Stone Cross

by Marc Cameron

  “You think that could be the bullet?”

  “I do,” Cutter said. “I’m sure the Troopers will want to be the ones to dig it out.”

  “If they make it out here,” Ned said, half under his breath. He took a satellite phone out of his coat pocket, waited for a signal, then punched a number into the pad.

  “Lieutenant Warr,” he said. “It’s Ned. We’re out at the lodge. Rolf Hagen’s dead all right. We haven’t gone up to the body yet, but it looks like he’s been shot. Any luck getting more people out to us?”

  He stood and listened for a time, ankle deep in the snow, broad face screwed into a fearsome scowl of concentration. Jasper was a smart man, good at his job, if a little overwhelmed by the present situation.

  “I thought that might happen,” he said at length. “I guess I can stay, but this fog’s camped out right on top of us. This crazy weather has temperatures going up temporarily. The body’s lying in a low spot. If the snow melts, the whole area will be under six inches of muddy water. Good chance any evidence is gonna be washed away if we leave him in place until you get ABI out . . . Yeah. Hang on.” Ned held the phone out to Cutter. “The L.T. wants to talk to you.”

  He checked to make sure he still had a signal, then put the phone to his ear. “Cutter.”

  Lola scanned the trees while he spoke.

  “Any sign of the Meads?” Warr asked.

  “Nothing good,” Cutter said. “Do you think they’d be the kind of people to murder the handyman? An affair gone bad maybe, something like that?”

  “I don’t know.” Warr groaned. “I only met them when they came through. Newlyweds, really. He was kind of flaky, but it seemed to me that she was squared away.”

  “Flaky?”

  “Goofy,” Warr said. “Never serious. Like a middle school kid. Still. This has the feel of a kidnapping.”

  “Search teams then?” Cutter asked. “There’s been snow since the murder, but it’s trackable.”

  “Aircraft are still on a weather hold,” Warr said. He sounded harried, like he was spinning way too many plates at the same time. “I can’t even get anyone from Alaska Bureau of Investigations into Bethel from Anchorage. I know it seems unthinkable not to respond, but I can’t let my troopers take off if there’s no way for them to land where they’re going. I have two of my troopers standing by with the 185 as soon as they can lift off. If they can get to Stone Cross they’ll work their way to you. Two more made an attempt by boat, but there’s ice blocking the river between here and Kwethluk. They ended up going downriver and making it across to Napaskiak—which is on the same side as you—then started your way on ATVs. I just got a call to tell me they’ve already sunk one machine up past the axles in the mud.”

  Cutter scuffed at the snow, testing the frozen ground with the toe of his boot. “How long’s this weather supposed to hang on?”

  “That’s the thing,” Warr said. “There’s a big cold front moving in off the Bering tonight or early tomorrow.”

  Great, Cutter thought, but he didn’t say it. He was still relatively new to Alaska, but he’d watched Deadliest Catch enough to know that the Bering Sea was well-known as the birthplace for hellacious weather.

  “A winter storm?”

  “You could say that,” Warr said. “Think hurricane but with snow instead of rain. It will blow this fog out, but the whiteout conditions won’t help our mission. The ice on the river will just get worse. Our flight window is going to be limited if we get one at all.”

  Cutter turned in place, phone to his ear, scanning as he listened. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone out there, watching. The air hovered just above freezing. Intermittent snowmelt dripped steadily off the metal roof into a growing puddle at the back corner of the lodge. The fog distorted sounds, making it difficult to tell where they were coming from. Deeper tones, like croaking ravens, the grinding hiss of ice in the river, and the constant dripping, seemed to come from every direction.

  The ravens ker-lucked again, drawing his attention to the tree line. Considering the layout of the buildings and how they’d block certain shots, there was a good chance the bullet that killed Rolf Hagen had come from out there.

  “Ned is right,” Cutter said. “We’re melting for the time being, which will put the area around the body under a couple inches of water by nightfall.”

  “Then freeze when the storm comes in,” Warr said. “I know your responsibility to the judge makes going after the Meads impossible. . .”

  The lieutenant paused, as if waiting for an argument. Cutter’s gut churned at the prospect of inaction, but Warr was right. As much as he wanted to head for the woods, he couldn’t leave the judge to Lola with an active threat in the village.

  “It’s a big ask,” Warr continued. “But how would you feel about collecting what evidence you can before it washes away?”

  “Bluntly speaking,” Cutter said, “I’m a hell of a man hunter. But I wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice as a crime scene investigator. That said, I’ve assisted on more than one homicide investigation. We can help Ned take photos, get you some measurements, and comb the snow for any evidence, including tracks.”

  “That would be much appreciated,” Warr said. “Get the body and anything else in plain sight. I’ll have a team out there as soon as humanly possible. At least by tomorrow morning. Right now I’ve got a suicide in Nunam Iqua, a moose hunter up the An-dreafsky River who’s two days overdue, and the body recovery Earl was supposed to go get today in Nightmute.”

  “Kind of a perfect storm,” Cutter said.

  The lieutenant gave an exhausted sigh. “Nope. Just an average day in C Detachment—nothing sixty good troopers couldn’t handle. Trouble is, we have to make do with twenty-seven.”

  “We’ll help however we can.”

  “All I can ask,” Warr said. “Anything jump out at you at first glance? Something I can tell my brass other than we’re not responding to a homicide and kidnapping?”

  Cutter eyed the body. “Looks like Hagen was shot from the trees.”

  “That doesn’t rule the Meads out,” Warr said. “But it makes them less likely. Jasper will stay out with the crime scene until we get a trooper out there.”

  “Due respect, Lieutenant,” Cutter said. “He’s unarmed. At the very least, we have a murder and a couple of fugitives. They could be the killers, but I tend to agree that this feels like an abduction.”

  “I hear you.” Another phone rang on Warr’s end. “Listen,” he said. “I have a call from the captain I need to take. If you don’t mind, give me a call back before you leave.”

  Cutter handed the satellite phone back to Ned. “Looks like he wants you to stay and guard the crime scene.”

  “He told me,” Ned said. “Honestly, I’m fine with that. But I’m thinking it’s going to be a while before they get anyone out here. That leaves Stone Cross with no VPSO.” He shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess.”

  “It’s your business,” Lola said, “but somebody shot that guy over there in the head. You think it’s a good idea to stay out here by yourself?”

  Ned smirked. “No,” he said, lowering his voice. “Vitus is staying with me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Ned tramped down to the boat to retrieve a body bag while Cutter and Lola took photos and measurements, noting how far the body was from the lodge wall and the direction Rolf Hagen had been facing before he was killed.

  Cutter squatted next to the body. “There’s some solace in the way he fell.”

  Lola gulped. The corner of her lip curled, like she might get sick at any moment. “I can’t see any solace in having your brains blown out.”

  “See how his boots are slightly crossed at the ankles?” Cutter pointed toward the river with an open hand. “If you look at the track impressions under the snow, he was walking this way.”

  “Then why is he facing the trees?”

  Cutter gestured to the wound. “Bullet hit him here, where the collar of his
coat touches his skull. He didn’t have time to know he’d been shot. His body collapsed instantly, corkscrewing as it went down.”

  Lola gave a tiny nod, back to her robust self now that she focused on science instead of the gore. “That accounts for the crossed legs.”

  “Yep,” Cutter said. He studied the sole of each rubber boot, then checked the loose rubber tops. More than once he’d found an ankle gun on a dead body.

  “How long do you think he’s been here?”

  “That’s a tough call.” Cutter nudged Hagen’s outstretched arm with his knuckle. “Rigor is still present,” he said. “That usually starts to relax after fifty hours or so, but in these temps, when the body doesn’t start to break down for a while, it could hang on for twice that, or even longer. Aften Brooks said she hasn’t been able to reach the Meads since the afternoon of the day before yesterday. If the killing happened right after that . . .”

  Lola checked her watch. “A little less than forty-eight hours. That’s a long time to be kidnapped.” She looked up at the log wall. “What do you want to do about that?”

  Cutter stood with a groan, and went to examine the hole where the bullet had burrowed into the wood.

  “Sloppy,” Lola said. “Leaving evidence behind that way.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a tidy murder,” Cutter said. “Except in the movies.” He stooped a little, putting the entry point at eye level. “Hagen’s lying on top of a half bottle of R&R whiskey. He’s not wearing socks with his boots, which suggests he slipped them on in a hurry. All that, combined with his flannel jammies pants, leads me to believe this happened at night.” He tapped the log beside the bullet hole. “That means the shooter likely didn’t see this. If we leave it unattended, he or she could come back, and it could very well disappear while we’re gone, and we’d lose a valuable piece of evidence.” He glanced at the tree line, then back at the bullet hole. “Go in the lodge and see if you can find something to use as a pointer stick. A dowel, an arrow, something like that.”

  Lola returned at the same time Ned got back with an ungainly black body bag rolled under one arm.

  “Sorry, boss.” Lola held up a wooden spoon. “No arrows or dowels. But this has a long handle.”

  “That’ll do,” Cutter said. He took the spoon and carefully placed the end into the bullet hole. As he suspected, the straight handle pointed toward a dark spot in the tree line. “We’ll need to check out that area over there,” he said. “After we’re done here.”

  Ned nodded. “Might be less snow under the trees. Maybe we’ll find some tracks—”

  A strained shout from Judge Markham interrupted him. Cutter and Lola were moving the moment they heard it.

  CHAPTER 21

  Cutter and the others rounded the corner of the lodge in three strides, nearly running headlong into Birdie, who was on her way to get them.

  Markham shouted again.

  “I wish people wouldn’t be so loud,” Birdie said under her breath. “Stupid to yell out here. Wrecks my concentration.”

  The judge and Vitus Paul stood looking down at the snow next to a small storage shed just south of the main lodge. Both men had their hands in their pockets as if they didn’t know what to do with them.

  “What is it?” Cutter asked as Birdie turned to follow him.

  Markham looked up, flushed with cold and excitement. “Ms. Pingayak found more blood. Is it possible that the victim was wounded here and then died over there?”

  Cutter shook his head. “No, sir. Too much head trauma. That one died on the spot.”

  “Maybe it’s from one of the Meads, then?” Lola offered.

  Cutter bent to get a better look. Several drops of spattered blood formed a rough fan shape, pink under the dusting of snow. There wasn’t enough blood for a substantial gaping wound, more likely a concussive blow to the mouth or nose. Both parts of the body were prone to bleed when hit even slightly.

  Cutter gestured with an open hand to a spot a few feet on the opposite side of the blood spatter. “If you all could do me a favor and shine the flashlights from your cell phones across the ground, low so I can pick up some definition.”

  Vitus Paul gave a nod of approval, as if that’s what he would have done.

  Lola continued watching for threats, while Markham and the others did as directed. The low-angle lights allowed Cutter to pick up a telltale depression in the snow, roughly the shape of a prone body. Closer examination revealed two slightly deeper divots, where someone had fallen to their knees. Cutter lay down on his side, eye level with the ground.

  He thought out loud as he worked. “Let’s say the blood came from someone who was hit in the head—”

  “You mean shot?” Markham said.

  Birdie gave him a side-eye then quickly returned to Cutter. “Not enough blood.”

  “More likely struck with something,” Cutter said, his cheek pressed to the snow. “Hard enough to drive them to their knees . . .” He motioned for Birdie to move her light a little, to above the place where he suspected the body would have pitched forward when it fell. It took a full two minutes of gentle probing in the snow before he found what he was looking for—a thin disc of bloodied ice about three inches across. He rolled up on his side long enough to retrieve the old Barlow pocketknife from his pocket, then used the tip of the blade to gently pry up the edge of the ice.

  Vitus turned up his nose in disgust. Birdie bent at the waist, leaning forward to get a better look.

  “What is that thing?” Judge Markham asked.

  “If I had to guess,” Cutter said, “frozen spit.” He laid the opaque disc in Lola’s gloved hand and got to his feet. “And a broken tooth.”

  Vitus gave a solemn shake of his head. “Mr. or Mrs. Mead . . .”

  “Looks like it,” Cutter said. “And since Rolf Hagen went down over there, that means either the shooter closed the distance . . . or, there are at least two people involved.”

  “Two people missing,” Lola mused. “It would take more than one to carry them away.”

  “Or one of the Meads is also a kidnapper,” the judge said. “Nothing people do surprises me anymore.”

  “I hear that, Judge,” Lola said. “I hear that . . .”

  “One thing is certain,” Cutter said. “At least one of the Meads was struck violently enough to break a tooth. Judging from the frozen saliva in one spot, the blow was enough to knock them unconscious so they could be taken to a second location.” He shot a glance at Ned Jasper. “And when there are two separate crime scenes, the second is almost always a homicide.”

  “That puts them gone for two days,” Lola whispered. “Not good.”

  Ned took an evidence baggie from his jacket and held it open so Lola could drop in the frozen disk to retain its DNA before it melted, along with the tooth.

  Birdie stared at the bloody ice as if hypnotized. Her head suddenly snapped up and she looked toward the river, as if she’d heard something through the fog. “Okay,” she said, sounding like the principal that she was. “It’s twenty minutes to five. If you want to get back to Stone Cross tonight, we gotta be on the boat in no more than one hour. Less is better.”

  Markham gave a soft smile. He surely meant well, but his words came like a condescending pat on the shoulder. “Homicide investigations take time, Ms. Pingayak.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Birdie said. “But the river doesn’t give a shit . . . Your Honor. Either you finish up in an hour, or this turns into one of those Agatha Christie–type deals where we’re all stuck here together playing gin rummy and trying to figure out which one of us is the killer—maybe until the ice gets thick enough for someone to come get us on snow machines.”

  “You guys should go ahead and wrap it up,” Ned said. “Me and Vitus are gonna stay here anyway.”

  “Isn’t somebody going after the Meads?” Birdie asked, looking directly at Cutter.

  He gritted his teeth. Thinking through all the possible outcomes. It felt so very wrong not to l
eave now, to go after them at this moment. The storm would blow in and cover any remaining tracks, and likely make travel impossible.

  Lola spoke next, while Cutter lay down again to study the ground where he’d found the tooth.

  “There’s this scenario question we always hear about in the Marshals Service,” she said. “You’re working the back of a residence, assigned to guard this mob witness with a serious threat on his life. A little girl runs up to your post crying her face off and saying her kid brother is drowning in the pool a few houses down. She begs you to come save him. You call for backup, but the instructor tells you the radios are down. The scenario is a no win. There’s no way to know if it’s a trick or not without abandoning your post. If you stay at your post like they tell you, the kid drowns. You go check on the kid, the mob comes and whacks your witness.”

  “I’d fail that scenario,” Birdie said.

  “Ah,” Markham said. “Reality isn’t a scenario, Deputy . . .”

  “True enough, Your Honor,” Cutter said, rolling back to his feet. “This reality is even more stark. We don’t know if there’s enough of a trail to take us to the Meads, or if they’d be alive when we got to them. But I’m certain there’s a woman back in Stone Cross who wants to see you dead.” He looked up at Jasper. “It’s up to you and the lieutenant, of course, but I’m not comfortable leaving you here. There’s too great a chance Rolf Hagen’s killer will come back.”

  “I know,” Jasper said, resigned to it.

  Cutter gave a curt nod, coming to a decision. “Warr seems like the type to trust the boots on the ground. I’ll give him a call. Nobody should stay here under these circumstances.”

  Vitus slumped in relief. “I wouldn’t mind not staying out here all night. I saw some big tracks downriver. A mile or so back when I was riding in.”

  “What do you mean by big?” Cutter asked.

  Ned closed his eyes and groaned. “Let me guess: Arulutaq?”

  “I think it was,” Vitus said.

  “The Hairy Man,” Birdie said. “It’s like the bigfoot.”

  “Worth checking out the tracks,” Cutter said.