Читать книгу Mountain Rampage - Scott Graham - Страница 15

SEVEN

Hemphill waited, the photograph outstretched. Chuck held his breath and waited, too.

Hemphill cleared his throat. “I told you we might need to check in with you again.”

Chuck inclined his head. The members of Team Nugget edged away from the officer to stand with Kirina and Team Paydirt near the collapsed cabin. Clarence remained at Chuck’s side, the mountain rising behind them.

Officer Hemphill, in his early thirties, stood a tad under six feet in his black leather sneakers. His large front teeth, pillowy cheeks, and flared nostrils gave him the inquisitive appearance of a squirrel.

Hemphill’s pant legs were dusty from his hike to the mine. A pair of sunglasses hung from the front pocket of his creased shirt below his brass badge, and a department-issue windbreaker was draped over his arm. A baseball cap rode low on his forehead, the cap’s crown embroidered with the gold letters EPPD. Hemphill jiggled the photograph, causing sunlight to glint off its glossy coating. “I’m hoping you’ll recognize this. We asked the workers in Falcon House, but none of them claimed it.”

“Where was it?” Chuck asked.

“Outside the back door to Raven House.”

Chuck’s chest constricted. Should he cover for Clarence? No. Lying to Hemphill would lead to no good. Besides, everybody—the residents of Falcon House included—knew who the knife belonged to.

Over the summer, Clarence had spent many of his evenings whittling with his knife while he hung out on the front steps of Raven House, visiting with the field school students and the international workers from Falcon House next door. He made no secret of storing the knife in his backpack, which he left stacked with the rest of the students’ packs in the unlocked Raven House common room each evening, ready to be stowed in the van first thing in the morning for the drive to the mine site.

Clarence spoke at Chuck’s side. “That’s my knife.”

Hemphill showed no surprise. He lowered the picture. “Can you tell me why we found it on the ground behind your dormitory with blood all over it?”

Clarence looked straight at Hemphill. “I don’t know how it ended up where you found it, and I have no idea how it got blood on it, either.”

The officer tapped the photograph against the side of his leg. “But you say it’s yours.”

“I’m saying it’s mine because it is mine, or one that’s identical to it, anyway.”

“Where’d you last see it?”

Clarence pointed at the group’s packs, lined at the edge of the site. “I keep it in my pack.”

“Do you mind?”

Clarence led Hemphill and Chuck across the site to the daypacks. Kirina and the students looked on in silence.

Clarence picked out his backpack, a black North Face with a large compartment for food, water, and clothing, and a small, outer pocket for sundries. He checked the outside pocket and came up with nothing. He rummaged inside the main compartment, extracting his rain jacket, a sack lunch, and a liter bottle of water, but no knife.

He turned to Hemphill. “It’s gone.”

“You live in Raven House, right?”

Clarence nodded.

“Any reason it might be back in town, in your room?”

“I keep it in my pack. I use it to make the crew’s excavation sticks.”

In response to Hemphill’s furrowed brow, Clarence explained, “They’re for digging out and cleaning found objects. Everyone thinks trowels and dental picks are best, but for close-in work, you want wood because it doesn’t scratch. I make different sizes, with blunt and sharp points.”

“You know your way around a knife,” Hemphill observed.

Clarence’s eyes filled with fury. Before he could cut loose on the officer, Chuck jumped in. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Just an observation,” the officer said, his voice flat.

Chuck made no attempt to hide his anger. “Sounds like you’re making use of the same keen observation skills you used last night. Take a million pictures, keep my students up all night, and for what? A little bit of blood soaking into the ground.” He exhaled, attempting to calm himself. “Look, you and I both know what happened. Somebody took a chicken from the cafeteria, cut it up, dropped it, made a mess, whatever. Probably one of the cooks. He doesn’t want to admit to it because he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble.” Chuck pointed at Clarence’s pack. “A guy who would steal from the cafeteria would have no problem stealing somebody’s knife, too.”

“I considered that,” Hemphill said. “Then I got back to HQ, put a drop of the blood we collected on a slide, and stuck it under our microscope.”

“HQ,” Chuck mimicked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “CSI: Estes Park.”

Hemphill’s face flushed, but his voice remained steady. “I was a paramedic before I joined the department. It’s pretty simple, really. Red blood cells are distinctive from animal to animal. Pig to cow, cow to chicken.” He paused. “Chicken to human.”

Chuck straightened. “I take it your microscope told you something.”

“We won’t know for sure until we get the official test results back in a few days. But the red blood cells on the slide had the distinct donut shape that is unique to one creature and one creature only—Homo sapiens.”

“You’re saying last night’s blood was…is…human.”

“That’s the early indication.”

At Chuck’s side, Clarence drew a breath.

Chuck’s heart thumped hard in his chest. No wonder Hemphill was still on the clock after working the scene through the night—and why he’d deemed it worthwhile to hike all the way to the mine this morning. “But you don’t have a body, right?” Chuck asked. “And no one has turned up injured at the hospital?”

Hemphill’s silence provided the answer.

Clarence faced the police officer. “That’s my knife in your picture. You and I both know it.” His voice rose. “But I sure as hell didn’t stab anybody with it.”

Hemphill stiffened, his arms tight at his sides.

Chuck clenched and unclenched his jaw. “If you have no more questions,” he told the officer, “then I think we’re done here.”

Hemphill pivoted and held the photograph out to where Kirina and the students stood in a knot beside the excavated cabin site. “Can any of you tell me how this knife might’ve ended up behind your dorm building last night? Or how it could have gotten blood on it?”

Chuck opened his mouth, ready to break in before the students said anything incriminating. But what if one of them offered information that would free Clarence from suspicion? Chuck settled back on his heels.

Hemphill allowed several seconds to pass. When none of the students responded, he said, “Thank you for your attention.”

He turned and spoke only to Clarence. “We’ll be in touch.”