“Those billionaires. Always doing good deeds.”
She snorts. “Right? Anyway, if Gretchen’s leaning into the mountain-man bullshit, she’s probably barely stopped to consider why her husband was killed. Clearly, these woods are teeming with unstable killers.”
“As opposed to stable killers?”
“Nah, it actually has those. But unstable ones will be her theory. Theory or excuse, depending on whether she murdered him herself.”
“That also applies if she knows why he was murdered. She’d be redirecting our attention. Of course, we don’t know what she’ll say.”
“Oh, we do. Trust me.Crazed mountain man killed my husband.”
Sadly, Yolanda is right. While those aren’t Gretchen’s exact words, the gist is there. She has no idea who would murder her husband. He taught earth sciences at the Yukon University campus in Whitehorse. No one is going to follow him up here to murder him. Clearly, he ran across one of those renowned murderous hermits of the north.
I know that’s what people think about Alaska, but it bleeds over the border into the Yukon. Who is out in these woods? Hippies and killers. Well, not necessarily killers, but paranoid men who will murder you if you stumble on their territory.
Of everyone I’ve met up here, no one falls into that category. Even Brent, whohadparanoid schizophrenia, was no dangerto anyone. Sure, there’s Tyrone Cypher, who actuallywasa hired killer, but he retired to Rockton—becoming sheriff, no less—to get away from killing. Okay, also probably to avoid being brought to justice for his crimes. The point is that we keep running into a stereotype that no one actually fits.
Is it impossible? Of course not. I’m sure that somewhere in the Yukon there are people living on their own who might shoot you if they see you, lost in the paranoia of their own muddled minds. But mostly, if someone kills you, they’re going to have a reason.
Otherwise, Gretchen has no idea who killed Blake, and the more I push, the more upset she gets. Why am I ignoring the obvious answer? Ifshedidn’t kill him andwedidn’t kill him, then there’s a madman in the forest who murdered her husband and has been stalking her.
I ask a few more questions, but if I keep pushing, I’ll be leaving Anders and Yolanda to deal with the agitation I caused. So I calm Gretchen with meaningless questions that make it seem as if I believe her story. Then Dalton and I head back to town.
Once we’re definitely out of earshot, I start talking, my voice low, filling in the parts that Dalton didn’t hear in my earlier interview.
“There’s a lot to unpack,” I say, “and it all depends on how honest she’s being. I’ve tried to start by taking her word for it, and seeing how that fits.”
Dalton nods and waits for me to continue.
“Gretchen says she wasn’t there when Blake died. We did find her footprints, but they could be from earlier—when they were getting water—or later, when she heard him shout and came to find him. Then she sees him being dragged off but can tell nothing about the person dragging him. She can’t even confirm it wasoneperson.”
“Likelihood of that?”
I shrug. “I’ve met assault survivors who refuse to pick their assailant out of a lineup because they didn’t get a good enough look. I’ve met witnesses who saw nothing of the perpetrator, either because they were focused on the victim or they were focused on getting out of there. Both are better than someone who claims they got a good look and accuses the wrong person. Things happen fast, and you rarely have time to stop and think.”
“Then she went back trying to see the killer.”
“Which is plausible. She flees. Realizes she missed an opportunity. Sneaks back.”
“And finds her husband’s backpack gone.”
I nod. “Which fits what we discovered. Blake’s buried backpack. No food in it.”
“She says the food was also removed from hers.”
“Which makes sense if you want to convince her to leave.”
“Except she doesn’t leave.”
“Right. She’s still hoping to ID the killer. Not the choice I’d make, even as a cop, but if this is all true, then she’s in shock. Her husband has been murdered. All she can think about is finding out whodunit. She hears voices. Tracks them to a clearing as two people are leaving it. Which would explain Storm finding her trail in that clearing.”
“Where a man had been buried. A man we still can’t identify.”
“Yes,” I say. “Not that she’d know that. We saw no sign that the burial had been disturbed. But it would explain why she overheard two people talking there.”
“They were burying him.”
I rub my temples. “Two people murdered in two very different ways. Two victims who supposedly have no connection. That’s not working for me.”
