McKenzie was back in twenty minutes. He leaned against her desk and laid the printout flat.
"Four registered firearms. A shotgun, a .22 rimfire, and two .308s. One's a Remington 700, the other's a Tikka T3. Both are bolt action. Both are commonly used for long-range hunting."
Callie looked at the list. Two .308s. The same caliber that had killed Maggie Coleman and Burt Halvorsen.
"His service record?"
“Clean record. He was based out of Fort Drum. Marksman qualification, which in the Army means he can hit a man-sized target at three hundred meters. Not sniper-level, but well above average. He would have trained on the M16 and the M4, but the fundamentals transfer to any rifle."
"What about the hunting guide business?"
“No issues. Licensed and insured. Runs backcountry trips in the High Peaks Wilderness and the Pharaoh Lake area. Mostly fall and winter. Deer, bear, some turkey in the spring. He knows the terrain."
Callie picked up her jacket. “Checks all the boxes. Let's go talk to him."
She briefed Avery Rivera on the way out. The acting sheriff listened, nodded, and told them to keep it conversational unless Aspen gave them a reason to escalate. "Don't spook him into lawyering up before we get what we need."
The drivefrom Lewis to Bear Cub Lane took forty minutes on Route 73 through Keene and around the south end of the lake. The road narrowed as they left the main highway, turning to gravel after the last mailbox. The forest pressed close on both sides, spruce and hemlock and paper birch, the canopy dense enough to block most of the afternoon light. The air through the open window was cooler than in town and smelled like damp earth and pine resin.
McKenzie drove. He hadn't said much since they left the office.
"You buying him?" McKenzie asked.
"I'm buying that the lead doesn't feel forced."
"And if he isn't?"
"Then we wasted half a day on the best lead we've got." McKenzie glanced at her. “Are you thinking it's the same guy from last night? The one who jumped Noah?"
“Maybe,” Callie said. "It's not a stretch."
“But it’s a lot of assumptions stacked on a phone tip."
"It's more than we had yesterday."
McKenzie was quiet for a moment. "You know what I keep thinking about? If he lawyers up, we're into paperwork, probable cause, and a judge. Best case, tomorrow. Maybe longer. If he talks, we get answers today."
"He's a former soldier. He'll either cooperate because he's clean, or he'll shut the door because he's not."
"In my experience, the guilty ones don't shut the door. They invite you in and lie to your face."
They passed a trailhead parking area where two cars sat empty, hikers already deep in the backcountry. A hawk circledabove the tree line, riding a thermal. The mountains were close here, the valleys narrow, the sky reduced to a strip of gray between the ridges.
"What's your gut saying?" Callie asked.
McKenzie was quiet for a moment. "My gut says men like this don't usually get handed to you by a woman remembering a town meeting." He glanced at her. "But I've been wrong before."
The property appeared around a bend. A gravel drive leading to a single-story cabin set back from the road. Dark wood siding. Green metal roof. A covered porch with two Adirondack chairs and a pair of muddy boots by the door. Behind the cabin, a large outbuilding that looked like a workshop or storage shed. A pickup truck was parked in the drive, a black Ford F-250 with a cap on the bed and a hunting outfitter decal on the rear window.
They parked behind the truck. Callie got out and scanned the property. It was tidy. Functional. No junk in the yard, no trash, no clutter. Firewood was stacked against the side of the cabin in rows that looked like they had been measured. A game camera was mounted on a tree near the drive, its lens aimed at the approach.
The front door opened before they reached the porch.
Todd Aspen was lean and tall, maybe six-two, with short brown hair going gray at the temples and a face that looked like it had been outside in every season for forty years. He wore a flannel shirt over a thermal, work pants, and boots. His arms were crossed but not tight. He wasn't surprised to see them. He had probably watched them on the game camera from inside.
He was about the right height. About the right build. There was nothing soft about him. Callie filed that away and kept her face neutral.
"Help you?" he said.
