shirt sleeves rolled up high enough to show most of the long green dragon tattoo on his right arm. Neither of the men bothered to stand up when Dross and the others arrived.
Borkman separated from them and met Dross in the middle of the empty road.
“So what have you got, Cy?” the sheriff asked.
“Happened an hour ago now. Buck’s working in the bucket, doing some trimming.” He pointed toward the telephone lines that shadowed the road.
“Buck?” Dross said. “Buck was doing the trimming?”
Borkman shrugged. “Guess he likes to keep his hand in the actual business. His crew says he still hefts a pretty mean chainsaw.”
“Okay, go on.”
“They’re all focused on the work, got their backs to the road. They hear a vehicle approach, but they don’t take any notice. Suddenly, bang-bang. They spin around, see the vehicle speed off west down the road.”
“Did they give you a plate number or a description?”
Borkman shook his head. “Sun was in their eyes. Dark SUV was all they could say.”
“You told me on the phone the shots were fired at Buck. What makes them think he was the target?”
“There’s a bullet hole in the bucket. A foot to the left and six inches higher and there’d be a bullet hole in Buck.”
Buck seemed to have had enough of being ignored. He strode onto the asphalt and called out as he approached, “Got anything to say about me carrying now?”
He was, in fact, wearing his gun belt.
“Did you shoot back, Buck?” Dross asked.
“The son of a bitch was out of range by the time I cleared my holster.”
Dave Reinhardt had followed his father to the middle of the road. “Dad called me on my cell, Marsha. I thought maybe I could help.”
Dross said, “That’s okay, Dave. Buck, I understand nobody got a clear look at the shooter or the vehicle. Is that correct?”
“Indians,” Buck said. “I’ll give ’em this, they’re smart when it comes to being sneaky. Bushwhacked me with the sun in my eyes. Couldn’t see a thing.”
Bushwhacked? Cork thought. Reinhardt had clearly seen too many Randolph Scott movies.
“Why do you say ‘Indians’?” Ed Larson said. “I mean, if the sun was in your eyes and you couldn’t see.”
“Who else wants me dead?”
Cork found himself imagining the line.
“So the truth is, you really didn’t see anything that might help identify the assailant?” Larson said.
“The smell,” Cal Richards said from the bumper of the truck.
“Smell?” Dross swung her gaze toward Richards.
“Yeah, greasy war paint.” Richards laughed. Knowles laughed, too.
A vehicle appeared on the road, coming from the east where the sky was slipping into the dark blue-gray that was the shadow of evening. Its headlights were on. The group moved off the asphalt and onto the shoulder near Reinhardt’s trucks. They all were silent as the vehicle approached and passed. A white pickup. The driver eyed them as he cruised by and headed toward the rosy glow in the west.
Dross said, “Buck, I talked to Brittany Young this afternoon. She told me you were with her the night the Kingbirds were killed. She’s willing to sign a sworn statement to that effect.”
“Okay. So?”
“She also told me you think Elise killed the Kingbirds.”
“I’m not saying nothing about that.”
“You don’t have to. We already spoke with Elise.”
Buck looked a little worried. “You tell her about Brit?”
Dross said, “She knows.”
“Ah, Christ.”
“Do you still think she killed the Kingbirds?”
“Hell, a lot of vengeance in that woman these days. Add enough booze and she’s up to just about anything.”
“We have the shotgun she took from the gun case the night of the murders.”
“My Robar Elite? What the hell are you doing with that?”
“Dad,” Dave Reinhardt said quietly at his father’s back, “the Kingbirds were killed with a shotgun.”
Buck spun around. “You think I’m stupid, boy? I know that. I want to know how they got it.”
“Elise allowed us to take it,” Dross said.
Buck shook his head. “Stupid cow. Hanging herself.”
“Dad,” Dave said, his voice still quiet but full of edge now, “they won’t be able to tell much, if anything, from the shotgun, so it doesn’t hurt Elise.”
“What did she say about having the shotgun that night, Buck?” Dross asked.
“Elise is your wife, Dad. You don’t have to answer these questions.”
“Elise can take care of herself, boy. She told me she shot at a cougar, Sheriff.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Hell, no. I’ve never seen a cougar around my place.”
“She showed us some tracks near the kennel. Cork’s seen cougar tracks before. He says these do, in fact, look like they were made by a cougar.”
“Well, what do you know? Maybe the bitch wasn’t lying.”
“What else did she say?”
“Dad, don’t answer any more questions,” Dave said. “Marsha, this is inappropriate. My father shouldn’t be giving statements that could be used against Elise.”
Buck turned on his son. “Don’t be telling me what I can and can’t say. I think she killed the redskins. There. How’s that for a statement?”
“Jesus,” Dave said.
“Fuck you, boy. You had it in you, it’d be you asking the questions instead of some skirt.”
Dave Reinhardt grabbed his father by the shirt collar and shoved him against the side of Buck’s pickup. “That mouth is going to get you killed one of these days. And you know what, Dad? I’m going to turn cartwheels on your coffin.” He let go. “I’m out of here. You’re on your own.” He stomped toward his cruiser.
Buck watched him go, then straightened his shirt and laughed. “Finally the boy’s got some balls.”
A few more minutes of questioning and it became apparent that neither Reinhardt nor his crew had anything more to offer. As they parted, Dross said, “Buck, I highly advise that you stay close to home for a while, until we get a better handle on this whole situation.”
“Piss on the Red Boyz,” he responded. “I got me a bodyguard.” He tapped the Glock holstered on his hip. “Come on, boys. Let’s call it a day.”
Reinhardt and the other men got into their trucks. Cork crossed the highway with Dross, Larson, and Borkman. They watched the trucks take off and head toward Aurora.
Dross said, “You better get on back to the office, Cy, and do the paperwork. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Borkman slid his large bulk behind the wheel of his cruiser, turned around on the asphalt, and followed where the other two vehicles had gone.
“A dark SUV,” Larson said. “Not much to go on.”
Cork said, “Lonnie Thunder drives a dark green Xterra.”
Dross shook her head. “Why would Thunder go after Buck? Doesn’t really get him anything.”
“He’s not operating in a predictable way,” Cork said. “Too scared to think straight, maybe.”
“I’d love to have him behind bars, take him out of this whole equation.” Dross looked where the sun had set, leaving only a red glow above the trees, as if from a distant fire. “What I’d really love is to be on vacation in Aruba. Come on, Ed. We’ve got paperwork.”
After the others left, Cork stood a moment in the gathering dark. It was quiet on the long straight stretch of empty highway that burrowed through the pines. He wished he believed the quiet would last.
