With the ranger occupied, Bruce and Constable Chadwick explored the hut. The petite constable disappeared in the back, and Bruce climbed the stairs. Alexa skirted the crowd and stood by the woodstove, its flames a primal refuge.
The ranger checked his clipboard and called, “Mr. and Mrs. Glock here? Mr. Willis?”
Alexa waved him over. “I’m Ms. Glock, remember? My brother, Charlie Glock, won’t be coming. He’s at the lodge.”
“Right, then.” The ranger had deep-set eyes. “What about this Mr. Willis? He at the lodge, too?”
Alexa lowered her voice. “I don’t know why he’s not here. We need to talk with him.” She didn’t know how much Bruce had told him. “He left Pompolona around ten. Maybe a little later.”
The ranger looked concerned. “It takes six or seven hours to trek here, and another ninety minutes if he detoured to Sutherland Falls. He should be along, but I’ll head out, have a look around.”
Alexa wondered if she should warn him that Stead might be dangerous.
Ranger Llano stuffed in another log. Alexa backed away from the flurry of sparks as Bruce descended the stairs. “Folks, our guest here has an announcement,” the ranger said loudly.
Bruce strode to the counter as the gathered hikers watched. Constable Chadwick joined him. Bruce introduced himself and the constable. “I am here to share some bad news. One of the Luxe Tours trampers, a woman, has died. We are investigating the circumstances.” He searched the shocked faces.
“How did she die?” one nurse asked.
“I’m unable to say,” Bruce said. “Constable Chadwick and I will speak with you individually. Maybe you have information that will shed light on the investigation. That’s why we are here.”
The trampers stayed quiet, solemn.
“Ms. Glock,” he pointed to her, “will take your fingerprints. This is voluntary.”
“Why?” a man asked.
“Process of elimination,” Bruce said.
Alexa watched the hikers’ faces as they turned to one another, asking silently if it was okay to give their prints. A couple of people shrugged; one of the Middle Eastern men looked afraid; a few people whispered.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Before we begin, I have another announcement. All bridges on the Milford Track are closed until they can be checked for safety. That means you’ll be evacuated from Dumpling Hut tomorrow morning. The track is closed.”
“Wait. Tomorrow is the last day,” a man said. “Why can’t we just hike out?”
Ranger Llano joined them. “Safety first,” he said. “There are two swing bridges between here and Milford Sound, and we want to test them.”
“Are zee bridges not safe?” the German woman asked.
“How will we get evacuated?” a nurse asked.
“By helicopter,” Bruce said.
Voices rose. Bruce ignored the clamor and motioned Alexa and Constable Chadwick to follow him into the skylight room. “We’ll work in here.” He set his briefcase and backpack on a chair and pulled a wooden table in front of it. “Constable Chadwick and I will talk to each tramper in this corner and then send them to you in that corner.”
Alexa set up a fingerprint station across the room. The lowness of the bench wasn’t ideal, but she was grateful for the overhead solar light. Movement through the window made her start. Someone on the way to the bathhouse, probably. She reviewed her purpose: fingerprint each hiker so that she could compare them with the murder-weapon prints later.
Bossy Boot Woman was first. Her two tween boys shadowed her, which Bruce allowed, but he motioned for her husband to wait in the other room.
“Your name, please, and where are you from?”
“Naomi Crew,” the mother said. “Perth.” The children introduced themselves, too. No, they hadn’t met or passed any Luxe hikers. “We choof off early,” the mother explained.
Alexa wondered what choof meant.
“Too early,” one kid said.
Bruce showed them a photo of Dr. Clark. The boys’ eyes got big. “She’s dead?”
“Did you see her on the hike?”
“No,” the mother answered.
“Think hard,” Bruce commanded. “What about between Prairie Shelter and Pompolona Creek?”
“No. I told you.”
Constable Chadwick checked them off on the list and went to retrieve the father.
Alexa fingerprinted the kids first. After three days of no baths, their fingers were dirty. She tried not to recoil. A clear print needed to be free of dirt or other particles. She was happy the new kit came with alcohol wipes and gave one to each boy. When they were clean, she proceeded. “Loops. You both have loops.”
“Is that good?” the shorter one asked.
They weren’t good or bad; sixty to sixty-five percent of people had loops. Diana Clark had loops. “They’re the best.”
The boys were crestfallen when she kept the cards, so she took their prints again so they could keep a set. “Are you sure you didn’t see that woman in the photo?”
They shook their heads in unison. “Did she blow up?” the short one asked.
“Did she get shot?” the other asked.
Video games, Alexa decided.
The father shared strong opinions about aborting the hike. “I’ll expect a partial refund,” he told Alexa, pressing so hard she had to repeat to get a clear print.
The nurse who made Alexa jokes told Bruce she didn’t remember seeing Dr. Clark. When she straddled Alexa’s bench, she said, “I remember your brother is from Asheville. I don’t see him.”
“He’s at the Luxe lodge.” Alexa took the young woman’s hand and pressed her pinkie—not too hard—into the ink. “It’s a long story.”
“What happened to the woman who died?” she asked.
“I can’t say.”
The other two nurses didn’t remember seeing Dr. Clark, either. Alexa took their prints and then listened as Bruce showed Diana’s photos to one of the Germans.
“She pass us on zee first day.”
Bruce looked alert. “Did you see her on Sunday?”
“Nein.”
Each time Alexa took a hiker’s fingerprints, she labeled the card with name, date, and case number. As a backup, she photographed each card with Clint’s camera. Outside the window, darkness gobbled the last light. She pulled her NC State sweatshirt over her T-shirt and cussed when she got ink on the sleeve. Postcard Woman was last. She sat heavily across from Bruce, as if exhausted. Bruce asked her name and where she was from.
She mumbled something.
“What?”
“Gina. Granger.”
Bruce waited.
“From Burswood.”
Bruce looked interested. “That’s the Auckland area, right?”
“She’s not on my list here,” Constable Chadwick interrupted. “Why aren’t you on the registration list?” Bruce asked.
Ms. Granger mumbled something about cancellations.
“Who are you hiking with?” Bruce asked.
“On my own.”
“Brave, that. Did you see this woman on the hike?” Bruce smoothed the photo of Dr. Clark and set it in front of her.
Her clumpy hair hid her face as she mumbled no.
“What about yesterday, between Prairie Shelter and the swing bridge?”
She shook her head dully.
“Did you ever meet Dr. Diana Clark or visit Quay Park Orthopedics in Auckland?”
She said no, and Bruce thanked her.
The woman’s chunky fingers were dirt-caked. Alexa handed her a wipe and watched Ms. Granger rub half-heartedly.
“Long day, right?”
Ms. Granger shrugged, and Alexa got to business.
When Ms. Granger left, Bruce sent Constable Chadwick to ask the ranger about how the cancellation list works. Then he turned to Alexa. “How is it that they shared the same track but nobody saw her? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil?”
Alexa shivered. “The huts and lodges are staggered. Except for the first day when everyone started at the same place, the independent hikers have a head start.”
“Just because they had a head start doesn’t mean one of them didn’t backtrack and wait.”
He had a point.
Bruce closed his notebook and stood. “Constable Chadwick and I will join Ranger Llano to look for Mr. Willis.”
“In the dark?”
“I have a VHF radio. If you need to get in touch, there’s one in the ranger’s hut. Make sure no one leaves.”
Alexa was not happy with “make sure no one leaves.” Was she supposed to act as a guard? Who would leave, anyway? She decided to act like she was a regular hiker. She cleaned up, collected her belongings, went into a back room, the darkness a surprise. The only lights were in the common area and skylight room. She fumbled for her flashlight and clicked it on. A set of bunk beds toward the back wall was unclaimed. She picked the bottom bunk, unpacked her sleeping bag, and spread it out. Where would Bruce sleep, she wondered? Would he find Stead Willis?
Two figures came into the room, their flashlight beams bouncing around. Alexa shone her light at the first one. The German woman squinted. “Sorry,” Alexa said.
“Das ist okay.”
They zipped their belongings into their packs and climbed into their sleeping bags, whispering softly to each other. Alexa found her travel mug and a tea bag. She’d hang out in the common room. Then she realized she wouldn’t be able to heat water; Charlie had their little stove. She checked her watch: nine thirty. What the heck. Tea would make her need to pee in the middle of the night, and that hadn’t gone well last time. She collected her toiletries, tiny towel, and crime kit—to keep it secure—and left through the rear door.
The bathhouse was connected to the hut by a covered walkway. Rain blew sideways, getting her damp.
The boys and their mom were using three of the sinks, their faces disembodied in the glow of Mom’s flashlight. Alexa stuffed her flashlight in her pocket, pushed up her sleeves, and washed her hands at the remaining sink, wincing at the cold water.
The boy next to her smiled shyly and showed her how he was keeping his inky thumb dry. She laughed—sneaky imp—as she readied her toothbrush.
Teeth clean, she followed the family out to the porch. They headed right, she headed left to the back of the building. A figure in a long raincoat slipped out of the bunk room as she approached. Alexa stepped against the building, expecting the person to pass on his or her way to the bathhouse. Instead, the person walked to the end of the porch and stepped into the rainy night.