Chapter 74: Hunting! Hunting!
Walter Jenkins lay on the ground with his eyes closed, basking in the sun.
It was hard to get sun in prison.
Such spots were usually claimed by gang leaders; there was no way a 57-year-old man like him would get one.
But he lay there, and no one dared to approach.
The surrounding inmates walked around him in wide arcs. As he lay there with his eyes closed, even the sound of basketball playing in the distance quieted down significantly.
All of this happened after he nearly tore off the jaw of someone who tried to drive him away.
The last time was two and a half years ago.
He had held the young challenger by the scruff of his neck with one hand, pried open his mouth with the other, and just as he was excitedly about to exert force, the man had wet himself in terror.
If the prison guards hadn't arrived in time, he would have truly torn off his jaw.
Since then, no one had contested him for the spot.
They implicitly accepted that the sunny patch belonged to him.
A few gang members had quietly tried to recruit him, but he refused them all.
After confirming that he genuinely didn't take sides and merely wanted to sunbathe, the gang members gave up trying to recruit him and acted as if he didn't exist.
He had been imprisoned four years ago for aggravated assault.
Simply because he attempted to bash in the skull of an oil tycoon.
He regretted his impulsive behavior.
He didn't know what was wrong with him at the time; as a hunter, he had been so impatient.
He actually ran down the mountain and charged directly at his prey without observing the environment at all.
He lost his patience, so he was punished.
During his four years here, he constantly missed his home, his wilderness, his traps, and his trophies.
Every time there was a thunderstorm in the summer and autumn, he would lie awake, unable to sleep.
He worried about his home, and even more about his trophies.
"Walter Jenkins!"
A prison guard interrupted his thoughts, which made him very unhappy.
He raised his head to look at the guard, his eyes cold, as if studying a turkey.
"Come with me to process the paperwork."
"You can go."
He slowly got up and followed the guard.
The surrounding inmates spontaneously gathered around, applauding to celebrate his release.
His gaze slowly swept over these people, as if watching a flock of squawking wild ducks.
He was led into a room where the loudly rotating electric fan made him feel uncomfortable.
After signing a large stack of documents as required, the guard removed his handcuffs and leg irons and returned his clothes and personal belongings.
The guard was still rambling on, reading out the requirements.
He had to report to the County Police Department every week, he was prohibited from working jobs involving knives...
He didn't hear a single word.
He couldn't wait to leave this cage, rush into the forest, and run towards nature.
He wanted to hunt!
He wanted to hunt to his heart's content!
......
The main structure of the wooden cabin was built with roughly processed logs, with the gaps filled with mud mixed with straw.
The owner of the cabin had been meticulous, applying a layer of straw-mud mixture both inside and out for insulation.
The owner had taste, using mud to draw mountains on the walls, complete with trees, animals, wind, and the sun.
Although the paintings were crude, they had a unique, rugged primitive charm.
The cabin roof was layered with slate and pine branches for rain protection and insulation. However, it had largely collapsed due to disrepair over the years.
The interior of the cabin was simply furnished. Directly opposite the door stood a row of collapsed wooden shelves, with several cracked wooden bowls scattered on the ground, now filled with rainwater.
To the left was a single bed covered with animal skins.
To the right was a tool rack, and below the rack sat a wooden table.
Theodore walked up to the wooden table, carefully counting the tools on the rack, and slowly frowned.
What hung here were large cutting tools like machetes, not the small knives needed for making specimens.
Bundles of vine ropes, wooden spikes, and other trap-making tools were piled under the table, but most had already rotted.
Theodore did not find human bones or specimens here.
This was the killer's residence, but not the crime scene!
Bernie suspected the killer was dead and asked Theodore for his opinion.
Theodore paused, somewhat hesitant.
So far, all the clues they had were from five years ago; there were no traces of the killer's activity within the past five years or recently.
As a hunter living deep in the mountains, too many accidents could have happened.
"If he's still alive," Bernie continued, "will he commit crimes again?"
This time Theodore did not hesitate. "The killer collects trophies to satisfy his sense of control. Losing his trophies means he has lost his sense of control."
"He will not only commit crimes again, but he will commit them frantically."
Bernie nodded, radioed the County Police to climb out of the valley, and continue searching.
They soon found a wooden cabin washed away by the stream not far away.
After a simple observation of the surrounding terrain, they confirmed that the stream had not flowed through here before.
It was likely that the heavy rain had changed the terrain, causing the stream to divert toward the cabin, and the structure was washed away when the water level rose.
The County Police lifted the roof of the cabin and salvaged a large number of tools from the river, as well as several completely rotted specimens.
Bernie found a pit in front of a large rock downstream, filled with white bones.
The pit was filled with water, but the stream was no longer as turbulent as it had been at the beginning of the heavy rain, only disturbing the surface while the white bones at the bottom remained motionless.
The bones at the bottom of the pit were not all human bones; many animal bones were mixed in.
This should be a 'garbage dump.'
The killer brought the captured prey to the cabin for processing, threw the bones into the pit, and took the meat back to cook.
Theodore stood in front of the pit, looking back toward the cabin.
He was certain that this was the crime scene.
It was just that this crime scene had long been cleaned countless times by benevolent nature, leaving not even a single hair for him.
The County Police had gradually gathered around, whispering as they pointed at the pit full of white bones.
They didn't know how many of the white bones in the pit belonged to humans, but even if there was only one, it was horrifying enough!
It was already cooler in the mountains in autumn, but at this moment, they felt a chill wind in the forest, as if they were being watched by a wild beast.
One County Police officer scratched his neck and suggested sending two people back to report, while the rest waited on the mountain.
This mountain forest belonged to the jurisdiction of Nashville County, and cases occurring within the jurisdiction naturally belonged to the Nashville County Police Department.
With such a heinous case occurring, the County Police officers became considerably more serious.
Some had quietly set their sights on Theodore and Bernie.
These two had brought up the case; wouldn't it be reasonable to ask them to cooperate in solving it?
After a brief discussion, the County Police officers selected two people to go back and send the message.
Before these two set off, they also came over to consult Theodore and Bernie for their opinions.
Theodore and Bernie had no law enforcement authority here and couldn't direct the County Police, so they naturally had no objection.
It would take at least half a day to walk from here to the County Police Department. Even if the County Police Department received the message and immediately organized personnel to come, it would be late at night.
The remaining County Police were led by an older detective, who suggested taking stock of supplies and sending a few people out to hunt some game to bring back.
Including Theodore and Bernie, there were seven people left on the mountain in total.