Last night, the ER folks kept me pretty busy at the hospital. Hypothermia and frostbite are common in upstate New York this time of year. Hunters and other outdoor enthusiasts mostly. The male nurse who took care of me had a wicked sense of humor, which I appreciated. This afternoon, I’m mostly recovered physically. The painkillers make me loopy, but they help with the cracked ribs and lingering headache, so I keep them handy. I’m doing well psychologically. It’s only when I’m alone that my mind drags me back to my wild run through the woods, the whine of the snowmobile engines, and the time I spent in the water, fighting for my life.

Betancourt pops back into his office a little too often, each time looking at me with shoddily concealed concern in his expression and some lame excuse for needing to talk to me.

“I’m still okay,” I mutter, hoping I manage the frown I was going for.

“I didn’t ask.” He grins unconvincingly. “Just FYI, I’ve been instructed to stay with you.”

I roll my eyes. “I should have figured he’d call you.”

“So you two are…” He lets the sentence dangle.

“Yep.”

He clears his throat. “We’ll just pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”

I grin. “What conversation?”

He sobers as he slides into the chair at his desk. “I thought you should know, Chief. I just got word from the hospital. Dan Suggs is dead.”

It’s the first bit of new information I’ve received about the case since I’ve been here; Betancourt has kept me sequestered in his office since I arrived, obviously wanting to keep me focused on my statement. The news is a shock and I’m not exactly sure how to process it. “How?”

“I guess he knew how things were going to go down. Drove out to his favorite fishing lake. Put his thirty-eight in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”

“I never suspected him.” I don’t mention the fact that I’d enjoyed working with him. I’d trusted him. I’d actually liked him.

“No one did. Dan had been a cop for going on thirty years. He was highly respected. Not a mark on his record. Happily married. Who would’ve thought he was involved in something like that?”

I recall our strange last moments together. The way Suggs had looked at me when he told me they were going to kill me. I’d seen regret in his eyes. But whatever regret he’d been feeling wasn’t powerful enough to stop it. It hadn’t been enough for him to spare my life. Dan Suggs might’ve been sucked into the operation for reasons understood fully only by him. But he was still a dirty cop.

“What about Schrock?” I ask.

“Taken into custody without incident.”

“Yoder? Smucker?”