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CHAPTER 1
DOUGLAS Saturday
Doug Bateman had made the trip up Route 6 to Greenville Maine from his home on the north shore of Sebec Lake countless times, and it usually took him a little over an hour. An early morning fog had slowed him considerably today, however, and he was relieved when it began to clear as he passed the Finnish Farmers Dance Hall just north of Monson. In a few miles he would be entering a stretch of road where large yellow signs warned drivers of frequent moose crossings, and the last thing he wanted was an adult moose suddenly appearing out of the fog in front of his Jeep Cherokee. Doug had been a Maine State Police trooper for more than a decade before being promoted to detective and he had seen too many examples of what a moose could do to a car and its occupants. The long spindly legs of an adult moose raised its body up above the hood of most vehicles, and seatbelts and airbags didn't help much when a thousand-pound carcass came through the windshield.
Doug crested the final hill coming into Greenville at the Indian Hill Trading Post and pulled over in front of the old McDonald's to take in the stunning view of Moosehead Lake that stretched out in front of him. In the mid-1800s Henry David Thoreau had likened the lake to "a gleaming silver platter at the end of the table," and it had seen relatively little change in the past century and a half. Forty miles long north to south and ten miles wide, the lake has a rugged and largely undeveloped coastline. Thoreau's "table" - the continuous and uninterrupted forest that stretches away to the north of Moosehead, remains one of the largest unbroken expanses of wilderness in the country. Dominated by spruce, pine, and fir, this forest zone of northern Maine, when viewed at night from space, stands out as a vast island of darkness.
Doug pulled into the parking lot of the Maine Guide Fly Shop in Greenville just as his friend Jim Hancock stepped out the front door, holding up a small bag of what Doug knew would be a selection of new flies. Jim was tall and athletic, with an easy smile, prematurely gray hair, and a fashion model's good looks. He and Doug had been friends since their undergraduate days at the University of Maine. Jim had gone on to study environmental law after graduation, and for the past decade he had been general counsel for The Maine Forest Alliance, an environmental group in Portland dedicated to protecting wilderness areas in the state. Over the years Doug and Jim had remained friends and went fishing together two or three times every summer. They always met here at the fly shop and often would just drive the short distance up along the west side of Moosehead Lake to the east outlet of the Kennebec River, which offered some of the best wild trout fishing in the country. Leaving Jim's car at the fly shop, they continued through Greenville, and as Doug turned left at the light and drove west through town, past the Kamp Kamp store and the Black Frog restaurant, Jim opened the bag on his lap, showing Doug his new flies.
"Dan and Penny have some great new Copper Johns and some Caddis larvae just in, and they say the fishing has been great this last week, with stream flow well below 2000." Doug usually stuck with a few tried and true flies, mostly Shufelt Specials, created by the local fishing legend, Bobby Shufelt of Greenville. Jim, on the other hand, was always trying out new flies and would frequently switch to something different if the fish didn't seem interested. He was always teasing Doug for his lack of interest in trying new things – saying it was the result of him spending his entire life, except for college, in Piscataquis County, Maine, which had a population density of four people per square mile.
"Guess I'll stick with the Shufelts," Doug responded, eliciting a snort of disdain from Jim.
"Let's work the north side from the bridge downstream to the Beach Pool," Jim suggested. "It's eight now, we can pocket pick till eleven or so and then have lunch before I have to go to the town hall meeting over at the high school. You should come with me Doug. It's on the Lily Bay development plan and could easily turn nasty. We might need a state police presence."
There was only a single pickup truck in the parking lot just north of the Highway 6 Bridge over the Kennebec when they arrived, and they had the river pretty much to themselves. For the next three hours they slowly worked their way downstream in the fast, boulder-filled river, looking for the small pockets of calm water that trout favored that were located just downstream from rocks and logs. It was a beautiful day, with the sun sparkling off the water, and only a few other anglers in sight. The morning passed quickly, with Doug catching a single reasonably sized brook trout while Jim had better luck with his new Copper Johns, landing three trout and a juvenile salmon, all of which he released.
Breaking for lunch, they drove down to Kelly's Landing at Greenville Junction and sat out on the deck. Over a pitcher of cold beer and burgers they watched seaplanes taxi and take off out of West Cove and talked about the town hall meeting that afternoon, called to discuss the massive Lily Bay development project recently proposed for the east side of Moosehead Lake. The Maine Forest Alliance, along with a wide range of other environmental groups, had been opposing such development projects across Maine for more than thirty years, and Jim had become a forceful and impassioned figure in their ongoing efforts to protect Maine forests.
"It's a battle for the soul of Maine, Doug, for our way of life, and ground zero right now is right here at Moosehead Lake. More than 90 percent of Maine is forested and 95 percent of our forestlands are privately owned. Logging and harvesting of wood products have been the economic engine of Maine for more than 200 years, and you could say the forests have managed to survive despite our best efforts to eradicate them. They endured the rapacious clear-cutting and resultant massive forest fires and insect plagues of the 18th and 19th centuries, and have survived the four decades of industrial management by large forest product companies following WWII. But now they face the even greater threat of human sprawl and development."
Pausing to drain his beer and refill his glass, Jim continued his impassioned history lesson on Maine's forests.
"Changes in tax laws and world markets in the 1990s forced many of the large timber corporations like Georgia Pacific and International Paper to start selling off their holdings in smaller parcels to timber and real estate investment companies. These investment companies - TIMOs and REITs, as they're called, have a very different business model than the vertically integrated 'forest to mill' timber goliaths. The TIMOS and REITS focus on maximizing returns on shorter time horizons, and whenever it's feasible, once they exhaust the timbering potential of their holdings, they look to turn their forestlands into lucrative commercial and residential developments."
Doug had grown up hearing heated arguments from Mainers on both sides of this long unfolding struggle over who would control its forests. On one side stood the environmental groups that wanted them protected and held in the public interest, with greater controls on recreational access, timber harvesting and commercial development. Opposing them were business interests who saw the vast untapped potential of Maine's forestlands. They were often joined by Mainers in the local communities who had both relied on the forests for their livelihood for many generations and had long enjoyed largely open access to them for hunting, fishing, and exploring in snowmobiles and ATVs.
Doug knew Jim was almost finished with his monologue, so he leaned back in his chair and motioned to the waitress for the check as Jim continued.
"Southern and central Maine, the more populated regions of the state, have witnessed the most dramatic loss of forest to this expanding sprawl over the past two decades, but there has also been a surge in development along the ever-expanding northern margins of development as the TIMOs and REITS are looking for opportunities to clear forestland for planned subdivisions of vacation homes. That's what's going on right now at Moosehead – The Lily Bay development would be a huge vacation home subdivision and golf course complex on Moosehead Lake, at the edge of the largest contiguous block of undeveloped forest east of the Mississippi."
Smiling at his friend's heartfelt speech, Doug teasingly broke in.
"So where's the opposition coming from to efforts to bring progress to Piscataquis County, other than the usual suspects – the Sierra Club and other big outside environmental meddlers and tree huggers??"
Jim paused, took another sip of beer, and replied.
"Actually it's pretty interesting. When the big timber companies started selling off smaller land parcels back in the nineties, a lot of small, local environmental groups - timber trusts and conservation groups, became active in buying up and preserving forestlands. At the same time, lots of communities are looking to tourism as the economic future of central and northern Maine. So the battle lines are now forming at the local as well as the regional and national level, with lots of grassroots efforts all across the state."
Doug thought about this, and what it meant for the small towns and dispersed communities of Piscataquis County.
"Sounds like a recipe for driving a wedge between friends and neighbors, Jim – it could tear communities apart on a very personal level."
Jim grimaced.
"That's why you need to come with me to the town hall meeting on the planned Lily Bay development, Doug – see for yourself the firestorm that's coming."
They drove back downtown so Jim could pick up his car, and as Doug followed him into the high school parking lot and pulled in next to his friend's shiny red BMW, he was surprised to see that the lot was almost full. The BMW certainly stood out against the other vehicles in the lot, Doug thought, and sent exactly the wrong message – here's an affluent outsider from the big city coming to town to tell us what's best for us, and what's best for the forests. Opening the back of his 1987 Jeep Cherokee, Doug unlocked a large steel storage box that was bolted to the frame. Reaching in he extracted his Heckler & Koch HK45 LEM .45 service pistol and slipped the holster onto his belt. Grabbing his lightweight windbreaker from the back seat that had "STATE POLICE" in bright yellow on the back, Doug joined Jim and they walked across the gravel parking lot toward the main entrance of the high school.
Doug wondered if the Piscataquis County Sheriff's Office would have sent anyone up from Dover-Foxcroft, the county seat, to cover the event, and his question was answered as he noticed Anne Quinn's dark green mid-70s Toyota Land Cruiser parked close to the high school entrance. Anne was an investigator with the sheriff's office and she and Doug had worked together on a high profile serial killer case a few years back. He hadn't seen her in a while but had heard that Charlie Hudson, the new Piscataquis County Sheriff, had been giving her a hard time since his election the previous fall. Apparently Anne's status as something of a local hero for her role in their murder case of a few years ago did not sit well with Hudson. He had been targeting her with critical comments and menial assignments ever since becoming sheriff, so Doug was not surprised that Anne had been sent up to Greenville to do crowd control on a weekend.
He thought she would probably be scanning the crowd that filed into the high school auditorium for potential troublemakers, and as he and Jim stepped through the front doors he saw Anne leaning against a line of lockers. She was watching the crowd and talking to Jim Torben. Doug was surprised to see Torben at the town hall, since he had recently been promoted to Chief Deputy in the Piscataquis County Sherriff's Office, and normally wouldn't be expected to be working this kind of weekend duty. He wondered if Hudson had sent Torben to keep an eye on Anne and report back, or if Torben had decided on his own to keep Anne company. Jim and his wife June were good friends with Anne, and prior to his promotion he had often managed to get himself assigned to team up with her. Jim had just said something to make Anne laugh, and her bright smile flashed briefly before vanishing as she saw Doug. Frowning, she walked over to Doug.
"What brings the state police to Greenville, Detective Bateman?"
Hiding his surprise at her cold greeting, Doug smiled and introduced Jim.
"Jim Hancock and I were just over fishing the east outlet and stopped by to catch the town hall meeting. Jim, this is Investigator Anne Quinn and Deputy Chief Jim Torben with the county sheriff's office. Jim is with the Maine Forest Alliance."
Shaking Anne's hand, Jim asked.
"Are you expecting any trouble today Investigator Quinn?"
"Not really, but things could heat up. The suits pushing the Lily Bay development have a fancy presentation ready to go, and then it opens up for questions and comments, with lots of people, pro and con, signed up to speak."
Jim nodded and replied.
"I've been to a bunch of these town halls over the years and it's hard to guess how they're going to unfold. But I'm glad you're here."
All of the seats were taken when Jim and Doug entered, and they joined a number of other people standing along the back wall. There was a subdued tension in the room that did not bode well for the meeting, and a few anti-Lily Bay signs were scattered through the audience. Doug watched as Anne walked down the right-hand aisle and leaned casually up against the wall about halfway down toward the stage. Soon other latecomers joined her along the wall as the auditorium filled to overflowing.
A short rotund man in a tight-fitting suit approached the lectern and nervously tapped on the microphone.
"My name is Lloyd Robinson, and I've been asked by the Moosehead Lake Region Chamber of Commerce to moderate today's town hall meeting regarding the proposed development up on the east side of the lake at Lily Bay. We will start with an informative Power Point presentation of the present plans, and then people can ask questions and offer comments."
A youngish balding man in chinos, tassel loafers, and a lavender polo shirt stood up from his seat in the front row, stepped up on the stage, and approached the lectern with a smile for the crowd. Doug almost broke out laughing – what was this guy thinking? He wasn't wearing a suit, but his 'cocktails around the pool' outfit was not going to ingratiate him with the audience. An audible ripple of snickers and hisses rolled across the room as the speaker introduced himself and started the sales pitch.
As the plans for a vacation community of over 400 homes clustered at Lily Bay, one of the most beautiful and still untouched places in the region, were described in glowing terms, Doug's attention turned to Anne, leaning against the side wall of the auditorium. She looked tired, he thought, worn out. He wasn't surprised. She had been through two long winters in central Maine since moving here from Michigan, and her job as an investigator for the Piscataquis County Sheriff's Office could be a grind. It was a big county with lots of problems, and Hudson, the new sheriff, had been leaning on her hard. Anne was wearing her standard work outfit – boots, baggy Carhartt pants with a deep side pocket for her telescoping baton, and a loose flannel shirt, probably from Renys Department store down in Dexter, that covered her sidearm and badge. She could almost fade into the crowd, but her height – she was almost six feet, and her fluid grace and physicality – she had played point guard college ball in the Big Ten, drew attention, along with her natural good looks. Her blond hair was long now, he noticed, and unkempt, and her pants had mud splattered on them. She had a large bandage on the back of her left hand, and a fresh scratch on her forehead.
Doug noticed Anne shift her position on the wall and glance toward the back of the auditorium, where a man had stood up from his aisle seat and was walking down toward the stage. The man suddenly picked up his pace and started yelling about being ready to kill any "mother-fuckin tree huggers from away" that tried to block the project. He was clearly trying to reach the environmentalist opponents to the Lily Bay development who were sitting in the front row waiting for their turn to speak. Anne didn't move to block the man rushing the stage, but as he passed she stuck her foot out and tripped him. Sprawled in the aisle, with laughter erupting around him, the man was now enraged, and standing up, he turned back toward Anne, calling her a bitch and raising his open hand as if to slap her.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Black Frog"
by .
Copyright © 2019 B.D. Smith.
Excerpted by permission of Black Rose Writing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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