wondered if he’d driven the two hours to get here or whether he had flown his airplane across the miles of forests and lakes. According to Lieutenant Malcomb, Charley Stevens never drove anywhere when he could fly.
Outside, I fumbled for my sunglasses. Charley just turned his face to the sun and smiled. He must have been in his late sixties, but he had the vitality and physique of a backwoods farmer: strong hands, flat stomach, and no chest to speak of. His grizzled hair stood up like the bristles of a horse brush.
The honor guard was preparing to fire their rifles in the field across the parking lot.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said casually.
“No?”
“Your dad isn’t the most popular feller around now, is he?”
I felt my skin flush red. “I guess not.”
“I told your lieutenant he’d give us the slip in those woods. I said Jack Bowditch is as woods-smart as they come.”
Twenty-one rifles fired within seconds of each other. I felt my heart stop and resume beating. Silence rushed in to fill the vacuum created by the bullets.
Charley said: “Did you know Deputy Brodeur?”
“We were at the academy together.”
“So you were friends?”
“Not really.”
“Did he strike you as a good cop?”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, the man is dead. I’m not going to speak ill of him.”
The crowd began breaking up. Other uniformed officers were moving their vehicles to line the procession route.
Charley squinted over my shoulder. “There’s a familiar face. Hey, Russell!”
Russell Pelletier stood alone smoking a cigarette. He wore a corduroy jacket, too heavy for the weather, and a loud tie that didn’t match his plaid shirt.
“How’s it going, Charley?” Pelletier’s voice was like a public service warning for throat cancer.
“It’s a sad day. I guess I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Deputy Brodeur.”
“I saw him around. You know how it is.”
Charley placed his big hand on my shoulder. “Do you remember this young man?”
“I remember.” Pelletier didn’t offer to shake hands. After our last phone conversation, where I practically accused him of framing my dad for murder, that was no surprise. He looked at Charley. “Any word about Jack?”
“We’re still looking,” said the old pilot. “The FBI thinks he’s in Canada.”
“But you don’t?”
The pilot shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s a damned tragedy,” said Pelletier. “That son of a bitch really screwed up this time.”
“So you think he’s guilty then?” I said.
“He beat the snot out of Pete Twombley. Of course he’s guilty.”
What Charley said next took me by surprise: “I can’t figure what his motive would be, though.”
It was the first time anyone involved with the investigation had voiced even a little doubt about my father’s guilt, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
Pelletier blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Jack was just pissed off about what was happening with Wendigo and the leaseholders. He was already angry about the thought of me losing the camp and him out of a job. And he was drunk as always.”
“What about Brenda Dean?” I asked.
“What about her?”
“Detective Soctomah thinks she’s my dad’s accomplice.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“So I guess you’re not bailing her out, then?” said Charley.
Pelletier laughed, but his eyes were dead serious. “As far as I’m concerned, that little bitch is on her own. I’m already looking for another cook.”
“She’s still in jail?” I wondered what Brenda had done to make him hate her this way.
“Far as I know.”
Charley pulled on his long chin, probably considering how much to tell us. “Soctomah thinks she knows more than she’s saying. But they don’t have anything to hold her on, really. I expect they’ll be letting her go today or tomorrow.”
“I just hope the damn fool gives himself up soon.” Pelletier finished his cigarette, dropped it to the ground, and squashed it like a bug. “There’s been enough killing already.”
He didn’t say good-bye, just walked away.
Charley looked at me. “Old Russ has never been much for the social graces.”
“I worked for him, remember?”
“I guess you think your dad has been falsely accused.”
“What I think doesn’t much matter. Does it?”
He smiled and nodded, but I couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking. “Look,” he said, lifting his chin. “There’s your lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Malcomb was coming toward us fast across the lawn. A mob of Somerset deputies hung back, waiting to see what would happen next. I saw Kathy Frost there, too.
“Look who I found,” said Charley.
“So I see. Can you excuse Warden Bowditch and me, Charley?”
“Sure thing. Take care, young man.”
“Good to see you again,” I said.
“Same here!”
Malcomb waited until the old pilot had wandered away before he got in my face. “What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t Frost tell you to stay home?”
“I just wanted to pay my respects.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re not even in your dress uniform. Remove your sunglasses, Warden. Look me in the eye.”
I did so.
He stepped even closer. His breath smelled of tobacco poorly masked by breath mints. “I’ve been blaming your bad decisions lately on what’s going on with your father. And maybe I never should have brought you up to Dead River. But with every new, fucked-up thing you do, I’ve started to wonder about your judgment in general. Kathy told me about your behavior yesterday. What the hell were you thinking, confronting DeSalle again? And that crap with the bear? I’m surprised she didn’t suspend you on the spot.”
“If you’ll just let me explain.”
He tapped my chest with his index finger. “I don’t want to hear it, Bowditch. Not now. But tomorrow morning you’re going to come to my office, and you and I are going to have a conversation about your future as a Maine game warden. You might want to think about your answers beforehand-you’ve got a lot riding on them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you in my office at eleven sharp. Now get the hell out of here before the entire Somerset County Sheriff’s Department comes over to kick your ass.”
He waited for me to cross the parking lot, his presence serving as a deterrent from any ass kicking on the part of the Somerset deputies. I tried to remember where I’d parked my vehicle, but all the patrol trucks looked the same until I looked at the license plates. It took me a full minute to remember that I had come in my own Jeep and that it was parked halfway across campus.
20
