Sebastian’s fist shoots up. It smacks straight into the curve of Paul’s arm and knocks it away, the blade falling from his throat. I’m ready. The moment Sebastian started sniveling, I saw a setup. I leap. I’m already flying along the path, and Dalton is doing the same from the other side. Sebastian already has Paul by the arm, twisting, and before either of us reaches them, Paul thuds to the ground, with Sebastian over him, knife at his throat.
“Don’t move,” Sebastian says.
There’s no anger in his voice. None in his face either. That’s where my gaze goes—to Sebastian’s face—because I must see his reaction. I must look into his eyes. I do, and I don’t see rage. I don’t see excitement either. The expression on Sebastian’s face is the same one he might give a kid who accidentally bumped him in the school hallway, mild annoyance, the understanding that these things happen, and it’d just better not happen again.
When Paul tries to stand, Sebastian’s hand never wavers. He lets Paul rise right into the blade, the tip piercing his skin.
Sebastian says nothing. Does nothing. He just watches Paul with that same dead-eyed look.
“We have this, Sebastian,” I say. “Go on back to town with the others.”
The young man doesn’t hesitate. He nods and gets off Paul. After handing Dalton the knife, he joins the others. They start slowly back to town, glancing at us as they go.
We wait until they’re gone. Then Dalton says, “Paul? You’re under arrest for the murder of Mark Garcia. Get up and put your hands on your head…”
FORTY-EIGHT
Paul may have laughed at the idea that Garcia came back to arrest him. I believe that, though. I have no idea how he’d turn Paul over without losing his job, but I can’t imagine he came all the way up here to ask for more money. He cut a deal with a killer, and he regretted it. He tried to make that right. I know he did.
As for how we’ll make things right …
The council can do nothing about Mark Garcia. We discuss ideas—put his body in the woods closer to Dawson City, to at least give his family closure. Anything we do, though, would only make the situation worse. Garcia must vanish.
It turns out he was on leave from the marshals for a disciplinary action, and so no one knew he’d come up here. He has an ex-wife and two kids he hasn’t seen in years. According to his will, everything goes to those kids, including the investments he’s been holding, the ones that confirm his payout from Paul. His family won’t get his body back—or any answers—but at least they’ll have the money when he’s declared legally dead. It’ll have to do.
We now know how Garcia got here. He knew about Rockton, and he facilitated Paul’s arrival through a third party. He figured out that we flew through Dawson, and he arranged the rest from there. There’s no leak we need to plug—this only highlights concerns Dalton has been raising for years, like using the local airport. After this the council agrees to his demands on that.
Paul will be shipped out when we fly April home to collect her things. Someone from the council will meet us in Whitehorse and take him from there. He’ll be given a new identity and access to his remaining funds. Yes, that seems like rewarding him for murder, but the council needs leverage to buy his silence about Rockton. If he says anything, they’ll make sure he pays for what he did. Until then, he’s free. It’s not fair, but it’s what’s best for Rockton.
Roy’s also being kicked out, and in his case, they’re returning some of his payment. Slowly returning it, and if he talks, he loses that. Even Artie is being kicked out, for attempting to “murder” Garcia’s corpse. Rockton is about to get a whole lot less chaotic. We hope.
Sebastian, Petra, the hostile … that all still needs to play out. Sebastian handled himself perfectly with Paul, and so I have no immediate concerns. Petra’s backstory helps me understand her role here, and I have no immediate concerns there either. Both go on a watch list.
That leaves my sister. The council jumped at her offer to stay. They’d already vetted her—they started background checks as soon as they knew she was in Rockton. I was right about her breakdown. She spent a month at a fancy retreat for “stress-related health issues,” but she resumed her job after that, with a reduced schedule, and the council isn’t concerned about her mental state. She must stay for at least six months, as she offered. That’s their only stipulation.
I find April in the clinic, reorganizing a cupboard.
“You’re in,” I say.
She doesn’t even turn. “I will require a labeler. We can purchase one in Vancouver.”
I lean against the door frame. “I had to fight for you,” I lie. “It wasn’t easy, but I’ve convinced them to let you stay. You have to agree to a minimum of six months though.”
“I already have.”
“You’ll also get the house next door. Nicole is moving.”
She moves a beaker. “I’ll need additional batteries and tape for the labeler. Several refills of tape.”
I shake my head. “I love you, April.”
She turns, looking alarmed. “What?”
“Put the beaker down. You’ll get your labeler, and whatever else you need. Make a list, and we’ll leave as soon as we can. Tonight, though, we’re going to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“I solved the case. Caught the killer. Yay for me.”