The Dead Chill

by Linda Berry

  “Bad.”

  “Where’s Grisly?”

  Sander cocked his head toward the barn. “In there.”

  Sidney’s fingers tingled as though receiving an electric shock. Stunned for a moment, she collected her thoughts. A man shot. Another dead. On her watch. On top of her rape and murder cases. All hell was breaking loose. “What happened? Bare facts. I’ll get a full report later.”

  “I got here just after Harper,” Sander said, speaking slowly and methodically, as though in shock. “The barn was already burning. Flames were shooting out of the open loft. Harper was behind his truck, exchanging gunfire with Grisly, who was shooting from the barn. Harper got hit in the abdomen. I drove straight up to the barn, crouched behind the truck door and unloaded my Glock. Grisly fell backwards. Before I could get to him, the support beams of the loft gave way and a mass of burning rubble blocked the door. I called for help, and did what I could to help Harper. Everyone arrived within minutes. Got right to work.”

  “You okay?”

  He nodded, roughly wiping his eyes with a gloved hand. “Sorry. I hope Harper makes it.”

  “Me, too.” Sidney said, shaken that it was her directive that sent Meade into this dangerous situation. She scanned the clearing, visualizing what had taken place—the old game warden with health issues, slow on reflexes, going up against a professional hunter. For a moment, a wave of guilt threatened to upend her. Sidney suppressed her emotions and forced her focus back on the job. “Did Harper say anything? How the fire started? How the shootout started?”

  Sander sniffed, replied hoarsely, “He said Grisly was pouring fuel from a gas can around the barn when he arrived. Harper told him to stop. Grisly ignored him. Harper pulled out his duty weapon. They exchanged fire.” Sander shook his head and looked at the blazing barn, eyes haunted. “Harper never had to fire his gun before. First time for me, too. I killed a man tonight.”

  “You did what you had to do.” Sidney swallowed past the lump in her throat, thinking of the many times she’d been forced to fire her weapon over the years, and the three men who died as a result. “Sometimes we have to make hard decisions. Act on instinct. Goes with the job.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Sander, but I’m going to have to take your service weapon.” They both knew it had to be held as evidence and taken to the State Forensic Lab. “When things calm down, I’d like you to walk me through everything in detail.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He unclipped his holster and handed over his Glock pistol as the EMTs rushed past them with the gurney.

  “If it’s all right with you, Chief,” Sander said, “I’d like to catch a ride to the hospital with the EMTs. My truck’s blocked in. I want to stay with Harper.”

  “Of course.” Impulsively, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Keep me posted.”

  With a sad smile, he nodded and hurried off.

  Sidney hiked down to her vehicle and deposited the gun in her service bag. She made a call to Judge Rosenstadt, explained the circumstances, and secured a warrant. Next she called Winnie and instructed her to recruit one of their auxiliary officers to pick it up and deliver it. Pronto.

  Sidney watched the firemen wrestle their hoses until Darnell and Amanda came plodding up the driveway, faces etched in shock. As they approached, the reflection of the fire brightened their faces and danced in their eyes. Darnell held two takeout coffee cups. Amanda gripped the handle of her forensic kit.

  “What the hell?” Darnell said. “Looks like a bomb went off.”

  “What a mess. Jesse said there was a casualty.” Amanda shifted her forensic case to her other hand, her dark eyes studying the clearing, looking for a body. “What happened?”

  Sidney gave them the abbreviated version.

  “Jesus. Grisly’s dead?” Amanda asked. “Is Meade gonna make it?”

  “Don’t know. He didn’t look good.”

  “Who started the blaze?” Darnell asked.

  “Grisly. Trying to destroy evidence, no doubt.” Sidney nodded at the two cups Darnell was holding. “Are those for show, or is that hot coffee?”

  “Hot coffee, Chief.” Darnell’s serious expression lightened, and he passed her a cup. “Your favorite. Mocha latte.”

  “Bless you, my child.” Sidney sipped the chocolate blended with rich coffee.

  “They have an amazing deli at the General Store,” he said with a smile.

  “So I discovered.” Simple things meant a lot in stressful times.”

  His smile widened, lifting her spirit a little.

  “Killer roast beef sandwich, too,” Amanda said. “I saved you half.” She pulled a foil-wrapped packet from her pocket.

  “My saviors. I’m starved.” Sidney unwrapped the sandwich and spoke in between bites. “Brief me on your interviews today.”

  “We hit the village pretty hard,” Darnell said. “Most folks are convinced a white man is the Stalker.

  “Right,” Sidney said. “One of the assault victims thought she saw his eyes.”

  “Some villagers point the finger at Lancer, some at Grisly,” Amanda said. “There’s no evidence to support either theory.”

  “Grisly raped a woman named Tammy three years ago. The cops didn’t properly investigate the case. That got a lot of people up in arms, hating cops,” Darnell said.

  “Gives the rest of us a bad name.” She met Sidney’s eyes without flinching. “The villagers appreciated that we’re taking our job seriously. Maybe we’ll build some trust.”

  “Learn anything about Grisly’s history?”

  “Only that he was a real asshole,” Amanda said. Her generous mouth tightened into a thin line. “Been living here for a decade. No one knows where he came from. He regularly hit the saloon and General Store, but made no friends. Seems he had an attitude problem. He took up with a woman a few years back, but she never came into the village. Word is he wouldn’t let her leave the property unless he accompanied her. Then she disappeared.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “Highly suspicious.”

  Darnell chimed back in. “Everyone’s convinced he was poaching, and apparently had a black-market supply channel for moving illegal fur and meat.”

  “He’s viewed as a pariah,” Amanda added.

  “Whatever elicit business he had going on, it just went up in smoke,” Sidney said. “What else you got?”

  “Descriptions and images of items stolen by the Stalker,” Darnell said. “They’ve been forwarded to Winnie. She’s notifying pawn shops.”

  “Good work. Both of you.” She finished the sandwich, crumpled the cup, and shoved it into her pocket. “Anything related to Nikah’s death?”

  “One interesting note,” Amanda said. “She was seen at the saloon with a guy named River Menowa. Comes here to visit his mother. Sounds like they were pretty cozy.”

  “Cozy, how?”

  “Dancing cheek to cheek. Laughing. Flirting.”

  “Did you talk to him or his mother?”

  “We were headed over there when we got the call to come here.”

  Sidney took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “There’s a lot to do. We need to process this crime scene. Amanda, you and I are going to search Grisly’s cabin. Darnell, scout around the property. Stay alert. Grisly placed traps around the periphery. We don’t want you to lose a foot. Look for anything linking Grisly to Nikah’s murder and the sexual assaults.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amanda saluted.

  “Ready and able.” Darnell pulled the flaps of his hat down over his ears.

  Sidney smiled to herself, proud of her subordinates and their upbeat attitude.

  A loud explosion jerked their attention to the barn. Something highly flammable sent a new wave of flames shooting through the roof. Burning debris lit up the sky and embers drifted down on the clearing like rain. Still, the firemen were making progress. The flames on one side of the barn had been doused and thick black smoke that smelled of chemicals belched out like the breath of a dragon.


  Sidney looked steadily at the log cabin as if by sheer will she could intuit the motives of the violent man who had lived there. The cabin looked as though it had sprouted out of the earth rather than having been built by human hands. The roof was covered in thick snow and icicles descended from the eaves like blades. Sidney and Amanda climbed the porch and paused at the door to snap on vinyl gloves. “You ready?” Sidney asked, bracing herself for more animal trophies and Grisly’s indelible stench.

  “Yeah. I’m holding my breath.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FOLLOWING HIS BEAM of light, Moolock navigated the narrow tunnel for a hundred yards, where it opened to a large cavern from which four other tunnels shot off through the mountain. The mouth of the cave was hidden from the outside world by Skookumchuck Falls, a small creek that tumbled from the roof of the mountain to the basin below. Normally a misty, delicate curtain of water, the falls had frozen into a sheet of ice that resembled fluted glass.

  The secret cave was an ideal place in which to take refuge when it was too wet or cold to sleep outdoors. During the summer months, Moolock had stacked enough wood in one of the tunnels to keep himself warm and dry all winter. In another tunnel, he had stockpiled hay and feed for Shantie.

  Oil lamps flickered along the corrugated walls and Moolock had left a fire burning in the pit, creating a warm nest in the center of the chamber. The old woman and boy had stripped off their outer garments and laid the bear hides near the flames to dry. Tegan had unpacked the horses at the far end of the cave and placed their provisions near the fire, and he was now brushing the animals as they grazed on piles of fragrant hay. Elahan had heaped more logs on the fire pit and the flames leapt tall and bright. The billowing smoke escaped through a crevice in the ceiling. Moolock turned up the wick on an oil lamp, so it enlarged the diameter of light around her.

  Crouched near the fire, the old woman distributed food from several containers onto plates—roasted chicken, corn pudding, bean casserole, and apple bread. Though the food was cold, his stomach rumbled with hunger and anticipation. Elahan was an alchemist, using seasonings and herbs to elevate common ingredients into mouthwatering meals. Lelou sat at her side, soaking in the warmth, eyes alert, waiting to be fed.

  Observing the homey scene, Moolock realized how foreign it was to be an integral part of a family. He was unaccustomed to feeling accepted and needed. Since his discharge from the Army five years ago he had never shared his personal space with anyone. He felt most comfortable being mobile, moving his camp routinely, staying anonymous. Most folks would view him as a miscreant, a throwback to the Stone Age—camping out or living in a cave in a rough, primitive manner. No plumbing. No heat. No washing machine. No TV. No computer. No phone.

  A potent mix of emotions, long buried, rose to the surface. Moolock’s eyes moistened as the piercing longing for home and family caught him unprepared. After his wife’s death, he built up a thick reserve and had come to believe he was immune to this kind of neediness. Blinking back tears, Moolock removed his parka and looped it over the back of one of the three camp chairs he had arranged by the fire. His long hair tumbled around his shoulders and he tied it back with a strip of rawhide. He stood with his back to the fire watching his two guests with a keen, almost anthropological interest.

  Tegan put away the grooming brush and explored the dimensions of the cavern, sweeping his walking staff in front of him, gauging the texture of the floor. He touched the walls, the curtain of ice at the cave’s opening, and the wooden crates that held Moolock’s few belongings. The boy picked up a buckskin shirt adorned with fringe, pressed it to his face, and smiled. “This smells like you in the summer, Moolock. Bunchgrass, sunshine, and earth.” He held up a micro fleece pullover sweater with a quarter zipper at the neck. “Now you’re wearing white man’s ready-made clothes.”

  “Warmer,” Moolock said. “I prefer the ways of our people, but I’m a practical man.” Today he wore snow pants, thermal long johns, and a thick wool sweater. Strangely, the boy touching his personal possessions did not feel intrusive, but more a gesture of tender intimacy. Tegan had a desire to connect with his uncle on a deeper level. Moolock’s mouth curled up with pleasure.

  “He likes you,” Elahan said, sharing his smile.

  Moolock met her gaze. This old woman, his mother, who was steadily bringing him back into the realm of men. A great wave of tenderness swelled his heart. They shared the acute pain of Moolock being ripped from her life as an infant. They shared the joy of being reunited after decades of separation. The blood bond between them was stronger than any force on earth.

  Tegan’s hand deftly stroked a long handmade bow, and then a shorter one, and then his fingers carefully examined two buckskin quivers full of arrows adorned with beads and feathers. “These are beautifully made,” he said. “Is the wood juniper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is one bow shorter than the other?”

  “The shorter one gives me greater accuracy and mobility when I’m shooting from the back of a horse.”

  “Are the strings sinew?”

  “Yucca.”

  “Plant?” Tegan looked surprised.

  “Well-made plant fiber string is better than animal fibers. It holds the most weight, resists stretching, and it remains strong in damp conditions.”

  Tegan pulled an arrow from the quiver and examined it carefully. “Are your arrowheads flint?”

  “Obsidian. Volcanic glass. Sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel.”

  Tegan nodded, his face reflective, then he asked eagerly, “Will you teach me to make a bow and arrows? And how to use them?”

  “Yes. When the weather warms.” Though the boy was blind, Moolock did not think his request unreasonable. Tegan’s ability to use sharp tools to carve intricate animals, to use the hidden blade in his staff as a weapon, to hit a target with accuracy, was astonishing. Like the old woman, Tegan had special powers. He could sense the shape and distance of objects in his immediate sphere, and he had the gift of prophecy, sensing the mood of destiny before it unfolded. Moolock, too, had powers, but not as profound as Tegan’s. Or Elahan’s. The magician.

  “Come eat, my boys,” Elahan rasped.

  Tegan’s staff skimmed the floor and identified the chair. Tegan sank into it. The wolf lifted himself from the floor and put his massive head in the boy’s lap, his tail thumping the floor.

  Elahan threw a large bone covered with meat and fat outside the circle. With a growl of delight, Lelou pounced on it and began gnawing. Tegan and he thoroughly cleaned his hands with a sterile wipe. Elahan placed a plate on his lap and pressed a fork in his hand. Tegan used his left hand to feel the food on his plate and guide it onto his fork. He ate hungrily.

  Elahan and Moolock took the other two seats and also ate in earnest, the blazing fire keeping the deep chill at bay. No one spoke until hunger was abated, and then Tegan broke the silence. “This cave is really cool. Is this where you live?”

  The reluctance Moolock normally felt about divulging details of his personal life evaporated. Here, his life was laid bare, his few possessions on display, his isolation exposed. His soul felt the need to connect deeply with this boy. “I live here when it’s cold and wet. In the warmer months, I sleep outdoors. There’s comfort in watching the drifting landscape of stars overhead, the moving clouds. It reminds me there is a power greater than ourselves in control of the universe.” Moolock scraped his plate and chewed his last bite of apple bread. He held out his plate. “Elahan, may I have more of everything, please?”

  “Why do you call her Elahan?” Tegan asked. “She’s your mom.”

  Moolock contemplated the question before answering. “You’re right. It’s just something I need to practice. I’m not used to it. We were separated for most of my life. I called my adoptive mother “mom.”

  “Where were you?”

  Moolock cleared his throat. This was a lot of conversation, a lot of introspection, and his brain was freezing, resisting.
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  “He went to New England to live with his father’s family,” Elahan said, lubricating a new channel of communication. “They had money. Power. He was raised in the white man’s world. A rich man’s life.”

  “White man? Your father was white?” Tegan could not keep the stark surprise from his voice.

  Moolock was still tongue-tied, trying to untangle memories that were booby-trapped with painful emotions. He had trained himself not to think about the past. Not to feel.

  “Yes, his father was white,” Elahan said. “His name was Forest Wainwright the Third. He was a doctor who came to the clinic at the Lost River Reservation twice a week. I worked as his office girl. That was a long, long time ago.” She squinted into the fire, thinking. “Forty-three years.”

  “I never pictured you with a white man, Nana.”

  “I never did, either. But Forest was a special man. He didn’t judge people by skin color. He treated everyone the same. With kindness and dignity. Forest loved the simple ways of our culture, the ways of our people, living close to nature.”

  “And he loved you.” Tegan smiled.

  “Yes.” Elahan smiled back. She leaned over and placed another log on the fire. A constellation of embers flew into the air and she brushed a few from her boots. “Forest and I had many happy months together. Then he went to Vietnam. They needed doctors. I was heavy with child.” She turned to Moolock and her voice trailed off to a whisper. “Your father never came home. He never met his beautiful son.”

  Silence. Neither of them brought up the next chapter of the story, the part where Moolock was stolen from Elahan by rich strangers and a biased court system.

  “What was your life like in New England?” Tegan asked.

  Moolock forced himself to pick up the threads of the story his mother left dangling. “I was raised by my father’s parents, Tegan. It’s true. They had money. A staggering amount of money.” He spoke in a slow monotone, organizing his thoughts, loosening his tongue. “And yes, I lived a life of privilege. Everything was given to me. Cars. Clothes. Trips around the world. The best schools. The best education. As expected, I became a doctor, like my father and grandfather before me. I worked in New Haven for many years and made a lot of money, as was expected. But I always felt something crucial was missing from my life. I’d gone through a bad marriage and divorce. I felt hollow inside.” Moolock stared into the fire, listening to the pop and hiss of flames licking the wood.