If Cherise and Owen caused the damage themselves after they found the bodies, they’d have noticed a lack of blood flow. Rather like butchering after the blood has settled. Without a crime scene—and no way to contest their story—they’d make up something consistent with what you’d expect in a frenzied attack, with blood dripping from trees, as Owen said.
I ask more questions, poking their story from every angle. Owen happily answers. This is all very interesting to him. Cherise is mildly intrigued and doesn’t complain when I backtrack over old ground. Their story has just enough consistency to give it the seal of truth. Sometimes they disagree. Sometimes they admit they aren’t sure. Not a rehearsed recital. An honest witness account.
They didn’t shoot the settlers, because they don’t have a handgun. And they didn’t stab the bodies to trade as hostile kills, because if they had, they’d do a better job of selling it as a frenzied knife attack.
They did exactly what they said. Found three bodies that they presume were killed by hostiles, wrapped them up, and stored them for us. Nothing more.
EIGHTEEN
Dalton, Storm, and I are heading back to Rockton. Am I relieved Cherise and Owen aren’t the perpetrators? The last thing we need is to have to confront Cherise with murder. But if they’d been guilty of staging the hostile attack on otherwise dead settlers? It would mean I could never trust them again, but I’m already uncomfortable with them. Maybe I’d have appreciated the excuse. I do feel as if we need an excuse.
It’s like when I’d been on the force, my first partner retiring, and it looked like I’d be set up with a guy I knew was dirty. I absolutely did not want that. Yet what could I do? Make vague excuses about his racism and sexism, which were, let’s be honest, only garden-variety? I’d breathed a huge sigh of relief when he was paired up with someone else. Likewise, I think I’d have been happy to discover Cherise and Owen did the damage, giving me an excuse not to work with them.
The problem with that, though, is that they did me a favor here. Okay, so maybe “dumping more dead bodies at my feet” doesn’t seem like a favor, but it is something we needed to know about. They preserved the bodies and, sure, they sold them to us, but it proved they could be the sort of eyes and ears Rockton needs in the forest.
I’ll cross them off our suspect list and not think too much on whether I’m disappointed by that. It does put us back to the original question. Well, beyond “Who the hell did this?” The question of whether we’re looking at one situation or two. Did someone shoot the settlers and then stage a hostile attack? Or one party did the shooting and another did the staging? Without the crime scene, I can only go by Owen and Cherise’s account, which suggests enough blood that the two events happened in a tight time frame. Murder and then staging. Most likely by the same people.
Yep, that gets me pretty much nowhere.
When Dalton changes the subject, I don’t think much of it. We’ve talked this one to death—last night, on the walk out, on the walk back …
Then Storm makes a noise, and he pats her head. I figure it’s an animal—caribou or moose—and he’s thanking her for the warning. Mid-conversation, he says, “Hello, Felicity. If you’ve come to take us to Edwin, you can turn around right now. Casey isn’t in the mood for a fucking summons.”
“This isn’t a summons, Eric,” a voice says. A voice that is not Felicity’s, though when I glance over, I do see her standing just off the path.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dalton mutters.
“You know, Eric, if you used less profanity, people might have a higher opinion of your intelligence.”
“Why the fuck would I want that?” Dalton stops in front of Edwin, towering over the old man by nearly a foot. “Now turn your wrinkly ass around and toddle back to your settlement.”
“My, my, you are in a mood. You usually manage a veneer of respect.”
“Yeah, I did, before you started haranguing my detective, kicking her ass like she’s sitting on it, twiddling her thumbs. Now your granddaughter here has told you about the woman we found, and you gave us a few days to swing by and talk to you. When we didn’t—because we’re too fucking busy solving the problem—you came to hassle Casey in person.”
I lay a hand on Dalton’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m happy to talk to him. Saves me a trip.”
Dalton’s brows rise only a fraction before he catches my expression and nods with a gruff “Fine, but he’d better not make this a habit.” He turns to Edwin. “You ever show up again unannounced, and your granddaughter won’t be welcomed back.”
Felicity stiffens. That’s not fair, but the message is for Edwin. This isn’t like an Amish community, where a youngster slipping off to hang out with the English may be cause for concern. Edwin knows she isn’t enviously eyeing our lifestyle. She’s forming a valuable relationship that benefits the entire First Settlement. A relationship he wouldn’t want to jeopardize.
That doesn’t mean Edwin appreciates the threat, and his gaze hardens as he says, “Understood,” and then turns to me and says, “May we speak somewhere private?” in Mandarin. That makes Dalton’s lips twitch in amusement. It’s an obvious brush-off, c
lumsily done, which proves Dalton’s annoyance hit its mark. Edwin knows he’s overstepped by showing up. Good.
We’ve only gotten a few steps when Kenny appears on the path ahead. Despite the leg braces, he moves steadily, but I don’t fail to notice the way Edwin’s gaze sweeps over him, landing on the rifle under Kenny’s arm.
“Your militia, I presume?” Edwin murmurs. “The situation has indeed declined.”
“Grandfather,” Felicity says under her breath. It’s a warning. Telling him he’s embarrassing. I have to smile slightly when his face tightens at the rebuke. Felicity may act the dutiful granddaughter, but she knows how to herd him, just a little.
“Everything okay?” Kenny says, nodding at the newcomers. “I saw them out here an hour ago, and we’ve been keeping watch. I know Felicity is allowed in, but I’ve never seen him.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
Despite Edwin’s sarcasm, this is the militia Rockton needs. Someone who recognized that the two people hovering on our outskirts did not pose a threat and therefore did not need to be confronted.
“Kenny?” I say. “I’m going to take Edwin and Felicity to the station. Could you ask Phil to join us? And Petra’s roommate, please?”