Alone in the Wild(78)

“She can,” I say. “But she’ll need—”

He’s already pulling a shirt from his pack. He manages an anxious smile. “I used to watch a lot of cop shows.”

“All right then. Let’s go.”



* * *



Storm picks up the trail easily. According to Tomas, Nancy rarely leaves the settlement in winter. The rest of the year, she loves to walk and gather berries and nuts and greens, but in winter, she hunkers down with her needlework. It’s been days since she’s been beyond the perimeter, so her trail is easily followed.

It’s only 10 P.M., but it’s been dark for hours. All around us, the forest slumbers, and every step we take seems to echo. It also means that every noise Nancy or Lane makes will do the same, and we’ve been out less than twenty minutes before we hear their voices on the night breeze.

“You made a mistake,” Nancy is saying, her voice low and urgent. “I understand that. This is why we don’t use guns, Lane, and when we do, we make mistakes even more easily because we’re unaccustomed to handling them.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lane replies.

“The gun. The one you got in a trade from those … those people. You’ve been using it to hunt. I told you that you needed to be more careful. If you wanted to do that, then you couldn’t hunt on our territory, where someone could get hurt.”

“And I told you I don’t have a gun.”

“I found pellets in the hares you brought us last week. I showed them to you.”

“And I said they weren’t mine. It’s like the elders say—sometimes they get into our game from other hunters.”

Nancy’s voice rises in frustration. “I’m trying to help you, Lane. You tell me you don’t have a gun? All right. Then take that gun that I’m clearly imagining and get rid of it, please. Hide it somewhere.”

“I don’t have—”

“Stop, Lane. Just listen to me and protect yourself. This woman from Rockton, her entire job is finding people who kill others. Your uncle told me all about it. She’s trained to find murderers by studying blood and bullets and dead bodies. If your gun killed Ellen, she won’t understand that it was a hunting accident. She’ll find the gun and know it’s the one that killed Ellen. Then she’ll read your fingerprints on it. But if there’s no gun, you’re safe.”

“I don’t have a gun.”

“Then who does?” I say as I step into the clearing, gun in hand. “Besides me.”

Nancy staggers back, Tomas rushing in to catch her. His arms go around her, and he tugs her out of the way. Storm growls beside me. Through the woods, I see Dalton soundlessly slipping behind Lane.

“If this was a hunting accident, then I will understand that,” I say. “Like your aunt said, you lack experience with firearms. But, like she also said, I can indeed connect your shotgun to you and to the pellet that killed Ellen. There’s no point in arguing it wasn’t you. Just explain what happened. If you made a mistake, then it was only a tragic accident.”

It wasn’t. I’m certain of that. I might not be a forensics expert, but I know Ellen died at night. The only thing Lane had been hunting at that time was Ellen herself. Step one, though, is getting a confession to the killing.

“I don’t have a gun,” he says.

“Then who does? Has someone you know been giving you their game? Trading it?”

This makes no sense, but I’m giving him an out here. Dalton’s behind Lane, still tucked into the dark forest, his gun drawn. I have mine out, too. Lane’s face says he’s two seconds from bolting, and I need to give him an explanation that will allow him to relax. Then I can get the truth.

Still, he shakes his head and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nancy breaks from Tomas’s arms and steps toward her nephew.

“Lane, please,” she says. “I know you’re scared—”

“I’m not scared,” he says, jaw setting. “I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do.”

“Nobody is accusing you,” I say. “We just want to know what happened. Give us that, and this will be over.”

“Listen to her,” Nancy says, taking another step toward him.

“Nancy?” I say. “Move back, please.”

She shakes her head, her gaze still on her nephew. “I know you’d never hurt me, Lane. You are a son to me, and I trust you completely.”

I don’t like her tone or her words. They’re too much, her gaze fixed on him, her voice low and soothing, and it’s exactly what I’ve done with dangerous suspects.

I know you don’t want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re not that kind of person.

Words I’d said when I knew my suspect was that kind of person, but I was trying to defuse the situation, while my colleagues kept their guns trained on the suspect.

Half the time, the suspect called me on my bullshit. Yet I continued doing it for those where my words did nudge something deep in them, did convince them to surrender.

That is what Nancy is doing here. Except she’s not a trained officer. And the fact that she’s doing it tells me Lane isn’t a sweet, harmless young man. I sneak a glance at Tomas. His face is taut, gaze fixed on his wife as he rocks forward, torn between pulling her back and not wanting to set his nephew off. His gaze cuts my way, communicating exactly what I expect—a warning and a plea.