“Seems quite a risk you take, keeping that much money lying around.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve never had any difficulty, never been robbed.”
To my surprise, Les looks straight at Wolf and asks, “You got any questions?”
And, at that, Wolf swings his gaze to the commander. “Did you or Raymond Latimer have any reason to kill that woman?”
* * *
As we return to the sheriff’s car, I acknowledged the tactic had sound merit. A quick delivery of an unexpected question from an unexpected front can sometimes bring unexpected results. I’ve seen complex cases resolved in just such a manner when an unprepared response delivers a clue. But not this time. The commander’s simple no carried the ring of truth. And I’m sure he realized we’d now be asking similar questions of Raymond Latimer. The more interesting thing to me was that the sheriff and Wolf choreographed it without words. Fascinatingly skillful. I do love my line of work and the opportunity to watch professionals in action.
Unfortunately, I suspect this line of questioning may have lost them the ability to keep secret the fact that the carbine Commander Fagan sold Ms. McGuire was the gun that was used to murder her. The question wasn’t asked or answered, but it’s inevitable that Fagan will begin to wonder.
* * *
The sheriff stared through the windshield at Fagan’s tent. “So? What do you think?”
“Me?” Wolf shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything there. No collusion. No motive.”
Les grunted and started the car. “Me either. More’s the pity. Still doesn’t mean Latimer didn’t pull that trigger.”
“I won’t argue the point, but it doesn’t ring a bell for me. Maybe he had a grudge against Ms. McGuire but that doesn’t explain the shots fired at Kylah this morning.”
“Random?”
“Random. Coincidence. Either’s a possibility but not likely. Not for me.”
“Me either.” Les gave him a sideways glance. “Kylah? Not Ms. West?”
“Mind your own damn business, Les.”
His ex-brother-in-law grinned and pulled onto the main road, gunning the motor a bit as they headed back toward town.
Chapter Eleven
Raymond Latimer surged to his feet when the sheriff opened the door without a warning tap. The man was nervous. There was no two ways about it. Wolf could see it in his eyes as Latimer shifted his focus from the sheriff to Wolf and back again. But being nervous didn’t mean he was guilty. Didn’t mean he was innocent, either, Wolf reminded himself.
Wolf scanned the room where Latimer had been left for more than an hour, alone with the quiet and his thoughts. Almost filled by the table and four chairs, deliberately uncomfortable, even intimidating in its starkness. He’d been told that the sheriff had been delayed. Not that the delay had been intentional.
Although Les considered it unlikely that Latimer had murdered the woman, Wolf knew that fact wouldn’t affect how the sheriff handled the questioning. “I want him on edge,” Les had commented as they walked from the car. Once again, this was the sheriff’s interview. He had the lead. All Wolf had to do was listen and observe and be prepared to give his thoughts afterward unless the sheriff signaled him to step in as he’d done earlier.
Latimer was still in his costume as the organizers had required for that day’s inspection. Wolf wondered if that was because he hadn’t had his turn and received an all clear on authenticity or because he was enough of an enthusiast that he loved wearing it, given the chance. He suspected either could be the case. The man’s build was average, average height, average weight. More muscle than paunch but not too much muscle. An active man, an outdoor man by his weathered face.
Les offered his hand and Latimer wiped his palm on his sleeve before taking it. Yeah, nerves big-time.
They all took a seat and Wolf watched as Latimer’s stare tracked each of them as they sat, the sheriff, Wolf himself, and Trouble. His look lingered longest on the cat and Wolf could read his confusion but he held his tongue. Waiting on them. Canniness or trepidation or plain bewilderment? Wolf couldn’t tell.
“Where were you this morning?” Les waded right into his questions.
“Huh?” Now it was confusion, plain and simple. He was that easy to read.
“This morning,” Les said, sounding patient. “How did you spend the morning?”
“Cleaning my weapons. Me and some buddies. Took them apart, polished them, put them back together. Mine didn’t need it but some of theirs did.” Latimer shook his head. “People don’t take care of their stuff like they should.”
“How long did that take?”
Latimer scratched the side of his head. “We didn’t rush. We were all waiting for the commander’s visual on our uniforms and such. Some hours, right after daylight pretty much until I left to come here.”
“Your buddies can account for your whereabouts?” Les’ tone was still neutral.
“Sure, but –” Latimer fell silent, closed his mouth, lips pressed together. Wolf thought that odd. If the man had questions, why didn’t he ask them?
“I’ll need their names before you leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Latimer said.
Les shot Wolf a look he had no problem interpreting. Les hadn’t been looking hard at Latimer but he’d been looking. He was disappointed. But he wasn’t done.
“You look like a person who enjoys the outdoors? Not just for these events?” Les gave his suspect an up and down searching look.
Latimer nodded.
“You a hunter?” he asked.
“I hunt, yes, sir.”
“I like squirrel hunting myself.” Les leaned back in his chair as if relaxing for a nice chat. “You?”
“Some. Mostly deer though. Still hunting. No sport in running dogs.”
“Yeah? Ever been out West? Some of the big game stuff?”
“Colorado a time or two. Wyoming once.”
“What’d you think of it?”
Latimer hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t care for it much. I hunt for food, not sport. Didn’t like the feel of it, the attitude of the guides, but I can’t explain better than that.”
The man still hadn’t relaxed. Wolf didn’t think Les was going to be able to make that happen. Les seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
“You ever watch a deer bleed out up close? Watch their eyes go dim?”
Latimer paled at the question. Something there, Wolf was sure of it, but what? But all Latimer did was clear his throat before answering the sheriff. “No, sir.” His voice was low and quiet. “Never have.”
The sheriff saw it, too – Wolf could tell by the gleam of awareness in his eyes – but he didn’t comment on it. He glanced at Wolf before crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Latimer’s features.
Wolf cleared his throat, bringing Latimer’s attention over to him. “I’m sure you’ve realized that you may have been the last person to see Maisy McGuire alive.”
“Before she was killed, you mean.”
“Of course.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve thought about that.”
“Why don’t you walk us through that morning?”
Latimer had been leaning forward a bit, with hands on the table in front of him, as he and Les had exchanged comments on hunting. He shifted back in his seat at the question, pulled his hands into his lap. Wolf couldn’t see if they were clenched together, but he wondered.
“Yes, sir. The commander asked me to take a rifle for Ms. McGuire to look at, said she might want to buy it. He told me how much and said no haggling. She either paid the full amount or I brought the rifle back to him.”
“Did you shoot the rifle on the way to deliver it?” Like the sheriff had done, Wolf kept his tone impartial.
“No, sir. Wanted to though.” Did Latimer hesitate before he answered? Wolf wasn’t sure. “I don’t get to hold many that sweet.”
“The commander buys and sells a lot, does he?”
“I wou
ldn’t know about that. His business.”
Wolf nodded. “True enough. Keep going.”
“Not much else. Ms. McGuire liked the rifle and gave me the money and I left.”
“Did you count the money?”
“Sure. I didn’t know her from Adam’s housecat. She could as easily have shorted the commander and made me look like a thief.”
“You have any reason to believe she would have? Past dealings?” The sheriff shot the question across the table.
“No, sir. Like I said, I didn’t know her. Never laid eyes on her until that morning.”
“What was she wearing? As much detail as you can. Anything could be important.” Wolf made his voice easy, calm.
Latimer looked down, closed his eyes in concentration. “She was dressed out, full uniform. Cap and everything, even early as it was.”
“What was the time?” Les interjected.
He looked at the sheriff. “I can’t for sure say a time. Was still dark when I started walking across the hills.”
“Why that early?” Wolf suspected the whole reenactment scenario wasn’t for people who liked to sleep in, but still …
“Commander asked me to go before we started our morning drill. It wasn’t no hardship for me. Daylight’s my favorite time of day. Watched the sun rise over the hills as I walked.”
As Wolf and Les tossed the volley of questions between them, Latimer took his time answering, kept his tone controlled.
“Was she in her tent when you got there?” Wolf asked the question in the same tone he might ask about the weather.
Latimer shook his head and seemed to hesitate. “She was at the cookfire, stirring something in a kettle.”
“Breakfast?”
Latimer shrugged. “Couldn’t tell.”
And not interested, Wolf thought. “What else can you tell us about her camp? What did you notice?”
“Not much. Little table by the cookfire. A bench. No, a stool, I think. Sorry, I wasn’t focused on that.”
“What were you focused on?” Les asked, his tone unexpectedly sharp. Intentionally so, Wolf suspected.
Latimer shifted his attention back to the sheriff. Tensing. He’d decided who the bad cop was. Had to be the question about watching a deer bleed out, Wolf thought. Les had overdone that one.
“Making the exchange and getting back for morning drill.” He stopped, looked apologetic. “If I’d known what was going to happen to her, that it’d be important, I woulda paid more attention to the small stuff.”
It was a reasonable answer. “Okay, let’s keep on with what you did notice,” Wolf said. “She was in full uniform. She had a campfire going. There was a table with a stool. That about it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you shake hands with her?”
“Huh?”
“Did you and Ms. McGuire introduce yourselves, shake hands, sit down at that little table?”
“Uh, no. None of that. It was quicker. Most women don’t offer their hand to shake and if they don’t, I don’t.”
“And she didn’t, so you didn’t. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“And you didn’t sit down?”
“She didn’t ask me to. So, no.”
“Was she rude, then?”
“I didn’t take it that way. I wasn’t there for a visit and chit-chat. It was a business deal and not even mine. She was business-like and so was I.”
“Fair enough.”
“Did she ask to hold the rifle, examine it? Or did you offer it to her?” Les broke the silence he’d held during that brief exchange.
Latimer turned back toward the sheriff. For the first time in a while, Wolf could see real hesitation before he answered. “Neither one. She pulled the money from a pocket and held it out to me. I stepped closer.”
“Closer to what? Where was she then? The cookfire?”
“No, she – uh – had walked to the little table. She was on one side and I was on the other.” He stopped abruptly.
“Go on.”
“Like I said, she pulled the money from her pocket and held it out to me. I put the rifle on the table and counted the money.”
“And you still didn’t shake hands over the deal.”
“Like I said, not my deal.”
Les drummed his fingers on the table and looked at Wolf who asked, “Did you think it odd that she’d be carrying that much money in her pocket?”
“No. That’s what I’d have done. I’d have it with me, not taken a chance of letting someone see where I kept it when it wasn’t on me.”
Wolf supposed that made sense.
“And you didn’t think it odd that she didn’t examine the rifle before paying for it? Didn’t even hold it in her hands.”
“Not what I would have done,” Latimer agreed.
“So, you put the rifle on the table, she handed you the money, and you left. That about it?”
“Yes, sir. That’s about it.”
“On your way back to camp, after you made the exchange, did you hear shots fired?
“Yes, sir, more than once but as far as I could tell they came from ahead of me, not behind me and not close. I thought it was someone hunting.” He looked uncertain then shrugged. “Of course, my hearings not what it used to be.”
“Anything else you can think of we need to know.”
“No, sir.”
Latimer looked relieved at what he took as an indication that the end of his grilling was near.
And Wolf supposed it was. Something was off with the whole exchange but he couldn’t say whether it was Latimer’s information or Maisy McGuire’s behavior during her purchase of a weapon that had ended up being used to kill her. But Les wasn’t ready to go public with the fact that the antique was the murder weapon. Wolf wouldn’t have either. There were too many unknowns. Too much at stake. More so with the attempt on Kylah.
But Les wasn’t quite through with Latimer even though he signaled an end to the questioning by getting to his feet. Latimer did the same, prepared to follow the sheriff out of the room. But Les stopped at the door and turned back. “I hear you have a peculiar hobby.”
Wolf couldn’t see Latimer’s expression but he could see the tensing of his spine. “Sir?”
“Hanging around old cemeteries. Strikes me as kinda morbid.” Wolf could tell he didn’t expect much of a response as he added, “Don’t leave town, Latimer,” and turned and walked away.
Wolf spoke to a few of the deputies then stopped at the door to Les’ office. The sheriff was on his feet, staring out his window, but sensed or heard Wolf. He turned around.
“I didn’t get much out of that.”
“No,” Wolf agreed.
“But something’s off.”
And Wolf had to agree with that as well. “I’ll take Rita your request this afternoon. I don’t think you’ll get much out of that either.”
“No.” The sheriff looked morose. “I expect not.” He reached for his hat. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your truck.” He looked down. “You and the cat.”
* * *
Without a doubt, something is dodgy and I can’t quite put my paw on it. Something nagged at the back of my mind as I visualized the scene evolving as Raymond Latimer described it. Something I can’t quite grasp as yet. I shall, of course. I must hope it’s in time to help nail the murderer before he can strike again.
Now, it’s decision time again. Do I visit the ex-wife with Wolf or watch Kylah and her clever equine back at the fairgrounds? Choices, choices.
And isn’t it interesting that Wolf checks out the arena before heading to see the sheriff’s sister?
* * *
Kylah felt his gaze on her. She couldn’t have said how she knew it was Wolf as there had been a sprinkling of people throughout the afternoon, climbing up into the bleachers to watch for a few minutes, some hanging around longer, as she put her horses through a series of maneuvers. But she knew, and when she stepped down from the final workout, she glan
ced around to prove it to herself.
Wolf met her at the roll-up door of the arena. “Things been quiet here this afternoon?”
She smiled. “Haven’t had to dodge a single bullet.” As his eyes darkened, she regretted making the comment. He was still far more disturbed about the incident than she was. She had relegated it to the back of her mind and it had begun to seem more surreal than real to her. “I’m fine.”
“I like what you’re wearing.”
She glanced down. Jeans and long-sleeve tee. Her favorite attire. When she brought her gaze back up to his, one brow lifted, he shrugged.
“The sheriff asked me to run an errand. I thought you might want to ride with me and see a bit of the countryside. It’s a pretty drive.”
She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t, why it wasn’t a good idea, but when she opened her mouth she said, “That sounds nice. Thank you.”
The wary side of her reminded she’d be in his world no more than another week or two, cautioned that things were moving in a direction they didn’t need to go, said too soon for her, too fast. They’d known each other two days, had dinner together two evenings. To appease that side of her, she waved Jake away, unsaddled the horse, then told Wolf she was ready. Dressed as she was and dusty from riding. But I like what you’re wearing he’d said.
Jake groomed a different horse in the next stall and Kylah stopped to let him know she was leaving.
“She’ll be with me,” Wolf told him and Kylah couldn’t tell if it was meant as a challenge or a reassurance. Judging by the look on Jake’s face, she suspected he was no more certain than she. Either way, it sounded … possessive.
She should say something about it, she thought, but she didn’t want to make more of it than was warranted. Liar, a little voice whispered from deep inside and she knew at least a part of her was ready and wanted to see where this could go. When had she lost her courage? Had it died with Marty? Had she scattered it with his ashes?
They got into the truck, the three of them, and she thought how odd that she’d gotten used to a black cat accompanying their every move, one that didn’t belong to either of them and whose owner seemed to think he was a feline detective capable of solving mysteries and saving lives. Odder still that it felt right to be with Wolf, to be accompanying him on some errand for the sheriff.
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