Where There's a Will

leaving a trail.”

“Right!” John said. “So—”

“So does somebody here want to tell me exactly what crime I’m supposed to investigate? What section of the penal code applies?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “Maybe—”

“And what about statutes of limitation? This all happened ten years ago.”

“Statutes of limitation don’t apply,” John said. “This was murder—a capital offense.”

“Sure, but he didn’t kill anyone. At least, we don’t think so,” he added in an undertone.

“Well, true, but—”

“More important, anybody want to tell me who I’m supposed to investigate? Everything that’s left of Torkel Torkelsson is sitting in a shoe box on my desk. Even if he did do something criminal, I’d say that puts him pretty safely beyond the long arm of the law, wouldn’t you?”

John and Gideon both nodded. “Guess so,” John said.

Fukida sat still for a minute, snapping the rubber band against his wrist, then jumped up and shook hands with both of them.

“Great seeing you again, Johnny. Doctor, that was really something, what you did. I’m very impressed.”

He walked them down the hall, through the lobby, and up to the front doors.

“Look, guys,” he said as he saw them out, “I’m sorry I can’t help, but I don’t see anything for me to do. If there’s a prosecutable crime involved here—and somebody to prosecute—give me a call when you figure out who and what they are.”

TWELVE

“SOMETHING’S screwy,” Gideon said.

John laughed. “You’re telling me.”

“No, I mean even screwier than it looks.”

With Gideon behind the wheel of the pickup this time, they had just left Fukida’s office, turning north onto the Queen Kaahumanu Highway to head back into the uplands, toward Waimea and the ranch.

“I know,” said John, nodding. “Every time we find out something new, it just gets more confusing. Not supposed to work that way.”

“It’s the timing that doesn’t make any sense, John. It’s impossible for it to have happened the way we think.”

“How so?”

“Well, when would Torkel have had the time to do what he did—cut off Magnus’s toes, leave the ring, switch clothing with him, and the rest of it?”

“How do you know he switched clothes? That’s not so easy with a dead guy. You ever try to move a dead guy? Dead people are heavy.”

“Well, at least we know Torkel got a boot back on his foot after the toes came off, and he wouldn’t have been dumb enough to put Magnus’s own boots back on him. I’m guessing he also dressed him in the rest of his own clothing.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. And he must have switched wallets and any other identifying things, too, but they probably got burnt up—except for the ring.”

“Probably so, but when did he do all that? How could he get it done between the time of the shooting and the time they burnt the place down? Did they kill Magnus, then conveniently go away for an hour or two, leaving Torkel alone to tinker with his brother’s body, and then come back later, at their leisure, and burn the place down?”

With his eyes closed and his face pushed out the open window to derive the full complement of pleasure from the oven-hot breeze, John thought about that for a moment. “Pretty doubtful,” he agreed, bringing his head back in. His stiff, black hair was hardly mussed. “So what’s your theory? I know you have to have one.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not about to call it a theory. At best we’re talking hypothesis or—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” John said, waving a hand. Finer academic distinctions were not his forte.

“Let’s call it a speculation, I’d be more comfortable with that,” Gideon said. “A supposition that’s unverified to this point, but one—”

“Doc, I swear—!”

“Sorry, sorry. John, what I’m wondering is if the killers never burnt the place down at all. I’m wondering if Torkel’s the one who came back and set the fire himself.”

“You mean to cover the identity switch.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, could be.” He nodded to himself. “Could very well be. Fits.”

“It goes along with cutting off the toes, doesn’t it?”

“It also goes along with putting his face right on that oil-soaked matting so there’d be nothing left to