"Excuse me," May said politely, in a loud voice, so that he could hear her.
The man turned towards her and then froze. He narrowed his eyes at her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. There was an incredulous note in his voice, as if he simply couldn't believe police were darkening the soil of this shooting range again.
"We're looking for Dean Linn," May said, trying her best to sound calm and confident.
"And who the hell are you?"
"We're deputies, here on official police business."
The man laughed, a harsh, amused sound. "What do you have to say to him?"
"We'd like to ask him a few questions, that's all."
"What about?"
"We need to speak to him about a series of murders." She held her breath.
The man looked at her and then at Owen. "And why should I help you?" he asked. "I'm the manager of this range. You tried to close us down!"
Of all the bad choices of someone to ask! May’s heart sank.
"It wasn't us personally," May said, but quickly realized that excuse wouldn't wash with this angry man. Everyone was the same in his books when in their police jackets. Quickly, she changed tack. "You know, I am glad you were able to provide the right paperwork," she said, in as friendly a tone as she could.
"You are?" He sounded like he didn't believe her.
"Think what would have happened if you'd had a competing range open up. And they didn't have the right paperwork. You'd be glad to see them closed, wouldn't you? I mean, it’s a possibility. There’s a lot of forest and valleys around here. Someone could have opened up The Hollow Two."
The man hesitated. She could see her logic was getting through to him.
"Why did they harass us?" he tried.
"It was probably a member of the public who queried it, and the police followed up on the complaint. But either way, these things happen. What matters is you're obviously doing things right, and now you have a recent checkup to prove it. I’m very happy to hear that.”
She'd taken the wind out of his sails, she could see. And finally, he was more cooperative.
"You have a right to ask questions, but you might have to wait. He's busy right now," he said.
May could hear the gunfire booming away, so she knew he was telling the truth.
"We'll wait," she said, hoping she sounded as if she was in control of the situation.
The man nodded. "I'll tell him you're here. But I don't know if Dean will want to answer your questions."
"Why not?" May asked.
"Because he's a very wary man. He doesn't trust anyone."
"Even the police?"
There was a pause. "Especially the police."
"Thank you for the warning. We'll try anyway," May said and watched as he walked toward some people standing about fifty yards away. After a brief conversation, one of them turned in their direction, and she instantly recognized Dean Linn.
He was a big man, above average height and broad-shouldered, with a barrel chest. He was wearing a black hat with a wide brim. He looked like a cowboy and was carrying a big rifle. He didn't look pleased to see them. A couple of the other men followed him a few paces and stood, as if watching to see whether any further trouble was going to erupt.
"Why are you here?" he asked as soon as he was within shouting distance.
