They entered the barn.
Inside was a small red helicopter, tiny thing, the bubble just taller than a man of average height, and just big enough to wedge two people in behind the controls, rotors pretty much right above their heads. Tana stared at it, MacAllistair’s words replaying in her mind.
I saw you out there on Friday, Crash. Saw your bird parked just on the other side of the cliff from where those kids were working …
At the back of the barn a ladder led up to a walled-off loft that overlooked the floor area. Flight suits and grease-stained coveralls hung from hooks along the wall near the base of the ladder, along with an assortment of farm implements and several large dry bags—the kind used for river rafting trips.
“Hey,” MacAllistair said from her position against the door, a glint of amusement in her big blue eyes. “See you got a shiner of your own.” She tilted her chin toward Tana’s bruised and stitched cheek.
Tana gave her a cursory nod, but the heat of her attention remained fixed on O’Halloran and what he was saying about Crow TwoDove. MacAllistair pushed herself off the doorjamb and followed them into the barn.
“Go on,” Tana insisted. “Why did Dakota’s mother press this angle?”
O’Halloran inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of white breath out into the cold. “She had a hard time processing her daughter’s death, too. She didn’t want to believe it was an accident. Which fed into Elliot’s obsession. They enabled each other. But, bottom line, Dakota’s COD was equivocal.”
“COD,” she repeated, her gaze tunneling into him. “Equivocal?”
“Death—cause of death,” he said quickly. “It wasn’t clear what killed her. Only that bears, wolves, and other scavengers had picked her pretty much clean after the fact.”
“I know what COD means,” she said, eyes remaining locked on his. He swallowed. She saw the tattoo on his neck move. “You watch too much crime television, or did I just miss when using ‘COD’ and ‘equivocal’ in the same sentence became common lay speak?”
“What are you looking for, Constable, what are you really driving at? What’s firing your crusade?”
MacAllistair watched them with keen interest while she pretended to busy herself with tools behind the chopper. Irritation flared through Tana’s adrenaline.
“Heather,” she said quietly, “could you please give me a moment alone with Crash?”
MacAllistair raised her brows, glanced at O’Halloran. “Well, maybe you should take a ticket and stand in line, Constable. Crash was just showing me—”
“I’ve got it, Heather. I’ll finish off later.” O’Halloran jerked his head toward a door at the rear of the barn. “Let’s take a walk around the back, shall we, officer?” His voice was even cooler now. “I’ll show you where those eco-kids mixed their lure, then you can get back to your nice warm—safe—office.”
Her jaw tightened. Her eyes held his. Something hot crackled unspoken between them. “Show the way, then,” she said, her tone equally cool.
They exited through the rear door, and O’Halloran led her past a paddock in which two skinny horses chewed hay under the cover of a shelter. The scent of them was strong. But then Tana realized the pungent odor was more likely coming from the pigpen they passed next. Snow squeaked under their boots. Eagles wheeled up high.
He took her down to a clearing near the river. “Over there, upriver, is where Jamie lives.” He jerked his chin toward a little log cabin nestled under conifers. “And down that way,” he tipped his head in the opposite direction, “is the lure shed.”
Tana started toward the shed. He followed, still carrying his rifle. The shed was indeed reinforced with galvanized steel, and padlocked. She snapped a few photos with her phone. On a peg outside the shed hung what looked like stained fisherman’s waders. In front of the shed was a metal drum, and a fire pit.
“They mixed the lure sludge in that drum there, poured it into containers, and kept those locked in the shed,” he said. “In these temperatures it’s like keeping it in a freezer. But there is a generator-powered chest freezer inside the shed, and that’s where they stored the jerry cans during summer. They only used fresh stuff from Crow. He gets extremely regular business from the lodge, and always has a supply. It’s not as weird as it seems.”
She jiggled the padlock. “Where’s the key?”
“I wouldn’t go asking Crow for keys right now.”
She inhaled, tamping her frustration down. If need be, she could find a way to return.
Tana took a few more photos, one of the padlock, others of the drum and fire pit. Cold temperatures or not, the place stank.
“Did Selena Apodaca meet Jamie TwoDove here?”
“I guess. What difference does it make?”
She didn’t answer. She walked a short way down to the river, getting her bearings.
“So, what did you want with me?” he called down to her. “You told Crow you came here for me.”
She walked back up to him. “You own a red AeroStar like that one in the barn?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you land it on the northeast side of the cliff at the north end of Ice Lake on Friday, November second?”
His face darkened. “Heather suggest this?”
“Were you there, or not?”
“I was not.”
“Who else has a red two-seater AeroStar craft like the one back in that barn?”
“Apart from Heather—I don’t personally know of anyone else. Could have come from anywhere. A chopper can cover vast distances, officer. People use helicopters and planes out here like urban dwellers use cars. Only way to get around most of the time.”
His patronizing tone rankled.
“Where were you, then, on the afternoon of Friday, November second?”
“What’s this got to do with a wildlife attack? It’s not a criminal investigation.”
“Should it be?”
His eyes slanted to an angry angle. The energy crackling off him became tangible.
“I was doing a supply run.”
“For who?”
A muscle started to pulse along his jawline. “For Alan Sturmann-Taylor at Tchliko Lodge. It’s a regular gig. Couple of times a week when the weather is good.”
“Supplies from where?”
“Depends on his requirements.”
“Whole day Friday?”
“Whole afternoon.”
“Sturmann-Taylor can vouch for you?”
“Flight logs, too. Speak to him. Fill your boots, Constable. Are we done here?”
She looked away, her mental wheels turning. The wind shifted suddenly, kicking up a fine, white dervish of ice crystals. It whirled over the land toward the forest boundary. And Tana just could not help what came out of her mouth next.
“I saw Mindy,” she said. “In your house. Dressed in what was probably your pajama shirt. Stank of alcohol.” Her eyes bored into his. “I want you to know, O’Halloran, I find out you’re hurting that girl, I swear I’m going to nail you for this. Hard. You’re going to go down, no matter how long it takes me.”
His shoulders squared, and his gaze locked with hers. His eyes narrowed further and his jaw went tight.
“I don’t do PJs,” he said, very quietly. “I sleep naked.” He paused, letting that visual sink in. “I’d suggest you come around one night and check it out for yourself, because for a while there I reckoned you’d make a pretty decent lay, and I figured I was going to try, but right now I’m getting kinda pissed off with your angle here. So get this straight. First, the liquor. I don’t sell to kids, got that? And if it’s not me flying illegal booze in, it’s gonna be someone else. A demand will always be met. But there’s also a system out here, and this system doesn’t sell to minors. Whoever crossed that line with little Charlie, you have at him. Or her. And I’ll help you fuck the bastard up. But don’t make a mistake here, officer, by making enemies of the wrong people.” He held her eyes. “Because you’re going to need allies.”
Fire burned in Tana’s throat. Her hands fisted in her gloves.
“And, second, I don’t fornicate with minors. Got it?”
She blinked. Anger bled into her cheeks. Wind gusted. Cold. Her eyes started to water.
“So, is there anything else left that you’d like to cover before I show you safely off this property?”
Words eluded her.
“Fine, then let’s go.” He started to walk away. She remained stationary. He turned, irritated. “I’m not kidding. Crow will kill you.”
“Why?” she said. “Why even bother with the ‘safe escort’ bravado shit? Why not just let him shoot me and be done?”
“This a trick question?”
She weighed him, trying to measure, understand him.
He took a step back toward her. “Let me guess something,” he said, coming too close, looking down into her face, his voice low, soft. It made her swallow, and this appeared to please him by the glimmer she detected in his eyes. “You know girls like Mindy, and you know them very, very well, don’t you, Tana? Because I think you’ve been there. You were a girl just like Mindy. Men didn’t treat you very nicely, and now it’s payback time, right? Maybe you even did some of your own time at the deep, dark bottom of a bottle of liquor when you were far too young. And that is where this burr under your saddle comes from. That’s why you’re gunning for me.”
Heat burned high on her cheeks. Her heart began to gallop all over again.
“Am I right, Constable?”
“Fuck you, O’Halloran,” she whispered, her body trembling with outrage. “I’m going to speak to Mindy, her parents—”
“Yeah, good luck with that. Because it’s her father who’s abusing her and her mother refuses to admit this to herself. And that’s why the kid’s at my house. And before you go thinking of flying in some social worker for backup, know this—no one is going to voice any complaint to a government outsider. Not Mindy, nor her parents. No one in this community. No complaint—no proof of abuse.”
She stared.
“Be careful,” he said. “Very careful. You might think you know the game out here, but like I told you, this place has its own rules.”
A kestrel screamed up high.
“And before you come accusing me of abusing children again, you think about that one you’re carrying.”
Shock ripped through Tana. Her eyes burned. “You heard,” she whispered. “Last night, you heard me and Addy when you brought the soup.”
“Yeah. And maybe that’s why I bother with the ‘safe escort shit,’” he said, taking her arm. “Crow can shoot you for all I care, but you’re being an ass about your kid, and I’m not going to stand by watching some innocent baby die.”
He steered her back toward the barn. She jerked out of his hold. “Fuck you. I can do this myself.”
“Tana, Crow will—”
“Just don’t the fuck touch me, okay.” She marched back to the barn ahead of him, her whole body shaking inside. This man had just stripped her butt-naked with his words. He saw right into her, and through her. Tana wanted to throw up. She hated him more than anything in this world right now for being right, and being a fucking jackass about it. But deeper down, she knew the real source of her vitriol was her hatred for herself.
Heather glanced up as Crash returned to the barn after seeing Tana Larsson off the property. Energy—dark, electric—rolled off him in waves. She’d never seen the crazy dude like this before, without an easy smile, a twinkle in his eyes.
“What did she want with you?” she said, wiping the grease off her hands with a rag.
“To follow up on what you told her—asked if the AeroStar that you saw was mine.”
She cocked her head.
“Jesus, I said it wasn’t me out there, MacAllistair.”
“Yeah? Well, I didn’t tell her that it was yours. I just described the chopper. Said it could have been anyone’s.”
He started packing up his tools in simmering silence.
“Hey, I don’t give a damn whether it was you out there, or not.”
He slammed his toolbox shut, not responding.
“Why is it even such a big goddamn issue anyway? It’s not like she’s hunting some criminal—just information.”
He looked up, held her eyes.
“She’s not, right?” Heather cursed, looked away, then back. “What? She thinks it’s a homicide now? What in the fuck for?”
He came to his feet, and hefted up his toolbox. “That clutch should work fine now.” He started for the door where he’d propped his rifle.
“Great,” she said. “Another crazy-ass lunatic cop in development. I don’t know why you let her get up your nose like that.”
He said nothing, grabbed his gun, stepped outside.
Heather hurried after him. “Hey.” She touched his arm, stopping him. “Thanks for doing this. The clutch.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it, thanks.”
He held her gaze, then looked down at her hand on his jacket. She withdrew it. Rejection sparked through her, along with hurt. No, not just hurt—it rankled. She hadn’t thought it would, not coming from him. She didn’t think she’d care if he showed overt interest in another woman, and while he came off angry as a bull, she could tell there was something far deeper and more complicated simmering between him and that Constable Larsson.
“What are you not telling me, Crash?” she said softly. “Why are you letting her get to you like this? What else did that cop woman say?”
“Nothing that’s your business.”
He left her standing there as he made for his truck parked around the side. Slamming his door, he fired his engine. Heather watched him drive off, her brain churning over the ripples of change the new RCMP officer had brought to town.
CHAPTER 21
Tana opened the file box. A dank, musky scent rose from the papers inside, pervading her nostrils, branching down into her lungs, as if something dead and cold and awful was entering her body. She found the coroner’s report on Regan Amelia Novak’s death, dusted it off, coughed, and seated herself at her desk.
Rosalie was in the kitchenette, making cocoa. “Can you put some more wood on, crank up the heat?” Tana said, opening the file.
“Are you sure? It’s really hot in here.” Rosalie said, plugging in the kettle and reaching for the tin of cocoa. “Maybe you’re coming down with a chill or something.”
Maybe she was, after her frigid night in the wilderness, general lack of sleep, hot-cold hormone flushes, having the stuffing knocked out of her during the fight at the Red Moose. TwoDove nearly shooting her brains out this morning.
O’Halloran’s comments …
You know girls like Mindy, and you know them very, very well, don’t you, Tana? Because I think you’ve been there. You were a girl just like Mindy …
Tana shut her eyes as self-recrimination knifed through her. She’d misread, or rather, not anticipated the situation with Crow TwoDove. On the back of her self-chastisement came raw anger. At Cutter and Keelan for having turned blind eyes toward this remote, fly-in aboriginal community for so long that it had culminated in a situation that had left her alone, a rookie, to police the town. Because if she’d had a partner—someone who would have known and briefed her on Crow’s state of mind and his history and relationship with the RCMP—she’d never have gone onto his land solo like that.
She wouldn’t have put her baby in danger.
What ate her from the inside out, though, was the fact that it was O’Halloran who’d saved her ass. And she despised how easily he saw inside her. He saw her shame. Her lack of self-worth. He knew her for what she really was. But what was he? What gave him such acute profiling powers? What in hell gave him such self confidence in his assessment?
A confidence that crossed the line into rude.
Crow can shoot you for all I care, but you’re being an ass about your kid …
She swore out loud. Rosalie, and Max and Toyon all cast a war
y eye in her direction.
“You okay?” Rosalie said.
“Peachy.” She started to read the Chief Coroner’s Office report on the death of Regan Amelia Novak, age fifteen. Only daughter of Sergeant Elliot Novak and Mary Louise Novak.
Four years ago, Twin Rivers RCMP station commander Sergeant Elliot Novak booked off the first weekend in November to take his daughter, Regan, ice fishing and camping. There’d been an early and severe cold snap in late October, and good fishing was to be found on a lake about five miles northwest of the Sleevo Creek tributary that fed into the Wolverine. About six inches of snow covered the ground. Temperatures were in the minus six to ten range, light snow in the forecast. A more serious front was predicted to hit later, but not until after their trip was due to be over.
Some time during the early morning hours of November 4, Regan vacated the tent in which she’d been sleeping with her father.
According to the report, Novak noticed his daughter was missing when he woke around 8:30 a.m. and saw that her sleeping bag was empty. Her boots and jacket were gone, and the tent flap was unzipped. He thought Regan had gone to the bathroom.
But when Novak exited the tent, he saw no fresh tracks leading from the tent. The brunt of the storm was moving in earlier than anticipated, and several inches of new snow had fallen during the early morning hours. This snow had filled in what appeared to be an older depression of Regan’s prints, leading away from the tent toward the river. From the amount of snow in his daughter’s tracks, Novak deduced that she had left their tent several hours earlier, on her own volition, probably to go to the bathroom, but for some reason, she’d not returned. That was when he began to worry. He called out for her, and quickly began to search the immediate area.
Tana’s gaze shot back up to the top of the page. The early morning hours of November 4 …
Her conversation with Big Indian sifted into her mind:
“You said there was another one.”
“Following year. Also just at the start of the snows—first week of November. Dakota Smithers. She was only fourteen years old … part of the culture camp that the Twin Rivers School used to hold every year out at Porcupine Lake, to help the kids stay in touch with their indigenous roots. She and some others went out with their dogsleds one afternoon. Dakota got separated from the group when fog rolled in …
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