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

unwilling to disturb any possible evidence FBI techs might be able to find in the forest duff. People almost always left something behind – a bit of thread, urine, even an eyelash could tell a story. Cutter had once spent two days sifting a gravel driveway for a piece of a broken tooth – and found it.

In any case, the scene told him plenty from a dozen feet away. As far as direction of travel, Cutter had little doubt that the shooter had been picked up by a boat.

He explained it as he went, mainly for Lola’s benefit, but Detective Van Dyke listened with rapt interest.

“The flat of that old stump provides a good rest,” he said.

“And a perfect line of sight to the window,” Lola said.

“This guy knew his way around a sniper hide,” Cutter said. “He trimmed the lower branches on this spruce and pruned back the foliage on the highbush cranberries to give him a clear line of fire but still give him a good place to hide. See how the twig ends are snipped off at right angles? They’re not cut with a knife, but with small pruning shears – something a sniper would carry in his kit.”

He nodded at the stone church, gritting his teeth, thinking through the ramifications of going inside. He wasn’t squeamish, not by a long shot, but he wanted to take a look at the tracks before he risked clouding his judgment by seeing another person he knew with his brains blown out. “I’ve changed my mind. I do need to check on a couple of things now that I’ve had a chance to look at the ground.”

Detective Van Dyke provided paper shoe covers for both Cutter and Lola, allowing them to walk up the stairs without transferring in debris from the outside. Cutter didn’t think he’d find actual tracks. This shooter was too much of a professional to risk coming inside to admire his handiwork. Still, there was more to the art and science of tracking than simply looking at footprints.

The upper end of the Alaska State Troopers chain of command was comprised of a colonel and two majors. Major Chris Terry, the less senior of the two, or “minor” major, had come to Juneau on the same flight as Cutter for meetings with the governor’s protection detail. He’d assumed command of the scene until FBI brass arrived. Terry was an affable man with sandy hair and a pencil-thin mustache, trimmed to the regulation corners of his lip. Like a good boss, he talked little and listened a great deal while Cutter briefed him on what he’d seen outside.

As Cutter suspected, the scene added a layer of answers to what he’d seen outside, as well as new questions.

The young woman’s torso draped across Van Tyler’s legs, which at first glance would indicate she’d been shot second and then fallen across his body. But that didn’t seem right. Tyler was in the lead, with Ensley behind him. The shot had killed her instantly – the explosive damage to her skull left zero doubt about that. Judging from the blood spatter, she’d been bunched up close to Tyler, crowded in, maybe even clutching the back of his jacket. His back was covered in her blood. He’d been facing away when she was shot. He’d turned then, catching one in the jaw. If Tyler was the target, then Cutter guessed the shooter had taken out the girl first, dropping her at the top of the narrow stairwell. It was something Cutter would have done – had done – if he wanted to block the escape of a group of bad guys at a choke point.

The real question was why Ensley Rogers was even there. She was a secretary, not an investigator or a paralegal. Van Tyler was a smart guy. He’d obviously come to meet someone in the middle of a high-threat trial with nexus to drug cartels.

Cutter had seen Ensley that morning, when she’d come into the courtroom to deliver a message to Tyler. As always, she’d been dressed to the nines. He’d noticed then how they seemed close, comfortable in each other’s space, but hadn’t read too much into it at the time. People could say the same about he and Lola Teariki. If you worked with a person long enough, you could become something like siblings. Under the circumstances though, Cutter wondered if this might be a little different. One thing was certain, this was not the kind of meeting where you brought your secretary.

He could smell Ensley’s perfume, obscenely stark now amid the metallic scent of blood and gore. Both had taken the time to change clothes after court, though they’d seemed in a hurry when they left. Cutter had heard that Tyler had opted to stay at a hotel near the airport. Their personal relationship mattered little in the great scheme of things, but it did paint a picture.

The attorney had come to the shrine to meet someone – and she’d tagged along, likely to spend every off hour together that they could. It might mean nothing at all, but it would complicate the investigation, add to the conspiracy theories on the Internet.

Cutter stood at the balcony rail, looking across the small chapel. It was maybe seventy feet from where he stood to the broken windows. The shooter had been another hundred feet or so beyond that. An easy shot.

“Okay,” Cutter said. “Your call, Major, but I’d suggest you pull back and secure the scene until the Bureau agents get here.”

“That’s it?” Major Terry asked, like he expected a little more out of Cutter.

“I’m supposed to look at the ground,” Cutter said. “Tell you what I see.”

“A couple of snipped bushes and the order of the shots,” Van Dyke said. “I sure as hell hope we find a little more evidence than that.”

“FBI techs might find something,” Cutter said. “But this is a lot, really. The shooter knew Van Tyler was going to be here, in this