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Nick parked the Jeep and cut the engine, blocking the path that led back to the camp. A marked SUV from the SO pulled in crosswise behind him. Sergeant Rodrigue got out, carrying a long gun, his expression grim. Nick said nothing, just motioned for him to stay put. Rodrigue nodded.
Nick stepped off the path and moved into the cover of brush and trees, treading lightly and easily. He had grown up in these woods and on this water and in wilder parts of the basin than this. The terrain was familiar and comfortable. He had dressed in hunting gear—camouflage pants and snake boots and an olive drab pullover that blended into the moss-coated tree trunks. The moisture hanging heavy in the air softened the grass and scrub, allowing him to move through with minimal noise. The rich scent of damp earth and wet, decaying leaves filled his nostrils like heavy perfume.
An eight-point buck raised its head from nibbling on the leaves of a wild dewberry thicket and stared at him as he passed. Nick kept moving. Ahead and to his right he could see the camp through the trees—a rusty steel storage shed with a big pile of firewood maybe four feet high and six feet wide stacked along the side, a vehicle covered in a blue tarp, Dozer’s Silverado behind it. An oldhouse trailer stood in the distance up on pilings meant to save it in times of high water. Beyond the house, the water looked like a bright hot lava flow as the sun emerged from the horizon like a ball of fire.
He lifted his binoculars and zoomed in on Marc Mercier descending the stairs of the house. Across the way, Dozer got down from his truck. He was in his usual overalls under a camouflage hunting jacket, as if anything could disguise the size of him. He stood like a statue for a moment, then moved forward slowly, like a man going to his execution.
38
“No onefollowed you?” Marcsaid by way of greeting, too tired and stressed for meaningless pleasantries. It was just Dozer. Social niceties weren’t necessary.
“I wouldn’t be here if they had,” Dozer said irritably. “I’m not that dumb.”
That was debatable, Marc thought, but he let it pass. He couldn’t afford to have Dozer get a mood on. They had work to do.
“We need to get rid of that car,” he said. “Fucking town cop chased me halfway out here night before last. Tried to run me off the goddamn road. I guess that’s what they do to junkie thieves these days. Anyway, there’s people looking for it now. It’s gotta go.”
“You got a junkyard,” Dozer said stupidly.
“Are you fucking serious, man?” Marc barked. “I can’t take that onto my family property! Jesus, Dozer! If somebody saw it there…”
Moron, he wanted to say, but he didn’t.
Dozer shrugged. “Can’t we just burn it?”
“No, we can’t burn it! Someone will see the smoke. I think we should run it into the water and let it sink.”
“Well, don’t do it here,” Dozer said. “Me, I don’t want my cousin tied up with this. That comes right back on me.”
“We’ll take it somewhere else, then,” Marc said. “Stick to the back roads. As long as it gets gone. The sooner the better.”
“And then what?” Dozer asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t stay here forever.”
“I know that,” Marc snapped. “I’m working on a plan. I need to go home. People are gonna be pissed. I gotta figure out the best way to go back and not have everybody be upset and asking a thousand questions.”
Dozer rolled his eyes. “You been gone for days. It’s been all over the TV. You think people aren’t gonna ask questions? Or you think they’re gonna just throw you a parade, as usual?”
“What is your problem, man?”
“You’re my problem,” Dozer grumbled. “I got that detective, Fourcade, all over me like shit on a hog, asking all kinds of questions about you, about Halloween, about Robbie—”
“What’s he know about Robbie?” Marc asked, a little shock of alarm going through him.
“Nothing. That’s why he keeps asking.”
“What’d you tell him about Robbie?”
“Nothing! He says someone saw us with Robbie at Monster Bash.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah,” Dozer said. “You’re sitting out here doing nothing but drinking my cousin’s booze while I gotta deal with that guy dogging my ass.”
