38
Luther drove past the other parked cars, squeezing his way as close to the old park cabin as he could. He blocked someone else in—Virginia tags, so it was probably one of the task force guys. Tough s**t. Luther wouldn’t be here long. The tape barrier crossed the lane just ahead of his vehicle, and again farther on, marking off a twenty-foot span of road. He wondered if there was anybody on the other side, wanting to get out. If so, he doubted they’d stop for a couple of orange cones and some flimsy tape.
The deputy nodded at a couple of State Police guys that looked vaguely familiar. Some of the other men milling around wore FBI khakis and jackets. He hesitated. Things were getting complicated, and for once he did not envy Grant’s position. Luther could avoid making an ass of himself
