Page 7 of Hold Your Breath
“As long as you don’t call me Louise.”
“Deal.” Belly turned back to the sheriff. “Can I grab you for a sec, Rob?”
“Yeah, we’re done,” he said before lifting an eyebrow at Lou. “Unless you have anything else to add?”
“Nope. Kicked a dead guy so he popped up right next to me. That’s pretty much it.”
The coroner smirked. “Yeah, you’ll fit in around here just fine, newbie.”
“Thanks?”
As the two walked away, Lou realized she hadn’t asked something important. “Hey, Sheriff,” she called. “Who is it—do you know?”
“Not yet,” he said without breaking stride. “And you should call me Rob, now that you’re one of our divers.”
“Huh.” Lou glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She followed behind Rob toward the emergency vehicles parked on the shore. None had risked driving on the newly rehardened reservoir, so they were hauling all the evidence across the slick stretch of ice to the shore. They’d loaded up the body onto a Stokes basket—a sort of floating stretcher—and covered it with a blanket. Two EMTs were in the process of pulling it across the ice like a grisly sled. The basket hit a rough patch in the ice and bounced hard enough for the blanket to slip, exposing the corpse’s right side.
Lou cocked her head and took a couple of steps closer to the body. The shape of the arm was strange, ending too bluntly. She sucked in a breath.
“They cut off his hands, too,” she muttered to herself, turning her head when Callum’s deep voice responded.
“Yeah. Delays ID.”
“Was it done before or after?” she asked, bracing herself for the answer.
“Death, you mean? You’d have to ask Belly.”
Lou thought she might be happier not knowing. She looked over her shoulder at Callum, who was frowning at the corpse as one of the EMTs hurried to readjust the blanket.
“How can they not know who he is?” Lou asked. “Do that many people disappear around here? I kind of figured it’s more of a one-missing-guy-a-decade kind of place.”
He shrugged, finally turning away from the receding body. “Hard to keep track of people out here. Lots of them don’t want the government—or anybody, really—in their business. More than one census taker has been greeted at the door by the business end of a shotgun.”
The idea that someone could be murdered and missing for months without anyone noticing struck Lou as sad. “So, this guy never returned to his solitary cabin, and his neighbors just figured he’d developed a serious case of agoraphobia?”
“Could be.” Callum’s eyes narrowed, and Lou followed his gaze to a young-looking deputy carrying a hand weight. He fumbled with it, barely stopping it from falling onto the ice. “Or it could’ve had something to do with the cultists over by White Bear Peak, or that antigovernment group that’s taken over the old Miller compound. There’s an MC outside of Liverton, too.”
“Emcee?” The thought of a murderous master of ceremonies just wasn’t computing.
“Motorcycle Club.”
Sometimes Lou was very glad Callum couldn’t read her thoughts. “Ah.”
“Should’ve kept on my dry suit.”
“What?” She looked at the deputy and winced. Instead of just fumbling, he’d dropped the piece of evidence this time. Glancing around, most likely to see if anyone was watching, he picked up the weight. “Isn’t that only a twenty-pounder? Why is he having such a hard time carrying it?”
“No idea, but that dumbass is going to figure out a way to get himself in the water.”
They both watched as the deputy finally made his way to shore. Once he stepped onto solid ground, Lou exhaled. Only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath.
“Amazing,” Callum muttered, finally turning away from the deputy.
“You know him?”
He snorted. “Unfortunately.”
“I smell a story.”
