Where There's a Will

recognize.” He turned things over in his mind for a moment. “And what about his fingers? Remember the photos? His fingers were—well, his hands; he didn’t exactly have any fingers, did he?—his hands were positioned up by his face, too, where they’d get all that heat. No fingerprints that way.”

“Well, possibly, but that just might be—”

“Oh, right, right, where the muscles tighten up... the... what do you call it again?”

“The pugilistic attitude,” Gideon said. “The muscle fibers dehydrate and shrink, and pull on the tendons, so the forearms flex and the hands come up around the face like a fighter covering up. The knees bend and the feet come up, too. Remember how his feet stayed in the air when they turned him over?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Okay, scratch that idea. But the rest of it holds together.” John was getting into it now. His hands were starting to chop the air. Gideon shifted left to give himself a little more protection. “The shooters kill Magnus. Torkel gets away. He knows, or thinks he knows, that they don’t know which one they shot. So after they’re gone, he comes back, chops off his brother’s toes, leaves his ring, and burns the place down. Everybody figures the bad guys did it, and the bad guys—and everyone else— think it’s Torkel’s body laying in the barn.” He nodded, agreeing with himself. “I like it.”

“That’s one scenario,” Gideon said gingerly. “I have another one, too. Another possibility.”

“That nobody else was involved at all? That there never were any ‘bad guys’? That Torkel not only burnt the place down, but killed his own brother?”

“That’s right,” Gideon said, surprised. “Is that what you think?”

“No, that’s not what I think. I just know the way you think. You got this bug in your ear. First it was Magnus who killed Torkel, and since that didn’t work, now it’s Torkel who killed Magnus. What have you got against these guys?”

“John, I’m just—”

“Doc, we’ve been all over this. There’s all kinds of evidence against it. The slick, two-man execution, the statement from Dagmar—”

“Sure, but wouldn’t Dagmar have lied if it helped her own brother get away with murder?”

“Of her own other brother? I don’t know, but, yeah, okay, it’s possible. Theoretically. But look, the main thing is—why would Torkel shoot his brother? Give me one possible reason.”

“How would I know that? Because of the will, maybe? To get full title to the ranch?”

“No, how does that add up? If that’s what he wanted, why pretend he was dead? How would that get him the ranch?”

Gideon nodded, worn down by John’s more than reasonable arguments. “Yes, you’re right about that, too. Okay, forget it. One more unverified supposition bites the dust.”

“One more crackpot theory,” John said.

They were climbing now. The breeze flowing in the driver’s-side window was laced with pine and eucalyptus, and was refreshingly cool. John, finding the chill unwelcome, rolled up his window, leaned his head against it, and settled his body as comfortably as he could. After a few minutes he began to slip into a doze but then sat up with a sudden “Damn!” He turned with an earnest look at Gideon.

“Doc, maybe you’re on to something after all. They have been lying to us. I just realized it. Well, holding back, anyway.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“The family. The whole damn family. They knew it was Torkel in the plane all along!”

Gideon frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“Look, when we told them the body in the plane was Torkel’s, how come nobody mentioned the ring? How come nobody jumped up and said, ‘No, that’s impossible, it can’t be Torkel; we know the one that burned up was Torkel because he was wearing Torkel’s ring’? Or at least brought it up?” He pounded his thigh with a fist. “Wouldn’t you have said something? But there was nothing, not a peep. Why not?”

“Is it possible they didn’t know about it?”

“No, it isn’t. The file said it was family members that identified it, remember?”

“Well, yes, but it didn’t say which family members.”

“What’s the difference? Even if it was only a couple of them, why would they keep something like that to themselves? No, I’m telling you, somebody should have said something.”

“Somebody should have,” Gideon agreed.

“What do you say we go talk to Axel about it?” John suggested. “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

For the next few minutes they retreated into their own thoughts. At the gate to the Little Hoaloha, it was John who got out to swing it open. When he climbed back into the truck, Gideon wore a look on his face somewhere between confusion and exasperation, with emphasis on the former.

“What?” John asked. He had the worried expression that meant he knew in his heart that his friend was about to

complicate things even more.

“None of that makes any sense either,” Gideon told him.

John exploded. Out shot his arms. He banged an elbow hard into the doorpost and winced. “I knew you were going to say that. I knew it’d be too simple for you. What’s the problem, not enough loose ends?”

“No, I’m serious. Look.” He waited for John to settle down before going quietly on. “If they all knew what really