Read Online Tamarack County by William Kent Krueger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Kent Krueger
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
silver vulture. Except for Cork’s footsteps crunching through the snow cover, the night was quiet. Far away in the direction of Allouette, the largest town on the Iron Lake Reservation, he could hear the whine of a snowmobile, which reminded him of the irritating buzz of a mosquito.
He broke from the trees, and the beam of his Maglite followed the clear line of tracks left by Marlee and Stephen and, before them, the dog. The tracks headed directly onto the lake ice, which in some places, the wind had blown clean of snow and in others had piled it in drifts, like a capricious child. Winter had already been long and the temperatures so consistently in the single digits or lower that he didn’t worry about breaking through the ice.
Ten yards out from the shoreline, he found the dog. It was a large animal, shaggy, with cocoa-colored spots on a dirty white background. Its paws were big as dust mitts. Its head was missing. The snow and ice all around it were splashed with its blood. Cork knelt and studied the body. He found no wounds, except for the amputation, which had been a ragged, hurried job. In the way of his thinking, of his imagining as a result of a lifetime of criminal investigation, he tried to reconstruct how it happened. The barking: the dog had seen its killer. The quiet: the dog had been placated. The yelp: the dog had been attacked, most probably its throat cut. The silence: the dog was dead and was being decapitated. Cork wondered about the placation. He scoured the area with his flashlight beam and discovered a raw steak half-buried under kicked-up snow. He searched in an arc and didn’t find what he was looking for next, which was the dog’s head. He did find two sets of tracks, one leading in to shore from farther out on the lake, and the other returning along that same line. He followed the tracks.
They led him to the closest of the cluster of small islandsknown to the Ojibwe as Maangwag and to the white population as the Loons. Same name, different languages. The tracks ended at a spot where a snowmobile had been parked. Whoever rode the machine had climbed back onto it, spun it in a tight arc, and headed southwest, toward the glow on the horizon that rose from the town of Aurora.
* * *
When Cork returned, Stephen stood to meet him and asked, “You found him?”
“Yeah,” Cork said.
“Aren’t dogs supposed to be, like, suspicious of strangers?” Marlee said, not really speaking to anyone.
“Assuming it was a stranger,” Cork said. “Whoever it was, they used a piece of steak to entice Dexter.”
“Probably wouldn’t have mattered,” she said, hopelessly. “That big, dumb dog, he was just so friendly with everyone. Why would anyone do something like that?”
“I don’t know, Marlee. Have you called your mom?”
She nodded. “They had to get someone to cover for her. She said she’d be here as soon as she could.”
“That was a good question Marlee asked,” Stephen said. “Why would someone do something like that?”
Cork could have told him about sick people like Charles Devine, but he chose instead to say, “The world is full of human beings you won’t understand. They’ll do things you find outrageous, repugnant, incomprehensible. But you know, Stephen, it’s been my experience that, more often than not, in their own twisted minds, they see themselves as the good guys.”
They heard a vehicle drive up and park. A moment later the door opened, and Stella Daychild came in. She threw off her quilted parka and let it fall on the floor by the door. She went immediately to her daughter on the couch and put her arms around Marlee and held her tightly.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been an awful night, Mom.” Once again, Marlee was shedding tears.
“I know, I know.”
“Mom, they killed Dexter.”
“Shhh,” Stella said. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” She looked up at Cork. “Thanks for being here.” Then her eyes shifted to Stephen.
He broke from the trees, and the beam of his Maglite followed the clear line of tracks left by Marlee and Stephen and, before them, the dog. The tracks headed directly onto the lake ice, which in some places, the wind had blown clean of snow and in others had piled it in drifts, like a capricious child. Winter had already been long and the temperatures so consistently in the single digits or lower that he didn’t worry about breaking through the ice.
Ten yards out from the shoreline, he found the dog. It was a large animal, shaggy, with cocoa-colored spots on a dirty white background. Its paws were big as dust mitts. Its head was missing. The snow and ice all around it were splashed with its blood. Cork knelt and studied the body. He found no wounds, except for the amputation, which had been a ragged, hurried job. In the way of his thinking, of his imagining as a result of a lifetime of criminal investigation, he tried to reconstruct how it happened. The barking: the dog had seen its killer. The quiet: the dog had been placated. The yelp: the dog had been attacked, most probably its throat cut. The silence: the dog was dead and was being decapitated. Cork wondered about the placation. He scoured the area with his flashlight beam and discovered a raw steak half-buried under kicked-up snow. He searched in an arc and didn’t find what he was looking for next, which was the dog’s head. He did find two sets of tracks, one leading in to shore from farther out on the lake, and the other returning along that same line. He followed the tracks.
They led him to the closest of the cluster of small islandsknown to the Ojibwe as Maangwag and to the white population as the Loons. Same name, different languages. The tracks ended at a spot where a snowmobile had been parked. Whoever rode the machine had climbed back onto it, spun it in a tight arc, and headed southwest, toward the glow on the horizon that rose from the town of Aurora.
* * *
When Cork returned, Stephen stood to meet him and asked, “You found him?”
“Yeah,” Cork said.
“Aren’t dogs supposed to be, like, suspicious of strangers?” Marlee said, not really speaking to anyone.
“Assuming it was a stranger,” Cork said. “Whoever it was, they used a piece of steak to entice Dexter.”
“Probably wouldn’t have mattered,” she said, hopelessly. “That big, dumb dog, he was just so friendly with everyone. Why would anyone do something like that?”
“I don’t know, Marlee. Have you called your mom?”
She nodded. “They had to get someone to cover for her. She said she’d be here as soon as she could.”
“That was a good question Marlee asked,” Stephen said. “Why would someone do something like that?”
Cork could have told him about sick people like Charles Devine, but he chose instead to say, “The world is full of human beings you won’t understand. They’ll do things you find outrageous, repugnant, incomprehensible. But you know, Stephen, it’s been my experience that, more often than not, in their own twisted minds, they see themselves as the good guys.”
They heard a vehicle drive up and park. A moment later the door opened, and Stella Daychild came in. She threw off her quilted parka and let it fall on the floor by the door. She went immediately to her daughter on the couch and put her arms around Marlee and held her tightly.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been an awful night, Mom.” Once again, Marlee was shedding tears.
“I know, I know.”
“Mom, they killed Dexter.”
“Shhh,” Stella said. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” She looked up at Cork. “Thanks for being here.” Then her eyes shifted to Stephen.
Similar Books
