North Country(95)

“How did you miss that?” Jon laments from his sprawled position on the couch as Montreal gets its first goal only a minute into the game.

Holt hovers behind him, watching with arms folded.

“You don’t even like the Leafs,” I accuse, pushing the door shut to keep in the warmth. As with everything, Jon is Calgary Flames to the core.

“No, but I dislike Montreal more.” He lifts his bottle of beer in salute as I kick off my boots and shed my winter coat, tossing it on a hook .

“Hey.” Logan’s perched on a barstool in front of the small counter that separates the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, scrolling through video feed on a laptop. The heavy winter gear is gone and he’s in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that hugs his torso and biceps in a delicious way.

A flutter stirs in my stomach. Thank God Jon and Holt are here to serve as a buffer. “Find anything?”

“Nothing.” His eyes drag over my bulky sweater and leggings before his hand reaches out, wordlessly beckoning Duke.

“Logan tells me we’ve got a real problem,” Holt says. “Someone’s been messing with our fences.”

“The evidence points to that, yeah.”

Jon mutes the game and peels himself off the couch. “I just don’t see it.”

“What do you mean? You saw the pictures we took of the fence posts. And these.” Logan holds up the mangled staples we found buried in the snow, now stored in a plastic bag I had in my pocket. They were all we located while sifting. I imagine more will appear with the spring thaw.

“But one of the cameras would have picked up something. I get alerts to notify me of all movement.” Jon shakes his head to punctuate his doubt. “If someone was on the property that shouldn’t be here, I’d know.”

What about someone who should be here? “Not if they knew where the cameras were so they could avoid them.”

“What are you thinking, Emery?” Holt asks, as if sensing my thoughts.

I have my suspicions, but I want more information before I start voicing accusations. “The other time the wolves got into the pastures … when was that?”

“I can tell you in a sec.” Jon’s fingers fly over his computer, opening an aptly named folder labeled “Wolves in pasture” to list the date in question.

“And the day the gate was left open, who was using it?”

“Logan,” Jon answers quickly, earning Logan’s glower.

“And who was working?”

Jon shrugs. “All of us. ”

“Including Robbie?”

“Yeah. His last day was yesterday. He’s been showing up, even though he knew we’d be letting him …” Jon’s words drift as he puts two and two together. “You think Robbie did this?”

“How long has he worked here?”

Holt’s brow creases in thought. “About five years. Fresh out of high school. We were looking for someone to do grunt work and Mak knew the kid’s parents.” There’s doubt in his voice as he adds, “The kid’s not the sharpest tool in the box, but he’s a hard worker.”

“Clearly not if he used a claw hammer to pry out those staples,” Logan mutters.

“Robbie?” Jon’s mouth gapes with disbelief. “But the kid is so quiet.”

“Being quiet doesn’t mean he can’t be angry or hold a grudge about losing his job. Even more so if he’s worked hard and earned his place, only to be let go as soon as the convict comes home. No offense,” I add after a beat.

“Some taken,” Logan says dryly.

“We found three other spots where the fence had been tampered with, and all three were parts that Logan had worked on. It’s as if someone’s trying to make him look incompetent.”

“Like I can’t build a fence or remember to close a gate,” Logan adds, glaring knowingly at his brother-in-law.

“Now that you mention it, Mak did say Robbie’s seemed unusually quiet these last weeks,” Holt says.

Silence hangs in the apartment as they digest my theory.

“Well, hell! I just wrote him a shining recommendation letter!” Jon blurts.

“There’s nothing here to tie Robbie to it.” I wave a hand at the computer and the nearby staples. We won’t find prints on any of them, not when they sat in the snow. “But I’d say it’s a good hunch. Our best bet is to see if he’ll admit to it.”

“As if he would,” Jon scoffs.

“He might. People with a conscience can get really uncomfortable when they sit with their sins long enough.”

Holt scratches his cheek in thought. “I guess I’ll give him a call tomorrow— ”

“No. I’ll have a chat with him.” I’m better at getting confessions out of people. “What I need you to do is file a police report. Don’t mention Robbie. Just include the facts.”

Jon groans. “Is that really necessary—”

“Yes. Forget the wolves getting in. If your herd gets out, people could get seriously hurt and you could be held liable.” These animals are not like the wandering cows that my officers wrangle off the roads. They’ll run you right over just to get away. “But if you’ve reported it and something bad happens, at least it shows you weren’t ignoring the problem.” And Robbie, if he’s the culprit, will be fucked.