Читаем The Hunter полностью

“It’s a shock,” he says, “seeing someone dead. I’ve done it plenty of times, and it still doesn’t come easy. Specially when you’re not expecting it.”

Trey considers this, methodically biting the crust off her bread to leave the soft middle for last. “It was weird, all right,” she says in the end. “Not like I woulda expected.”

“What way?”

Trey thinks that over for a long time. A few farmers are out in their fields, but the road is still empty; they’ve only passed one other car, some guy in an office shirt starting off early on a long commute. There’s a good chance no one else has come across Rushborough yet.

When Cal’s stopped waiting for an answer, Trey says, “I thought it’d be worse. I’m not being hard or nothing, not like ‘Ah, no big deal to me.’ It was a big deal. Just not in a bad way.”

“Well,” Cal says. “That’s good.” He’s finally put his finger on how she seems: calm. She’s calmer than she’s been since the day her dad showed up. He can’t interpret this.

“He was only a shitehawk anyway,” Trey adds.

Cal swings the car off the road onto the mountain track. It’s unpaved, narrow and gritty; gorse whips at the car windows, and puffs of dust rise around his tires. He slows down.

“Kid,” he says. “I gotta ask you something, and I don’t want you flying off the handle.”

Trey looks over at him, chewing, her eyebrows twitching down.

“If you had anything to do with this—anything at all, like even if you kept watch for someone and you didn’t know what he was gonna be doing—I need to know now.”

Trey’s face shutters over instantly. Her wariness makes Cal sick to his stomach. “How come?”

“ ’Cause,” Cal says. “We’re gonna do things differently, depending on that.”

“Differently how?”

Cal figures maybe he should tell her a lie, but he’s not going to do it. “If you had nothing to do with it,” he says, “we’re gonna phone the Guards. If you did, we’re gonna load the guy into the back of this car, take him up the mountain, dump him in a ravine, and go on about our day.”

To his utter surprise, when he takes a sideways glance at Trey, her face has cracked into a huge grin. “Some cop you are,” she tells him.

“Yeah, well,” Cal says. Several layers of relief flood through him with such force he can hardly drive. “I’m retired; I don’t have to behave myself any more. Lemme hear you say it: did you have anything to do with this?”

“Nah. Found him, just.”

“Well, damn,” Cal says. The relief has left him almost giddy. “You gotta go and make things complicated. It would’ve been a lot simpler to dump the motherfucker up the mountain.”

“I can say I done it if you want,” Trey offers obligingly.

“Thanks, kid,” Cal says, “but no thanks. I’ve got a little good behavior left in me. I’ll take a look, and then we’ll hand him over to the Guards.”

Trey nods. The prospect doesn’t seem to bother her.

“You’re gonna have to tell them about finding him.”

“No problem,” Trey says. “I wanta tell them.”

The promptness and certainty of that make Cal look over at her, but she’s gone back to her breakfast. “I know you don’t want me sticking my nose in,” he says. “But maybe, when you talk to the cops, don’t say anything about gold. They’re gonna hear about it sooner or later, but they don’t need to hear that you were involved, at least not outa your own mouth. I’m not even certain what kinds of illegal were going on all up in there, what with everyone and his gramma trying to rip off everyone else, but I’d rather you didn’t find out the hard way. I’m not saying lie to the police, kid”—when he catches Trey’s widening grin—“I’m just saying. If they don’t bring it up, you don’t need to either.”

The advice is almost definitely unnecessary—not bringing things up is one of Trey’s main skills—but Cal feels like making sure. Trey eye-rolls so hard that her whole head gets involved, which reassures him.

They’ve come within view of the fork, with the unidentifiable huddle at its center. Cal parks the car. The road here is a double dirt track, dry and pebbly, divided by a patchy line of dying grass.

“OK,” he says, opening the car door. “Stay on the grass.”

“I went on the dirt before,” Trey says. “Right up close to him. Are the Guards gonna give me hassle?”

“Nah. You did what was natural. There won’t be any footprints for us to mess up anyway, not on this surface. I’m just playing it safe.”

They come to a stop ten or twelve feet from the body, where the road broadens out into the fork. Rushborough looks out of place to the point of impossibility, a thing with no relationship to this mountain, like he was dropped from one of Bobby’s UFOs. His fancy clothes are awkwardly stretched and twisted by his curled pose. The air is too still even to lift his hair.

“Banjo found him first,” Trey says, at Cal’s shoulder. “He howled.”

“He’s a good dog,” Cal says. “He knows to tell you when something’s important. This how you left the guy? Anything different?”

“Nah. There’s flies on him now, just.”

“Yeah, well,” Cal says. “That happens. You stay here. I’m just gonna take a closer look.”