"Why did you have to interrupt me?" he asked irritably. "I was about to get a shot of the boreal chickadee. I've been waiting two hours for the perfect opportunity. Now, the darned thing's flown away."
He sounded angry but not aggressive. May felt shock and relief resound through her. She'd been certain they'd end up facing down an armed, lethal adversary. But this man was a birder, and he definitely was not Dean. The face wasn't the same at all, even allowing for a couple of years' difference.
He held up his camera, and May could see a telescopic attachment. He still had an ax to grind with them as he continued. "The light was good, and I was about to get a good shot. Maybe even a prizewinning one. But I guess today is not my lucky day."
Now, he was guilting May out. And she did feel guilty. She felt terrible that she’d spoiled this man’s opportunity at the perfect photograph. Quickly, she moved forward.
"We're looking for Dean Linn," she said.
"He's my landlord. I rent the cottage from him," the man said, pointing to a tiny cottage on the side of the main house."
"Is he here?"
"He went out a while ago. About an hour ago, I think."
"Do you know where?"
The big man considered, rubbing his broad chin. "I'd say he might have gone to the shooting range. It's a few miles to the north of here. He was carrying about four of his guns. So yes, I'd say he's gone to the range." He hesitated. "But I would be careful if you go there. They don't like cops. They had some problems with the law recently. Some cop tried to close them down, saying they didn't have the right permissions. As it happens, they did, but I know that since then, police are not welcome there. They might not even be allowed on the premises at all."
"Thanks for the warning," May said.
The shooting range was not the place she would have chosen to interview a suspect like this, even in the best of circumstances. And this was clearly not the best of circumstances. They were now going to have to confront Dean Linn, an aggressive man carrying multiple guns, in a shooting range where cops were the enemy.
She wished they had a choice in the matter. If only they could come back later. But she had the feeling that given half a chance, and the warning that police were looking for him, Dean Linn would disappear into thin air—for long enough, at least, to stall their case.
The saying “out of the frying pan and into the fire” echoed in May’s mind as she turned and headed for the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
May heard the sounds of the shooting range before she even saw it. The rapid-fire shots echoed around the hills. The range itself was hidden away in a valley, but well signposted with vivid red and black signage along the road.
"The Hollow Shooting Range."
As they drove down the steep, winding road, May saw that the range was basically a huge area of forested land, with a number of marked out shooting areas.
The rat-tat of gunfire was a constant background noise. May parked in the parking lot, noticing around ten other cars there. There were huge trucks, jeeps, and vans. She didn't feel comfortable about this at all. It was going to get confrontational, and she would have to use all her diplomacy.
There was also the issue that the men at this range might ride roughshod over her diplomatic efforts and might only respect a show of strength.
She looked over at Owen.
"I don't like this," she murmured.
"Neither do I," he replied grimly. "But we don't have to face him alone. We have our backup."
Which, May now realized, might be even more of a liability. Too many police might keep them safer, but it might also alienate Dean totally, if he was surrounded by like-minded people. Still, they couldn't tell the backup to go away now. Safety came first.
They all got out of the cars.
“Let’s head over and speak to them,” May said. “Please stay a few yards behind us, but be ready to intervene,” she told the backup.
May and Owen walked towards the closest shooting range. There were about five men there. All of them were so focused on their shooting that they barely registered their presence.
May looked around her, hearing the gunshots booming out. They were mostly single gunshots. She saw a few semi-automatic rifles. One or two were automatic. At first glance, she couldn't see anyone who looked like Dean. But most people were wearing ear protectors, facing away from them. They were going to have to ask around.
May walked up to the closest man, who was standing with two friends, who were watching him shoot. After having hit the bull’s eye, he lowered his weapon, looking satisfied.
The sounds of the shots peppered the air around them.
