Claude Henry’s report wasn’t entirely accurate. They’d found MOST of Mr. Thomas.

A smattering of red and black and brown marred the riverbank as a sorry-looking recovery team pulled nets to shore. It was a grisly undertaking, made worse by the appearance of a car that didn’t belong on this side of the line.  

A gnarled branch served as leverage as I climbed up to meet the strangers that I knew were going to complicate whatever was happening. There were two men from the plant this time. The driver was a tall, husky man with a perfectly manicured beard in an expensive-looking suit, and his passenger was his opposite in nearly every way—short, balding and skeletally thin. He kind of freaked me out.

“‘Morning, madam mayor, ‘ the driver said.

His smile was bright enough to feel obscene after spending an hour sifting through mud and litter and what was left of Mr. Thomas. My stomach churned, and I jumped quickly from the thought, pushing it far from my mind. I’d gotten through the horrific task by pretending it was just litter and boat refuse.

“Not exactly good and not exactly morning, Mr….”

“Major. Major Dakota Harrison, “ he said, still grinning.

“Major. Statement stands.”

“Actually, only on one front. Time got away from me, but let the record show I said ‘mornin’’ not ‘good morning’.” He said and actually winked at me.

“What do you want, Major?”

“Ah, the cozy greetings are done, then. Fair enough. I am in charge of the Plant Investigative Police Division. Seems there is something worth investigating down there.” He motioned his head to the crew by the river.

I schooled my features, attempting to look as casual as he did. It was a little more of a task, covered in mud and blood. I waved toward the river with what I hoped was an air of nonchalance.

“Not really,” I said, “looks like a run-of-the-mill animal attack. The victim was pretty well known for hunting big game. Looks like it hunted back.”

I shrugged.

The Major tilted his head, brow arching just slightly. His green eyes locked me in place in the punctuated silence that hovered around us. I had the oddest sensation that I was being X-rayed.

“I think we will be the judge of what’s worth investigating.” Cut in the other man, “Move aside, Miss.”

I’d forgotten the Major’s scrawny counterpart entirely. His raspy order scraped down my skin and flared my barely leashed temper. Harrison didn’t look overly pleased either, though the look he cut to his partner was fleeting before he assumed his controlled, polite mask. I tucked that observation away for later use. This duo had cracks.

“This is Russle Stevens. He works in the Office of Plant Liaison,” the Major supplied.

“Charmed,” I said.

“Clearly,” Harrison said with an uptilt of his mouth. “Would you be so kind as to lead us to the scene?”

“I don’t know where it happened.” I admitted, deciding resistance wasn’t going to work, “Do you want to see his house? Or him? What’s left of him, I mean…”

I stared at the ground for a moment, pushing a wave of nausea down harder. When I looked up again, Mr. Stevens  was just staring with his arms crossed tight across his chest, but the Major gave a grim nod.

“The remains are here, right? Let’s start with that for the sake of proximity. Would you please lead the way?”

“Major, I don’t think we should get any closer; we don’t know what we are dealing with.” Said Stevens.

He shifted on his feet. What a cowardly little weasel.

Harrison fell in line as I climbed back down the ridge to the carved bank, but Stevens remained on the ledge.

“Harold, this is Major Harrison. Major, this is Harold Bentz, I guess you’d say he’s Charon’s investigator director or whatever the hell you said your job was.”

Harrison lifted his eyebrows but reached out to shake Harold’s hand. Harold stared at his palm until he dropped it.

“What do you want?” Asked Harold.

“Afternoon tea?”

Harold was not amused. The two men talked for a short while before the Major apparently decided it was a fruitless effort. His relentless grin was reduced, and a deep line creased his brow when he reached my position on the bank.

“I don’t think there is much to investigate there, especially with Harold being such a talker.”

“You’d probably win more friends if you’d shut the fuck up with your jokes in the middle of a murder investigation.”

“Ah, but Madam Mayor, I thought this was a hunting accident?”

Fuck.

My idiocy was enough to bring back his perfect little smirk, but it only lasted to the parking lot because Stevens had left, and the Major was stranded. I watched as he threw his arms out and then ran his hands through his hair. He took a breath and turned to face me, his utterly calm and genial facade restored.

I knew what was coming before he even asked. I had the room; I’d swapped my bike for the suburban before I came to help Harold. But I’d rather meet Mr. Thomas’ end than help the Mp’s.

When he turned, he flashed what I’m sure was his most cunning smile, but the effort was lost on me. Nothing he could say now would convince me to drive him anywhere but straight into the river.

“I’ll tell you what ate your friend if you give me a lift to his house.”

Well. Except maybe that.