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“Impressive.”
“I’d wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Me? Why would you want to talk to me about Caroline?” Back on his heels.
“Was she on the list server?” Walt asked, begi
“Any woman alive has reason to fear Gale. He eats ’em for breakfast. Treats ’em like his personal punching bags. Did Gale know her? Wouldn’t surprise me. He attracted the lookers like flies to shit. But if she was on the server, it didn’t do her any good, did it? The alert came two weeks late. You believe that shit?”
“There’s a Seattle detective, a Sergeant Boldt, would like a word with you, in private, about Caroline Vetta. He’s suggesting you meet over here, not in Seattle, in order to avoid the press.”
Wy
“If you want to involve your lawyer,” Walt said, “I think that might be agreeable. The idea is to keep it out of the press, not to pull an end run on you.”
“As if the cops care.”
“This one does, apparently. He can do it in front of all the cameras if you’d prefer.”
He looked up from the drink. “I don’t see why we can’t do something. Let me make a call and get back to you.”
“Works for me.” The man drank the liquor like it was water. “Do you have reason to believe Martel Gale is in Sun Valley?”
“You already asked me that.”
“And you said you shot at him, not that you knew he was here.”
“Listen, several women could have testified against him for all I know. Right? And why not Caroline? She could have been one of the girls. Maybe he paid her back.” The way he looked up over the rim of the glass sent a charge through Walt. He needed to make sure Boldt talked to this one.
“The sooner you can let me know about meeting with the detective, the better. He’s going to fly over specially for this.”
“Am I supposed to be honored? Let him do what he’s got to do.”
“I’d like to inspect your weapon,” Walt said.
“Pity, it’s in the bedroom safe, and hell if I didn’t forget the combination. That’s what I was on the phone to my lawyer about. I knew you fellas would probably want to see it, and I didn’t want to piss anyone off, but it’s in there locked up and I won’t have the combination until tomorrow sometime, when my office is open.”
“About the time your lawyer’s plane lands?” Walt asked.
“Cynicism from a county sheriff?”
“Why make it more difficult than it has to be?”
“So the lawyers earn their money, I guess.”
“You can’t go firing a gun in your backyard.”
“So you said. Gale was out there. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
Walt heard the man’s name and thought of his wife. It was Gail out there. He’d never be fully free of her, which was the hardest part to adjust to-like one of those stomach microbes from Mexico.
If he had a killer loose in the valley, he needed to know about it.
“Could have been a hiker,” Walt said. “Could have been a neighbor.”
“Gale did Caroline,” Wy
“In which case you’ve either wounded him or escalated the terms. And your gun’s locked in your safe,” Walt said. “And you forgot the combination.”
Wy
“Deputy Chalmers is married with five kids. Her husband runs a martial arts school in Hailey. Her eldest is eighteen and has his black belt.”
Wy
“A second weapons violation will result in felony charges. Neither of us wants or needs that. Forgetting the combination to the safe may be a good thing.”
“I see someone out there, and I’ll shoot first, ask questions later. Take my chances the judge is a sports fan.” He wasn’t threatening, just stating fact. “A guy like that comes after you, you don’t get a second chance. Ask Caroline. Ask the other women he sent to the emergency room. His nickname in the league was Gale Force. Guy handed out concussions like business cards. Ask Trent Green, Kurt Warner. We call those guys a snake bite: all it takes is one hit to kill you.”
Gail Force. Walt wiped the smirk off his face, wondering why he’d never thought of that one himself.
“No more guns.”
“How about a machete or a baseball bat?”
“Try the phone next time. That’s why we’re here.”
“To protect and serve. Right, Sheriff?”
“Right.”
“So protect me.”
“Try the yellow pages.”
“Find Gale, you’ll do us all a favor.”
“Let me know about setting up the thing with Boldt. The sooner the better.”
“Two-eighty?” Wy
The comment spun him around.
“Your batting average. You’re a switch hitter,” he said. “Calluses.” He indicated Walt’s hands.
Walt looked down at his palms. “Maybe I’m a gardener,” he said.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Wy
“Two eighty-five,” Walt answered. Impressed, but trying not to show it.
10
The temptation proved too great and Walt made the turn at the split rail fence at the side of State Highway 75. He drove through the overbuilt log gate and turned left up the hill toward a stand of fir.
He approached the Engleton guesthouse thinking up an excuse for the visit. He stopped and returned to the Cherokee to retrieve his camera.
Movement caught his eye and he looked toward the main house in time to see a woman’s silhouette standing in a downstairs window. It was Kira. She held something in her hand across her chest-a baseball bat, he realized.
Fiona opened the cottage’s door wearing a T-shirt, navy blue sweat-pants, and rubber flip-flops. Her hair was held off her face by a pair of plastic clips.
“Problems?” she asked.
“You weren’t answering calls,” he said.
“No,” she replied.
“We had a situation: a guy throwing shots in his backyard, believing a client of his was coming after him. I needed some pictures. Took them myself, no big deal.”
“A broker? I wouldn’t want to be a money manager in this town right now. I can’t imagine the amounts people must have lost.”
“No, not a money guy, a sports agent. Thought some ex-football jock was creeping around his backyard, and decided it was safer to shoot him than to say hello.” He offered her his camera, making it clear it was a professional, not personal, visit. Wasn’t sure why he felt that so important.
She staggered back a step, off balance. He caught her by the elbow and held on.
“You’re saying he saw this… football guy?” she said.
“No. The whiskey might have done the seeing, I think. It was more likely a neighbor.”
“Come in,” she said, accepting the camera. “Want me to print these for you?”
“Please.” He stepped inside.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Sit,” she said.
“It’s a nice place,” he said.
“Have you never been here?”
“No.”
“How pathetic of me. I can’t believe it’s your first time.”
It was done up as an English cottage. Leslie Engleton had great taste and deep pockets.
“I was worried about you,” he said, blurting it out.
“Me? That’s nice of you. But I’m fine. Just quiet. You know me.” She filled the kettle. “I do that now and then.”
She got the stove lit under the kettle and sat down in front of a laptop at the breakfast table. She fished around in a box of wires at her feet and co