Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,57

late morning. About sunup, maybe.”

His head on a swivel, Cutter stood with his back to the river, trying to get some sense of direction. “No sign of anyone else?”

“Just the body,” Vitus said. “Are you guys troopers?”

“US Marshals,” Lola said. “We’re here on another matter—”

Vitus’s eyebrows shot up in realization. “Ahh,” he said. “That federal judge thing with Daisy.”

Markham hugged himself against the chill. “Seems as though the entire village is aware of this.”

Cutter ignored that. “What was the lodge like when you got here?”

“There was nobody here, if that’s what you mean. I’m the one who called you. Remember?”

“Nobody’s accusing you,” Lola said.

Cutter tried again. “Was it still warm inside?”

Vitus shook his head. “I wish. Had to start a fire in the stove to keep from freezing to death. The Meads must have been gone a while.”

“Okay.” Cutter shot a glance at Lola. There was something about this place that wasn’t right—and she felt it too. Dark shapes—buildings, trees, stacks of wood—materialized and then disappeared intermittently in the drifting clouds of vapor. Birdie still moved around at her boat, perhaps two dozen yards down the bank at the river—and she was completely invisible. Threats could be everywhere, and very likely were. It took every ounce of self-control Cutter had to keep from grabbing Markham by the scruff of the neck and dragging him to the relative safety of the lodge.

“Judge,” he said, “let’s get you inside.”

Markham dug in. “I’d like to see what’s going on first.”

“There is something in the meat shed you’ll want to see,” Vitus said.

Cutter could be just as stubborn as the judge. “Is it on the way to the lodge?”

“Yeah,” Vitus said. “It’s right over here.” He led the way up the hill, to an eight-by-eight building made of weathered plywood and window screens. S-shaped metal hooks hung from two-by-four rafters under a sloping tin roof. Parachute cord ran through small eyebolts around the outside of the building, terminating at a toggle switch that led to a car horn and boat battery.

“The meat shed,” Vitus said. “But get a load of this.” He held back the door and pointed to a circular design on the concrete floor, apparently drawn in blood. “That’s weird, huh?”

“Indeed,” the judge said.

“Gives me the creeps,” Lola said. “Some kind of symbol, you think, boss?” She tilted her head to get a different angle. “A target, maybe?”

“Take some photos,” Cutter said. He stooped to study the ground in front of the door. There were several depressions in the half frozen path, but nothing in the most recent snow other than a single set of boot prints where Vitus Paul had initially gone in and scrambled away after he’d seen the bloody design.

Both Lola and Ned Jasper took several photographs with their phones, placing one of the VPSO’s Bic pens beside the design for scale.

“Got any guesses as to what that crazy thing is?” Vitus asked as they walked toward the lodge.

“Guesses,” Cutter said. He and Lola flanked the judge, but if anyone was out there with a rifle, that would offer precious little protection. “But only guesses.”

Vitus stopped when he reached the wooden steps in front of the lodge, using his chin to gesture to the right. “Rolf’s around the side. I was gonna check to see if he was still alive, but . . .” He swallowed hard. “Well, you’ll see.”

Cutter sniffed the air, catching the odor of wood smoke. “Judge, if you don’t mind waiting inside for a few minutes.”

“I’m not comfortable—”

“You’re in charge here, Officer Jasper.” Cutter ignored Markham’s protests. He looked past the VPSO at the gray apparition of tree line to the east. “Where do you want us? The fewer people we have around the scene the better.”

“You and your partner come help me,” Jasper said. “If everyone else would please hang back until we take some photos . . .”

Markham licked his lips, looked like he might say something. Instead, he turned and clomped angrily up the steps toward the lodge door.

Cutter gave Lola a subtle nod, then glanced at Birdie. “Deputy Teariki will go inside first and do a quick check of things.”

Markham turned. “To make certain we don’t mess up the crime scene?”

“No, sir,” Cutter said matter-of-factly. “To make certain someone doesn’t shoot you in the face.”

CHAPTER 19

Every two weeks since her husband had died, no matter what else was going on in her life, Mim Cutter sat down with the kids’ teachers for a face-to-face meeting. Looking after their well-being, or trying