Northern Lights

no." He settled himself in a chair with a windy sigh. "Got a mess on your hands."
    "Seems it's on the hands of the State authorities."
    "Don't shit a shitter. Two sugars in that coffee. No cream. Carrie Hawbaker was by to see me last night."
    "She's going through a bad time."
    "Your husband ends up with a bullet in his brain, yep, it's a bad time. Pissed at you."
    Nate handed the coffee over. "I didn't put the bullet in his brain."
    "Nope, don't figure you did. But a woman in Carrie's state doesn't quibble at taking a shot at the messenger. She wants me to use my influence to have you removed from office, and, hopefully, run out of town on a rail."
    Nate sat, contemplated his own coffee. "You got that much influence?"
    "Might. If I pressed the matter. Been here twenty-six years. Could say I was among the first lunatics in Lunacy." He blew once on the steaming surface of his coffee, sipped. "Never in my life had a decent cup of cop coffee."
    "Me either. Are you here to ask me to resign?"
    "I'm cantankerous. You get to be when you hit eighty, so I'm practicing. But I'm not stupid. Not your fault Max is dead, poor slob. Not your fault there was a note on his computer claiming he killed Pat Galloway."
    His eyes were very alert behind those thick lenses as he nodded at Nate. "Yeah, she told me that one, and she's trying to talk herself into you making that up, so you can tie things up neat and tidy. She'll get past that. She's a sensible woman."
    "And you're telling me this because?"
    "It might take her a little while to remember how to be sensible. Meanwhile, she might try to make trouble for you. It'll help her through the grief. I'm going to smoke this cigar." He pulled a fat one out of his shirt pocket. "You can fine me for it once I have, if you've a mind to."
    Nate pulled open a desk drawer, dumped out the contents of a tin of push pins. Rising, he walked over, handed it to the judge as an ashtray.
    "You knew Galloway?"
    "Sure." The judge puffed the cigar to life and filled the air with its subtle stink. "Liked him well enough. People did. Not everybody, as it turns out." He glanced toward the draping blanket. "That your dead board under there?"
    When Nate didn't respond, he puffed and sipped, puffed and sipped. "I tried capital cases, back in the dark ages. Presided over them when I was wearing robes. Now unless you think I climbed up No Name when I was past sixty and put an end to a man half my age, you should be able to cross me off your list of suspects."
    Nate leaned back. "You had a couple of simple assault pops."
    Royce pursed his lips. "Been doing your homework. A man who's lived as long as I have, lived up here as long as I have and hasn't gotten into a tangle couldn't be a very interesting man."
    "That may be. A man who's lived here as long as you could probably handle the climb if he put his mind to it. And an ax against an unarmed man makes up for any age difference. Theoretically."
    Royce grinned around his cigar. "You got a point. I like to hunt and spent some time with Pat out in the bush a time or two, but I don't climb. Never did. You can verify that if you ask around."
    It only took once, Nate thought, but filed the statement away. "Who did? Who did climb with him?"
    "Max did, as I recall, first season he was here. Ed most likely did, and Hopp—both of them once or twice, on easy, summer climbs, I'd say. Harry and Deb. They both like to climb. Bing's been up a few times. Jacob and Pat did a lot of climbing, a lot of hiking and camping together— or working as a team to guide paying customers. Hell, more than half the people in Lunacy take a whack at the mountains. More than that who've been here and gone. He was a good climber, from what I'm told. Made some of his living—such as it was—taking people up."
    "A winter climb. Who around here would've been capable of a winter climb on that mountain?"
    "Don't have to be capable so much as willing to challenge the elements." He puffed and sipped some more. "You going to show me the board?"
    Since he could find no reason not to, Nate got up and removed the blanket. The judge sat where he was a moment, lips pursed. Then he pushed his bulk out of the chair and moved closer.
    "Death robs youth, most times. You don't expect it to preserve it. He had potential. Wasted most of it, but Pat still had enough potential to make something of himself. He had that pretty, ambitious woman, a smart, charming child. Had brains, had talent. Problem was he liked to