"Well, no. I saw blood on the top of his head when Casey dropped him on the hopper grate. There was some on his neck, too. What was it? An accident?”
“That was from a gunshot,” Wolf said. “The bullet entered just under his chin, and exited out the top of his head.”
McBeth looked at Wolf. “What are you saying? Suicide?”
“There was no gunshot residue on his hands,” Rachette said. “So we know he didn’t shoot himself.”
McBeth stared a thousand miles beyond the wall.
Rachette waved a hand in front of him. “You there?”
McBeth blinked, shaking his head. "He was murdered?"
Wolf nodded. "That's what we think.”
"Who did it?”
Wolf smiled. "Good question. That’s what we're trying to figure out.”
McBeth took a quivering breath. "Shit. I guess I probably should have gotten a lawyer. Do I need a lawyer?"
Wolf shrugged. "That depends. Did you kill him?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then...” Wolf shrugged, as if that gesture told the man everything he needed to know. “Of course, you have the right to have an attorney present. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the courts. And we are recording this conversation right now, as we mentioned before."
Wolf held his breath, his eyes on McBeth. He seemed to really consider it now.
"I don't have anything to hide. I didn't kill him. You can ask me any question you want." He sat back with arms folded over his barrel chest. One hand stroked his beard, the non-scarred one, Wolf noted. That scar was tucked away safely in his armpit.
“You, Mr. Sexton, Mr. Koling, and Chris are from Jackson Hole, Wyoming," Wolf said. “Correct?”
"Yeah.”
“And Casey Lizotte is from Dredge.”
“That’s right.”
"Excluding Lizotte for the moment, how long have you original four been mining in Colorado?”
"This is our third season," McBeth said.
"And why down here?" Rachette said. "Why not up in Wyoming? There no gold up there?"
McBeth inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh, as if he'd answered the question a thousand times before. "We looked for a good claim in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho first. We couldn’t find anything promising. I had an in with a family friend down here who knew of a claim. So..." He shrugged. "Just came down here. We found a little bit of gold right at the beginning. Seemed like some promising ground. We've been here ever since."
"And how is the ground treating you now?" Wolf asked.
"Not bad. I mean, not good, not at the moment. But that's just how gold mining goes. The next motherlode is under the next scoop of dirt, and then you're making good money. It just takes getting it out of the ground. We know it's there from the first season. I have faith we’ll get on it again."
"Is it stressful?” Wolf asked.
McBeth scraped at a nail. "I've got a lot of bills. I’m paying for fuel and rental of all the equipment. I lease that wash plant for a ton of money. I’ve incurred a lot of debt over the last two years.”
“Costs are high,” Rachette said.
“Yeah.”
“And so is the pressure to find a lot of gold, I bet.”
McBeth nodded.
"Was Chris Oakley upset about the current state of the mine, and how it was being run right now, and how you guys were not finding gold?" Wolf asked.
McBeth snorted a laugh. “How did you guys know that?”
“We found some text messages on his phone between him and a friend.”
“What friend?”
Wolf said nothing.
McBeth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, he was pretty pissed off. They all are. I know it. Nobody likes working for free for weeks on end, but that's how it is. I got to pay the bills. And if we want to keep running the machines, I got to pay those bills first and then pay the men next. Without machines, there is no gold."
"I understand," Wolf said. "Why don't you tell me about last Friday night. What happened with that argument you spoke of?”
McBeth looked up at the ceiling. "We were up drinking. We usually do that every Friday night. Chris was pretty upset. He’d gotten a text message from a friend down in town.”
“Is this the message from Spritz we found on his phone?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah. That’s it. Spritz had seen Oakley’s girl, Mary Ellen Dimitri, making out with another guy in town.”
“The message refers to somebody named Hammy,” Rachette said. “Who’s that?”
“Rick Hammes,” McBeth said.
Rachette scribbled the name down. “You know him?”
“Yeah. Big dude, like big as Oakley, but scarier. Has a bunch of satanic tats all over his body. Crazy as shit. He shot at a truck full of teenagers who were making too much noise a couple years ago and served time. He just got out on parole over the winter and he’s back in town…shit, you guys probably know his story.”
Wolf did not know, and judging by Rachette’s furious notetaking, neither did he. It was the first Wolf had ever heard the name.
“Let’s go back to Chris Friday night. What happened next?” Wolf asked. “After he got the message from Spritz telling him about Rick Hammes and his girlfriend making out?”
“He was pissed. Got all worked up about it. Talking about how he was going to kick his ass. This and that.”
“Hammy’s ass,” Rachette said.
“Right.”
“When did Oakley get this text?” Wolf asked, already knowing the answer was sometime between three and four p.m.
“I don’t know. After we finished for the day. Like, 3:30 or something?”
“And did Oakley ever leave the premises after getting that text?”
“No. He was just…you know, commiserating with us. Tilting back a few. He sent off a text for Mary Ellen to come visit him. And he was talking about how he was going to…confront her… about it.”
“Confront her?” Rachette asked.
“Yeah.”
“Meaning?”
“I really don’t know. But, yeah, I was a little concerned, if that’s what you’re wondering. Oakley’s a hothead as it is.”
“So what happened?” Wolf asked, keeping him on track.
“She agreed to come up after her shift at
