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Hawke drove to Winslow and dropped the evidence he’d found off at the state police office after leaving a message for Donner.
Driving home, he thought about his conversation with Justine. He had to find a way to get them back to being friends. It was exhausting avoiding her. And, he needed to find out what kind of rumors his landlady was spreading.
But uppermost on his mind was returning to the D.A.’s office tomorrow and finding out from the receptionist what had been sent to Sigler. He’d written down the date of the postmark on the letter. 9/15.
Dog ran out to greet him as Hawke pulled up and parked alongside his pickup.
He gathered his work computer and coat and slid out of the vehicle. Dog jumped up, putting his muddy paws on his vest. “Thanks. Now I’ll have to wash your mud off.” He used his empty hand to ruffle the dog’s ears.
Horse, his mule, brayed. Boy and Jack followed with nickers.
“I’m here. You can have your nightly treat,” Hawke said, placing his things on the third step up to his apartment and heading to the tack room where the grain was stored.
The sun had set while he’d been at the office. The moonless night beyond the lights in the barn had an appeal to Hawke tonight. He fed the animals and walked back outside. The stars were bright lights in the nearly black sky. The moon; a golden C drawn on a black canvas.
Nights like this, reminded him of his childhood. First, when his father would argue with his mother, and he’d run outside to get away from the loud voices and accusing tones. His father had a roving eye. Something his mother found out about after their marriage and caused their divorce.
When they’d moved to the Umatilla Reservation, Hawke had believed he’d never have to listen to arguing again. But it happened, again, after his mother remarried and his sister was born. This time, his stepfather’s other love was booze. He’d come home mean and nasty. Hawke would take his sister and leave the house. He’d tell her about the stars in the sky and how grandfather had told him the story of how the stars came to be.
When he was a teenager, he’d realized his stepfather did more than hurl words at his mother. He threw punches. Hawke stepped in. Then one night the reservation police came and said his stepfather had died in a car crash. Instead of tears of grief, his mother had shed tears of happiness. They did fine on their own. There were some lean times, but they didn’t have to live in fear in their own house.
“You counting the stars?” Herb asked from behind him.
“No. Just enjoying the night.”
“It’s supposed to get down in the teens tonight. You might want to snuggle with Dog.” The older man chuckled.
“Funny. Has your wife been telling people I’m dating Dani Singer from Charlie’s Hunting Lodge?” It bothered him that Justine thought that was why he was avoiding her. Because he considered her a friend, he would have told her about Dani, if there were anything to tell.
“I don’t know. You know women. When they get together, they think they can bring everyone together with love.” Herb said the ‘with love’ in a flowery way.
Hawke laughed. “You can tell your wife, I’m not dating Dani or anyone. She’s making my friendship with Justine weird.”
“Are you sure it’s something Darlene said and not something you did or didn’t say?”
Hawke peered through the darkness at Herb. “What do you mean?”
“Word around the Rusty Nail is you’ve been avoiding Justine. Everyone wonders if maybe she’s the one that caught your eye after all this time.”
Hawke shook his head. “Everyone at the Rusty Nail thinks that? Then so does half of the county. Shit!” It looked like a visit with Justine was needed to get this all cleared up.
“Have you been avoiding her?” Herb tapped his arm and started walking toward the house. “Come in for coffee.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. I don’t feel like talking.” Hawke headed to the barn. This is why he avoided women. He should be thinking about who would want Sigler dead and how to approach Lange and his office for information about the letter.
In his apartment, Hawke microwaved a can of chili, buttered a slice of bread, and popped open a can of beer. While he ate, he listed the evidence they had so far and the allegations.
Smith & Wesson 380 bullet. A ding went off in his brain.
Hawke pulled his laptop over and checked out what guns were registered to Benjamin Lange. A Smith & Wesson 380. He left a message with Donner that Lange owned a gun like the bullet casing found at the scene of the crime.
«»«»«»
The next day Hawke called in to dispatch that he was headed to Alder and would be unavailable for an hour. He then dialed Justine’s number, knowing she was working, and left a message that he would bring dinner over to her house at seven that night. Meeting at her house would make it easier for them to talk without others listening in. They had never gone out. They had both wanted to keep any rumors at bay about them being a couple. Yet, here, when they’d tried to avoid being in the gossip wire, they were.
He pulled up to the courthouse and parked. The receptionist at the D.A.’s office was on the phone. She glanced up, recognized him, and waved him to a chair.
After she hung up the phone she asked, “Do you need to see Mr. Lange?”
“I’m hoping you can help me. Is there any way to know what correspondence was sent to a person from this office?” He walked over to the desk.
“If you have a name, I can pull up the files and see.” She glanced at the closed door to the D.A.’s office. “But I can’t tell you what exactly was in the correspondence.”
“That’s fine. It was postmarked September fifteenth and sent to Duane Sigler.”
The young woman, Terri, frowned. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t think it’s because of anything we sent.” She typed on her computer. “No, nothing comes up on that name in September.” She typed some more. “Not August either. Sorry.”
“Who has access to the envelopes with the district attorney’s name on them?” He knew the D.A. for sure, but if Lange was as by-the-book as Mrs. Greeley said, could there be someone trying to frame him?
“Anyone in this office.” She rolled her chair to a cabinet behind the desk and slid the door open. “We keep all the stationery in here.”
Rachel Wallen walked out of her office. Her eyes widened, then quickly lit up as she smiled at him. She walked up and held out her hand. “Rachel Wallen, Assistant District Attorney. What brings you here trooper?”
Her grip was firm.
“State Trooper Hawke with Fish and Wildlife. Just had a question.”
Her gaze flashed over his face. “Hawke? Are you the trooper who is investigating the death of Duane Sigler?”
This was interesting. How did she know that? “I found the crime scene and am helping in the investigation. How did you hear about it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I work in the District Attorney’s Office. We hear about all the crimes committed in the county. Have you found any solid leads?”
“We’re working on a couple.”
“Is that why you’re here? To fill us in?” She started toward Lange’s office.
“No. Just gathering evidence.”
“Here?”
He studied the woman. Was she playing dumb or was she egging him to say more? Bring up that he believed the D.A. might be involved.
“I’ve discovered enough. Thank you for your help, Terri.” He nodded to the receptionist and walked out of the offices.
It wasn’t until he sat in his vehicle, letting dispatch know he was available, that he noticed the D.A.’s investigator stood on the courthouse steps, watching him. Did Lange have the man keeping an eye on him or was it the Assistant D.A.? If something happened to Lange, she’d more than likely move up to fill his position until the next election.
A glance at his phone showed three messages. Two were from Donner. The third was from Justine. He listened to Donner’s.
“Sent the envelope to forensics. We’ll see if they can lift any prints, but more than likely they will be from people in the D.A.’s office. Without knowing what was inside, it’s a dead end.” Hawke listened to the second message. “Do you know how many people own Smith and Wesson three-eighties? I really doubt I can get Judge Vickers to give me a warrant to confiscate Lange’s pistol.”
Hawke hit the off button and dialed Donner.
“Donner.”
“This is Hawke. I was just at the D.A.’s office. They have no record of sending Sigler any kind of correspondence. So how did he get the envelope? And what’s wrong with just walking in and asking Lange for his weapon? If he has nothing to hide, he’ll hand it over.”
Donner blew out a long breath. “The envelope is a real long shot. I can’t see us tracing it to any kind of misconduct from the D.A.’s office. And for the gun. If you want to give it a try, you go for it. Me. I like my job.”
Hawke liked his job, too. If the man handed the gun over, he’d stop pressing to find out if the D.A. was corrupt. “I’m in front of the courthouse now. I’ll go ask.”
“Let me know the outcome.” Donner ended the connection.
Hawke drew in a breath and stepped out of the vehicle. Walking up the steps this time, they felt like they were three times as high. His job could be on the line.
“You’re back. Did you forget to ask something?” Terri asked, glancing up from her computer screen.
“Is Lange busy?” He glanced at the closed door.
“I’ll see.” She picked up the phone. “Trooper Hawke would like to speak to you.” She listened and put the phone down. “Go right in.”
After his last encounter, he was surprised the man was willing to see him. Hawke strode to the door and opened it, walking in.
Judge Vickers sat in the chair in front of the D.A.’s desk. He stood and held out his hand. “Hawke.”
He shook hands with the judge. “Judge.”
“What did you need to see me about today?” Lange’s clipped tone said he didn’t appreciate the visit and had more than likely asked the judge to stay to witness the encounter.
“I wondered if you would be willing to hand over your Smith and Wesson three-eighty for a ballistic test?”
The judge sputtered. “What is this request for?”
Hawke studied Lange. “The D.A. knows.”
“My gun is down in the glove box of my car. I have a few minutes, you can walk down with me. Judge, you’re welcome to come if you want.” Lange moved from behind the desk and headed to the door.
“I’ll leave you two to this.” Judge Vickers walked out the open door and out into the hall.
“Terri, I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Lange said to his receptionist as they walked through the area.
Ms. Wallen stuck her head out the door as Hawke walked by.
He hoped she didn’t decide to tag along. His intuition about her said she would do whatever it took to move up the ladder.
Hawke followed Lange down the stairs and out the back of the building to the county employees parking lot. A gray-blue Tahoe’s lights blinked, and Lange walked up to it.
Tahoe. Just like the neighbors saw at Sigler’s house. Hawke caught up to the man as he opened the passenger door and dropped the door to the glove box down. All the compartment contained were maps, a registration slip, and proof of insurance.
Lange tapped his hand around inside the compartment as if the gun would miraculously appear. “I don’t understand. It was here last week when I took it out and cleaned it.”