29
Sheriff Kateri Kwinault was in no way what Kellen expected. She was female, tall, Native American and beautiful, regal in the way of a New World princess, and yet she looked and moved as if she had been broken and put back together. Later, Kellen discovered that was true, but for the moment, she concentrated not on the tracery of scars on Sheriff Kwinault’s hands or the walking stick she carried, but on the information she imparted.
The sheriff thanked Russell for bringing her to the office. She shook hands with Kellen and exchanged grins with Max.
Kellen blinked at the two of them. They knew each other. She supposed that made sense. After all, Max was a Di Luca and had visited before.
He offered coffee and described Annie’s superautomatic coffee maker in a worshipful tone.
Sheriff Kwinault requested an espresso con panna, then leaned her stick against the coatrack and sat across the desk from Kellen. As she accepted the tiny cup from Max, she said, “We found Lloyd Magnuson. His car was hidden in the foliage at one of the pocket parks along the highway. We think from the way it was positioned he pulled into the lot, tried to park, hit the gas instead of the brake and slammed out of the paved area and into the underbrush. Damage done by the last storm, by the winds and the rain, hid the evidence, and it was only this morning that one of my officers found him.”
“He’s dead,” Kellen said.
Sheriff Kwinault paused, her cup halfway to her mouth. “Definitely.”
“He hit a tree?” Without asking, Max brought Kellen a mug of hazelnut coffee with sugar.
“An overdose,” Sheriff Kwinault answered.
“An overdose!” Kellen gestured to Max.
He closed the office door, then got himself a bottle of water and pulled up another chair.
“Of what?” Kellen asked.
“Before Lloyd Magnuson came to Cape Charade, he was a heroin addict. He got clean, he moved to Cape Charade, he’s been clean ever since.” Sheriff Kwinault took a sip. “But he had the paraphernalia in the car and there were needle tracks on his arm.”
“When I saw him, he was fine,” Kellen assured her. “Out of his depth as a law officer, but not impaired.”
“What about Priscilla’s body?” Max asked.
Sheriff Kwinault put her cup on the desk. “There was no body in the car with him.”
“So some kind of foul play,” Max said.
Kellen found she needed the coffee; the heat, the caffeine, the sugar alleviated, a little, the chill of death.
“Definitely foul play. No one forced Lloyd to take heroin, but someone had it to offer,” Sheriff Kwinault said.
“Your officers couldn’t find him, but someone managed to steal Priscilla’s body.” Kellen hitched forward in her chair. “How?”
Max reached into his pocket, pulled out a key chain and pushed a button.
His phone squawked.
“I lose my keys all the time,” he said. “My wallet, too.”
Kellen imagined him coming in from outside and flinging his keys and wallet wherever, and not remembering where they had landed. That evening, he would cook dinner, talk about his day, sing, play cards, laugh…
The next morning, when he got ready to leave for work, he couldn’t find his keys and wallet, and he roared and fussed as if someone had stolen his belongings, when it was his own carelessness at fault…
It was almost as if she had been there.
He continued, “I’ve got a finder on them, and it’s the least sophisticated of the electronics. All the killer had to do was tape a finder on the lid of the plastic box, and he or she could find the body in no time flat.”
“Law enforcement gets easier and harder all the time,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “Who saw him last?”
“Temo.” Kellen knew Temo; with his mother’s history, he didn’t use, sell or tolerate drug use, but he did recognize it when he saw it. While she made the call on speakerphone, Sheriff Kwinault gestured to Max to be quiet.
He stood and paced over to the window.
Temo answered, sounding tired and distracted.
“I have the sheriff here,” Kellen said. “They found Lloyd Magnuson.”
Temo’s voice changed to wary. “He’s dead?”
“Very dead.” Sheriff Kwinault tinkered with her cup. “Kellen Adams says you were the last person to see him. Can you tell me about it?”
“Start at when I left you with him and the body,” Kellen said.
Temo waited a moment, maybe to gather his thoughts. “I told Kellen I’d clean up the girl’s bones, so Kellen left. The policeman, he didn’t want to touch anything. He really didn’t want to touch the girl, so he got in contact with the resort and asked for a plastic box to put her in, then he left in an ATV to get it. He was gone for a while—”
“How long a while?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“I had collected the bones, all the bits of cloth, and I said a prayer for the repose of her soul. So…half an hour? A little more?”
“Thank you. That helps,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “When Lloyd Magnuson returned…?”
“He was driving his toy car. He had a big square plastic bin, like a storage bin where you keep a child’s toys. I put the girl’s bones in there.”
“How was Lloyd?” Sheriff Kwinault’s tone was carefully neutral.
Temo’s tone matched hers. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Was he sad for the death?” Kellen asked. “Did he seem frightened of the remains?” The caffeine and sugar helped her remember the scene, to get past her own horror and focus on the memory of Lloyd Magnuson at that moment.
“Frightened?” Temo still used that cautious voice.
“Most people don’t like the idea of driving with a corpse,” Kellen said.
A pause that went on long enough to make Kellen start to speak, and Sheriff Kwinault decisively signaled that she should not.
Finally, Temo said, “He was singing.”
“Singing?” Sheriff Kwinault exchanged glances with Kellen and Max. “Happy songs?”
“Yes. Rap songs. From Hamilton. He… Like maybe he had a drink while he was at the resort. Liquid courage, maybe?” Temo was verbally squirming.
“Something more than liquor?” Sheriff Kwinault asked. “Maybe drugs?”
“Um…”
Kellen leaned forward and stared at the phone as if she could make eye contact, convince him. “It’s okay, Temo. Tell her.”
“Sí. Yes. He was high on something.”
“Do you know what?” Kellen asked.
“I do not know. I didn’t ask.” In a fierce and bitter tone, Temo said, “He was a cop.”
Sheriff Kwinault said, “I understand.”
At her mild tone, Temo calmed a little. “I knew he shouldn’t be on the road, but I’m brown. I’ve got an accent. I’m not from around here and I didn’t try to stop him.”
Sheriff Kwinault nodded. “I do understand. I promise I do. Please go on.”
“I asked if he was okay. He said he was great, but his skin was flushed red and his eyes were very bright for a man who was going to take a corpse on a drive.”
“All right. Then what happened?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“Then…nothing. I loaded the plastic box into the back of his toy car, and he drove away.”
“You loaded the box into the car,” Kellen repeated back at him.
“Yes. He almost forgot, so I did it.” Now Temo let his curiosity take over. “Why?”
“That’s all. Thank you. If I need to talk to you again, I’ll call. Is that all right?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“Sí. As you wish. I will be here. He was a very weird man, but no matter. He didn’t deserve death.” Temo hung up.
For the first time since they’d started the call, Max returned to the desk and pulled up a chair. “We know that Lloyd was fine when Kellen left the scene. We know Lloyd was pumped full of heroin when he crashed his car. In between those two truths, we have some possibilities.”
“He came back to the resort and, faced with driving a corpse to Virtue Falls, gave in to his addiction,” Sheriff Kwinault said.
“Where’d he get the heroin?” Kellen asked.
“From his car?” Max suggested. “He’d already bought it off-site and had been fighting the need to use it? Alternately, someone at the resort offered it to him.”
Kellen felt sick. “Who?”