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Hawke spent the rest of the afternoon on the computer at the state police office in Winslow, following the trail of the elk tag registered to Benjamin Lange. All of the paperwork, right down to his credit card paying for the tag, proved he did put in and later paid for the tag.
What did Sigler have on the D.A. that made the man give his tag to the known poacher? It was evident by the D.A.’s fabrication of how he didn’t even put in for a tag that the poacher would be easier to extract the truth from. Maybe. He was in the Alder jail and going up for arraignment in the morning. Knowing Sigler, he was more apt to get information out of the poacher after he’d been arraigned and let go. That meant catching Sigler sometime tomorrow afternoon.
Hawke logged in his contacts and his citations. A glance at his sergeant’s office revealed the man had gone home already. He’d catch up with him in the morning and tell him about the tag.
Hawke left the building, climbed into his work vehicle, and drove to the Trembleys. His landlords were sure to have a few insights into why the D.A. might be paying off a poacher with an elk tag. He parked beside his personal vehicle.
Dog, his large breed mutt, charged out of the barn.
“Hey, how was your day? Did you keep the horses company?” Hawke walked into the barn and over to the stall where his two horses and mule stood with their heads over the gate.
“You three look hungry. Didn’t I give you enough early this morning?” He rubbed their foreheads. “I’ll get out of my uniform and get you some grain.”
He headed up the steps to his apartment over the indoor riding arena. Darlene Trembley gave riding lessons and boarded horses while her husband farmed their hundred acres.
Inside, he tossed his coat and hat on the one chair, and began stripping out of his shirt and Kevlar vest. He hated doing vehicle patrols because he had to wear the vest. When he patrolled on horseback in the mountains in civilian clothing, he didn’t have to wear the restraining protective gear.
He pulled on a t-shirt and changed his slacks for jeans and shoved his feet into his old cowboy boots. All the hours he spent in his uniform, his body shouldn’t want to shed it so quickly.
“Do I pop something in the microwave or hope Herb comes by with an invitation to dinner?” he asked Dog, who sat by the door, waiting for them to go back out.
He decided to wait to nuke something until he’d finished taking care of the horses.
The animals in the stall crunched the grain and swished their tails. Hawke leaned over the top rail of the gate, his head between Jack and Horse. He enjoyed the company of his animals over people.
“You had dinner yet?”
Hawke jumped slightly. He hadn’t heard Herb walk up behind him. Dog banged his wagging tail against Hawke’s leg.
He turned from the stall and smiled. “No, I haven’t had dinner.”
“Darlene made a roast. If you don’t come help eat it, I’ll be having roast something all week.”
Hawke knew the man didn’t mind leftovers, but it was Herb’s way of making Hawke not feel like he ate at their house too often. “Sounds good to me. I was going to heat up some soup.”
“How’s keeping an eye on the elk hunters going?” Herb asked as they walked toward the house.
“Not too many drunks. Mostly honest hunters out there.” He’d wait to bring up Sigler and Lange when they’d finished dinner.
Herb stopped at the back door and looked at him. “Mostly honest. There was a time when there were a few families that took deer or elk out of season, but it was to feed their families. Now it’s the damn hunters that think they are above the laws that ruin it for everyone else.”
Hawke knew better than to get the man started on this subject. “Did your grandson’s football team make it to state?”
The change of subject took them right through the beginning of the meal. The conversation in the middle was led by Darlene talking about the gossip at the quilting club.
“Selma said that new Assistant District Attorney was in her daughter, Cynthia’s, clothing shop buying a suit that looked a lot like a man’s.” Darlene stood to clear the table.
“What do you mean, that looked like a man’s?” The vision Hawke had was the curvy assistant in a man’s suit that hung like a sack on her.
“You know. These days they make suits like a man’s, but they are built for a woman’s body shape.” Darlene studied him. “Have you met the assistant district attorney?”
“Not met, but I saw her today.” He remembered how angry she’d looked when she’d left Lange’s office.
“And?” Darlene had her gaze on him as if she thought he should say more.
“And what? She stalked out of the D.A’s office, went into her office, and left.” He shrugged and put the last bite of potatoes and gravy in his mouth.
“Didn’t you see how she’s built? A man’s dress suit on her would be like painting a bathing suit on Marilyn Monroe. All her bits and pieces are going to be more evident than when she wears a dress.”
Hawke wasn’t sure what the woman was getting at. He was more interested in why Ms. Wallen wanted a new suit. “How long has she been here?” he asked, thinking about a year, but he didn’t keep track of the judicial employees. Only the ones he needed for warrants, the D.A. and Judge Vickers.
“She’s been here nearly eighteen months,” Darlene said, glancing at her husband as if she expected him to agree.
And he did. “Lange is on his second term. She came when his last assistant up and left without a word.” Herb stood, grabbing the coffee pot.
“No more for me.” Hawke put his hand over his cup. He wanted to sleep tonight. “No one knows where the other assistant went or why he left?”
“Nope.” Herb sat back down.
Darlene placed a piece of apple pie in front of Hawke. “Peggy Greeley said she heard the D.A. and his old assistant having an argument the day before the assistant left.”
“Who’s Peggy Greeley?” Hawke scooped a bite of pie up with his fork.
“She worked in the recorder’s office until eight months ago when she retired.” Darlene sat down once they all had pie in front of them.
“This is really good. What did you do different?” Hawke asked, digging in for another bite.
“I changed up the spices. Added a little brown sugar instead of the granulated.” She took a bite and smiled. “This is going to win first place at next year’s fair.”
Hawke glanced at Herb. They shared a grin. This past August had been the first time in ten years that Darlene hadn’t won the prize for best pie with two crusts. She’d left the fair, steaming and vowing she’d come up with a better pie. They were the lucky recipients of her new recipes.
“Where could I find Peggy?” Hawke asked. He knew the argument nearly two years ago was unlikely to have anything to do with Lange and Sigler. However, the D.A. may have been doing other unscrupulous things that caused the man to leave. It would give Hawke more groundwork for bringing up the fact the district attorney gave a hunting tag to a poacher.
“She lives in Alder. Now that she’s retired, she and her husband, Bob, go off fishing a lot. And they go to Arizona for the winter.” Darlene put her fork down. “Why are you interested in Peggy?”
Hawke shrugged and finished his pie. No sense in telling these two his suspicions about the D.A. Everyone in the county would know about it by morning if he did.
He helped clear the rest of the dishes from the table and excused himself.
Back in his apartment, Dog plopped across the end of his bed. Hawke wasn’t ready to retire. He had too many thoughts tumbling around in his head. Opening his laptop, he googled Benjamin Lange.
The man had grown up in western Oregon, acquired his law degree at the University of Oregon and worked at several places on the west side of the state as an assistant district attorney before applying for the assistant district attorney opening in Wallowa County. The county commissioners and the previous D.A. hired him. He’d moved up to district attorney when the judge retired and D.A. Vickers became Judge Vickers. Lange was voted in by the county constituents for a second term.
Hawke pulled up newspaper accounts of several trials. Lange appeared to be hardnosed on those who broke the laws. It didn’t make sense that he would break the law himself, but if Sigler were blackmailing him, that could have skewed the D.A.’s way of thinking.
He yawned, closed the computer, and chased Dog into his bed on the floor. He’d have a talk with Sigler tomorrow afternoon and have breakfast at the Rusty Nail in the morning.
«»«»«»
After feeding his animals, Hawke climbed into his work vehicle. Dog’s head drooped as he slowly walked back into the barn. He’d better take a trek on horseback into the mountains to check on hunters soon. Dog was getting depressed not getting to go with him.
He headed to Winslow, the small town six miles from the Trembley’s and where the state police office resided. Hawke liked the Rusty Nail Café. Locals from Winslow and Eagle gathered there in the morning for coffee and gossip. He’d learned shortly after being assigned in the county that nine times out of ten there was some truth to the rumors floating around. Or at least you could use a rumor to discover the truth.
Merrilee, the seventy-something owner of the place, stood at her usual spot behind the counter. His friend Justine, who he’d been avoiding since she’d made it clear she was willing to open the shutters she had on getting involved with a man, looked up from where she stood taking an order. Her gaze latched onto him and then back to her order pad.
Hawke took his usual seat at the counter.
“Catching many illegal hunters?” Merrilee asked in her loud, gravelly voice.
He had a pretty good idea she’d just turned everyone’s attention on them. While the old woman was rough around the edges and didn’t give her employees enough time off, she was the one people went to when they wanted to get something off their minds or spill about someone else.
“Brought in a couple yesterday.” He sipped the coffee she’d poured in a cup and placed in front of him.
“Anyone we know or some yayhoo from the city?” She picked up an order pad. “Same as usual?”
He nodded and ignored her first question.
She placed the order on the spinner at the kitchen window and turned back to him. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Something like that.” He grinned at her over the cup. It was always the same. She tried to get information out of him. He clammed up. But he usually left having learned something helpful.
Justine placed an order on the spinner and faced him. “Haven’t seen you in a while. The hunters must be keeping you busy.” She plopped a blob of butter in a little dish and picked up a dispenser of syrup.
Before he could comment, she headed out to the tables.
Every muscle in his body wanted to turn and watch her. See if the coldness he’d felt in her tone showed in her body.
Damn! He hated the verbal and non-verbal dance women did when they were upset. He didn’t have the time or the emotions for any of that. One of the reasons he’d never remarried. Once his wife left him for arresting her brother for selling drugs, he’d discovered that it was easier doing his job when he didn’t have to worry about someone wondering where he was and if he was arresting a friend or family member.
He decided to let it go. They weren’t a couple, but if he responded to her there would be a discussion and the whole county would think they were more than friends.
Merrilee placed his food in front of him. “You know there was a fight in the jail last night?”
Hawke peered at the woman. “How do you know?”
“Darnell was in earlier. His wife said the jail sent for a doctor last night. When he came back, he said a couple of the people in jail got into it.” Merrilee watched him close.
He shook his head. “Didn’t hear about it.” But he scooped his food in as fast as he could and as soon as he was in his vehicle, he called the county jail.
“This is Trooper Hawke. Can you tell me about the fight in the jail last night?”
“The two you brought in yesterday. We should have split them up when they started yelling at each other, but we didn’t think they’d try to tear each other apart,” the young jailer, Ralph, said.
“Are they well enough to go to arraignment and be released?” Hawke wondered if he should go speak with Sigler this morning before arraignment.
“Yeah. The doctor fixed ’em up, and we put them in separate cells.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Hawke disconnected and peered out the front window. He’d go have a talk with Sergeant Spruel.