Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

at the mud just ten feet from the body now, but the bank was relatively flat, which meant the water wouldn’t have to rise much to cover it completely. Officer Jackson kicked around the beach until she found a suitable piece of driftwood and then drove it into the gravel like a stake, five feet below the torso.

“Do me a favor, Brackett,” she said. “Keep an eye on that stick. Let me know when the tide gets to it. I don’t want to move the body before the crime scene guys get here, but we may have no choice.”

“Copy that,” Brackett said, and planted himself on a spot in the gravel overlooking the corpse. A previous tide had surely deposited the torso here, but they had to investigate the slim chance, however small, that there was other evidence around the body.

Jackson took photos from every angle and then went to talk to the sergeant, who stood down the beach trying to get better cell reception.

Though just three years ahead of Brackett, Sandra Jackson was known as sort of rabbi to younger officers. Some of the more senior guys called her Ma because of the way she mother-henned the newbies. She didn’t seem to mind. Easy to talk to, Jackson often took recruits aside to give them pointers during training. These moments of “rescue” made her a go-to person for anyone who had questions but didn’t want to incur the wrath and judgment of their FTO. Brackett suspected the training officers were all in on it too, but he didn’t care. Officer Jackson was smart, and Brackett found himself relieved that she and the sergeant were there to do the thinking until detectives arrived.

His relief was short-lived when he heard a crunch of gravel behind him and looked up to see Fluke sauntering down the trail from the parking lot in the silver-gray light.

“I get to help you babysit the corpse,” Fluke said. His eyes locked on the torso as he came to a stop beside Brackett. “Shit. I’d say she was faceup if she had a face…”

Hopper was right. This guy was a weirdo.

“She’s been in the water a while,” Fluke said, pronouncing his judgment of the circumstance just seconds after coming on scene.

“Maybe,” Brackett said.

Fluke sneered, looking at his watch. “I see how it is. You’ve been cut loose for what, fifteen minutes, and now you’re an expert on body decomp?”

Brackett sighed, giving a soft chuckle. If this idiot had taught him anything, it was how to manage upward. It did zero good to argue. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s hard to tell in the water. Big tides and pad ice banging the body around and whatnot. My dad and I used to drop shrimp pots in Prince William Sound. Sand fleas could reduce a couple of fat herring to bones in a single six-hour tide.” He nodded toward the torso. “And she’s crawling with them.”

“True. But…” Fluke grinned as if he were fanning a royal flush on the table. He pulled up a photo on his phone and held it toward Brackett. “And this is a hell of a but. If you’d take the time to read the intel reports Homicide sends out, you’d know that a foot, believed to be female, washed up near Bootlegger’s Cove four days ago. Said foot was still in good shape, which means it hadn’t been in the water more than a few hours. And if you remembered your orientation, you’d know that Bootlegger’s Cove is not far from here. Ipso facto, this body and its foot have been in the water about four days.”

Brackett took Fluke’s phone to get a better look. He zoomed in. “Unless this torso and that foot don’t go together…”

Fluke snatched his phone back and scoffed. “What are you envisioning here? Some guy dumping a wheelbarrow load of assorted body parts into Cook Inlet? I taught you better than that. It’s a rookie mistake to look for mysteries when the answers are right in front of your eyes.”

Sergeant Hopper stepped forward, putting a hand on Fluke’s shoulder. It was getting light enough for Brackett to see his conspiratorial wink. “Since you’re so diligent about reading intel reports, Officer Fluke, you also know that a girl named Felicia Meyer reported her older sister, Dee, missing shortly after we found the foot – and that it has been positively identified. Dee Meyer had no tattoos on her legs.” Hopper nodded toward the body. Even exposure to saltwater sand fleas hadn’t erased the tribal tattoo encircling the stump of the torso’s calf.

“Ink,” Fluke said.

“Ipso facto,” Hopper said, demonstrating that he heard all and saw all. “Somebody is throwing parts of assorted bodies into Cook Inlet. We’ll leave it up to the detectives to see if he’s using a wheelbarrow.”

“Actually,” Fluke said. “There—”

A breathless voice broke squelch on the radio, causing all four officers to pause. It was Nancy Alvarez, assigned to the Alaska Fugitive Task Force.

“Marshals 5,” Alvarez said, panting, voice jostled. “10-28 with three wanted felons.”

“Foot pursuit,” Brackett said, translating the ten-code out of habit, as if his FTO wanted to be sure he knew what it was.

The dispatcher spoke next, advising all officers to clear the channel for Marshals 5.

“We’ve got this,” Sergeant Hopper said, looking at his watch, then nodding at Fluke. “Day shift is coming on so they’ll be sending Bravo units, but head that way and see if they need you to help set up a perimeter in the meantime.”

Fluke puffed up like he was going to argue.

“I don’t mind going,” Brackett said. A foot pursuit sounded great after standing around a hacked-up torso.

“You’re primary on this call,” Hopper said. “And besides, it’s a little early in your career to get your brain all gunked up with the way the feds do things.”

Chapter 5

Cutter and Lola hit the first floor at a run, crashing through the back door. First, they scanned the area behind the condo for Deputy Blodgett, to be certain he was all