Page 41 of Midnight Creed

“What in the hell?” Norwich said and started marching up the incline.

Creed instinctively scooped up Grace under his arm and caught up. He pointed out to the sheriff a worn path that would take them up but keep them out of range if anything else came raining down.

Sure enough, another crack of branches and swoosh and something flew over the top of the ridge. Creed glanced over his shoulder to check on Jason and Scout. The pair had moved all the way to the opposite side. Creed caught Jason’s attention and gave him a wave of approval.

Norwich’s breath sounded a bit ragged, and Creed stayed close at her elbow. Just six months ago, she’d had a heart attack. Since then, she’d slimmed down a bit and seemed leaner and stronger than ever. She didn’t slow down, stomping through the brush all the way to the top.

There was a clearing beyond the trees. Parked and backed to the edge of the woods was a white pickup. On the door, a company logo was splattered with mud. The tailgate was dropped open. Construction material filled the bed: broken rebar, odd pieces of drywall, paint cans and chunks of concrete.

A huge man, his jeans and T-shirt coated in gray dust, stood in the bed of the pickup as he heaved pieces through the trees and over the ridge.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Norwich yelled, but the man’s back was turned, and he didn’t hear her. He kept flinging armfuls.

Before Creed could stop her, Norwich rushed to the pickup, one hand digging for her badge, the other searching her belt for her holstered weapon.

“Hey, buddy! Hold up!” Jason yelled, coming out of the trees from the other side.

The man saw him and froze. Then he did a double take at Norwich, coming up on his side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Norwich shouted, almost breathless now. The hand that originally searched for her weapon latched on to the side of the vehicle.

“One of you owns this property?” he asked.

“I’m the sheriff of Santa Rosa County.” She swung up her arm for him to see the badge.

The man looked around, surprised, but then he smiled and shook his head. “Come on. Everybody dumps here, and you’re gonna bust my ass? The homeless leave their trash all over the place.”

“I don’t think the homeless are tossing drywall and concrete.”

This time the guy shrugged, though the gesture got lost with his shoulders already almost reaching his ears. “Hey, my boss told me to dump this stuff.”

Norwich pocketed her badge and brought out a small notebook and pen. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

“What?” Finally, a look of disbelieve. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“She’s not kidding,” Creed told him.

“I’ll need to see it to write up your citation for illegal dumping.”

“Maybe I don’t have my license on me,” he said with almost a snicker, like somehow, he’d outfoxed her.

“Really?” Norwich looked up at him.

He would tower over her even if he was on the ground, but the added height of the pickup bed made him resemble a giant. The sheriff, however, was not the least bit intimidated.

“So you want me to add driving without a driver’s license to illegal dumping and failing to comply with law enforcement?”

He stood perfectly still now. His eyes darted over to Creed and Jason. There was a long pause.

“Up to you,” Norwich said. “I can always get the information from your boss.” She pointed to the logo on the side of the pickup, and the man’s shoulders sagged with the realization. Still, he made them wait.

Creed noticed even the dogs were watching quietly. Finally, the guy pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed the license down to the sheriff.

Creed kept his eyes on the man. Norwich may have believed she succeeded, but as she concentrated on writing down the information, the man glared at her. And Creed could see his anger barely restrained as he balled up his fists then crossed his bulging arms.

Later, Creed and Jason followed Norwich back down the incline and through the brush.

“It’s ridiculous that people think they can throw anything away by dumping it in the woods.” Norwich was still visibly angry. “Nobody learns. Twenty-five years ago, when they built Garcon Point Bridge, the construction company dumped tons of concrete pilings and rebar into Pensacola Bay. Why? Because they could.”