Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(48)

He rolls his eyes. “Exactly how many Mexican marshals do you think are out there? Obviously he’s with a cartel.”

I stare at him. Then I turn to Dalton. “Better let Phil know we’re shipping Artie home.”

“What?” Artie says. “You said if I had an excuse—”

“You don’t,” Dalton says. “We’ll verify your alibi, and then you’re gone.”





NINETEEN

I let Petra out of the cell. I have to. Last week we doubled our secured space by constructing long-term lodgings for Brady. Now we’ve got Roy in there and Petra in here, and we need someplace to stash Artie.

Petra’s incarceration has served its purpose. The council has been advised that we’ve charged her with the murder of Oliver Brady. And they’ve said nothing. Phil desperately wanted to talk to us about that, so I’m presuming he notified them, but émilie didn’t comment on the situation. I’m not sure what to make of that. At this point, I no longer care. I’m back-burnering this murder to solve one where I don’t know whodunit.

“So this is like . . . bail?” Petra says when I tell her she’s free to go.

“We’ve been told to release you,” I say.

“By who?” She gives a soft laugh. “Nice try, Case, but no one said to let me go. You need the cell space, and you know I’m no danger to you or anyone here.”

I wave for her to leave.

“I mean that,” she says. “I’m here to help. I’m on your side.”

“Good night, Petra.”

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for locking me up. Otherwise, you’d be accusing me of shooting this marshal guy. Someone did you a favor there, too, from what I hear.”

“Yeah, murdering an on-duty U.S. Marshal? I can’t see how that could ever turn out badly for us.”

“The council will take care of it.”

“Like they took care of Oliver Brady?”

She says nothing.

“You know what I wish?” I say. “I wish people would stop doing us favors.”

I escort her out the door before she can answer.

*

No one has “done us a favor” here, and I spend far too much time seething over Petra’s words. A dead marshal is serious trouble. Even if it wasn’t, it’s wrong. This wasn’t Oliver Brady. It wasn’t Val Zapata. It wasn’t even my ex, Blaine, who, whatever his mistakes, did not deserve that bullet. On a scale of deservedness, though, the murder of Mark Garcia ranks far below even Blaine. This was a U.S. Marshal. An officer of the law doing his damn job, and if the execution of that job proved inconvenient to us, too bad. We could have dealt with it once we’d stopped butting heads and come to a place where we could negotiate.

Yes, Garcia was a pain in the ass. Yes, he threatened our security here. Yes, he tried to trick us with his “attacked by wolves” crap. But Dalton saw through that. We’d have brought Garcia back, gotten him secured in Rockton, and then thwarted his plan to sneak out and find his suspect.

We’d have bested him, and he’d have thrown up his hands and said “You win. Let’s talk.” That’s not wishful thinking. I’ve known too many men like Garcia. His issue with us was a territorial pissing match. A battle of law enforcement wits. When we won, we’d have gotten our reasonable conversation and solved this. Now we can’t. Now we are screwed, and for Petra to suggest—

That’s my hurt feelings talking. I’m still smarting from her betrayal. More than smarting. Which means she has far too much power over me right now. When she leaves the station, I’m tempted to slip after her. See where she goes. But Petra’s secrets are a matter for another time. Like she said, I know she didn’t kill Garcia, being locked in the cell the entire time. So I can put her out of . . .

Am I sure she was in there the entire time?

The moment I think that I want to dismiss it. Chalk it up to more hurt feelings. I’m angry with her so I don’t want her getting a pass on this. I want to go after her, for something, anything.

She was locked in a damn cell, Casey. No one has a better alibi than that.

Here’s the problem, though. I am almost certain Petra works for the council. It’s the only solution that makes sense. Someone sent her after Brady, and that someone also supplied her with a gun and a silencer. We don’t have silencers here. There’s no point. But when I think about the gun, I remember another one that went missing.

When someone shot Dalton in the arm, the gun came from our locker, which had stymied us. Only Dalton and Anders have keys. I’d asked whether the council might have a spare, and Dalton had allowed that it was possible. Considering that Val was the one firing that gun, we presume I was right. But if Val had that key, might she also have one to the cell? If so, it’d be easy enough for Phil to slip it to Petra. No one would have been guarding her cell. It’s locked. We don’t need to watch over prisoners—we just make sure someone pops by regularly to see if they need anything.

The station door opens. Sam walks in.

“Sam,” I say. “Do you know who was assigned to Petra earlier today? Around the time of the shooting?”

“Jen, I think. She went home an hour ago. She might still be up but . . .” He looks at the window, and I realize it’s dark. I check my watch. 2:10 A.M.