They bagged both .308s and carried them to the Tahoe. Aspen stood on the porch with his arms crossed and watched them load the weapons into the back. He didn't ask about getting them back.
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” McKenzie said.
Callie paused before getting into the passenger seat. She looked back at the cabin. The neat firewood. The game camera. The topographic map she could still see through the kitchen window. Everything about Todd Aspen was controlled and organized, a life built around self-sufficiency and routine. The kind of life that could hide almost anything or nothing at all.
McKenzie started the engine and backed down the gravel drive. Neither spoke until they hit the main road.
"Well?" McKenzie said.
Callie stared through the windshield at the road unwinding through the trees. Aspen had the training. The rifles. The grudge. The terrain knowledge. The solitary lifestyle. He fit every line of the profile they had built in that war room. But he had handed them his guns without being asked twice.
“Could be legit, or he could have stored the rifle elsewhere,” she said.
McKenzie turned the cigarette between his teeth. "Aye. That's what bothers me."
11
Savannah was already talking when Noah walked into her office.
She was on the phone, pacing behind her desk with a legal pad in her hand and the receiver pressed between her shoulder and ear. She held up a finger when she saw him, continued the conversation for another thirty seconds, then hung up.
"That was the DA's office," she said. "I've requested expedited processing on Aspen's rifles. If ballistics confirms a match, I want the arrest warrant drafted and ready to execute."
Noah sat in the chair across from her desk. “You seem in a rush.”
"Two people are dead and the town is terrified, Noah. The mayor is riding our ass. Fast is the only speed that matters right now." She set the legal pad down and leaned against the edge of the desk. "Aspen fits."
"You said that about Pike," Noah said.
“What, you don't agree? Military training. Marksman qualification. Hunting guide who knows the terrain better than anyone. Two .308 rifles that match the caliber profile. A publicgrudge against one of the victims. No alibi for either night. And he lives alone on a rural property with clear access to backcountry routes."
She wasn't wrong. Every line of the profile they had built in the war room aligned with Todd Aspen. Motive, means, opportunity. The three pillars of any prosecution. Savannah had them stacked neatly and she was building the case with confidence. She had done this a hundred times.
"Okay, but he handed over the rifles voluntarily," Noah said.
"So?"
"A man who committed two murders, policed his brass, left zero forensic evidence, and disappeared into the forest doesn't open his gun safe and say 'take them.' That's not how guilt works."
Savannah folded her arms. "C'mon, Noah. You know better than anyone. Sometimes these fools want to get caught. Especially the ones who believe they were right to do it. They cooperate because they want the conversation. They want someone to hear their side."
“According to Callie, Aspen didn't want a conversation. He wanted McKenzie and Callie out of there.”
"Yes, and the best way to get us off his case was to give us what we asked for and let the ballistics clear him. If he's innocent, that's exactly what a smart man does. If he's guilty, it's exactly what a confident one does because maybe the gun isn't among them."
She had an answer for everything. That was Savannah's strength and it was also the thing that made Noah uneasy. She built cases like an engineer built bridges. Every support in place, every load calculated. The structure looked solid from every angle. But bridges built on the wrong foundation still fell.
"And his statement," Savannah continued. "What did he say about Halvorsen? 'I wouldn't waste the bullet.' That's not a denial. That's contempt."
"Or he’s been angry for three years and doesn't care who knows it. That's the opposite of our shooter. The man on that ridge doesn't advertise. He doesn't confront. He doesn't sit in a cabin and let investigators walk through his life. He operates in silence, kills from a distance, and disappears. He’s thought about the ways people get caught. He’s being careful. Aspen told Burt Halvorsen to his face at a public meeting that the autopsy was wrong. Why not just kill him back then? That doesn’t fit. You don’t wait three years and then take a shot from four hundred yards."
Savannah studied him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying keep the aperture open. Loosen your grip. If we funnel everything into Aspen after the ballistics don't match, we've lost time we can't get back."
"The ballistics will tell us what we need to know on those guns, but not him. Until then, Aspen is our primary lead and I'm allocating resources accordingly." She looked at him directly. "If I'm wrong, and ballistics clears him, we'll move on. If I'm right, we stop a third murder. That's the math, Noah."
He stood and walked to the door. Behind him, Savannah was already dialing.
