“Not working for me either.”
“We need to keep Gretchen’s pick-up date in mind. Someone is coming for her, and if we haven’t resolved this—at least enough to convince her to cancel it—we’re in trouble.”
“I know.”
“So the next step is to talk to Émilie and hope we discover that Gretchen’s ‘innocent hiker’ story is shit.”
“She’s counting on us not being able to verify her story. Or, at least, that it’ll take us time to verify it, which gives her time to escape.” He pauses to listen to something and then continues, “Now what about the voices we heard this morning?”
“Which Gretchen also claims to have heard? Either that’s the truth… or she’s covering her ass in case we heard them, too.” I shake my head. “I need to talk to Émilie. Until then, I’m being pulled in a dozen directions by clues with a dozen explanations.”
Back in Haven’s Rock, we fetch our baby and visit our dog. I’d love to take Storm home, but April doesn’t want her moved. For now, we’ll just keep stopping in so she knows we’re here.
Once we’re home, I message Émilie that I’m ready. She’s gets back to me right away, and Dalton takes over feeding while we talk.
I hold off on the complete explanation. I just tell Émilie we seem to have information on our dead man and his wife, and I need to verify it. Gretchen provided full names, addresses, dates of birth, and occupations.
Fifteen minutes later, Émilie says, “I have them. Or I have people matching that data, which I know is not necessarily the same thing.”
“They could have borrowed identities.”
“Yes, and while this is where I would love to be able to transmit images, we’re going to need to do this the old-fashioned way. Tell me what they look like, in police-sketch detail.”
I do that. When I finish, Émilie exhales. “I think this is them.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“I’m not, because it’s much easier to prove a negative than a positive.”
“It is,” I say. “If I told you that our Gretchen has a snub nose, and the real one does not, then we know ours is an imposter. But a police-sketch ID is imperfect.”
“Let me keep digging. I’d like more.”
As I wait, Dalton hands me a bowl of stew. I take it with grateful thanks and eat most of it before Émilie calls back.
“All right,” she says. “Either this is a very elaborate hoax or Gretchen is who she says she is. I found her social media, where she said last week that they were going hiking up north. Blake taught in the summer, and he has the fall term off. People on the post are warning them that it’s late in the year—bears, snow, and such.”
“Which is what Gretchen said.”
“I can also confirm that Blake really does have this term off and did teach this past summer.”
“So they are who they say they are… which doesn’t necessarily prove they’reonlya couple of hikers.”
“True,” she murmurs.
“Gretchen says Blake teaches earth sciences. Can you get me something more specific?”
A pause.
I continue, “I’m asking because earth sciences sounds very middle school. He must specialize in something. Now, maybeGretchen is simplifying it. Or maybe she’s deliberately avoiding mentioning one specific area that is definitely taught in the Yukon.”
She’s quiet, then she curses softly as she understands my meaning. Keys patter under her fingertips. Finally, she exhales a long, low breath.
“Yes?” I say.
“Yes. Blake’s specialization is geology. Specifically geological mapping and field methods.”
Mining.
