Page 109 of The Sister's Curse

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I returned to the other shore and put on my shoes and gun like a civilized person. Gibby shook off a galaxy of stars into the night. I tied my stringy hair up.Civilized.

I called for backup, for Forensics and Monica, and for someone to guard the scene. I waited at the trailhead. I’d have to explain why I was here so that what I’d found would be admissible into evidence. That was easy: Jasper had invited me. He was taking samples for EPA. He had left, and I’d noticed the area where nothing grew on the island. My dog—my dog who had shown a talent for finding dead things—had swum out into the river and starteddigging. As a dog owner, I went after him. As one does. And there was Dana. I crammed that mystical experience into terms of rules and logic and chains of evidence…so I would be believed.

Forensics came, as did the coroner’s office. I’d told them to bring hazmat suits, on account of the chemicals Jasper expected to be in the river. They’d brought a boat and a body bag and bright flashlights, which they swept through the forest. They wouldn’t dig Dana up until daylight came, but Forensics would do what they could in the dark.

Finally, someone saw her.

Monica came to stand beside me. “That’s some amazing police work, Anna.”

“Thanks. I just hope we can start nailing those sons of bitches.” I frowned at my phone. I’d been trying to call Jasper to tell him what I’d found, but it kept ringing into silence.

Monica took a deep breath. “Have you been listening to the scanner?”

“No.” I’d been under the forest’s spell.

Monica gripped my arm. “I just found out…Jasper was in an accident. His car went off the road on I-71. Flipped and turned into a fireball.”

I sucked in my breath. “Is he okay?”

Monica shook her head. “He didn’t make it.”

My hands balled into fists and bile rose into my throat.

“He was a good man,” I whispered. “He was just here.”

Monica put her hands on my shoulders. “We’re gonna get them, okay? We’re gonna get them all.”

25

Howl

Jasper was dead because of me.

Through the highway patrol, I learned that the accident was suspicious as hell. Jasper’s van was found flipped on its side in a ditch. The van had caught fire and burned. It had happened on one of those empty patches of road where there were only trees and highway and the moon. A truck driver had seen the fire and radioed for assistance.

There wasn’t any way to determine if Jasper had died on impact or in the fire, highway patrol said. Skid marks suggested that another vehicle was involved, but that wasn’t conclusive. The van had burned down to the axles. The rubber from the tires had melted into the pavement. Highway patrol suggested that an accelerant might have been used. There was precious little to examine, but they promised they would do a full investigation.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to imagine that…Jasper, injured in an accident…and then burned alive.

I suggested that they look into Vapozene, told them Jasper hadbeen investigating Vapozene poisoning and was en route to EPA. The patrol was very interested in this information, promising to coordinate with both me and Jasper’s contact with EPA. As it stood, they’d be pulling in the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation.

It sounded like Jasper’s death was going to get some scrutiny, at least.

I wasn’t going to let it be for nothing.

I turned away to feel the heat of the sun on my face. Sun and wrath.

—

I hadn’t been able to get ahold of Sykes, who was supposed to be watching Lister; or Calvert, who was babysitting Sumner. I needed to know if they had eyes on the two of them last night, or if the remaining Kings of Warsaw Creek had hired local meth heads to take down Jasper.

Monica was grilling every tweaker Rod Matthews could finger. Somebody would crack, would confess to killing Jasper—I hoped.

I pulled into the sheriff’s office parking lot and made my way to my desk. I hadn’t been home to change clothes or wash the dog. Gibby slipped under my desk, sighing his exhaustion. On my blotter there was a sticky note withSEE MEwritten in the chief’s handwriting.

When Chief used capital letters, things weren’t good.