Cold Trails

Jurisdiction clashes as a Texas Ranger senses a crime staged too neatly.

Cordero “Cord” Roberts hated three things equally: cold coffee, paperwork, and being told to keep his mouth shut. Michigan had gifted him all three by noon.

He stood at the edge of the frozen treeline, boots sinking into slush, staring at the crime scene like it might explain itself if he looked annoyed enough. He was watching the body bag being zipped up too fast, like someone was eager to be done.

“Y’all sure you don’t wanna slow that down?” Cord asked. “Feels like we’re speed running regret.”

The sheriff frowned. “Ranger, we’ve got it handled.”

Cord squinted at the muddy footprints circling back toward the road. They weren’t panicked. They were neat. Intentional. Someone had walked away, not run.

He crouched, touched the ground, then stood and shook his head. “This is wrong.”

The words slipped out before he could season them with sarcasm.

The deputy glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

Cord straightened his jacket, the Texas Ranger patch peeking out like it wanted to argue. “I mean the killer didn’t flee north. I mean the prints looped back. I mean that body didn’t die where you found it, and someone’s hoping we won’t notice.”

Silence stretched. The sheriff sighed. “You’re out of your element, Roberts.”

Cord grinned, slow and sharp. “Buddy, my element is people lying badly.”

He stepped closer to the body bag, noticing the faint smell of motor oil, wrong for the woods, right for a garage.

“Call it in,” Cord said. “Or don’t. But if you wrap this up neat and tidy, someone’s gonna get away with it.”

The wind cut through his coat, but Cord barely felt it. He’d chased wrongness across deserts and back roads for twenty years. It always left the same taste.

And it never stopped being his problem.

Word Count: 300
Written for: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Write a story that includes the line: “This is wrong”