Read Online Vermilion Drift by William Kent Krueger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Kent Krueger
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by driving carefully among the pines that lay between the sink and the mine buildings.
It was nearing seven in the evening, and Cork stood with Sheriff Marsha Dross and Captain Ed Larson near the edge of the sink. Dross had put in a call to the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension office in Bemidji, and they were waiting for the agents to arrive. The drive would have taken a good three hours, and enough time had already passed that Cork and the others were watching their watches. Alf Murray, the chief of the Aurora Volunteer Fire Department, stood with Cork and the others, using a walkie-talkie to communicate with his men below. The firemen had brought out mobile lights and a generator, and a power cable snaked out of sight down the passage that led eventually to the Vermilion Drift. They’d set up the lights in the tunnel, but only as far as the gruesome discovery Cork had made. Ed Larson, who was in charge of major crimes for the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department, had overseen the dismantling of the makeshift stone wall. Some of Dross’s people had done a flashlight search of the tunnel from that point to the timber construction where Haddad and Cork had crawled through. Dross had put others to work doing a quadrant search of the area surrounding the surface opening of the sink for anything that might prove to be evidence. She’d hoped for maybe a footprint or tire track, but the ground had yielded nothing.
Someone had gone to Lucy’s in Gresham and brought back a bigcontainer of coffee, and Cork stood sipping from a white foam cup as he waited. The sun had shifted to the far west, and the shadows of the pines had begun to creep across the clearing.
“Ever deal with anything like this when you were sheriff?” Dross asked.
“Nope,” Cork replied. “I can’t imagine many sheriffs do.”
“Jesus, I hope not.”
Cork heard the sound of a vehicle engine approaching gradually through the pines. The sun was in his eyes, and it was hard to see into the deep shade among the evergreens. A minute later, a white Suburban entered the clearing and rolled slowly toward them. It stopped beside the sheriff’s pickup truck, and the two occupants got out. One of them Cork knew well: Simon Rutledge, with whom he’d worked in the past, both when he was sheriff of Tamarack County and in the time since. Cork liked him immensely and had great respect for his ability. Rutledge’s companion was a stranger. She was of medium height, early fifties, hair the color of a cirrus cloud and with the same wispy appeal.
“Marsha, Ed, Cork,” Rutledge said in greeting, and they all shook hands.
“Thanks for coming, Simon,” Dross replied.
Rutledge gestured to his companion. “Agent Susan Upchurch. Her specialty is forensic anthropology.”
“The truth is we’re so short-staffed these days that I do everything.” Upchurch laughed. “Damn budget cuts.” Her accent was southern.
“Alabama?” Cork guessed.
“Birmingham,” she said.
“Long way from home.”
“I went to graduate school at the U of M. Found I didn’t mind the snow, and then the BCA made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Here I am.”
“And we’re lucky to have her,” Rutledge threw in. “Fill me in. What have you done so far?”
Dross replied, “We’ve dismantled the wall that blocked off the crosscut tunnel. We’ve gone over the main tunnel all the way to thetimbers. Not easy. Most of the drift is still without lights, so it’s pitch dark.”
“Did you videotape the dismantling?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“We shot video and stills of everything inside the crosscut, but haven’t gone in yet. Our M.E.’s the only one who’s been inside, and just to certify death.”
“Is he still here?”
“No, he left to prepare for the autopsy.”
“He didn’t disturb anything down there?”
“No.”
“Who else has been in the tunnel?”
“Besides Ed’s crime scene team, only Lou Haddad, one of the officials from the mine. He
It was nearing seven in the evening, and Cork stood with Sheriff Marsha Dross and Captain Ed Larson near the edge of the sink. Dross had put in a call to the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension office in Bemidji, and they were waiting for the agents to arrive. The drive would have taken a good three hours, and enough time had already passed that Cork and the others were watching their watches. Alf Murray, the chief of the Aurora Volunteer Fire Department, stood with Cork and the others, using a walkie-talkie to communicate with his men below. The firemen had brought out mobile lights and a generator, and a power cable snaked out of sight down the passage that led eventually to the Vermilion Drift. They’d set up the lights in the tunnel, but only as far as the gruesome discovery Cork had made. Ed Larson, who was in charge of major crimes for the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department, had overseen the dismantling of the makeshift stone wall. Some of Dross’s people had done a flashlight search of the tunnel from that point to the timber construction where Haddad and Cork had crawled through. Dross had put others to work doing a quadrant search of the area surrounding the surface opening of the sink for anything that might prove to be evidence. She’d hoped for maybe a footprint or tire track, but the ground had yielded nothing.
Someone had gone to Lucy’s in Gresham and brought back a bigcontainer of coffee, and Cork stood sipping from a white foam cup as he waited. The sun had shifted to the far west, and the shadows of the pines had begun to creep across the clearing.
“Ever deal with anything like this when you were sheriff?” Dross asked.
“Nope,” Cork replied. “I can’t imagine many sheriffs do.”
“Jesus, I hope not.”
Cork heard the sound of a vehicle engine approaching gradually through the pines. The sun was in his eyes, and it was hard to see into the deep shade among the evergreens. A minute later, a white Suburban entered the clearing and rolled slowly toward them. It stopped beside the sheriff’s pickup truck, and the two occupants got out. One of them Cork knew well: Simon Rutledge, with whom he’d worked in the past, both when he was sheriff of Tamarack County and in the time since. Cork liked him immensely and had great respect for his ability. Rutledge’s companion was a stranger. She was of medium height, early fifties, hair the color of a cirrus cloud and with the same wispy appeal.
“Marsha, Ed, Cork,” Rutledge said in greeting, and they all shook hands.
“Thanks for coming, Simon,” Dross replied.
Rutledge gestured to his companion. “Agent Susan Upchurch. Her specialty is forensic anthropology.”
“The truth is we’re so short-staffed these days that I do everything.” Upchurch laughed. “Damn budget cuts.” Her accent was southern.
“Alabama?” Cork guessed.
“Birmingham,” she said.
“Long way from home.”
“I went to graduate school at the U of M. Found I didn’t mind the snow, and then the BCA made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Here I am.”
“And we’re lucky to have her,” Rutledge threw in. “Fill me in. What have you done so far?”
Dross replied, “We’ve dismantled the wall that blocked off the crosscut tunnel. We’ve gone over the main tunnel all the way to thetimbers. Not easy. Most of the drift is still without lights, so it’s pitch dark.”
“Did you videotape the dismantling?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“We shot video and stills of everything inside the crosscut, but haven’t gone in yet. Our M.E.’s the only one who’s been inside, and just to certify death.”
“Is he still here?”
“No, he left to prepare for the autopsy.”
“He didn’t disturb anything down there?”
“No.”
“Who else has been in the tunnel?”
“Besides Ed’s crime scene team, only Lou Haddad, one of the officials from the mine. He
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