“ At that point we were like, what the hell, you know? His truck was still there. And we realized maybe he hadn’t been there the whole time. It was freaky, to tell you the truth. We called Mary Ellen, and she said she hadn’t spoken to him at all since Friday night. Koling called around.”
“This is Monday morning you’re doing all this calling around?” Wolf asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep going,” Wolf said. “What then? Who else did you call?”
McBeth shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe just Mary Ellen, actually. Basically right at the same time, that's when Lizotte dumped his body up on the wash plant. I'm telling you it happened one, two. Just like that. That's when we called you guys. And then, man. I was sick to my stomach, thinking he was sitting dead in that dirt the whole time."
“You asked if it was suicide before," Wolf said. "He was buried in the dirt, wasn’t he? Wouldn't that be a clear indication that he was killed by somebody else and then buried?"
McBeth rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. We’d moved all sorts of dirt on Saturday and Sunday. I was just thinking. Shoot. I don't know. I thought I might've moved his body or something. As much as I hated hearing Chris tell me all those things Friday night, it really lit a fire under my butt. I realized we weren’t getting it done at the mine. He was right. I was being lazy. We needed to fix the plant settings and re-run some of the dirt we’d already run, because we might have missed out on a lot of gold in the box.
"Moving all the tailings, I just figured maybe I accidentally scooped up his body or something and brought it up there. Without even noticing or something.” When he opened them again, his eyes glistened with tears. “I was just wondering.”
They sat in silence for a beat, watching McBeth suppress sobbing. It was either a good act or the real deal. Maybe they were staring at regret disguised as grief.
"After that argument with Oakley, what did you do?” Wolf asked.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I went to bed.”
“Just like that. Straight to bed?”
“We work hard during the day. I’d had a few beers. I don’t have much trouble getting to sleep. Even after a run-in with Oakley, I guess.”
“Did you hear anything later that night?”
“Well…yeah,” he said with a chuckle.
“What did you hear?”
“Geez, there’s so much noise that happens at night around our trailers. Whoever’s working the night shift will be down on the excavator in the cut, loading the rock truck. Then they drive up the rock truck, dump out the dirt. Repeat that a few times. When they have enough to run through the plant, they fire it up and load it for a couple hours with the front-end loader. That’s a lot of rock hitting steel. Then whoever’s on duty repeats the process.”
“And you sleep through all that racket?” Rachette asked.
“You get used to it. But I use earplugs. Every once in a while a good rock hitting the wash plant will wake me up for a second or two. But, yeah. I sleep through it.”
“Did any big rock wake you up that night?” Rachette asked.
“No sir.”
“No sounds at all that were anything out of the ordinary?” Wolf asked.
“I don’t know.”
Wolf waited for more explanation but none came. “Can you think of anybody that would have wanted to hurt Chris Oakley?” he asked.
McBeth smiled. "You mean besides me and half the people that ever met him?" He laughed without mirth, then his face went somber. "Sorry. I mean, Chris Oakley was not an easy guy to get along with. The guy was loud, obnoxious, and antagonistic, to say the least.”
“How about the people in the town of Dredge?” Rachette asked. “Did he have any enemies down there?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What’s the bar called where Spritz and Casey Lizotte work at?” Wolf asked.
“The Picker.”
“And Chris Oakley was a friend of this guy named Spritz?” Wolf asked.
“Yeah. Spritz has a bunch of dirt bikes. Oakley used to do motocross growing up, so they would hang out every once in a while. Oakley would ride with him.”
Wolf sat back, pulling himself out of the quagmire of the Jackson Mine lives for a moment. He stretched his neck then dove back in. “How many guns do you have?”
“Here? At the mine?”
“Yes.”
“Just the forty-five.”
“And, for the record, what is that weapon?”
“A Glock 21.”
Rachette nodded, pointing at his notebook. The same one they’d found inside Oakley’s trailer.
“Listen, when are we going to be able to mine again?” McBeth asked. “This is…I mean, I get we have to figure this out. But I’m under a lot of pressure to get that mine back up and running.”
“The mine will be a crime scene until we’re done gathering clues,” Rachette said. “There’s really no telling when the case will be solved.”
McBeth frowned, his gaze moving between them. “And our stay at the Edelweiss? Are you going to continue to cover that for us?”
“I can get you guys a deep discount with the hotel,” Wolf said. “We have an agreement in place with the owner.”
McBeth chuckled. “Yeah. How much is that a night?”
Wolf shrugged. “I’m not sure what their going rate is for a night right now. Is there anywhere else you guys can go? A friend’s place?”
“Yeah, up in Jackson.”
“We’d really appreciate it if you could stick around in case we have more questions for you,” Wolf said.
“Yeah, I bet.” McBeth put both hands on his forehead, now exposing another ring of scar tissue, interlocked like an Olympic ring, further up his left forearm as the shirt fell down.
“What happened to your arm?” Rachette asked.
McBeth dropped his hands, putting the scar away again. “Well that’s rude of you to ask like that, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry.” Rachette held up his hands. “I was just
