Page 100 of Backtrack

“That’s not what happened … Should I talk to a lawyer?”

“Do what you gotta do.” Cutter got to his feet. “This all make sense to you, Teariki?”

“It does,” Lola said. “Charging him with robbery won’t do at all. What do you reckon, Boss, second- or third-degree assault?”

Preston rattled his cuffs. “That’s a misdemeanor, right?”

“Would have been,” Lola said. “Except you had that club in your hand.”

“It was a stick!”

“Stick, club … that’s a distinction for the jury to chew on.” Cutter folded the whittler and stuffed it into his pocket. “Well, Teariki,” he said, tapping the nascent cedar carving against the table. “We have learned two things. This piece of wood is not an owl—and Bartholomew, here, is full of shit.” He stuffed the carving in his pocket, with the knife, ignoring Preston, glancing at Lola. “¿Listo?”

“Ready as, Boss,” she said.

Cutter turned at the door. “Anyone you want us to contact?”

Preston’s head snapped up.

“What?”

“You know,” Cutter said. “Phone a friend. I’m assuming you didn’t come on this cruise alone. I’m happy to call your shipmates and tell them where they can find you.”

Preston opened his mouth like he was about to speak, then stopped. “Nah,” he said. “You got it all wrong. It’s just me.”

“Suit yourself,” Cutter said. “KPD should have you in front of a judge by tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? What about the cruise!”

“That ship has sailed, so to speak.” Cutter chuckled. “Or it will have, by the time you’re arraigned. We’ll alert the onboard security office. They’ll gather up your stuff and leave it with the port authorities before they depart.”

“They got no right to go into my room.”

“I understand how you feel,” Lola said. “It is worrisome to have strangers rifling through your private togs. I reckon you never know what they might come across.”

“Get me that lawyer!”

Lola stared down at his legs and shook her head. “I cannot believe you own a gym …”

CHAPTER 45

“That’s not a ship,” Lola muttered as they walked along the wooden wharf. “That’s a space station …”

Floatplanes—mostly De Havilland Beavers and Otters—came and went from the water behindThePolar Starlike bees buzzing back and forth from a massive hive, carrying passengers out for flightseeing or bear-viewing excursions away from Ketchikan.

Crew members from all over the world lined the cordoned walkway along the wharf, handing wet face towels and offering squirts of hand sanitizer to those getting back on the ship. The line slowed as returning cruisers bottlenecked at the top of the ramp, waiting their turn to pass through screening.

Joellen scanned her key card, which brought up her photo on a screen for security personnel to visually compare with her face. Cutter and Lola badged the uniformed team working the X-ray.

Two minutes later, a tall dark man, with black glasses and a ramrod-straight bearing, appeared at the checkpoint. He looked to be in his early forties, fit, with a neatly trimmed beard, jet-black to match a thick head of hair. The tag on his white uniform shirt identified him as Ajit from India. The epaulettes on his shoulders said he was the officer in charge of security.

Lola handed him her credential case first. “We spoke on the phone.”

“We did,” Ajit said. “United States Marshals. I’ve been expecting you.”

The security officer personally inspected both deputies’ credentials, paying special attention to Cutter’s.

“You have the same surname as the victim of Mr. Preston’s assault.”