Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,68
fungus that gave the lodge its name. Thick willows and alders grew around the perimeter of the grounds, the bark nibbled by rabbits and scraped by moose and caribou antlers. Numerous animal tracks crisscrossed the snow. There were trails everywhere, but Cutter found nothing new belonging to a human.
He felt confident that he could have found something, given time and an ever-increasing search pattern, but Birdie Pingayak’s whistle cut him short. He chuckled at the fact that she didn’t yell, even when she was worried about getting iced in with a dead body. Cutter took one final look around at the duff and snow of the forest floor, and resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to leave the tracking to the troopers.
Birdie’s open aluminum boat was rated for seven people. Counting Rolf Hagen’s body, Vitus Paul, and the five who’d come upriver to the lodge, it was at max capacity on the return trip. Birdie gave the rubber ball on the fuel line a couple of pumps to make sure the engine had gas, and then pulled the starter rope. The fifty-horse Tohatsu caught the first time, burbling the brown water at the stern. Birdie leaned backward a hair to see that the engine was peeing, or pumping water through the system to keep it cool. She gave Lola and Ned a thumbs-up, and they pushed the bow away from the bank before jumping in with everyone else. Vitus rode up front with them, leaving the middle seat to Cutter and the judge again. Rolf Hagen lay sideways, gunnel to gunnel, just forward of Birdie. They’d propped the foot of his body bag up on the extra fuel can to make him fit.
Birdie adjusted the choke so the outboard ran more smoothly, then backed into the current. She pushed the tiller away from her, swinging the bow to the south.
“It should be a faster ride home,” she said, “now that we’re going with the flow. You guys up front watch for big ice and logs again. Okay?” She settled in on her seat, bright brown eyes flitting back and forth from bank to bank, as far as she could see in the fog. The lines of her tattoo highlighted the reverent smile on her lips. She was at home on this river, no matter the circumstances.
* * *
The tall silhouette of Aften Brooks pacing back and forth in her wool Sherpa hat materialized in the fog as Birdie nosed her boat toward the mud bank. Judge Markham slumped against the bench, head down, deep in thought. Cutter’s anxiety level had gone up by degrees the nearer they got to Stone Cross. He also had time to come to grips with the fact that the investigation into Rolf Hagen’s death and the disappearance of the Meads was a matter for the Alaska State Troopers. As difficult as it was, his primary focus had to be protecting the judge. Thankfully, Markham had fallen into a funk, making him less social than usual. He assured Cutter that he planned to make only a short appearance at the potluck before retiring to his room for the night.
Birdie came in at an angle, throwing the outboard into reverse when they neared the shore, slowing their approach. Water churned at the back of the boat. The aluminum bottom scraped gravel. Broadside to the current now, the stern swung sideways, and the little boat settled into an eddy of slower water so she faced slightly upstream.
Lola climbed out first, taking a position that faced the village proper even as her boots hit the water. The fog provided cover to any would-be shooters, but it also made targeting the judge more difficult. Cutter had asked Ned not to announce their arrival over the VHF, hopefully making it less likely that Daisy Aguthluk or anyone else would be waiting. He was surprised to see Aften and told her so. Surprises were rarely a good thing in the world of dignitary protection.
“How did you know when we were coming in?”
Aften grabbed the bow line and looped it around the piece of drill pipe to secure the boat. “I didn’t,” she said. “Not for sure at least. But I know Birdie, and she’s smart enough to get home before dark in shitty weather.” Like most people who weren’t guilty of anything, Aften Brooks didn’t waste time defending herself. Instead, she took a step toward Ned. “What about Sarah?”
The VPSO crinkled his nose, saying no without having to utter the