Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,69
actual words.
“Is it true?” she whispered. “Rolf’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jasper said.
“Did you find . . .” Aften’s voice trailed off. “I mean, did it look like Sarah was hurt?”
“I’m really sorry,” Jasper said. “I shouldn’t talk about the investigation. We have to turn everything over to the troopers.” He set his dry-bag on the bank along with the hunting rifle and returned to the boat to retrieve Rolf Hagen’s body.
Aften began to pace again. “But she’s missing. What if she’s hurt? Somebody killed Rolf, so—”
Birdie put a hand on her shoulder. “They’ve thought of all that. I promise. We have to let them do their job. Where’s Jolene?”
Aften closed her eyes and gave a helpless sigh. “At the school. Everybody is.”
“What about Daisy Aguthluk?” Judge Markham asked.
“Daisy?” Aften shrugged, caught off guard that the judge would know the woman’s name. “Yeah . . . I’m sure she’s at the potluck too.”
“Good,” Markham said. He threw the duffel over his shoulder. “I want to talk to her.”
Cutter looked back the way they’d just come. Ice chattered and hissed as it floated past in the darkness. It killed him to leave things undone. Something was going on out there, something bad. He sloshed into the river, ready to help Lola and Ned, who were in the boat again maneuvering the body bag into position. Even in the slower current of the eddy, Cutter could feel the frigid water shoving his calves. He leaned across the rail to get a good grip on the nylon straps. Rolf Hagen weighed well over two hundred pounds and even with rigor mortis, lifting him out of the boat was an ungainly task.
“Glad you’re playing the details of this close to the vest,” Cutter said to the VPSO as they worked. “You might consider letting it slip that we found a bullet. Don’t mention that we already took it as evidence, just that we saw it in the logs.”
“Good idea,” Jasper said. “If the shooter is somebody in town, he’ll want to go back and retrieve it before the troopers get here. Maybe we’ll see ’em go.”
Lola wedged herself against the side of the boat, ready to help lift the body bag. She looked up and gave Cutter a nod of approval. “Wow, boss,” she said. “You’re not just a badass. You’re a sneaky badass.”
* * *
Cutter convinced Markham to get his gear stowed in the Family and Consumer Science classroom, where he’d be sleeping, before he tried to speak with the woman who wanted to kill him. This gave Ned and Lola time to find Daisy Aguthluk and make reasonably sure she didn’t happen to be holding a butcher knife when the judge approached her.
Cutter dropped his own gear in the library, which was next to Markham’s room. He locked the door with the key Birdie had given him, and then waited in the hall under some hand-carved wooden Yup’ik masks.
The potluck was going full swing in the gym down the carpeted hallway. Anyone coming into the school through the main entry had to turn left, just two doors down from where Cutter stood, in order to reach the gym. Some were still arriving, others were going the other way, probably stepping outside to smoke. Most smiled politely at Cutter, not quite looking him in the eye when they said hello or offered the Yup’ik greeting, “Waqaa.”
The din of hundreds of chatting voices spilled into the hall each time the gym doors opened, along with the tantalizing odors of smoked fish, freshly baked bread, and other things Cutter couldn’t quite identify.
Markham came out wearing the same clothes he’d had on to go upriver—an open-collared shirt and jeans. Focused on the gym, he looked drawn and solemn instead of his usual bombastic, bow-tied self.
“We believed we were doing what was best,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Cutter said.
“The bush is a dangerous place,” Markham said, as if trying to convince himself. “Especially for someone with physical or mental problems . . .”
Cutter nodded without interrupting.
“Medical personnel are the experts at this sort of thing, you know. We had to rely on their knowledge. We still do. Attorneys, law enforcement, judges, we do not make our decisions in a vacuum. We depend on the eyes and ears of the people who are out in the . . .” His voice trailed off. “I’m assuming your partner is already in the gymnasium?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Cutter said. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to—”