Brackett turned on Northern Lights heading past Earthquake Park toward Cook Inlet and his waiting 11-38. Mental subjects could be tricky, but Officer Robertson had taught him well. He had this. Elated at his newfound freedom one moment, his heart sank when he heard who his backup was going to be.
Officer Fluke’s designator blinked to red on the MDT.
Reed Fluke… The one guy on the department Brackett would like to smack with a brick.
In many ways, the field training process was meant to be a gut-check, a way to see if would-be recruits were ready for this law enforcement job. The first four weeks were overwhelming – nothing was like they taught at the academy. Robertson was stern, but fair, making the time bearable. Fluke, Brackett’s second-phase FTO, was a pudgy nine-year veteran who seemed more interested in getting Brackett to quit than teaching him anything. Every night for the entire month, Fluke ordered Brackett to drive to the McDonald’s on Muldoon and pick up an application. It was clear, he said, that Brackett was never going to make it as a police officer. The senior officer had chalked it up to training – all in good fun – but Brackett imagined slashing the dipshit’s tires or, better yet, knocking out a couple of teeth. Fluke also happened to be on midshift, which meant that Brackett now had to work with the guy.
He groaned, rolled up his window, and shook off the momentary pity party as he turned right, into the Point Woronzof parking lot. Notoriously slow to respond to calls, Fluke was over five minutes away if he drove the speed limit. Brackett hoped to take care of everything before he even arrived.
Brackett slowed, scanning the area for his 11-38. The headlights of his patrol car played across two Subarus in the otherwise deserted lot. Two women, both of whom looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties – older than Brackett anyway – stood next to the hood of a green Outback. One wore blue sweats. Her face flushed, arms folded tightly across her chest, she rocked forward and back. Yep. An 11-38 all right. The other woman was also dressed in running clothes. She looked normal enough from the get-go, had an arm around the one in blue, attempting to console her. Brackett parked so he got some overflow from his headlights but he didn’t blind the ladies.
“It’s horrible,” the woman in blue said as soon as Brackett approached. It was the sort of blurted admission that a kid gave when caught red-handed at something. She continued to rock, eyes dazed and unfocused.
Brackett took a half step closer. He could see both women’s hands. No weapons. Still, weapons had a way of materializing out of nowhere. Maybe he should wait for backup… except that backup was Fluke, and gaining Fluke was like losing two good officers.
The second woman wore a wool beanie against the chill. She was tall, a few years older, and calm enough that Brackett assumed she hadn’t seen the same thing the other one had. She nodded to the rocking woman.
“She was here when I drove up. I could tell something was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me what until just a second ago.”
“Can I get your name?” Brackett asked the woman in the hat.
“Liz,” she said. “Elizabeth Rains. She told me her name is Toni. I’m sorry I didn’t let them know when I called nine-one-one… but she hadn’t told me yet—”
The rocking woman became more animated. “Don’t you understand?” She stared a thousand yards away into the darkness. “This is… awful… the worst…” She spoke in a half whisper, as if to lure Brackett in closer.
Liz Rains gave a visible shiver. She shot a look over her shoulder, toward the bluff and the trail Brackett knew led down to the lonesome gravel beach forty feet below.
Brackett raised a hand, keeping his voice firm but calm. Fear was contagious, and these ladies were scaring the shit out of him. He needed to get a grip on himself and the situation.
“What is it?” he asked. “What did you see?”
Toni shook her head, continuing to rock.
“A body,” Liz said. “I didn’t go down, but she says it’s a girl.”
“A dead girl?” Brackett said.
“Very dead girl,” Toni gasped, as if suddenly relieved that the burden of her find was now transferred to the authorities.
Brackett used the mic clipped to his vest to apprise dispatch of this new development and get an ambulance on the way, just in case. “And you’re certain she’s dead?”
Toni’s head snapped up and she began to laugh hysterically. “Oh yeah.”
“Show me,” Brackett said, trying to shake off the chill that ran down his spine. He pointed toward the shadow at the far corner of the parking lot that was the trailhead.
Toni hugged herself tighter and stared at him. “Not in a million years.”
A massive commercial airliner roared overhead, lifting off from Anchorage International directly across the road. It looked close enough to touch.
Brackett looked toward the parking lot entrance, surprisingly enough, wishing Fluke would roll up. He was plenty brave when it came to shootouts and fights, but he didn’t relish the idea of going down the trail all by himself. “A girl, you say?”
“I… I think,” Toni said. “I mean, there’s not much left of her.”
Sergeant Hopper pulled into the parking lot just ahead of Fluke. Hopper was a squat man, thick at the shoulders, big armed, but big legged to match, not like so many guys who focused on biceps and forgot leg day. Originally from Texas, he’d retained his thick accent and a dark, drooping mustache that completely obscured his mouth. It was outside policy, but was such a part of him none of the brass said anything about it.
Fluke sauntered over behind the sergeant, waddling ever so slightly, like he had bad knees.
Brackett groaned, ready to hang back and play rookie now that two senior officers were on scene. He gave the sergeant
