As Dalton searches, I take a few steps in the other direction, one eye always on Cypher. I've gone maybe five when a breeze passes, bringing with it a scent that stops me.
Dalton notices, and when I glance over, he motions for me to pursue it as he watches Cypher.
I go about twenty steps before Dalton says, "Ty? Up. Walk between us."
As Cypher follows, he says, "You forgot to tell me you'll have a gun pointed at my head, in case I try to run."
"If it goes without saying, I don't say it. And the gun's at your back. Head's not a sure enough target."
"You really don't get humor, do you? That was a perfect opportunity for an insult, something about even my head not being a big enough target."
"Like I said, I don't mention anything that goes without saying."
We travel about another twenty paces, and I stop. I swivel. I inhale. I head to the right, cutting through thick brush. Then I spot something in the undergrowth. Something raw and bloody, peeking from under the snow. I crouch and brush off a layer of snow to see a skull with half its face torn off, eye missing, teeth clenched in a death's-head grin.
Cypher chuckles. "Well, now, seems you hired your detective for her pretty face. Can't say I blame you, though. That's a mighty fine rabbit you found there, girl. Dig up the rest. Maybe you can detect what killed it."
"What's your weapon of choice?" I ask. "Besides your hands?"
"You gonna challenge me to a duel?"
"Snare and knife," Dalton says. "Ty likes to get up close and personal with his prey."
"Then you missed this one." I brush back more snow to reveal the snare on its half-eaten leg. "You left it for the scavengers." I peer around. "Have you been hunting on Silas's property? Was that the source of the dispute? Or did you kill him and then settle in?"
"I said I never killed him. True fact, ma'am. That's my snare, 'cause I was bunking down with Silas for the winter. Paid in advance for the privilege, which is why I figure I can keep living here during his unforeseen absence."
I eye him. I don't buy the I-never-lie bullshit. To pull that off, all you need to do is establish a reputation for honesty while saving your falsehoods for when you really need them.
I rise and say, "Shouldn't waste your food."
"Waste? I was feeding the local wildlife. Act of charity."
"You tortured this local wildlife. Maybe someone should snare and leave you, see if you like it. Or drop you in a pit, leave you to rot."
I carefully watch his reaction, but he only says, "Silas was the one who liked trapping with pits. Which is fucking stupid with the permafrost. I always said he should switch to snares."
"Pits can be deep enough if you find the right terrain. Plenty of deep chutes in these mountain caves."
"What would you trap in them? Wood rats? Big critters don't roam the caves. They just use the entrances for shelter." He looks at Dalton. "You really do keep her around for ornamental value, don't you?"
"This isn't what I smelled," I say, nodding at the rabbit as I continue on. "It's buried under snow. The scent suggests something bigger. Which could just mean a deer or caribou or wolf or bear. If it was, I think I'd pick up the musk, too, but down south, I was in homicide, not animal control."
"Homicide? Seriously? Minority hiring at work, huh? How old are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"
"Thirty-one."
"Huh. That's not so bad. Still young, but I knew a chick in homicide, around your age. Came closer to catching me than anyone else. Always figured it was 'cause she had to be better than the boys to get the job."
When he'd started grumbling about minority hiring, I'd been ready for the usual intimation that I only got my job because I fill both the gender and visible minority quotas--two-for-one special! I can't shove Tyrone Cypher squarely into the asshole box he seems to fit, and that's never comfortable.
Cypher is, well, a cipher. Which makes me suspect he had a say in his new surname.
I keep walking and sniffing. The smell of decomposing flesh gets stronger, and I'm focusing on that and then ...
And then the smell vanishes. I stop. I turn around, but I still can't smell it, and even when I retreat a few paces, the scent eludes me.
"Want a clue?" Cypher says. "Just ask nicely."