I slow the Bug to a stop at the dead-end dirt road, climbing out of my car and circling the back to grab my tools.
“Let’s go, detective. This deer ain’t gonna gut itself.” I swing my backpack over my shoulder, stomping in the direction of the field.
“I’m not exactly dressed for this, Stark,” Colin complains behind me, swatting at mosquitos.
“You’re the one who agreed to come.” I stop to look back at him, waiting for him to quit bitching and catch up to me. “That’s not your favorite outfit, is it?”
“And if it is?” He falls into step beside me and I shrug, eyeing his standard white button up rolled to his elbows and his black slacks.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
After a few minutes of walking quietly through the knee-high grass, the soft babble of a small creek running nearby, Colin clears his throat, wrapping his hand around my bicep and stopping our movement. “Do you want to know where I was today?”
I tilt my head as I stare at him. He obviously wants to tell me, so I appease him, even though I already know because Maeve told me. “Where?”
“Pulling Richard Soffett out of Devil’s Landing.”
I keep my face carefully blank, which I’m not entirely sure is the right thing to do. Maybe I should wince or tear up, or something, but I just can’t bring myself to for the local leader of the small trafficking ring Stella discovered. “Sounds rough.” I turn and continue through the field as Colin skips to keep up.
“He had four kids. Six grandkids. He was a teacher at the high school.” Which is why his participation in such horrific crimes was all that more horrendous, and why I felt no remorse watching him tumble off that cliff.
He’d only stopped to help me because he thought I was injured, and probably thought that as far away from civilization as we were, I’d be easy prey.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“What do you want me to say, Colin?” I huff, continuing forward.
“A normal person would be horrified that someone’s dad—someone’sgrandpa—washed up on a family’s camping site while theywere having lunch. A normal person would say ‘that’s disgusting’ or ‘oh my God, what a tragedy.’”
“What a tragedy,” I deadpan, glancing in either direction in search of some antlers poking up out of the grass. Colin grabs my arm again, forcing my attention back to him.
“You don’t think it’s a tragedy.” His eyes search mine, wondering how I could be so cold in the face of what he’s telling me.
I feel for the family that had to see that, I really do. I never want anybody to be negatively impacted by the things I do. They’ll be traumatized for life, and that’s my fault. I need to be more careful next time.
I so badly want to tell him what I think is therealtragedy. That Richard Soffett stood in front of a class full of kids every day, and he was a murderer. He spent his summers scouring the streets of big cities in search of women who’d lost themselves to drugs and sex, simply as a means of survival. He stole children who came from broken homes and he knew wouldn’t be missed. He forced them into every form of slavery you can imagine, where they either died, or…actually, eventually all of them died according to our research.
I so badly want to tell him that those women and children never knew safety. That they never knew the feeling of going to sleep in a warm, comfy bed without a threat in sight. That’s the tragedy.
But he hasn’t figured that out for himself yet, and it wouldn’t make any sense if I were to know all of that before him. So instead, I say, “Do you know what I always wonder when people die, Colin?”
He tilts his head in question, eyes fuming at my apparent lack of heart, but also aflame with curiosity.
“I wonder why.”
“Wh—”
“There it is.” I take off in the direction of the buck surrounded by a misshapen circle of grass. I crouch next to his bloated body as the flies buzz around his open wounds.
I’ve never collected a deer before, but I’ve seen plenty of other dead, rotting animals. This one has to have been dead for a week or more, at least.
Colin arrives beside me, using the inside of his elbow to cover his nose and mouth as he stares down at us. “There is no way in hell I’m touching that or riding in the car with it back to town.”
I ignore him, rising to stand next to him and survey the area.
It’s especially beautiful under the dusky sun, the whole field painted in a faint yellow color, the sky reminiscent of a watercolor painting of orange and purple. Birds nesting in nearby bushes are chirping up a storm, telling each other about all the places they visited today. There’s a woodpecker near the top of a tall pine nearby, doing what he does best. I close my eyes to hear it all better, and the creek comes back into focus, along with the soft pounding of another critter’s feet off in the distance. I open my eyes to the jackrabbit across the field, staring back at me in alert.
I wondered briefly if Colin would ruin the moment by bending over and heaving his lunch onto the ground, but when I glance over at him, he’s studying the area with me, taking in the colors and sounds that make up this buck’s final resting place.
