Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,93

out of Washington State, no convictions though. They don’t show up unless you run her by her married name, which is Halcomb.”

“That is interesting,” Cutter said. “Any details on the assaults?”

“Used a rifle both times,” Warr said. “Put one guy in the hospital. Looks like she’s got a temper. Charges were dropped for some reason. I don’t know all the Washington State codes.”

“Who’s her husband?”

“A thug named Richard Halcomb,” Warr said. “Goes by Rick. A real piece of work, that one. Affiliated with an outlaw biker gang that runs between Arizona and Washington. Criminal history shows a half dozen arrests for auto theft, assault, and MICS.” Each state had their own jargon and acronyms that incoming federal agents had to learn in order to communicate. In Alaska, MICS—pronounced “micks”—was misconduct involving a controlled substance. More than half the state fugitive cases the task force worked were MICS related.

Cutter yawned, mulling over the new information, finding a place for it among his various theories of the case. “That’s a hell of a background for a third grade teacher.”

“It gets even more so,” Warr said. “Rick Halcomb just finished doing a nickel in Walla Walla for manslaughter—which looks like it was originally a second-degree murder that got pled down. You’d know him when you see him. He’s got a big scar running across his face where his left eye used to be. He and Donna split the sheets about the time he went into Walla Walla. Judging from vehicle registration and driver’s license dates, Donna Halcomb moved to Alaska with her son, Reese, a year after the divorce.”

“Okay,” Cutter said, waiting for the lieutenant to make a connection but wanting to show he was still listening.

“Reese Halcomb died two years ago while he was out hiking in Hatcher Pass with two friends—Conner Brady and—”

“David Mead.” Cutter finished the sentence.

“That would be correct.”

“Suspicious circumstances?”

“It happened in late September,” Warr said. “One of those snotty, cold rains that moved in before they knew it. There was already some snow on the ground at that elevation. Medical examiner ruled the cause of death was exposure, but she also noted several areas of blunt-force trauma to the Halcomb kid’s head. One of the wounds was significant enough it could have been life threatening if the cold hadn’t killed him first.”

“That gives mom and dad both motive,” Cutter said.

“And neither appear to have any problem shooting people.”

“Hypothermic and stumbling in rocky terrain,” Cutter said. “The boy could have fallen.”

“The ME’s report says the same thing. His body was found at the base of a talus slope, one drainage over from where the other boys said they were. Mead and Brady told the troopers that they’d decided to go for help when Reese hurt his ankle. They swore he was alive and coherent when they saw him last.” Warr cleared his throat. “Both boys are athletes, so there’s a question about why they didn’t just carry the Halcomb boy out.”

“They just left him alone—”

“That’s exactly what they did,” Warr said. “Lucky for them, Rick was still in prison. Donna Halcomb made some threats at the time, but everyone wrote off her behavior to grief. The trooper’s notes say she always had a suspicion the boys had been drinking, and that some underage girls were present on the hike. A convenience-store clerk in Palmer saw two females who looked like they were in high school with the boys earlier in the day, before they went hiking. Never did get any ID on the girls though. And the boys stuck to the story that it was just the three of them. There was also the problem of six missing hours in their timeline. Seems like Mead and Brady didn’t report Halcomb missing until well after they were back within cell range. It looked to the trooper who first made contact like they’d both showered, even had something to eat before they called.”

“They were giving the alcohol time to get out of their systems,” Cutter mused. “And dropping off the girls. Probably took some convincing to keep them quiet.”

“Seems likely,” Warr said.

The library door rattled as someone turned the lock, then creaked open.

“Hang on a second,” Cutter said, lowering his voice. “Sounds like I have a visitor.” He picked up the Colt.

Birdie Pingayak’s voice came from around the corner. It was quiet but firm, the kind of voice that had bad news.

“Marshal Cutter? I’m sorry to bother you . . .”

Cutter stood and peered over the top of the shelf, keeping