Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(82)

I claim a table outdoors and settle in with my cappuccino and a cookie—okay, two cookies. I have come prepared for an efficient work session. Coffee shops might be good about letting patrons camp out with a laptop, but at this time of year, they’re going to notice if I’m here for five hours, and with the amount of research I need to do, I could be, if I didn’t come with a ready list of questions and search terms.

The first question is the most pressing. Please, Google, tell me what you know about Marshal Mark Garcia, from Washington state.

I don’t like the answer.

No, let’s not mince words. I fucking hate the answer.

I type his name and occupation into an image search and within seconds, I’m looking at the man I watched die two days ago. Of course, the search engine gives me some unrelated results. A guy named Marshall Garcia. A guy named Mark Marshall, who works for Garcia’s Gastropub. But when the page fills with thumbnail images, at least six are pictures of the man who came to our town.

I click on the oldest version of his face. I’m holding my breath as I do. I’m hoping that the word “marshal” is included for some unrelated reason. Maybe it’s his middle name. Or he works for the U.S.M.D in a clerical position. Or he used to be a marshal but quit two years ago for a private security job. The last is my most fervent hope. It’s also the most likely. People give up on law enforcement all the time. Crap pay. Crap wages. Crap hours. Danger, disrespect and derision. The constant temptation of corruption. The high rates of alcoholism, divorce, suicide . . . It’s not surprising that at some point, many realize being a cop isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Private police work suddenly looks very tempting. Garcia could have been a marshal once and switched to private investigating or bounty work or even murder-for-hire.

He didn’t. It takes only five minutes of typing to confirm, beyond any doubt, that we are dealing with an active employee of the U.S. Marshal service.

There is a moment, on realizing that, when I am tempted to do something I have never done in my career. Never considered doing. Never could have imagined myself considering.

I consider framing a suspect.

Phil, to be precise.

I have known detectives who’ve done it. Maybe they’re desperate to close a case. Maybe they know suspect x is guilty of many things that won’t stick, so they arrest him for one that might. It’s extremely rare, but it does happen. The reasoning is that we aren’t throwing someone in jail for a crime they didn’t commit. Okay, yes, we are—they’ll be in jail pending an initial hearing and longer if they can’t make bail—but the cops who do this ignore that technicality. The point, to them, is that it’s up to the prosecutor to make a case, and if the person is innocent, then they have nothing to worry about. Forget the lives you destroy, the prosecution jobs you endanger, the taxpayer money you waste—at least you cleared a case.

I actually consider doing the same. Not clearing a case but shifting the responsibility. If I can make Phil seem like a viable suspect, that puts this mess on the council. He’s their guy. They left him here. Give them Phil, make them handle the fallout, and then quietly find the real killer on my own.

If I did that, though, I’d be throwing Phil to the wolves. No, he’d have a better chance of survival if I threw him to actual wolves. At best, he’ll lose his job. At worst . . . Well, I know what “worst” is, and therefore I don’t do more than briefly consider the possibility. I will, however, investigate Phil as a serious suspect, more than I planned to.

The realization that Garcia was a real marshal is also enough to have me ready to slap my laptop shut and walk away. Screw finding the killer. Does it actually matter now? The U.S.M.D is our real concern now. I should stop working and go find Dalton and tell him what I’ve found.

Except I don’t know where to find Dalton. I’m safely ensconced at this busy coffee shop, and he’s out doing whatever, so he has the cell phone. I can’t contact him. I can’t track him. I must continue my work, which is really what I ought to be doing anyway.

I have arranged the remainder of my list in order of answering ease. When it comes to researching suspects, it’s not really about priority. The issue is the likelihood that I’ll fall down the research rabbit hole, that I’d find my answers and then chasing them for more information, satisfying mere curiosity after I got what I came for. So the suspects who interest me the most go to the bottom of the list. Start with the ones where I’m just double-checking data.

Paul comes first. Dalton has already said he found his case online, and so do I, when I use the real name Dalton gave me. It went exactly as Paul said—during a protest, he beat an FBI agent. Witnesses said he mistook the agent for a rival protester, and there was an altercation, and the outcome was that beating, which led to a hospital stay for non-life-threatening injuries. A Federal warrant has been out on him since the incident, which took place four years ago. I skim one article. It’s accompanied by a photograph taken during the protest and, yep, it looks like Paul.

I attempt to research Petra next. While I might be more curious about her than anyone on my list, I have little expectation of finding answers. Dalton’s given me the name she applied under, and he’s had no reason to research her story, so he’s never tested it. I do now, and as expected, it seems to be fake. I have a list of keywords to search using her first or last name. I know she was a comic-book artist. I know she’s been married. I know she had a child who died young.