The bone track, p.20
The Bone Track, page 20
It had felt good to yell in the middle of a school day. Alexa wanted to yell now. What would Constable Chadwick think if she did? She searched her brain for more physics facts and recalled that as an object falls, it picks up speed until it reaches terminal velocity. Or the ground.
This direct hit probably fractured every bone to pieces. Her knees buckled—yesterday the pilot could have dumped a ton of rock on her, too.
Constable Chadwick noticed. “Are you okay?”
Alexa nodded. They approached the pile warily. It would be daunting to unearth what was left. She took her cell phone out and photographed the rubble. She heard a crunching sound and whirled. Hank, the pilot, was approaching.
“Is Hank a police officer?” she asked.
“No. He’s a contract pilot for the Te Anau police. Good bloke.”
Hank joined them. “What’s this, then?”
Alexa picked up one of the rocks and ran a finger on its sharp edge. She had wanted to ask the constable more about Hank. “What does it look like to you?”
Hank squinted at the mound and then the sky. “A load of riprap was dropped.”
“How does that work? Aren’t bulk bags meant to be set down full?” That’s how they’d been at Clinton Hut—still full of rock. “How would you release them from the air?”
She had pelted him with questions.
“Some containers have trapdoors or spouts that are meant to be opened. But the Department of Conservation doesn’t use them for moving rock. They use the bulk bags.” Hank looked puzzled. “You could retract the hook, and a whole load would drop, bag and all. The bag is probably buried under this rock.”
That wasn’t all that was buried under the rock, Alexa thought.
Hank walked the perimeter of the pile. “Nah yeah, look here.” He’d toed some rocks out of the way to expose a strip of white bulk bag. “I can’t make sense of it.”
“Me either,” Alexa said, pulling her jacket close against a gust of wind.
But really she could. There was a helicopter pilot around who was freaking out. Dangerous. Which probably meant he was connected to the man buried under riprap. Alexa lifted her eyes to the leaden sky and followed a circling hawk. The rocks had in all likelihood destroyed any evidence left years ago by the murderer. She despaired thinking of the striation marks on the ribs, ruined. If she jumped in and began removing rock willy-nilly, she could do further damage. Bone and dirt and rock look alike. Thankfully, she had photographs to prove the skeleton had been whole.
Dr. Luckenbaugh, the archaeologist she’d met in Wellington, would know how to excavate the fragments properly while preserving any remaining evidence.
She bade farewell to her plan to transport the skull to an X-ray machine. Best-laid plans and all that. Her fingers twitched to thumb through those missing persons reports. And maybe, if they had dental records somewhere, the photos she took of the jaw might suffice. “Let’s get back to the lodge.”
At the lodge she waited for Hank’s signal to get out. She would prefer never to ride in a helicopter again. As soon as she rounded the corner of the lodge, she spotted a man in a police ball cap, arms crossed, watching her from the porch. The man removed the cap; her heart revved at the sight of Bruce’s handsome face. He would know what to do about everything. The weight on her shoulders lifted.
Then she saw his stony eyes.
“Ms. Glock. I distinctly remember advising you to stay in the lodge.”
Her every nerve vibrated as if she was still airborne. This wasn’t the greeting she expected. But she realized it should have been. Bruce liked his orders to be followed. Even if they were unreasonable. “Hello, Bruce. It’s good to see you.”
He looked confused. His eyes softened. “Are you okay?” Then they flickered to Constable Chadwick.
Alexa introduced them, and said, “There’s been a disturbing development with the skeleton by the river. Let’s go inside, and I’ll update you.”
Bruce pulled his cap on and picked up his briefcase. They followed him into the lodge. He tried to dodge Cassandra, who planted herself in his path. “Excuse me. Are you in charge?”
Dressed in khaki pants, a light-blue button-down, and a navy police jacket with some type of epaulets on the shoulders, Bruce looked in charge. “DI Bruce Horne. How can I help?”
Cassandra’s catty pupils expanded as she looked Bruce over. “Yes. Ta. I’m Cassandra Perry. Dr. Clark, you know, was my friend. I still can’t believe she’s dead. I don’t want to continue my holiday without her, you understand. I’d like to leave, go home to Auckland.”
Alexa noted she referred only to herself. No mention of Larry or Rosie.
“Ms. Perry, we will be with you as soon as possible,” Bruce said. “Your patience is appreciated.”
“But…”
Bruce brushed by and turned to Alexa. “Where’s the command center?”
She showed him the way to Vince and Kathy’s quarters.
The first thing he said when he entered was, “This won’t do. It’s too cramped.”
The den-cum-interview-room was overstuffed with blue: Sergeant Kramer, Constable Bartlett, and the new senior constable who had arrived with Constable Chadwick—Alexa had forgotten his name. Constable Chadwick went to stand by him.
Sergeant Kramer stood from a dinette chair. “I’ll find Mr. Bergen. Ask him for another space.”
“Ta,” Bruce said, looking at his watch. “And have him round up some sammies, while you’re at it. We will think better on full stomachs.”
Amen, Alexa thought.
“We’ll have a briefing in twenty minutes in the new space. That’s all for now.” Bruce jerked his head to indicate the officers should leave. He discreetly lifted a hand to Alexa, indicating that she should stay.
Her heart hitched.
When they were alone, Bruce shut the door. He stepped toward her, and then about-faced, and sat on the couch. “Let’s have your latest news.”
Work first. That was Alexa’s philosophy as well. She took off her jacket and sat on the recliner, the crime kit at her feet. “I’ve just returned from the riverbank where I discovered the bones. A helicopter dumped a load of rock on them. The skeleton is buried.”
Under the brim of his cap, Alexa could see one of Bruce’s eyebrows rise. This was to be expected, too. Funny how she was beginning to know this man. “The skeleton is gone?”
She hadn’t thought about whether the skeleton could be gone. Was she sure it was buried? It would have taken hours to remove every last bone. “I am fairly certain it’s buried under a ton of rock. It’s good that I took lots of photographs before it was bombarded.”
“The pool of suspects who could drop rocks from the sky is small,” Bruce said. “Trained helicopter pilots only need apply.”
Alexa tucked a wisp of hair back into her ponytail and nodded.
Bruce took a paper out of his briefcase. “I received a list of registration and flight plans of copters who flew in Fiordland yesterday. To our benefit, the airspace is restricted. Four copters from the Department of Conservation, two sightseeing companies, and one Search and Rescue.”
Alexa got excited. One of them might be the murderer. “The DOC pilots are the ones who would be moving rock. Can I see the list?” She might recognize the name of the helicopter pilot the Clinton Hut ranger had interacted with yesterday morning. The Danger Zone pilot.
Bruce produced the paper, but the copter registration numbers didn’t list names of the pilots. “I’ll get Sergeant Kramer to connect the dots,” he said. “How has he been handling things?”
She opened her mouth to tell him of the sergeant’s mistakes, then shut it. She wasn’t a snitch. “Pretty well.”
Bruce’s eyes were unwavering.
“The skeleton is probably shattered. You should call in an archaeologist to sift through the rubble.” Anger heated her up as she fished through the crime kit for Dr. Luckenbaugh’s business card. The skeleton was someone’s son. Maybe a brother, husband, and father like Charlie. His bones deserved respect, not demolition.
“The pilot is dangerous,” Bruce said. “We need to act on this immediately.” He half rose, but then sat again. “And the doctor. What’s the latest on her?”
Alexa relished this tête-à- tête as she inhaled his male scent. “Her body was flown to the morgue this morning. Charlie and I…”
Bruce interrupted. “Charlie?”
“My brother. He’s in our room. He fell in the creek this morning and got chilled.”
“What was he doing?”
“We returned to where I believe Dr. Clark was pushed off the cliff. To see the crime scene in the daylight.”
Bruce’s eyes went slate. “I told you to stay in the lodge.”
Pheromones be damned. “A core principle of nighttime crime-scene investigation is to return to the scene in daylight,” she defended. “Evidence can be overlooked at night. And more rain is predicted. I know my job like you know your job. It had to be this morning.”
Bruce nodded stiffly. “And?”
“Charlie found an apple, and I photographed a boot impression. Did you bring me a full crime kit?”
Bruce nodded. “It’s in my room.”
Alexa couldn’t wait to see it. The kit, not the room. “We spotted a blue backpack in the creek.” She deliberately said creek, which sounded more benign than the monster river that had tried to spit Charlie over a chute. She was ashamed she had put Charlie at risk and didn’t want to face Bruce’s scrutiny. “That’s how Charlie fell in. He was trying to reach it. The backpack eventually disappeared over a waterfall.” She needed to check on Charlie. Make sure he had recovered. She ran through hypothermia treatment: Remove wet clothing. Check. Hot shower. Check. Warm beverage. Check. Cover with blankets. Check. “It was probably Dr. Clark’s, and her assailant threw it in the river. I mean the creek.”
Bruce stood. He looked down at her like he wanted to say something—their eyes met and held and told a story—but the situation made whatever he wanted to say impossible. They were working a case together. Again. Personal feelings needed to be shelved. That didn’t stop her from wanting to grab him by the collar and pull his lips towards hers.
“Team meeting in five,” he said, and left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The rip in her pants split a little more as she stood. She put her jacket back on and slung her crime kit over her shoulder. Time to head back to the room to change into her only other pair of pants. She also wanted to retrieve the camera to show Bruce and the others that the skeleton had existed. She hoped the close-ups of the notches on the ribs were clear. Cause of death in skeletal remains was often hard to determine, but not in this case. Charlie would probably be up. She wondered what it would be like to introduce him to Bruce.
She scurried past the French Luxer making arrangements with Vince to change his accommodations following the hike. “I will be a day late,” he was saying. She gathered from this snippet that some Luxers weren’t leaving Pompolona Lodge today—probably because of the delayed start. With the landslide and broken bridge, no new batch of Luxers was arriving, so space wasn’t a problem.
When she entered their unlocked room, Charlie was still dead to the world under two duvets. Drowsiness was a symptom of hypothermia, but shouldn’t he have recovered by now?
She set the crime kit on the chair and took her jacket off. “Charlie? Ready to get up?”
He didn’t move.
She flicked on the overhead light and dodged his sodden pile of clothes to open the curtains. She expected him to blink groggily and complain, but his eyes stayed shut. He hadn’t changed position since she’d been here an hour ago, reminding Alexa of Savasana at the end of yoga. Flat on back. Hands and feet splayed. Eyes closed.
Corpse pose.
An alarm pealed in her brain.
She hastened to the bedside and stared down. Time stopped as she studied the covers. The double duvet rose and fell, barely perceptible. She touched her brother’s face gently and was relived to feel a clammy warmth. “Charlie? Time to get up.”
His eyelids flickered, then stilled.
She pulled the duvets off, exposing his ENGINERD T-shirt. The cool air didn’t startle him awake. She pressed his shoulder. Nothing. When she jiggled him, he made a snoring sound, but his eyes didn’t open. She lifted his hand and used two fingers to press his skin lightly at the wrist, probing for his pulse. She pressed harder and felt the faint beat of life through her fingertips. She was too wound up to count beats per minute and let go. His wedding band glistened on his long pale ring finger, surprising her. When had he slipped it on?
She shook him. “Wake up, Charlie.”
When he didn’t respond, she shouted his name. This wasn’t normal sleep. Charlie needed help.
Alexa ran out the door and into the lounge area. She looked around wildly. Constable Bartlett stood by the Ladies Room. She skidded up to him. “I need a doctor!”
Constable Bartlett jerked his thumb toward the restroom. “Can’t leave Mrs…”
Rosie walked out and looked at her, confused. “Now what’s happened?”
Alexa ran to the dining room. Bruce and Sergeant Kramer pushed tables together at the far end.
“Bruce,” Alexa shouted. “I need help. My brother…”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“He won’t wake up!”
Constable Chadwick was dragging chairs out of the way. “I’m an EMT,” she said.
“Find Larry,” Alexa commanded to Bruce. “He’s a doctor.” She motioned Constable Chadwick to follow her and sprinted back to the room.
Charlie looked as vulnerable as a slumbering child. Constable Chadwick pulled his eyelids back, checking his pupils. “They’re dilated.” She put her ear to his mouth and went still.
Alexa held Charlie’s listless hand.
“His breathing is shallow, but regular,” the constable said. “Help me roll him on his side.”
The women pushed him over, his body heavy and compliant. Constable Chadwick set a pillow against his back. “Does your brother take any medications?” Her eyes flitted to the nightstand.
“I don’t think so.” Alexa surveyed the nightstand, too, confused by Constable Chadwick’s question. The note she had left Charlie was crumpled on the floor. Had it angered him?
Larry burst into the room, followed by Bruce and Sergeant Kramer. Alexa was dismayed Larry didn’t have a black bag with him. She never went anywhere without her crime kit. Shouldn’t Larry act the same?
Constable Chadwick jumped out of the way to let the doctor take over. She must have noticed the lack of medical supplies as well. “I’ll run get my kit.”
Bruce looked at Alexa accusingly. “What happened?”
His look was a gut punch. “I found him like this. He won’t wake up. It’s got to be hypothermia.”
Larry had returned Charlie to a prone position and was taking his pulse. “Why do you say that?”
“He fell in the creek about ninety minutes ago.” She toed the pile of Charlie’s wet clothes and thought of him spinning like a doll in the cruel river. Even as she thought this, she knew the river wasn’t cruel. Just indifferent. “He seemed fine. He ran along the bank right afterwards.” She looked at Bruce. “To chase Dr. Clark’s backpack.”
“Ran?” Larry’s brows knit together. “While he was wet?”
“For a little bit.” Running always warmed her up, so why was everyone frowning at her? “I gave him my jacket and we walked back here.” She looked at Sergeant Kramer. “You saw him. He was okay, wasn’t he?”
“His lips were blue, lass. But he was cognizant.”
Charlie’s slightly parted lips were colorless now.
“What happened to his palm?” Larry asked. He was examining the raw abrasions.
“They’re both like that. It’s from the wire coil under the swing bridge. He had to…” She swallowed, afraid she would cry.
Larry set Charlie’s palm down and softly slapped his cheeks. “Mr. Glock? Can you hear me?”
Alexa skirted Bruce and went to the bathroom door. She touched the towel draped from the knob; it was damp. “He had a hot shower.” She should have stayed with him and not been indifferent like the river. She should have recognized what was most precious—her brother—not stupid interviews. “I sent him a cup of hot chocolate.” She gestured to the mug on the nightstand. “He should be okay. What’s wrong with him?”
Larry asked for a flashlight.
Constable Chadwick returned with a large first aid kit and set it on the dresser. “We’ve notified Lakes District Hospital. Medi-flight is on standby.”
Bruce gave Larry his Maglite. Larry shone it in Charlie’s eyes. “His pupil is responsive. That’s good. If you’ll all clear the room, please. I’ll examine him more fully.”
“I’m not leaving,” Alexa said. No way in hell.
Sergeant Kramer and Constable Chadwick filed out. Bruce hesitated, his concerned eyes searching hers.
She felt acquitted—he cares—but redemption turned to horror when she noticed the closet behind him. The safe was open. “Wait!”
Bruce looked confused.
Alexa flew to the gaping safe. She ran her hand all the way to the back and up the sides. Empty.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.
“I told Charlie to lock my camera in the safe. It’s gone.”
“Maybe he forgot.”
“When I came in earlier, the safe was locked.”
“When was this?”
“Just before I rode in the helicopter. Charlie was sleeping. I thought he was okay. I left him a note.” She was rambling.
Charlie’s backpack was stuffed in the closet next to the safe. She rooted through it—tossing a guidebook and rain gear aside—but didn’t find the camera. The one shelf in the closet held an extra blanket. Alexa shook it. She pushed past Bruce to the dresser and yanked open the three drawers. Empty. Empty. Empty.
