Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(111)

We don’t discuss the implications. This isn’t the time, and he doesn’t ask what I make of it. He knows.

We take the body around the back and then we put it . . . well, we put it in with Marshal Garcia’s. There’s a spot under the clinic that we use for storing bodies in winter. It’s a large icebox. There’s no nicer way of putting it. Like our home iceboxes, it’s a hole dug down to the permafrost. It’s putting a body on ice, so it decomposes as little as possible, while we wait for spring thaw so we can bury it. Or, in this case, until we have time to deal with it,

Dalton gets called off on an unrelated problem. Petra and I are beside the clinic, talking in hushed voices when Mathias strides toward us.

“He looks like he has something to say,” Petra says. “I’ll get out of here.” She pauses. “May I take Storm for you? I know you’re busy, and I’m just working on some art commissions.”

I hesitate until Mathias is almost upon us, his wolf-dog under one arm, the poor beast wriggling in terror as Storm whines and dances with excitement. I take her collar and pass her to Petra. That doesn’t mean we’re good. She knows that. It just means I trust her again to look after my dog.

As Mathias watches them go, he hefts Raoul in his arms.

“I hope you weren’t bringing him for more canine socialization,” I say in French. “If so, you need to talk to Petra. I have a murder case to solve.”

“No, I have tasks of my own, apparently. Someone has given them to me without asking whether I wanted to undertake them.”

“Sebastian. Yes. You’re welcome.”

His mouth opens.

“Skip the protests, Mathias. You like projects. You wanted this one. You’re going to pretend you’re doing me a favor, so I’ll feel indebted. But I did you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“I gave you a pet sociopath. Almost as good as a pet wolf, right?” I motion for him to join me as I walk back to the station. “Sebastian says he’s reformed. He says he wants to stay reformed, and he wants help with that. I’m not making any judgment calls. Your job is to help him and watch over him. That’s why he’s your apprentice.”

“I do not need—”

“Too bad. He’s your apprentice. Your shop apprentice. Not you sociopath apprentice.”

I get a reproachful look for that. I continue. “Whatever your own condition, you’ve learned to rechannel it. I’m not asking you to do that with Sebastian. He isn’t you. Just figure out if he’s serious about coping with his condition. If he isn’t, we can’t have him here. If he is, that’s a project for you.” I glance over. “Did he tell you what he did?”

“Yes. It is a fascinating case study, to be so young and do such a thing. Even more fascinating if he, at his current young age, sees his problem and wishes to overcome it. The issue with sociopathy is that one usually cannot understand that what one is doing is wrong. He seems to. Fascinating.”

“You’re welcome. And it must be very close to your birthday, because I have another present for you. A hostile.”

His eyes light up. “You brought me a live hostile?”

“Dead.”

That light fades. “I am not certain what I can do with a dead one.”

“You’ll figure it out. I have reason to believe that the substance Roy was given before his episode is related to whatever the hostiles ingest or are exposed to. I don’t know if they’re given it or they find it naturally in the woods. All that is part of your project.”

“How long is your sister staying? I could use her help.”

“Not long enough. Sorry. You might have her for a day or two. The body is with Garcia’s. Please don’t take it out until after dark. We had a hell of a time sneaking it in there just now.”

*

I leave Mathias and head for Phil’s place. Of course he’s at home. He answers the door with a notebook in his hand and a look that warns me I’m interrupting something. On the notepad, I see numbers and equations, and there is a moment where I don’t see Phil there at all. I see Val, and I feel . . .

Regret. I will admit that. I will always feel regret for what I did, but I feel anger, too, outrage even, that emotion I’m far less likely to admit to than the regret. Regretting murder is natural, expected even, whatever the circumstances. The anger, though, rises from hurt. I am hurt that Val betrayed me. I am humiliated by the fact that I worked so hard to bring her into the community, and she turned on me and mocked me for it.

I won’t reach out like that with Phil. Right or wrong, I must lick my wounds in hurt silence, and let him do what he will do, and if that’s hiding in his home like Val, so be it.

“I need to talk to you,” I say. “About the gun and your watch.”

His mouth tightens. “I believe we’ve been through this—”

“No, we actually haven’t. I know you had the gun in your luggage, but we have never discussed who had access to it. Now, I’m sorry to interrupt whatever you’re doing . . .”

“Budgets,” he says. “I’m am working on the town budget. It’s clear that despite Valerie’s level of mathematical expertise, she had no head for accounting. The books are a mess, along with the town’s finances. I’ve already discovered over a thousand dollars a month that can be trimmed from expenses.”