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

attention, then turned to Lola before answering the call. “I need to take this. Would you mind asking Tarrant not to leave before I get a chance to talk to him?”

“No worries, boss,” Lola said, happy to have a mission.

“Arliss Cutter?” the voice on the other end asked as soon as Cutter accepted the call.

“Speaking.”

“This is Skip Warneke.”

Cutter had met the Anchorage FBI boss a couple of times at leadership breakfasts he’d attended with the chief, but he doubted the guy would have been able to pick him out of a lineup. He sounded pleasant enough.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Jill Phillips said we’re working together on this one?”

“Yes, sir,” Cutter said. “Here to help.”

“Yes, well, I’m out at the scene. Seems as though there are no surveillance cameras here or on the highway leading this way. There was no one on the grounds but for a gardener named…”

“That would be Roy,” Cutter said after waiting a beat so he didn’t cut off the SAIC. He wanted to help, not interrupt.

“That’s the guy,” Warneke said. “He’s got a bunch of theories that are less than helpful.”

“I hear you,” Cutter said, suddenly distracted when Charles Beason marched across the courtroom directly to the jury box, where Lola was delivering Cutter’s message to the Forest Service LEO.

Warneke was still talking on the other end of the line. “…so I’d like the report of your observations of the scene ASAP.”

“Of course.” Cutter started toward the jury box as the FBI supervisor crowded into Lola’s personal space. Had it been another person, she might have punched Beason in the beak to get him to step back, but the guy was a boss at another agency – and Lola Teariki had a natural propensity to obey authority.

“My report is finished,” Cutter said to Warneke. “I’ll email it and my sketches to – Excuse me just a moment, sir—”

Charles Beason had just committed a cardinal sin of management. He’d poked Lola in the shoulder with the tip of his finger to drive home some point. Cutter was close enough to hear the last bit of his side of the conversation. It dripped with condescension.

“…already gave him an assignment. Now stop with your bullshitting and get out of his way so he can go do what I asked him to…”

Lola raised her hands, like she was either going to comply or slap Beason in both ears.

Cutter took the two steps to the jury box in one bound.

Lola saw him coming and shook her head. “No worries here, boss. I’m good.”

Cutter ignored the wave-off and spoke directly to Beason. “I asked her to stop Officer Tarrant for me while I took a phone call.”

Beason sneered. “Is that right? Well, you can—”

Cutter moved to within two feet from the FBI supervisor. Both were large men. If anything, Beason was a hair taller than Cutter’s six-three.

Cutter kept his hands at his sides. His voice was direct, but measured, like a firehose on full blast but with a focused stream. “Let me be clear. Put that finger on one of my deputies again and you and I will have a serious problem. Is that understood?”

Beason was smart enough to see the don’t-test-me look in Cutter’s eyes. He took a half step back, raising his hands in retreat. “Look, it’s been a long day and—” Beason paused, regaining his emotional footing after Cutter’s sudden appearance. “You know what? I’m not going to stand around and get schooled by a couple of court monkeys. You are here in a supporting role. The old man wants your report on the crime scene, like yesterday.”

“The old man?” Cutter asked, knowing full well who he was talking about.

“Warneke,” Beason said. “The special agent in charge. Matter of fact, I should just call him right now and have him tell your boss you’re impeding my investigation. They’ll pull your ass out of here so fast it’ll make your—”

Cutter pushed the cell phone out in front of him.

Beason flinched, apparently thinking Cutter was about to hit him. His head cocked sideways when he realized it was a phone.

“What’s this?”

“You want to talk to Warneke?” Cutter said. “Here he is.”

The SAIC’s voice spilled out of the speaker as Beason held the phone six inches away from his ear.

“Yes… I mean no… Yes, sir, I know it’s your investigation, not mine… No, sir… I mean, I may have touched her on the arm with the tip of my finger… No, sir… I only… Yes, sir.”

He passed the phone back to Cutter. Warneke gave him a curt apology and then ended the call.

Beason spoke through clenched teeth, seething. “You could have told me he was on the line.”

“Honestly,” Cutter said, “it’s lucky for you he was. You know my reputation.”

“For being a hothead?”

Cutter shook his head. “For not putting up with assholes.”

“Listen,” Beason said. “We’re all under stress. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Bullshit,” Cutter whispered. “Stress doesn’t turn us into idiots, it lays bare the idiot we already are. I don’t care if you’re having the worst day of your life. Touch one of my deputies again and we’ll both be out of work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out,” Lola said, following Cutter out of the jury box.

Chapter 24

Constance Cutter’s secret would top anything Audrey or Evelyn could dream up – but telling it was a nuclear option. Imelda clutched her knees to her chest, jaw locked like she’d rather look at her new multicolored toes or do just about anything besides play confession. All the girls were smoking weed now, even Imelda. Their game of truth or dare had devolved into tell the shittiest little secret about your life that you can think of. Evelyn was finishing up with a story about some nasty thing her jailbird uncle had done to one of her cousins. Constance would have to go next—

Her cell phone buzzed on the floor. The weed made everything foggy, surreal. She sat and watched for a few seconds. Her mom… She