The Dead Chill

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The Dead Chill Page 6

by Linda Berry


  Sidney cringed. The inhumane treatment of animals sickened her. She found the business of trapping egregious. Extreme animal abuse made legal.

  “You look like you don’t approve of her behavior,” Tommy said.

  Sidney realized she was frowning. “It’s trapping I don’t approve of. That eagle was lucky. Most animals caught in traps die slow, tortuous deaths.”

  “I despise trapping, too, Chief Becker,” Tommy said. “It’s not condoned here in the village.”

  “Killing a bald eagle comes with fines of up to $250,000 or two years in jail.” Granger said. “Did Nikah report him?”

  “Couldn’t prove the trap was his. The registration number was filed off. But the folks from the center went out to his place and got in his face. Gave him hell.”

  “That must have angered him,” Sidney said.

  “It did. About a month ago, Grisly confronted Nikah, and threatened her.”

  “What did he say?” Sidney said.

  Tommy’s face darkened. “He said he’d skin her like a deer if he caught her messing with his traps again.”

  Sidney felt the hair rise on her arms.

  “Jesus,” Granger said.

  “Where was she when he confronted her?” Sidney asked.

  “In the parking lot behind the store, after work, at night. She said he scared the holy shit out of her.”

  “You should have come to us,” Sidney said. “We take threats seriously.”

  “Too late for that now.” Tommy’s voice was edged with guilt and his shoulders drooped. “Look, don’t mention us when you talk to him. The man’s unstable. Armed at all times. No telling what he’d do if he thought we ratted him out. If he came across Tegan in the woods...”

  “You think he’d hurt your son?”

  “I don’t want to find out.” Tommy sat back with a grim expression, his fingers gripping the armrests.

  “We won’t mention you. But we need to talk to him,” Sidney said. “Soon. We’ll need directions to his place.”

  “Better go in daylight. He has traps rigged up around his cabin.”

  “Sounds like a real prince,” Granger said, sharing an uneasy glance with Sidney. A tragedy was waiting to happen if someone’s dog or cat nosed around one of his traps, attracted by the bait—or worse, if a person stumbled upon one. She needed to talk to the game warden to make sure Grisly wasn’t going beyond the legal trapping limit.

  “Grisly is evil,” Elahan whispered.

  Sitting in the shadows with her mummified body and grating voice, the old woman spooked Sidney as much as Grisly did. When she was a kid, she remembered rumors circulating about Elahan—that she was a witch who could cast spells on children to make them do her bidding.

  As though reading her thoughts, a sudden woodenness came over Elahan. Her face was expressionless except for her eyes, which watched Sidney with unnerving coldness. Then the old lady pushed herself out of her seat and shuffled out of the room, leaning forward on her cane with each step. She heard the faint tapping of her cane and then the sound of a door closing.

  Shaking off the residual spooky feeling, Sidney drained her cup and turned to the shelves of handmade crafts lining the back wall. “Who made these? They’re beautiful.”

  Tommy followed her gaze. “We do. To sell at Thunderhead Gifts. Elahan makes the baskets. I do the ceramic pots, and the wood carvings are made by my son.”

  “Tegan carves wood?” Selena said incredulously. “You let him handle carving tools?”

  “He’s been carving wood since he was six. He’s very careful.”

  “Why’s that surprising, Selena?” Sidney asked, puzzled by her sister’s strong reaction.

  “Tegan’s blind,” Selena said. “One slip of a sharp tool…”

  Sidney’s mouth fell open. “Your blind son made these?”

  “These, and dozens of others.” Tommy’s eyes were intelligent and direct, and Sidney found herself meeting them very easily.

  “Sure, he’s cut himself a few times, but never bad enough to get stitches. He works under my supervision out in the shop. He loves working with his hands. As you can see, he has amazing talent.”

  “Yes, he does.” Sidney crossed the room to appraise the boy’s work. Selena and Granger joined her, exchanging the sculptures, each about eight to ten inches tall, intricately carved.

  “You can see the feathers on the eagle,” Sidney said. “The fur on the wolf. How does he do it?”

  Tommy stood beside them. He lifted a bear and ran his fingers over the finely textured wood. “Tegan sees with his fingers. He has a heightened sense of touch, smell, and hearing. He can sense energy mass and subtle changes in the flow of oxygen moving around him. Tegan is more attuned to his surroundings than the rest of us can ever hope to be. We’re too reliant on eyesight, which is very poor compared to animals in the wild. That reliance dulls our other senses.”

  “The baskets and pottery are beautiful, too,” Sidney said.

  “Thank you. Part of our heritage. Making everyday objects by hand, taking pride in an individual’s unique ability has been a part of every culture everywhere in the world since the dawn of time. Industrialization changed the world. Replacing handmade goods with assembly-line products. Everything from the same mold.”

  “Cheap and disposable,” Selena agreed.

  Tommy’s smile reached his dark eyes, making them crinkle around the edges. He had shifted into teaching mode. Sidney imagined he was a very inspiring teacher. “My people are trying to keep our culture alive to pass down to future generations. That’s why I’ll continue to encourage Tegan to express himself through art.”

  “Tegan’s a remarkable boy,” Sidney said. “I’d like to speak with him about Nikah.”

  “It’s been a pretty traumatic day for him.” Tommy frowned, thinking. “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of two vehicles braking to a stop in the driveway, followed by doors slamming and footsteps climbing the porch.

  “My two other officers,” Sidney announced.

  Tommy opened the door to Officers Amanda Cruz and Darnell Wood, bundled against the cold and huffing steam.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Amanda bent to pull off her boots.

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  They crowded into the entryway, staying on the square of tiled flooring.

  Sidney’s entire force was now on the case. While she and Granger patrolled the evening shift, Amanda and Darnell covered the morning-afternoon shift. Though officially working overtime, they both looked alert and professional. Sidney turned to Tommy. “Officer Cruz and I need to process Nikah’s house.”

  “I have a spare key,” he said. “She gave it to me in case of an emergency.”

  “Officer Wood and Granger need to start talking to your neighbors.”

  Tommy took in Darnell’s uniform. “Honestly, Chief, no one’s going to talk to a cop showing up at their door after dark. They’ll talk to Granger, though. He’s well known here.” Granger was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He and Tommy exchanged a friendly glance. “He makes a point of talking to people when he comes out. Shops at the general store, grabs a beer with me at the saloon. He wears civilian clothes. Not so intimidating.”

  Sidney had no idea Granger was on such good terms with the villagers. Community relations. Something she needed do more, if she could ever find the time.

  “Granger and Officer Wood might want to start at the saloon,” Tommy said. “It’s Sunday night. They have a rock band that attracts a young crowd. Nikah’s friends. I can tag along. My presence might make everyone breathe easier.”

  “Sounds good,” Sidney said. Tommy appeared to be a thoughtful, reasonable man.

  “Whatever it takes to find Nikah’s killer,” he said.

  Sidney quickly briefed her two officers on what Tommy had shared about Nikah. “We need to establish a timeline. When was Nikah killed? Who saw her las
t? When and where? Was someone staying at her house? Has anyone see Lancer or his truck in the village lately?”

  The three officers nodded their understanding.

  “Let me help,” Selena said. “I can go undercover and work with Granger. If it looks like he’s on a date, folks will be less defensive. I can be an extra pair of eyes and ears. Help scout out the place.”

  “Might not be a bad idea, Chief,” Granger said.

  Sidney thought it over. Her small force would be spread thin investigating this murder. They had to work smart while putting in long hours. Her sister would be an asset. Selena’s gentle personality could work in her favor, disarming people. “You’re on, Selena. But stay in character. Don’t go all Rambo on me.”

  Selena smiled. “Discreet is the word.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  OUT IN THE GENTLY falling snow, Sidney climbed into Officer Amanda Cruz’s department vehicle, a Jeep Laredo, which had seen its better years a decade ago. Amanda was her most experienced officer—a six-year veteran of small-town crime in Auckland before moving to Garnerville two years ago. She was also a top-notch forensic specialist. Processing crime scenes within their own department instead of bringing in a tech from county cut through bureaucratic red tape and gave them access to forensic information in half the time.

  Amanda cranked up the heater and condensation fogged the windows. The wipers squeaked into operation. All of Sidney’s officers drove old vehicles, the best the town could offer on their small operating budget. Her own Yukon was five years and a hundred and ten-thousand miles old. “How’s the Jeep holding up?” Sidney asked as she waited for the defroster to clear the windshield.

  “Keeps on keeping on,” Amanda said. Her junior officer had dark eyes fringed with thick lashes, an aquiline nose, sensitive mouth, and lustrous hair pulled into a ponytail. Amanda’s delicate Latin features belied the grit of her character. “Not great on ice, though. In this shit for weather, I’ve been sliding around for two weeks. Luckily, everyone else is, too. No high speed chases necessary.”

  They both chuckled. During Sidney’s two-year tenure as chief, her junior officers had rarely engaged in a high-speed chase. Routine disturbances consisted of traffic violations and petty theft with the occasional domestic, drug bust, and bar fight. Homicide was an anomaly, though Nikah’s murder was the second in two months. Worrying, but a far cry from Sidney’s former job as a lead detective in Oakland, California, where she worked a dozen homicides at any given time.

  The window cleared. Amanda backed out of the driveway and slowly navigated the narrow, icy road.

  “Eighth house down,” Sidney said.

  The Jeep slid a few feet to the left and Amanda got it back on track, peering intently out the windshield. “Never been back here before. How did Two Creeks Village come to be, anyway?”

  “Built back in the fifties as lodging for hunters,” Sidney said. “Named for the two creeks that empty into the lake from the higher peaks. It went bust in the nineties and sat rotting for a few years, then Tucker Longtooth bought it for nickels on the dollar.”

  “I’ve heard of him. Kalapuyan, right?”

  “Yep. He wanted to reclaim a portion of the land that belonged to his ancestors, and revive his culture. Kalapuyan tribes once occupied the entire Willamette Valley.”

  “I read it was paradise back then. Hundreds of little villages. They were remarkable stewards of the land and used the many waterways as trading routes.”

  “All true. Then the white man’s diseases wiped out about ninety percent of them. The rest were herded onto reservations. A lot of their culture vanished.”

  “What a loss.”

  “Followed by many broken treaties and false promises from our government.”

  “A sad stain on our history.”

  “Anyway, getting back to Longtooth, he attracted indigenous families to the area by offering affordable housing and jobs at the casino. Now, twenty years later, the village is thriving. Properties have been upgraded and they’ve added a school, cultural center, general store, and saloon. Longtooth is in his eighties now, and still sits on the tribal council.” Sidney pointed into the woods. “I think this is it.”

  Amanda gazed through a thicket of trees on the opposite side of the road from the lake. “Yep. Definitely a house back in there.” She parked and grabbed her forensic case from the back. Wading through snow, they followed their flashlight beams up the unplowed driveway to the front of a small wood-planked house. There were no footprints or tire tracks. Drifting snow was the only movement.

  “No one’s been here in a while,” Amanda said, her breath steaming.

  Sidney’s shoulders tightened as she caught a flicker of light in the front window. She thumbed off her beam. “Cut your beam. Someone’s inside.”

  They watched a ray of light dart across the slated blinds from inside the house, then dart in the other direction.

  “A prowler.” Amanda’s tone was low and tense.

  “I’ll walk around the house and find the entry point. Wait here in case the suspect bolts out the front. Stay alert.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amanda placed her crime kit on the porch and pulled out her service weapon.

  Sidney unclipped her holster, pulled out her Glock, and made her way to the rear of the house, her beam pointed at the ground in front of her. Beyond the small circle of light, it was pitch black and the snow muffled the sound of her boots. She found a single set of footprints leading to the back door, which had been jimmied open and stood slightly ajar. The prints looked fresh.

  She glanced in the window through a sliver between the blinds and made out the clock above the stove and the outline of a refrigerator. The intruder’s beam circled the back of the room, illuminating a dining table and chairs. The flashlight was placed on the surface of the table, casting light onto a hutch, and Sidney made out a shadowy figure with broad shoulders pulling open a drawer and rummaging inside. Here was her chance, while the prowler was distracted.

  Sidney inched the door open, praying it wouldn’t creak, and moved silently across the kitchen floor until she had the thief in her sights, ten feet away, still bending over the drawer. She thumbed on her light and said sharply, “Hands straight up! Police!”

  The suspect, dressed in a black jacket and black knit cap, straightened, gloved hands jutting into the air. Too late, she heard a muffled sound behind her. Someone slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Her head caught the edge of the table and white light exploded behind her eyes. The next thing she knew she was sprawled on the floor. Beyond the ringing in her head, she heard two pairs of boots fleeing out the door. Sidney sat up slowly, her head spinning. Warm blood trickled down the side of her face.

  The light came on and Amanda rushed into the room, shoving her handgun back into its holster. “Christ, are you all right?”

  “I think so.” She wasn’t. Pain reverberated from her temple to the back of her skull. She shook her heard, clearing her thoughts. “Did you see the suspects?”

  “Yep. Two guys ran off through the woods. I followed, but before I even hit the trees, I heard a truck engine rev up and peel out. Want me to pursue?”

  “No, they could have dodged down any side street by now.” Sidney pulled a tissue from her duty belt and wiped the blood off her face.

  “Let me take a look at that head wound,” Amanda said, squatting beside her.

  Sidney winced as Amanda lightly probed the area.

  “You took a good one, Chief. One-inch laceration. Not deep. You’ll have a nice lump tomorrow. Must hurt like hell.”

  “Doesn’t tickle.”

  “I’ll get a bandage on that.” Amanda unclipped her first aid kit from her duty belt, cleaned the wound, and taped a bandage in place. Sidney gritted her teeth, a headache crawling up the side of her head.

  “There. That stopped the bleeding.” Amanda helped Sidney to her feet. “I’m going to run out and get my crime kit.”

  Sidney held onto the counter for sup
port until a wave of dizziness passed, cursing herself for not being more conscientious, for allowing the suspects to escape.

  Amanda came back in, carrying a bottle of water in one hand and her kit in the other. She pulled some tablets from a pocket and handed them to Sidney with the water. “Pain relievers, Chief.”

  Sidney thanked her and popped the pills, washing them down with a gulp of water.

  Attempting to control her emotions, she summarized in a steady tone, “Two guys. One set of footprints. Where’d that second burglar come from?”

  “Good question. Maybe one came earlier and the snow covered his prints.”

  “And the second joined him within the last half hour. They knew the house would be empty, which means they could be Nikah’s killers.”

  “She may have been murdered here.”

  They remained standing in the kitchen and made a quick assessment of the small dining and living room area—drawers pulled out, contents spilled across the floor—the kitchen not yet searched.

  “I don’t think they found what they were looking for,” Amanda said.

  “No. We interrupted their search. We need to figure out what it was. Could be a key to her murder.”

  Amanda opened her case, which was equipped with tools for collection and preservation: evidence bags, measuring tape, swabs, plaster of paris. She snapped on vinyl gloves and pulled sterile fabric booties over her feet, then grabbed her digital camera. Everything would be carefully documented before she touched or moved anything.

  “While you photograph, I’m going to take a look outside.” Sidney stepped off the back porch into the frozen landscape, immediately sinking above her ankles into white powder. The cold air stung her face and white vapor escaped from her mouth. The suspects had been running, leaving no distinctive tread marks from their sliding footprints. With her Maglite beam on high, she followed the tracks to the end of the yard. Ahead, the forest looked dark and foreboding. Impenetrable. Gathering her courage, she entered the black interior and tunneled through massive evergreens covered in white. She felt closed in, the beam splintering around branches. She stopped and listened, scanning the woods. No movement. No sound except the soft roar of water. Feather Creek was somewhere off to her left, rushing down from the mountain to empty into the lake.

 

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