"Same as most evenings. Ate dinner. Read. Went to bed." He looked at her directly. "I don't have an alibi for either night. But I didn't kill anyone."
"Did you know Maggie Coleman?"
"I knew who she was. Everybody did. I never spoke to her."
"Did you have any reason to wish her harm?"
"None."
"And Burt Halvorsen?"
Aspen held her gaze. "My brother bled out in the woods because of how that man handled the scene. But I didn't kill him." He paused. "I wouldn't waste the bullet."
The words hung in the quiet cabin. Callie let them hang. McKenzie shifted slightly in his chair but said nothing.
"Were you at the vigil last night?" Callie asked. "The memorial for Coleman and Halvorsen. At the lakefront."
Aspen was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I was there."
"Did anyone speak to you?"
"I stayed at the back. Didn't feel like talking to anyone."
"How long were you there?"
"Twenty minutes. Maybe less." He paused. "Yeah, I left. I saw police working the edge of the crowd and figured I was the first person you'd come looking for. A man with a grudge against one of the dead, standing at the back of a memorial. I didn't feel like explaining myself."
Callie kept her expression neutral. The height was right. The build was right. The timing was right.
"Which direction did you leave?"
"South. Through the park. Cut through the residential streets back to my truck."
McKenzie and Callie exchanged a glance. South. Through the residential streets. The same direction Noah had chased the figure.
"Anyone see you leave?"
"Not that I know of."
"Mr. Aspen, do you own rifles in .308 caliber?"
"I do. Two of them. A Remington 700 and a Tikka T3. Both in the safe."
"We'd like to submit them for ballistic testing."
She expected resistance. She expected him to ask for a warrant, like Pike had. Instead, Aspen looked at them for a moment longer than necessary. Then he stood up and walked to the hallway. Efficient. No wasted motion. They followed. In the bedroom, a steel gun safe stood against the far wall, bolted to the floor. Military grade, not the sporting kind you bought at a box store. He dialed the combination and opened it. Four rifles stood in the rack, barrels up, stocks resting in felt-lined slots. Clean. Oiled. Professionally maintained. No dust on the barrels. No rust on the actions. It was clear he took good care of his equipment.
"Take them," Aspen said. He stepped back and leaned against the doorframe. "Test whatever you need to test. I'll sign a voluntary surrender form."
McKenzie looked at Callie. She looked back.
A man who had just killed two people did not open his gun safe and hand over his weapons. Not without a warrant. Not without a lawyer. Not without a fight. Unless, of course, he had another weapon they hadn't found. Or unless he was telling the truth.
Callie studied Aspen as McKenzie lifted the Remington from the rack. He watched them handle his rifles the way someone might who cared about the weapons but not about what a test would reveal. There was no tension in his hands. No flicker in his eyes. Just awareness.
"We appreciate the cooperation," Callie said.
"I'm cooperating because I didn't do it. You'll see."
