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This was the first time Hawke had witnessed a seed of fear on the man’s face. “Why did you take it out and clean it?”
Lange stared at him. “I clean it once a month after practicing at the shooting range. It doesn’t do any good to have a gun permit and carry if you aren’t prepared to use it.”
“Where were you Monday night between six and eight?” Hawke had a feeling the man wouldn’t have an alibi.
“Monday night? I finished up in the office around six-thirty and drove home.” The man peered straight in his eyes. “And I don’t have anyone who can vouch for me. I live alone.” Lange closed the glove box and stood. “I’m not stupid. You accused me of selling my hunting tag to Sigler and then he ends up dead. You’re trying to pin his death on me.” He slammed the vehicle door shut. “I didn’t give or sell the tag to that man, and I didn’t kill him.”
Hawke almost believed him.
“Well?” Lange crossed his arms.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to take down my statement about the stolen gun?” Now the man was tapping his right foot.
With a flourish, Hawke pulled out his logbook. “When was the last time you saw the Smith and Wesson three-eighty?”
“A week ago Sunday. I’d been to the shooting range and had cleaned the pistol. I put it back in the glove box around nine p.m.”
“Who knows you keep a gun in your glove box?” Hawke asked.
The district attorney started to shake his head. “Dave Willard, the man who keeps tabs on the range. I believe he saw me putting it away one time. My previous assistant, Travis Needham.” He said the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “And my ex-wife, Lorraine. She would go to the shooting range with me sometimes and shoot the pistol I gave her.”
“What kind was that?”
“The same as mine. Just a little smaller, easier for her to grip.” Lange uncrossed his arms. “I need to get back to work.”
It was apparent talking about his ex-wife softened the man, and her leaving had upset him.
“Can you think of any reason why Sigler would say you gave him your hunting tag?” Even though the man had been an unlawful hunter, he’d been adamant the D.A. gave him the tag. Yet, he’d tap danced around everything else that he was questioned about.
Lange shook his head. “I know he’d been in court a couple times on hunting violations and a DUII, but other than that, we’ve never even talked.”
Hawke had a feeling someone was out to get the district attorney. But why? And who?
He walked to his vehicle. The feeling someone watched him had Hawke looking up. In a window on the second floor of the courthouse, Assistant District Attorney Rachel Wallen looked out.
Pulling out of the parking lot, he spotted the court investigator walking toward a light blue sedan.
A thought struck him. He wondered what cases Lange was working right now. Could someone want to discredit Lange to get out of trouble with the law? But what about the envelope in Sigler’s possession from the D.A.’s office?
Hawke knew he should leave the investigation of Sigler’s homicide to Donner. But he’d found the crime scene, gathered evidence, and what made him a good tracker was not being able to ignore the oddities that usually uncovered the tracks or trail.
But he couldn’t continue to follow the clues while on duty. He had to take the rest of today and tomorrow off. During the busy hunting seasons all officers worked the weekends. That was when the most hunters were out. And if he didn’t take his days off, the Lieutenant chewed his ass.
He drove home, parked his work vehicle, and stepped out. Dog raced over, whining and showing his teeth.
“I’m home the rest of the day.” Hawke scratched the dog’s ears.
Jack nickered.
Hawke walked to the paddock. “I suppose you three would like some exercise.” He patted each one between their eyes and headed to his apartment.
A flick of the switch on the coffeemaker and it started brewing. He took off his uniform and slipped into his everyday clothes, pulling on his cowboy boots. After making and eating a sandwich, he wandered back down to the barn.
Darlene stood at the entrance to the arena, watching a young woman lope a buckskin mare. “I wondered when you were taking a day off this week.”
Hawke stopped beside her. “This time of year, it’s hard to get a day off.” He nodded. “She and that horse are looking better each time I see them.”
The woman next to him nodded. “She needed confidence and the horse needed consistency. They are both blooming.”
“Are you using the arena all afternoon?”
Darlene faced him. “You want to let your three hooligans out here to run around?”
“If you don’t need the space.” Even though he’d be taking Jack and Horse up into the mountains on Saturday, they had been cooped up all week.
“Chelsea will be done in another thirty minutes. And the arena is all yours.”
“Thanks.” Hawke started to walk away and stopped. “I need to take dinner to someone tonight. Do you think I should grab something from the store that warms up in the oven, or order from a restaurant?”
Darlene closed the distance between them. “Are you talking about Justine or Dani?”
He moaned. How did he not think she’d have intuition it was a woman? “Justine.”
“The one you just want to be friends with. Take something already cooked.” She pivoted, took a step, and tossed over her shoulder. “She’s a good woman. Be sure you know what you’re doing.”
His gut tightened. Of course, Darlene would be rooting for Justine. She’d known her practically her whole life. Dani was new to the area and those who had deep roots here would be leery of her.
But he and Dani had even deeper roots than the so-called first families of the area. Their families were here before settlers arrived.
He walked up to his apartment, dug around in the basket on his small counter, and found the menu for Blue Elk Tavern in Winslow. They didn’t have a huge selection of food items, but it was either that or the Rusty Nail. He didn’t want to order food from the place where Justine worked.
He punched in the tavern’s number and listened to the buzz.
“Hello! Blue Elk Tavern,” Ben Preston, the owner, answered.
“Ben, it’s Hawke. I’d like to place a to-go order for tonight at six-thirty.”
“You must be off today to know exactly when you’ll be here to pick it up.”
“I am. I’d like two of your fried chicken baskets and two slices of apple pie.” He knew ordering two would catch the man’s attention.
“Two? Do you have company coming over?”
The insinuation in the man’s voice was exactly what he was trying to avoid by going to Justine’s rather than bringing her to the tavern for dinner.
“I’m having dinner with a friend. See you at six-thirty.” He ended the call and checked his refrigerator. He’d have to stop at the Winslow General Store and purchase a bottle of wine. A quick google on his phone for what wine to drink with chicken and he knew what kind to get.
Dog stood up and stretched.
“Yeah, it’s time to take the boys out to play.” He descended the stairs.
Darlene and Chelsea stood by the woman’s truck and trailer, talking.
He haltered Boy, Horse, and Jack. Opening the stall gate, he gave Jack’s lead rope to Dog, who led the gelding into the arena. He’d acquired both animals about the same time and the two had become friends. Having Dog lead Jack, gave Hawke two hands when he had to deal with Horse’s mule attitude.
When all three were in the arena, Hawke unhooked the lead ropes. All three took off running to the other end. He and Dog stood by the gate watching the large animals run and cavort as if they were playing tag.
His phone buzzed.
Donner.
“Hawke,” he answered.
“What did you find out when you asked Lange about his gun?”
“He couldn’t produce it. Said it was stolen. I took his statement.”
Donner cleared his throat. “What did you think? Was he telling the truth or hiding the fact he ditched his weapon?”
Hawke was surprised the detective asked his opinion. “He seemed genuinely upset when he reached in the glove box and the weapon wasn’t there.”
“Did he say the last time he saw it?”
“Yeah.” Hawke relayed the whole conversation to the detective. “And while I initially believed Lange was hiding the fact that he gave the hunting tag to Sigler, I’m starting to think someone has set up our district attorney.”
“What makes you think that?” Donner asked.
Hawke laid out all his thoughts on the set-up. “Sigler was adamant the D.A. gave him the tag. He really believed it. But I don’t know why he didn’t say anything about it during his arraignment. Unless he was saving the information for his hearing, but how would he know it would work more in his favor if he waited?”
“Like someone who knew the law coached him?” Donner offered.
“Yeah.” Hawke watched as his horses and mule started to slow down and mosey around the big open area.
“Then there’s the envelope. Anyone with access to the office could have sent the hunting tag to Sigler.” Hawke hadn’t worked out how they got the tag. It had been purchased with Lange’s credit card.
“Are you thinking the Assistant D.A.?”
Hawke wasn’t sure how the detective jumped to that conclusion, however, it was clear by Donner’s tone, he found that highly unlikely.
“Or the previous assistant. The last one didn’t leave the office on good terms with Lange.” But he’d taken the District Attorney’s wife. If anyone should be setting someone up it would be Lange setting up the assistant.
“Travis got away with Lange’s wife. I don’t think either one of them would want to upset what they have.”
“Then we’ll just have to keep digging. Might look into the cases Lange has on the docket. Maybe one of those people is trying to upset the attorney to get their conviction overturned.” Hawke didn’t think there was a severe enough case coming up that would warrant this much work to overrule.
“I’ll see what I can come up with and keep you informed. You do the same when you aren’t chasing hunters.” Donner ended the conversation.
All three geldings walked over to him. They’d had their fun and now wanted attention. He rubbed the wide space between their eyes, scratched the base of their ears, rubbed his hands up and down their necks and scratched their chests. When they started pressing closer and closer, he snapped the ropes on the halters. He and Dog led them back to their paddock.
Closing the gate on the three, he gave them grain and walked out into the late afternoon sunshine and cleaned out the water trough and refilled it.
All the time he did these mindless actions, his brain was trying to make sense of the evidence and clues they had. What nagged at him the most was the tale of the evidence at the crime scene. The shooter had to be someone Sigler knew. But why had he driven himself to the hospital? Calling 9-1-1 might have saved his life. Was he worried whoever shot him would have heard the dispatcher giving his address and the shooter would have realized they hadn’t killed him?
Hawke climbed the stairs to his apartment and pulled out his laptop. Opening the case file on the homicide, he entered the notes from his visit to the D.A.’s office today. Sitting back and thinking about what Lange said about not having an alibi, he thought he might try to find a neighbor who saw him come home on Monday night.
A glance at the clock showed he had a couple hours until his dinner with Justine. Hawke grabbed his cowboy hat and coat and headed out of the apartment with Dog on his heels.
His dodge pickup sat beside the barn. It hadn’t been started up in a week. Dog jumped in the cab when he opened the driver’s side door. Hawke slid behind the steering wheel, held in the button that warmed the glow plugs, and turned the key.
The motor roared to life.
He smiled and ruffled Dog’s ears. Animals and machines were reliable.
Thirty minutes later, he traveled along the road on the west side of Wallowa Lake. An area of large homes, mostly log. Some were all year residents and others were only summer homes. Several vehicles went around him as he slowly moved along, trying to get a glimpse of the house numbers. He knew Lange’s house was on this road, but he wasn’t sure which house was the district attorney’s. Once he’d established the house, he could talk to the neighbors.
It turned out Lange’s house was on the end of five houses in a row along the lake shore. The D.A.’s house was a little smaller and not as ostentatious as the others.
Hawke backed up and pulled into the driveway of the log house closest to Lange’s. A golden retriever trotted around the corner of the house, woofing, its flag of a tail waving.
“Stay,” Hawke said to Dog as he whimpered to get out and play.
Closing the door, he leaned down and patted the dog on the head. “How are you today? Anyone home?”
A man in his seventies walked around the corner of the house from where the dog had appeared.
“Can I help you?” he asked. He had on a thick coat, stocking cap, and warm boots.
Hawke pulled out his badge. “State Trooper Hawke. I wondered if you could answer a few questions for me?”
The man studied his badge and squinted at him. “How come you aren’t in uniform? State Troopers are always in uniform.” He glanced at the pickup and Dog sitting inside. “And that’s not a state vehicle.”
“It’s really my day off but something has been bothering me and I wanted to get some answers.”
The man nodded. “About what?”
“Did you happen to see Mr. Lange come home on Monday night?” Hawke knew this line of inquiry could open up a can of worms that he might not be able to shut.