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

He patted the van door to get Mim on her way. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on.” He could tell from the look in her eye that she was already seeing Juneau as murder-town USA and didn’t want her kids anywhere near it.

Apart from the political intrigue of a state capital or the hubbub of ten thousand tourists disgorged from the cruise ships each day during the summer, Juneau was a sleepy little town. Murders didn’t happen every day, or even every year. Virtually every law enforcement officer in the area responded to see how they could assist.

Three Alaska State Trooper SUVs, two Juneau police cars, and a US Forest Service Suburban already occupied the parking lot.

Cutter unclipped the circle-star badge from his belt and fished out the metal chain hidden in the leather backing so he could hang it around his neck. Lola followed suit as they walked.

“You know,” she observed, holding up the silver star at the end of her chain as they walked along the packed gravel path in the mottled shadows of towering trees, “I was so happy to get this after graduating the Academy that I used to prop it up on the steering wheel of my G-car so I could look at it on the way in to work.”

Cutter chuckled, but didn’t admit that he’d done the same thing.

A thirtysomething woman with frizzy red hair and a stern look met them at the base of the hill on the little island. She had the rushed look of someone on a serious mission. Her green rain jacket and brown Xtratuf rubber boots made Cutter think she might be Forest Service, but as she got closer, he saw the Juneau Police Department badge around her neck.

“You’re the marshals,” she said, extending her hand to Lola first. “Detective Rochelle Van Dyke, JPD. Everybody calls me Rockie.”

“Detective,” Cutter noted, introducing himself.

“I heard on the radio you had some issues with Lori Maycomb at the Auke Village picnic area. Hope she didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“No worries,” Lola said. “Wasn’t her fault she ran into those assholes.”

Detective Van Dyke shrugged. “Yeah, well, you’d be surprised. The girl attracts trouble.”

“You’ve dealt with her before?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. The detective took a deep breath, changing the subject. “Anyway, you got a lot of friends in the Anchorage FBI office?”

“We get along well enough,” Cutter said.

“I guess,” Lola said.

“They don’t want us to touch anything,” Van Dyke said. “Guess they’re afraid we’ll get local PD cooties on it or something. The agent on the phone seemed especially animated when the trooper told him we had marshals on the scene.” She leaned in. “To be honest with you, I think he’s afraid we might arrest the bad guy before they get here.”

“We’re here to help,” Cutter said. “We can work perimeter if you need us out here.”

“Oh, hell no,” the detective said. “I guess the trooper major in Anchorage is buddy-buddy with your chief deputy. She tells him you’re a hell of a tracker.”

“I do some tracking,” Cutter said.

“Interesting. I didn’t know that was even a thing anymore, but the major wants you to take a look. This is a Trooper deal until the Feebs get here. JPD is just here to help as well.”

An older man who looked like he was someone’s favorite uncle met them at the door to the stone chapel. A silver comb-over matted to his pink scalp with stress sweat. Canvas suspenders bracketed the ponderous belly of a rumpled buffalo-plaid shirt.

The detective gave him a little nod like they knew each other well. “These are the marshals,” she said. “And this is Roy. He’s the caretaker here at the shrine. He found the bodies.”

That explained the stress sweat.

Roy dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a wadded red bandana.

“I was taking care of the crocus beds up by the retreat building,” he said. “Heard some odd pops, so I came out here to check. Thought it might be the furnace, if you want to know the truth. Then there was all that blood on the wall as soon as I looked up at the loft. I didn’t see any shell casings, so I figure the killer must have used a revolver. I mean, a semiauto would have left casings on the floor, right?” He shook his head, dabbing at his mouth with the bandana again. “I never saw anything like it. The poor girl… I… I figure they were shot at close range—”

“Thank you,” Cutter said. “We’re here in a supporting role. I’m sure the FBI will want to ask you some follow-up questions. Please excuse us while we check in with the troopers.”

“Mind if I wait out here,” Roy whispered. “I could use some fresh air.”

“The FBI would likely prefer it,” Lola said.

“He means well,” Detective Van Dyke said as soon as they were inside and the heavy timber door shut behind them.

Cutter paused, turning a complete three-sixty in place.

Van Dyke pointed toward the raised dais at the far end of the sanctuary, beyond the two rows of simple wooden pews. A wooden crucifix hung in front of three tall windows.

“Fist-size hole in the glass on that window on the right,” she said.

“So much for Roy’s revolver-at-close-range theory,” Lola said.

Van Dyke gave a tired sigh. “He watches a lot of CSI. Any tracks will be outside, but the major figured you’d want to see the victims first.” She pointed to the stairs at the far back corner opposite the entry door. “They’re up here.”

Lola started that way, but Cutter tapped her elbow.

“I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies,” he said. “No need to look at two more if it doesn’t serve a purpose. I doubt we’d find much sign up there anyway except for possibly some of Roy’s vomit.”

“Someone knew what they were doing,” Cutter said five minutes later, after they’d gone outside to look at the area beyond the window with the hole in it. He stood well back,