Death Climbs a Tree by Sara Hoskinson Frommer Page B

black letters a foot high.
    â€œâ€˜EFF,’” Fred read. “That anything like ELF?” The radical group Earth Liberation Front, he knew, had been linked to acts of vandalism in the name of environmental causes around the country and often left graffiti of its initials. But EFF was new to him.
    â€œI don’t know,” Kevin said. “Maybe it’s like a typo.”
    Jill raised her eyebrows. “Every time?” She pointed to the same initials on a hydraulic excavator—a huge backhoe on Caterpillar tracks—and a tub grinder that stood ready to grind up the very trees Sylvia and Andrew didn’t want them to take down. “I don’t think so. In a day or two, if they’re anything like ELF, they’ll probably take credit for it and tell us their full name.”
    Which didn’t mean that individuals would step forward to take the blame, Fred knew. Meanwhile, of course, people would get a kick out of talking about the “effing” vandalism. And he would have to deal with what had to be Tom Walcher, heading for him. In his forties, maybe five eight, Walcher was all muscle, obvious even through his denim jacket. But the flaming hair Joan had described couldn’t compete with the fire in his eyes.
    â€œBad enough they have to camp out in my trees,” he said. “Now they’re sabotaging my equipment.”
    â€œDetective Lieutenant Fred Lundquist. I’m sorry this happened, Mr. Walcher. Our crime scene people are on their way.”
    â€œThey’d better be! It’s a good half hour since I called you guys. You have any idea how much this is costing me by the hour?”
    Not to mention repairing these babies, Fred thought. “You’ll want to file the police report with your insurance company.”
    â€œNo way. They’d hit me with a rate increase you wouldn’t believe.”
    Fred couldn’t argue with him. “Can you tell me what happened?”
    â€œI’ve already told those two.” He jerked a thumb at the uniforms.
    â€œIt’s a nuisance, I know, but I need to hear it directly from you.”
    â€œWe were supposed to start work at six, on another job. I’ve been storing my equipment here overnight.” The thumb jerked again.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFirst we saw the graffiti. Then nothing would start—we saw right away they cut all our fuel lines. God only knows what else they did that we can’t tell yet. I called 911 immediately, and I’ve been waiting ever since. If they’d set fire to them, instead, it would’ve been worth filing with our insurance. We would’ve lost the whole damn woods by now. Of course, the kid in the oak tree would’ve gone up with them.” The thought clearly didn’t bother him as much as the money he was losing.
    Maybe that’s why they didn’t, Fred thought, but he suspected EFF would be more concerned about trees than about Andrew. He climbed up and peered at the severed diesel fuel lines to each cylinder of the massive engines. Presumably EFF was on the same side as Andrew and Sylvia. But he didn’t trust the judgment of whoever had immobilized the earthmovers. Who knew what they’d pull next time?
    â€œWe were here in five minutes, Lieutenant,” Jill said when he climbed down from the equipment.
    â€œWe secured the area and took statements from all the workers,” Kevin said.
    Secured the area was a joke, Fred thought. The construction workers were still walking around freely, and their tracks and the many tracks left by their vehicles and by Andrew and Sylvia’s supporters on previous days, not to mention Joan’s and his own visit yesterday, would give the crime scene people fits.
    â€œThis is gonna cost me anyhow a day, even if there’s no more damage than we can see and we can get replacement parts right away,” Walcher said. “You still need my guys? It’s