Page 37 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“Someone watches way too much TV,” I say. “Statistically, after forty-eight hours, the chance of finding a missing person alive drops, but that doesn’t apply out here. A few months ago, we found someone who’d been missing for days. Once, we found someone who’d been missing for a year.”
Dalton takes another step. “If you go back to town and even mention the possibility that Max is dead, I will put you on shit duty for the rest of your stay. If you mention it and his mother gets wind of it? Consider yourself gone.”
“His mother is the one you should be investigating, not that moron Gunnar, who hangs out with the kid because he’s the only person in town with the same IQ.”
Someone really likes insulting other people’s intelligence. Coming from a family where my own high IQ is considered merely adequate, I’ve met plenty of people like Louie. They’re slightly more intelligent than average, and they cling to that as their sole mark of superiority because they need to be superior, in some way, any way.
That’s not the important part of what he just said, though.
“You think Dana has something to do with her son’s disappearance?” I say.
“Please don’t tell me you buy their story. I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard enough to glean the basics. Anyone with a shred of intelligence could. Apparently, they’re just an innocent family targeted by some drug cartel. Which happens all the time.” He rolls his eyes.
“Drug cartel?” Dalton says. “Who told you that?”
“Again, Sherlock, no one needs to tell me anything. I can figure it out. You need to dig deeper into her story.”
“And you need to leave detective work to the detective,” Dalton says. “You’re spending the night under guard.”
“What?”
“You just said you think Max is dead and you think his mom has something to do with it. You really expect we’ll throw you back into the general population to run your mouth off? You’re on house arrest.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Check your contract. Section 12, clause B. You may be reasonably detained if you pose a threat to the safety or privacy of other residents. Come on.”
“Eric?” I say.
He turns.
“I’d like to stay and check what we found,” I say.
He hesitates.
“We’re only a few hundred feet from town. And I have backup.” I motion from my gun to Storm.
He nods. “Fine. I’ll be quick.”
“Bring someone with you, please. For your safety.”
He grunts, grabs Louie’s arm, and heads out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After they leave, Storm and I return to that clearing. With my flashlight, I examine the scenario from a short distance, getting a sense of what I’m seeing. Then I move closer.
The central piece looks like a firepit in miniature. The ring of stones is maybe a foot in diameter. In the middle, sticks are arranged in a spoke pattern. The sticks look charred, but the fire hasn’t been lit. Beneath them, there’s still dry vegetation, and on top of them is a ball of some sort of dried plant, as if put there for fire starter but never lit.
I take photos of the firepit. Then I carefully remove the dried ball of vegetation and put it into an evidence bag from my backpack. When I shine the light on the exposed sticks, I pause. They aren’t sticks. They’re small animal bones. More photographs. Remove the bones and bag them. There’s nothing underneath.
I examine the bones through the bag. Hare? Most likely. I’m not sure about the plant matter, but it gave off a familiar smell, as if it has a use I’d recognize.
I take down one of the feather objects and bag it. The others, I only photograph. Then I prowl around the clearing searching for more. I can’t see anything. The ground is dry and hard, and that single heel print is the only one I detect.
I return to that print and keep looking around it for more. When I smell something, my brain vaguely registers an unpleasant scent. Then I remember what I’d smelled here. Something that bothered Storm. I sniff again. I’d thought it was rot, and there’s a hint of that, but let’s be honest, while Storm can be something of a princess, she’s still a dog. The smell of a dead animal elicits two reactions: mild interest or “Ohh, perfume!” followed by rolling on it.
This scent was different. When I first smelled it, I’d thought little other than that it kept Storm from getting the scent. Now, having found what we did in the clearing, I realize that’s probably the point: hide the scent of whoever created this tableau.
