‘Okay.’ Dana pored over it, primarily looking for roads and contours.
She didn’t think Nathan had some benign benefactor leaving goodies at prearranged drops every month. Dana wasn’t picturing him trapping rabbits and gutting fish – she believed he stole absolutely everything he ate or used. This, as much as the killing, was why Nathan Whittler was sorry: in his moral code, she was convinced, they were somehow practically on a par. It made her move away a little from the idea that Nathan was a consummate, experienced killer who’d remained hidden for that reason. The ‘terrible things’ he’d confessed to Dana early on, she believed, referred to multiple acts of low-scale burglary and theft. The location of his cave would be related to this. While Nathan would have wanted to be in the wilderness, he’d have needed to be someplace that didn’t require going up and over three mountains to get anywhere.
‘Now this one’ – she tapped at an area in the high mountains, a col between two peaks – ‘is the least likely. Coronet Heights is too far away, too steep, too wild. To get to anywhere he might burgle is a monumental hike. He’d be limited in what he could steal and carry. Too isolated, I reckon.’
‘No, you’re right, I think,’ said Lucy. ‘So which of the other two should we start with?’
‘This one’s a little too close: Miller’s Point is… a kilometre from this beach, and I know that gets plugged with tourists. Discussed this earlier with Billy, and I’m not inclined towards it. There’s a boat-hire place there in the summer – someone would have seen Whittler, and anyway, it would all have driven him crazy. Reggae music, jet skis, drunks in canoes – he’d freak.’
‘Which leaves this Goldilocks area here – the Dakota Line.’ Lucy’s finger swept a chain of four large ponds and stopped at a kilometre of shoreline along a finger of water. Piermont Lake was at the northern end of Baker National Park – perhaps not majestic enough for casual tourists needing selfies, nor hardcore enough for serious hikers and adventurers.
‘Is that all Baker to the north as well?’ asked Dana.
‘Uh, nope. After the river there, it’s Silver Ridge State Forest.’
‘Not that I have a clue what the difference is,’ said Dana. ‘I mean, it’s all wilderness, basically.’
Lucy leaned in. ‘Lookie here – no cliff faces, judging by the contours, so no climbers. The opposite shore is swampy – maybe birdwatchers, but not much to see. No road access to Piermont Lake at all. The nearest road is maybe… five clicks from the shore.’
‘Yes,’ replied Dana. ‘From that western side, eight kilometres’ tramp to Jensen’s, but that might be the closest store. And there’s surely bound to be some kind of trail from the shore to the road, even though nothing’s marked.’
‘How does he usually get to civilisation? Walk?’
‘Maybe hiking. Perhaps he boats it to the southern end, then hikes. Get Mikey to pull together the search team, please, and we’ll think how to tackle it. Sunny today – might use the drone.’
Lucy carefully folded the map. As they reached the door, Dana turned. ‘Luce? Thanks for listening, and keeping all this to yourself.’
‘You’re welcome. Discreet is my middle name. I keep it totally separate from my other names.’ She laughed as they came out into the corridor. ‘Now, you must have seen what I did there.’
Dana smiled and threw the comment back over her shoulder. ‘I surely did, I surely did.’
Chapter 13
Bill was not one for case conferences. He preferred to control the investigation with a series of one-to-ones. It left him at the centre of the web: he could always be sure what was said to whom and what they were required to do. But occasionally he relented. Whenever Dana asked him to relent.
Already the incident room was amassing heavy air, partly organised detritus and a sense of expectation. In a semi-rural area like this, homicides were few and far between and often easy to detect. Usually domestic, or occasionally neighbours feuding, it was seldom they needed to go deeply into the background of complete strangers. The sense of a tragic waste of a life sat uncomfortably with the tingle of professional anticipation.
Dana pretended to be studying her notes ahead of time; in reality, she was fending off her own mind. This was still her Day: still the morning of it, in fact. Her brain snapped like a dog at the end of a chain. She underlined some notes for no other reason than to physically move – she felt calcified, unsteady. Her vision floated for a second then she swallowed hard. Best to get on with it and pray she could cope.
Along one wall was a series of whiteboards. One was headed ‘Cassavette’: a potted history and scanned photos of Lou and Megan from their kayaking triumph. In black: known facts. In blue: likely data that hadn’t been verified. In red: supposition and questions. The same system for the next whiteboard, headed ‘Nathan Whittler’. The third board held underpinning investigation data: who was responsible for what, contact details, information on duty rosters and support such as Forensics and Tech.
Dana loved preparing for these but hated doing them. She always felt she was treading a poor line between giving everyone their say and providing firm direction and leadership. She believed Bill and – especially – Mike did them better. But the lead detective couldn’t avoid leading the detecting.
‘What we know so far,’ she declared, quelling the low-level murmurs. ‘Lou Cassavette – thirty-five, owner of Jensen’s Store, on the Old Derby Road. Bought the place around a year ago. Thought staff were stealing stock then decided instead it was a burglar. Camped out last night in the stockroom. Someone entered the store, possibly via a window; Lou was stabbed at 0530 this morning. One entry wound, no hesitation.’ She pointed at a forensics photo. ‘The knife is still unfound – we’re doing a close search. I believe it’s still in the vicinity. Arrested one Nathan Whittler, who was kneeling by the body. He has the victim’s blood on his hands, and there is significant evidence that he was the burglar. No known connection between the two men.’
She paused, wondering if the silence was rapt attention or merely politeness. Dana took the bull by the horns.
‘You might be asking yourselves why we’re bothering to investigate at all. Why this isn’t a slam-dunk.’
The mutters and shuffled movement told her she was dead-on.
‘Lou Cassavette died this morning, at someone’s hand. He is the one we owe a duty of care: he deserves the truth to be known. It’s easy here to get drawn into just one story, just one narrative. That isn’t serving Lou Cassavette’s interests. A comprehensive and careful investigation, however, will do so. Let’s all keep that in mind.
‘The store was illegally entered via the window, but there’s no physical proof of who did so. Whittler is favourite. He could claim that he’s the burglar but not the killer. While Whittler was found in the store, there is no evidence that proves he stabbed Cassavette. If his fingerprints eventually turn out to be on the knife, he could conceivably have been trying to remove it. He has Cassavette’s blood on his hands – through gloves, mind – and nowhere else. That can be argued as an attempt at first aid – we have no splatter or spray. There are no other forensics – so far – relating him to the body prior to the stabbing. There are no fingerprints of his – yet – anywhere else in the store; nor are there fibres. Forensically speaking, he floated into the store, hovered above the dead body, maybe attempted first aid. And that’s it.