and drew him to the chair beside her. Welcome to Iceland. I was told this is your first time to our country and this conference.

      It is. I like what I’ve seen so far of your country. I’m looking forward to seeing more tomorrow afternoon when we do the actual tracking. He motioned for the bartender. When the man arrived, he ordered a beer and another for the lady.

      Thank you, Sigga said, studying him. Are all Native Americans as large as you are?

      He’d wondered about the curiosity of the Icelandic people to his culture. Are all Viking women tall and thin?

      Her eyes narrowed. I am Icelandic and can find ancestors who were offspring of the Vikings. However, Vikings were pirates who settled here from Norway.

      I’m sorry. It would be like you calling me a savage when I am an American Indian.

      She nodded, but her eyes remained blank. For some they would not wish to be called Viking, while there are others who boast of being descended from Vikings. She sipped her drink and returned her gaze on him. I expected you to have longer hair.

      And moccasins? he asked, taking a drink of his beer. He’d learned a long time ago not to get angry, to educate. In the military and even when at the State Police Academy, he’d dealt with misconceptions his whole life.

      No. I didn’t expect you to come here wearing animal skins. She frowned. Are you making fun of me for being curious?

      Maybe, a little. My hair is short because of my occupation. Even if I were not in an occupation that required my hair to be short, I would keep it manageable. I believe in the Creator and how the land belongs to us all and we should all be stewards of the land and the animals who live on it, but I rarely go to Powwows or join in any drumming or dancing. I’m too busy doing my job—keeping the animals and people safe in Wallowa County.

      Wow. I didn’t expect to get a whole story from you. She sipped her drink and continued to stare at him.

      Her scrutiny made him nervous.

      You asked me to meet you. What did you need to tell me that couldn’t be done before my course tomorrow?

      If you need photocopies made, I will do it. Have you planned where the tracking route will be and who you will track? Sigga sipped her drink.

      I’m discussing that with Nonni when we’re through. He offered to be tracked. Hawke glanced the direction of the young people who’d led him to the restaurant and bar.

      Her gaze followed his. That’s Einar’s boy. Are you sure you want him to know what’s going on? He can’t keep anything to himself. She frowned. "I could make it harder for you and the class to find me than that sá aumingi."

      Hawke studied the woman. How are you connected to SAR?

      I’m the Chief Inspector for Hvolsvöllur. It’s a town in the mid-south of the country. She placed her empty glass on the bar and picked up the one Hawke bought for her. I am usually in command of the search and rescue missions southeast of the Reykjanes Peninsula.

      The only person who will know where we will be tracking besides myself is Nonni. That way no one can speculate ahead of time. Tracking is as spontaneous as it is methodical. He finished his drink. I’ll see you at my class tomorrow morning. I presume I can count on you to hook up my laptop to a screen for the class to view?

      Yes. But I had hoped to help you with more than just technical support. Her gaze drifted from his face, to his crotch, and back up to his face.

      Hawke shook his head and wandered over to Nonni’s table.

      Chapter Two

      Watch along the road and any off roads for the car matching the description I gave you. Hawke stood in the front of the bus, facing the thirty conference attendees who’d wanted to learn more of the hands-on tracking. He was happy to have this few. It would make splitting them up and not compromising any tracks easier.

      He’d had a good discussion with Nonni the night before about the area he wanted the young man to get lost in. It was rugged, rocky, and would make finding tracks hard. His course was on tracking when there aren’t any tracks.

      They traveled along Highway 42, getting close to the area around Lake Kleifarvatn that he’d suggested Nonni roam around trying to leave a trail. The young man had left at nine that morning when Hawke started showing photos of areas that were hard to track in and how you had to use more than actual tracks to determine the direction a lost person might have gone.

      Nonni knew to drive here and begin hiking. It was now 12:45. He would have had plenty of time to leave several miles of trail and have them all get out of here by dark.

      Are you sure this is where he will be? Shiro Tanaka, a policeman from Japan, asked.

      I told him to drive this highway and pull over when he found a good spot. Hawke wasn’t going to reveal he’d also asked him to park where there would be enough space for the bus.

      That helps, Páll, an Icelandic policeman, said, relaxing back against the seat. This time of year there isn’t a good place to pull off without getting stuck before the Krýsuvík mud pools parking lot.

      Hawke glanced at the person. Now no one would look and work their investigative senses.

      The bus chugged along and slowed at the site of a large parking lot. Beyond the parking lot, there were half a dozen colorful, steaming, pools of mud with walking paths and several wooden walkways. A few people, probably tourists, were already walking around, taking photos.

      Want me to drive in? the driver asked.

      Yes. There aren’t very many vehicles. Hawke had already spotted Nonni’s car.

      There it is, Sigga said, as the bus turned into the parking lot.

      Pull up beside that blue sedan parked near the edge, he ordered the bus driver. Hawke faced the group. Stay behind me and away from the vehicle while we discuss how to figure out which direction he’s gone.

      Hawke exited the vehicle first. A glance at the dark gray clouds and the sharp biting wind on his neck, had him pulling the collar of his coat up around his ears. He’d been wise to bring his felt Stetson in this weather. Make sure you are all bundled up. Don’t want to have any of you get frostbite. He walked over to within ten feet of the blue car.

      The group gathered where he motioned for them to stop. The first thing to do when you encounter the vehicle of a missing person is take a look around for prints to show you which way they are headed.

      This is paved. There are no footprints, said one of the attendees.

      Hawke pulled plastic evidence markers from his backpack and crouched, studying the ground. We know that he left Reykjavik at nine this morning. How long did it take us to drive here?

      About forty minutes, Sigga said.

      Then we must figure that, Hawke glanced at his watch, he arrived before the sun dried the dew from the ground, and we are four hours behind him. Hawke spotted something on the ground. He placed an evidence marker near it.

      What is that? Kanika Tumaini, a policewoman from Kenya, asked.

      Something that isn’t natural to this parking lot. Hawke explained why he thought the small pebbles that scratched the surface in a line were important to the tracking. They showed movement toward the path leading to the boiling mud pools. Split up into groups of three and check along the paths to see where someone stepped off and headed away from this area. He pointed to Ms. Moore, Mr. Tanaka, and Ms. Tumaini. You three check out the vehicle and see if you can find anything that would tell us which direction he is headed.

      I’ve never searched a vehicle before, Ms. Tumaini said.

      Hawke studied her a moment. Just follow the other’s lead. I’m sure you’ll figure out what we need after you look. He didn’t know if Nonni had left anything in the car to help the search. But it was a good lesson. You don’t always find easy directions to follow.

      A whistle and a shout went up. Over here!

      Hawke jogged to the spot where Chelsea Pearce, a SAR from Colorado, Sigga, and Reggie Carlton

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