Prologue #2
Detective Sergeant James Macpherson showed up moments later with two uniformed constables to take custody of the known Covent Garden Rolex Ripper.
“His partner fled on foot,” Phillips said.
“We nicked him around the corner, running down the Strand,” DS Macpherson said.
He shook his head and gave Cutter a mischievous grin.
“Your headquarters warned us you could be a bit of a Tarzan.” He nodded toward the pub.
“What say you two Yanks buy me a pint and we’ll keep this little escapade to ourselves?
You know, avoid an international incident and all that. ”
The Alaska Airlines flight from Seattle touched down in Anchorage shortly after six p.m., crabbing into a heavy cross wind. The plane bounced twice, hard, rattling overhead bins and startling Cutter out of a wakeful stupor.
A flight attendant’s voice came over the speaker, dead calm. “That wasn’t the pilot’s fault,” she said. “That was the ass-fault.”
It would have been funny had Cutter not heard it so many times. Air travel in Alaska was often a rodeo.
The flights from Heathrow to Seattle, then Seattle to Anchorage, had been long and tedious.
Sitting nearly on top of each other in the cheapest seats the government could buy, Cutter and Chief Phillips passed the time with conversation, catching up on each other’s lives in a detail that the daily grind of work rarely allowed between chief and supervisor.
He’d spent the remainder of the time reading and working the budget. His late brother Ethan’s former employer had provided a sizable settlement after his murder, but that money was for his kids. Becoming a new father saw Arliss making a lot of lists.
Nearing exhaustion by the time they landed, he stuffed his Moleskine notebook in the backpack at his feet and grabbed his phone from the seat pocket.
He took a long moment to stare pensively at his background screen—a recent photo of Mim in a T-shirt and leggings, her hand under a very pregnant belly—and then switched out of airplane mode.
As usual, a cascade of emails, texts, and voicemails began to download at once. He scrolled past the incoming messages and called home to check in. Good news would keep, and bad news tracked him down.
Mim answered on the first ring.
“Hey there,” Cutter said.
“Hey yourself,” she said.
“We just landed in Anchorage. I need to drop Jill off at the federal building, then head home. Less than an hour with any luck.”
He was met by silence.
“Missed you.” He sent the words out like a probing expedition.
More silence.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Mim said. “You must have just turned on your phone.”
“I did,” Cutter said, bracing himself. “Why? Is there something I should—”
“I’m guessing you have a ton of missed calls.”
“I do …” A sense of dread washed over him. Mim wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “What’s going on?”
“I just got a call from your ex-wife.”
“You’re kidding—”
“I’m dead serious.” She gave an amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to ask which ex-wife.”
“Okay. …” Cutter groaned. That was a fair point. It could have been any of his three exes—all of whom looked suspiciously like Mim. His fourth marriage probably would have worked out, but she’d passed away from breast cancer shortly before his brother was killed. “I’ll bite. Which one was it?”
“Number three,” Mim said. “The federal court clerk in Miami. Sounds like one of your Marshals Service buddies gave up our home number when you didn’t answer your cell right away.”
“She’s not … I mean we’re not—”
Mim gave another tight chuckle. “I’m not mad, Arliss, just seven months pregnant—which at my age can sound like the same thing. Call her back. It must be something important for her to contact you out of the blue.”
“Mim—”
“I can’t really blame her. If I was in trouble, I’d call you, too. Now, drop Jill off at her car and then hurry home. You can rub my feet while you tell me what this is all about. …”
Cutter ended the call and checked his voicemail. Sure enough, there was a voice message from a 305 number. Joellen’s number. Wife number three.
He closed his eyes and hit Play to be greeted by a timid Southern voice—much less snarky than he remembered.
“Hey big guy. Joellen here. I’m … sorry to bother you after …
what has it been? I just … Look, I’m on my way to Alaska and I …
I think I’m in a little bit of trouble. Probably just being paranoid, but I think I’m being followed.
Anyway. Hope you are well. I’m on a cruise ship, but I should have service.
I’ll leave my phone on. Please call me back, Arliss. I’m really—”
The voicemail ended in midsentence.
Cutter stared at his phone, transfixed, while the plane lumbered toward the gate.
Chief Phillips gave him a stiff elbow. She raised her voice just above the whispered hiss of the aircraft. “I said, are you okay?”
He shook his head, coming out of the stupor. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just thinking about something Grumpy used to say.”
“What’s that?”
“Sooner or later, the past hunts us down.”
“A wise man, your grandfather,” the chief said.
“Yep.” Cutter beat his head softly against the headrest. “I’m pretty sure my past is about to bludgeon me senseless.”