"No," he says as I return with the water. "But the urge to kill is . . . People often use the analogy of hunger or thirst. I prefer sex. Most of us enjoy it, and it satisfies a need, yet we can survive without it. For a murderer who likes to torture his victims, a quick death is akin to shower masturbation with someone banging on the door telling you to hurry up. It won't scratch the itch, but it does the job in a pinch."
I set the bowl down along with more meat scraps. When the cub comes out from behind the couch, Mathias crouches and takes a piece, holding it out.
I make a noise in my throat, and he says, "That is an excellent Momma Wolf impression, Casey."
"You know what I mean."
"Oh, but I do. The same thing Momma Wolf would. Watch myself because you have not yet decided whether I pose a threat to your little one." He feeds the cub. "Are we certain Brady murdered Val?"
"He murdered Brent."
"Which is not the same thing. And yet it is to you, isn't it? If he murdered your friend Brent, then you are not wasting time wondering if he is also responsible for Val. You will determine that when you have the body, but for now, it does not matter."
"Should it?"
"I suppose not."
I want to snap, Then why bring it up. I don't. He's only nudging doubts I don't want nudged. Brent is dead. There is no question that Brady shot him. But the question of intent is murkier. The gun went off during a fight. I want to say that doesn't matter. Death as a result of an armed robbery is still homicide. Brady also failed to do anything to help Brent after he'd been shot. He ground his fist into the injury. Therefore, he must be the monster his stepfather claims he is.
Yet I keep hearing him in the clinic, telling me not to test him, not to underestimate his desperation.
Desperate enough to take a hostage. Desperate enough to threaten to kill me. Desperate enough to waylay Brent in hopes of finding Jacob.
And Val?
When I realized she'd been in the water for a while, I jumped to the conclusion this proved Brady killed her. Of course it doesn't. In fact, if I'm being brutally honest, the location of her corpse suggests he might not be the culprit. While it's possible that Brady led her up the mountainside and then killed her, I don't see the point of that. My theory was that her body had been dragged upstream by a large predator.
Yet is it not equally likely that Val herself fled in the wrong direction? That she escaped Brady, or he let her go, and she ran toward the nearest landmark? Climbed the mountain hoping for a good vantage point and then slipped into the gorge?
I don't want to think that. I need the simple answer for now--that Brady murdered her and therefore, if I see him, I am free to shoot.
He killed Brent. He killed Val. He is a killer. The end.
35
Dalton returns at dinner hour. They didn't find Val. The stream is too narrow and shallow to miss her body, but there are several pools along the way. We have no equipment for diving, and the glacial water is still too cold for sustained searching. So they return, tired, frustrated, and empty-handed.
Dalton finds me in our house. I'm taking a shower with Storm--kind of--having trained her to lie with her head inside the partially open door so she can enjoy the spray without actually getting in with me.
Afterward, I'm dressing while packing a bag. He's too preoccupied to notice the latter.
"I've decided you're right," he says as he lounges on the bed, watching me scurry about in my bra and panties.
"Am I?"
"About Jacob, that is. There are other reasons he might abandon camp temporarily. Bears for one. And I didn't see his bow. He might have been out with that, got led off by good hunting."
"Uh-huh." I tuck one of his shirts into the bag.
"Even if Brady did get the jump on him, that doesn't mean he kept him. Jacob isn't some kid wandering the forest. He knows how to take care of himself."
"He does." I grab toothbrushes and paste from the bathroom. Then I start pulling on my jeans and shirt.
"But if it wasn't easy--or safe--to escape, Jacob would do the smart thing and give Brady what he wants. Lead him in the general direction of the nearest community. It'd take a fucking week to walk there. But that's a week for Jacob to escape."
"True." I heft the bag. "Needs marshmallows."
"Marshmallows?"