Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(64)

“Before Lloyd Magnuson came to Cape Charade, he was a heroin addict. He got clean, he moved to Cape Charade, he’s been clean ever since.” Sheriff Kwinault took a sip. “But he had the paraphernalia in the car and there were needle tracks on his arm.”

“When I saw him, he was fine,” Kellen assured her. “Out of his depth as a law officer, but not impaired.”

“What about Priscilla’s body?” Max asked.

Sheriff Kwinault put her cup on the desk. “There was no body in the car with him.”

“So some kind of foul play,” Max said.

Kellen found she needed the coffee; the heat, the caffeine, the sugar alleviated, a little, the chill of death.

“Definitely foul play. No one forced Lloyd to take heroin, but someone had it to offer,” Sheriff Kwinault said.

“Your officers couldn’t find him, but someone managed to steal Priscilla’s body.” Kellen hitched forward in her chair. “How?”

Max reached into his pocket, pulled out a key chain and pushed a button.

His phone squawked.

“I lose my keys all the time,” he said. “My wallet, too.”

Kellen imagined him coming in from outside and flinging his keys and wallet wherever, and not remembering where they had landed. That evening, he would cook dinner, talk about his day, sing, play cards, laugh…

The next morning, when he got ready to leave for work, he couldn’t find his keys and wallet, and he roared and fussed as if someone had stolen his belongings, when it was his own carelessness at fault…

It was almost as if she had been there.

He continued, “I’ve got a finder on them, and it’s the least sophisticated of the electronics. All the killer had to do was tape a finder on the lid of the plastic box, and he or she could find the body in no time flat.”

“Law enforcement gets easier and harder all the time,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “Who saw him last?”

“Temo.” Kellen knew Temo; with his mother’s history, he didn’t use, sell or tolerate drug use, but he did recognize it when he saw it. While she made the call on speakerphone, Sheriff Kwinault gestured to Max to be quiet.

He stood and paced over to the window.

Temo answered, sounding tired and distracted.

“I have the sheriff here,” Kellen said. “They found Lloyd Magnuson.”

Temo’s voice changed to wary. “He’s dead?”

“Very dead.” Sheriff Kwinault tinkered with her cup. “Kellen Adams says you were the last person to see him. Can you tell me about it?”

“Start at when I left you with him and the body,” Kellen said.

Temo waited a moment, maybe to gather his thoughts. “I told Kellen I’d clean up the girl’s bones, so Kellen left. The policeman, he didn’t want to touch anything. He really didn’t want to touch the girl, so he got in contact with the resort and asked for a plastic box to put her in, then he left in an ATV to get it. He was gone for a while—”

“How long a while?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.

“I had collected the bones, all the bits of cloth, and I said a prayer for the repose of her soul. So…half an hour? A little more?”

“Thank you. That helps,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “When Lloyd Magnuson returned…?”

“He was driving his toy car. He had a big square plastic bin, like a storage bin where you keep a child’s toys. I put the girl’s bones in there.”

“How was Lloyd?” Sheriff Kwinault’s tone was carefully neutral.

Temo’s tone matched hers. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was he sad for the death?” Kellen asked. “Did he seem frightened of the remains?” The caffeine and sugar helped her remember the scene, to get past her own horror and focus on the memory of Lloyd Magnuson at that moment.

“Frightened?” Temo still used that cautious voice.

“Most people don’t like the idea of driving with a corpse,” Kellen said.

A pause that went on long enough to make Kellen start to speak, and Sheriff Kwinault decisively signaled that she should not.

Finally, Temo said, “He was singing.”

“Singing?” Sheriff Kwinault exchanged glances with Kellen and Max. “Happy songs?”

“Yes. Rap songs. From Hamilton. He… Like maybe he had a drink while he was at the resort. Liquid courage, maybe?” Temo was verbally squirming.

“Something more than liquor?” Sheriff Kwinault asked. “Maybe drugs?”

“Um…”

Kellen leaned forward and stared at the phone as if she could make eye contact, convince him. “It’s okay, Temo. Tell her.”

“Sí. Yes. He was high on something.”

“Do you know what?” Kellen asked.

“I do not know. I didn’t ask.” In a fierce and bitter tone, Temo said, “He was a cop.”

Sheriff Kwinault said, “I understand.”

At her mild tone, Temo calmed a little. “I knew he shouldn’t be on the road, but I’m brown. I’ve got an accent. I’m not from around here and I didn’t try to stop him.”

Sheriff Kwinault nodded. “I do understand. I promise I do. Please go on.”