Page 146 of Cold, Cold Bones

“She wasn’t certain when he arrived, but she knew when he left. It was the year her youngest turned thirty. She has six. Bobby Karl didn’t stay for the celebration. Zinnia still holds that against him. And the fact that he killed her dog.”

I raised both brows in question.

“He left in 2000. She said all the Y2K daftness turned him snake crazy.”

“Her words.”

“Yes. She also said he was a shameful excuse for an Ojibway.”

“Sounds like Zinnia doesn’t care for her nephew.”

“She described him as a cruel man at war with his soul.”

“Why did he kill her dog?” Roosevelt asked, voice curdled with disgust.

“It snapped at him, so he decapitated it with a machete.”

“Christ almighty,” O’Reilly said.

“Zinnia remembered that Bobby Karl was once a person of interest in a rape investigation. She didn’t recall details. Said he wasn’t charged but figured the lout was probably guilty.”

“Does Slidell know all this?”

“Yeah. After talking to my colleague in Manitoba, he thought he had enough to sell it to the judge.”

Moments later Skinny thundered into the room.

“Success?” Ryan asked.

Slidell gave a thumbs-up.

“Which location?”

“Both. According to your Mounty friend, the rape in Canada involved a fourteen-year-old kid. That jangled her honor’s bells. As we speak, a unit’s hitting Kramden’s crib on Sharon Hills. You up for a surprise drop-in at bus haven?” The invitation wasn’t directed to me.

Ryan bunched and tossed his sandwich wrapper. Stood.

So did I.

“No way, Doc. This could get nasty.”

I spoke slowly and firmly. “Kramden suffers from PTSD. Katy may also suffer from PTSD. She aspired to help vets, so the two may have crossed paths. Besides, I’m fluent in nasty.”

With that, I beelined for the door.

The road seemed even steeper than I recalled. But today was warmer, the dirt trail muckier. I could sense Slidell’s irritation at the coating being applied to the sides and underbelly of his precious 4Runner. Wondered why he hadn’t taken the other road.

Three cruisers sat idling at the top of the last rise. Nothing stirred in the valley below. No vehicles were present near the mound or bus pit.

Slidell got out and explained the game plan. The first unit headed downhill and circled to the back of the property to block Kramden’s fleeing from the rear. The second positioned itself at the front. The third rolled to a stop beside the entrance.

Slidell re-took the wheel and we descended, SUV lurching, tires spitting mud. At the same spot as last time, Slidell shifted into park and turned to me.

“Your ass stays—”

“—put until the place is cleared. Got it.”

The men alighted and walked toward the stairway leading down into the buses. Both were strapped, Ryan’s weapon in a shoulder holster, Slidell’s at the small of his back. Both unzipped their outerwear with the same fluid movement.