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As they rounded a bend, a property drew into view on their left. Large, chic and modern. Single-story, with sliding glass doors, a wide deck and views out over the water.
“Nice,” Barbara said.
“Yeah, the Doc did well for himself here,” Nicholls said, with only a trace of bitterness.
Barbara hadn’t seen where Nicholls lived, but she imagined that his salary didn’t stretch to much, even in Deadhart.
“He built it himself?” Barbara asked as they climbed out of the truck.
“I think some developer did that for him. He used to live in town, close to Main Street. Rents that house out now to Kurt Mowlam.”
Barbara nodded, staring back at the house. “I guess being a doctor pays well.”
“I heard he had an inheritance. At least, that’s what he said.”
“You don’t believe him.”
Nicholls sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Dalton is a good doctor. Everyone in town will tell you so. Rita always says how he goes the extra mile for her mom. Whereas some would just brush you off, he’s real thorough, checks everything, takes blood, the whole lot.”
“I sense a ‘but’?”
“He’s an odd one. It’s kind of vague how he ended up here, and he’s always seemed a little flashy to me.”
“I guess if being flashy was a crime, Dolly Parton would be a criminal.”
“True.”
“Of course, inciting a cull”—she looked at him—“that’s a different matter.”
They walked up the wooden steps at the side of the deck. Lights glowed within the open-plan living space. Barbara could see comfortable modern sofas, arty-looking lamps, a sleek modern kitchen. All very European. And also, somehow out of place here in Deadhart, which was determinedly Alaskan. She could imagine how such a place might be viewed as “flashy.” Still, Barbara imagined the Doc could live with that. As they reached the deck, she could see that the glass doors were open, just a little.
“People tend to leave their doors open here?” she asked Nicholls.
He frowned. “Not in winter.”
She reached out a hand and pulled the handle. The door slid wider.
“Hello? Dr. Dalton?”
Cautiously, she stepped inside. Nicholls followed, hand on his gun.
They stared around the room. A large log stove at the far end still glowed with the remnants of a fire, but the chill from the open door was palpable. Near the stove, a pile of folders had been stacked on a small table next to an armchair. Barbara walked over. The files had names and addresses on the front. She picked one up and flicked through it. Medical files.
“Looks like the Doc was just doing some work,” Nicholls remarked.
Seemed so, Barbara thought. But where was he now?
“Hello,” she called again. “Dr. Dalton?”
Still no reply. And no other sounds. No doors opening or closing. No footsteps, or music or television. Not even a shower or a toilet flushing. She didn’t like it. You got a sense for these things after a time. You knew when empty was just empty, someone having stepped out of a room or about to return. And you knew when empty was full of foreboding.
“Let’s check the rest of the house,” she said.
They moved through the living area into a wide hallway. More doors led off it on both sides. Barbara pushed one to her left. A modern, sleek bathroom. Nicholls tried a door on their right. A master bedroom. They proceeded along the corridor. A guest bedroom, and the final door. Nicholls pushed it open.
Barbara’s heart sank.
“Shit!” Nicholls muttered.
