He chuckles, then shouts, “Boy? You listening in?”
“Of course,” Dalton says, coming around the cabin. “I don’t need to eavesdrop when it’s this quiet. I think you should get up, though. Lying like that, you won’t see anything when she flashes you.”
Cypher flashes Dalton—the finger, that is—but there’s no rancor in it. He rises and says, “When you say this woman was kept in a cave, was it Three Peaks or Bear Skull?”
“You’re the one offering the lead,” Dalton says. “You tell me.”
“Well, my lead is for Bear Skull. There’s a guy out here, second-generation Rockton departee, like you and your brother, only he’s not quick to volunteer that information. You know the First Settlement? The one over by Caribou River?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s from there originally. Pretends he just wandered in from down south and stayed.” He looks at me. “You know how many people actually do that? Most folks in this twenty-mile radius have a Rockton connection. Otherwise, it’d be the most populated stretch of the Yukon wilderness. But folks don’t go around saying that. Whatever happened to them or their families in Rockton, they respect the idea of it enough not to take a shit on those still there. Rockton was a safe place for us, and the best way to leave it safe for others is to keep our mouths shut.”
“But you know this guy is a second-generation settler,” Dalton says.
“Yeah. He let enough slip for me to figure it out. He knows the town exists but doesn’t know shit about specifics, which means second generation. He tried asking me more about it years ago, having heard I used to be sheriff. I shut him down. Reason I’m mentioning it is that he’s been taking a lot of interest in Rockton recently. Very recently.”
“What kind of interest?”
“Law enforcement mainly. What kind you have there, how good it is.”
“This guy got a name?” Dalton asks.
“Everyone does. He goes by Roger.”
I look at Dalton as his gaze slides my way, both of us recognizing the name Jacob gave me for the contact he thought we should speak to.
“Can you describe him?” I ask.
Cypher does. It matches what I saw of the man in the forest—the one who’d been chasing Sutherland.
“When did this conversation take place?” I ask.
“Few days ago, after that cougar-bitch got Silas. I was out hunting her.”
I nod, assimilating that, and then say. “On another note, talk to me about hostiles.”
“Rather not. Rather just pretend they don’t exist. Better yet, rather make them not exist.” He looks at Dalton. “Don’t give me that look, boy. You know as well as I do that if animals acted that way, we’d put them down. Just like this cougar. At least she mostly keeps to herself, doesn’t try to cause trouble.”
“Do the hostiles bother you?” I ask.
“Their existence bothers me. Just like the cougar’s does. Because it’s the same thing. Guys like me will give you a chance to leave if you get on their territory. Hostiles just attack. They’re not even killing us for food. I think I’d respect them more if they did.”
“So you have experience with them.”
“As little as possible. But yeah, I do. Fucking savages.”
“Too savage to do something like this? Take a woman hostage and keep her captive?”
“Hell, no. It’s exactly the sort of thing they’d do.” He looks at Dalton. “Remember those four who went missing? You saw the woman later? What was her name?”
“Maryanne. I told Casey about her. But that seems a case of conversion rather than hostage taking.”
“Unless she was captured and escaped. Driven crazy by being held in a cave or whatever.”
Dalton nods. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Because you don’t think like a fucking lunatic. I do. It’s why I made a good sheriff.” Cypher turns to me. “Hostiles could do this. The problem is that it’s a lot easier if it’s someone like this Roger guy.”
“Because I can interview him. And talk to others about him. Not so with the hostile.”
His eyes glitter. “Oh, but you can talk to them. They have networks, too. If I capture one—”
“No,” Dalton says.
Cypher says nothing but gives me a look to say the offer stands, give it some thought.
THIRTY-NINE
Before we leave, Dalton gives Cypher a knitted toque, gloves, waterproof matches, and a few other supplies he brought in case Cox proved helpful. When he pulls out the last item, Cypher’s eyes light up.
“Fuck. Is that…?”
“Still like your coffee, huh?”
I swear, drool forms at the corners of Cypher’s mouth.
“If I’d known we’d bump into you, I’d have brought that powdered creamer shit you like.” Dalton eases back. “Course, if—”
“Say no more. If we’re talking coffee and creamer, screw pride. You want me to poke around, see if I can get a bead on Roger, and if I do, I get my reward. It’s a deal.” Cypher hefts the coffee. “How much we talking?”