Page 127 of The Woman By the Lake

“And I don’t buy the argument that I eat meat so I can’t be against hunting. I don’t work in an abattoir or on a ranch, and neither do the vast majority of hunters. I don’t grow my own vegetables either, and I eat those. I don’t mix my own shampoo, and I use that shit. Seemed the animals had a way of controlling their own population when humans weren’t around. It’s humans that invaded their patch who didn’t like them killing their chickens or cattle. To keep their investment safe from predators, it’d cost money. People like to keep their money. My take, that’s a price you pay for being in that business. Sure, that price would be passed onto the consumer, which might drive them to eating more vegetables, and they can’t have that. So it’s down to greed. You don’t eradicate the wolves and mountain lions so you got so much deer they starve in the winter so you gotta open a hunting season for greed.”

“I fear you’ve missed your calling as an anti-hunting lobbyist.”

Another smirk, then, “On the other hand, until the majority of American citizens decide hunting is abhorrent, it’s a lawful activity, so even though that’s my opinion, and I don’t understand why someone hunts, they might not understand why I occasionally enjoy a joint. They keep out of my business, I keep out of theirs, we both carry on in a lawful manner, it’s got nothing to do with me. Unless you do it on my land. That’s where my law comes in.”

“I like your law. Can it be Doc Riggs’s law to trap humans who trespass on your land?”

His body moved with laughter, but it wasn’t audible, though his one word shook with it.

“No.”

“Pity.”

He kept laughing a beat before he got serious. “I got a lot of acreage to cover, but neither Harry nor me liked those tracks. We couldn’t get a lock on why they were there, though it seemed like they were looking for something. And they definitely made sure their car wasn’t visible on the main road, which is suspicious. This means, gotta spend some time doing some wandering and having a look around to see if it’s just someone fucking around, or if I got an issue.”

“I can walk with you,” I offered.

“That’d be good,” he said.

“Can we make out now?” I asked.

His smile to that was wide. “Not yet. Got something to tell you that Harry shared with me.”

I leaned into him and begged, “Please tell me you buried the lead, and they found the wine burglar.”

“No. That’s still an open case. And he’s talked with Bubbles three times, and the asshole is sticking with the I-took-a-trip-to-Sonoma story when it comes to what he’s sharing with Harry. So no movement on that.”

“Bluh,” I uttered, sitting back.

“Remember I told you he was going to have a look at the Whitaker case file?”

I leaned back into him and made my eyes big.

Another smile and, “He also called the station in Seattle that handled the finding and processing of Lincoln Whitaker’s body.”

This was unexpected.

“And?”

“And, when Harry got the detective on the line who was called to that scene, and Harry told him why he was calling, the man’s first words were, ‘Finally, someone is lookin’ into this shit.’”

I slapped a hand lightly on his chest. “What?”

He nodded.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because this Seattle cop has always thought something was hinky with that. He’s of the mind, to this day, that Lincoln Whitaker was murdered.”

Oh.

My.

God.

TWENTY-SIX

Oboe

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