Northern Lights

them. Why?"
    "I'm wondering if you took a mental-health break back in February of 1988."
    Behind his lenses, John's eyes went cool. "It would be hard to say."
    "Try."
    "Should I be talking to a lawyer, Chief Burke?"
    "That would be up to you. I'm just trying to get a picture of where everyone was, what everyone was up to when Patrick Galloway was killed."
    "Shouldn't the State Police be the ones trying to get that picture? And if I'm not mistaken, haven't they drawn their conclusions?"
    "I like my own drawings. You wouldn't say it was a secret that you've been, let's say, partial to Charlene for a long time."
    "No." After taking off his glasses, John began to polish them, slowly, thoroughly, with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. "I wouldn't say it's a secret."
    "And were partial to her when she was with Galloway."
    "I had feelings, strong feelings for her, yes. They hardly did me any good as she married someone else less than a year after Galloway left."
    "Was murdered," Nate corrected.
    "Yes." He replaced his glasses. "Was murdered."
    "Did you ask her?"
    "She said no. She's said no every time I've asked her."
    "But she slept with you."
    "You're treading on very personal ground now."
    "She slept with you," Nate continued, "but she married someone else. Slept with you while she was married to someone else. And not just you."
    "That's private. As much as anything can be in a place like this. I'm not going to discuss it with you."
    "Love's a kind of ambition, isn't it." Nate tapped a finger on the copy of Macbeth still sitting on John's desk. "Men kill for it."
    "Men kill. Half the time they don't need any excuse."
    "Can't argue with that. Sometimes they get away with it. More often they don't. I'd appreciate it if you'd think back, and when you remember where you were that February, you let me know."
    He started for the door, turned back. "Oh, I wondered, did you ever read any of the books Max Hawbaker started?"
    "No." Though his voice was calm, a dull anger still rode in his eyes. "He was secretive about them. A lot of aspiring writers are. I had the impression he talked about writing a book more than he actually wrote."
    "Turns out he started a few. I've got the copies. They all sort of circle around to the same thing. A theme, I guess you'd call it."
    "That's not atypical for a fledgling writer either. Even an experienced one will explore a theme from several angles."
    "His seems to be about men surviving nature—and each other. Or not surviving. Always ends up being three men, no matter how many it starts out with, it comes down to three. The one he did the most on is about three men climbing a mountain, in the winter."
    Nate jingled loose change in his pocket when John remained silent.
    "He only had a few chapters complete, but he had notes on the rest, like an outline or scattered scenes he was going to plug in. Three men go up the mountain. Only two come back." Nate paused a moment. "A lot of novels are autobiographical, aren't they?"
    "Some," John said evenly. "It's often a device used for a first novel."
    "Interesting, isn't it? It'd be even more interesting to find out who that third man was. Well, I'll be around. You let me know if you recall where you were that February."
    John stood where he was until Nate's footsteps stopped echoing down the hall.Then he sat, slowly, at his desk. And saw his hands were shaking.
     
     
    NATE WALKED IN on an informal meeting at Town Hall. He did so deliberately and wasn't surprised when conversation snapped off when he came in the door.
    "Sorry to interrupt." He scanned the faces of the town council, faces he'd come to know. More than one of them registered embarrassment. "I can wait until you're finished if you want."
    "I think we're about wrapped up here," Hopp said.
    "I disagree." Ed planted his Vasque Sundowners on the floor, folded his arms over his chest. "I don't think we've resolved anything—and I think this meeting should continue—and, I'm sorry, chief, remain closed until things are resolved."
    "Ed." Deb leaned forward. "We've hashed this around six dozen ways. Let's give it a rest."
    "I move we continue."
    "Oh, move it up your ass, Ed." Joe Wise got to his feet.
    "Joe." Hopp jabbed a finger at him. "We're informal here, but that doesn't mean we're going to start a rumble. Since Ignatious is here, and his name's come up in this meeting, let's get his input."
    "I agree." Ken rose, dragged another chair into the circle they'd formed. "Have a seat, Nate.