The Poacher's Son (Mike Bowditch 1)

when I came in. He called you a paranoid militia freak.”
    Tripp didn’t take the bait. “He’s called me worse to my face.”
    “You’re saying there’s no bad blood between you?”
    “Your old man can be quite a bastard when he’s smashed, but he’s a hero, in my book. As far as I’m concerned he deserves a gold star for what he did to that worm Shipman.”
    “You’re forgetting a police officer was also killed,” said Charley.
    “I’m not forgetting.”
    “So why are you smiling?”
    The humor was gone from Tripp’s expression as fast as it appeared. He began stroking his goatee. “It was unfortunate that deputy got shot. That shouldn’t have happened.”
    “We can see you’re all broken up about it,” I said. “So the police arrested you when they found you at the scene. How come that didn’t make the papers?”
    “Two reasons—one, they let me go without charging me, and two, they had no evidence against me.” Tripp backed up against a rack of guns and began squeezing his fists. “What’s with the third-rate third degree, Charley? You’re not a warden anymore. You’re just a lowly leaseholder like me. Last I heard, you were going to lose that nice camp. I’d think you’d be glad Wendigo got vamoosed.”
    Something moved past the barred window at the side of the building. I heard an engine die and a door slam shut.
    “Truman’s home,” said Charley.
    “What do you want with my tenant?” asked Tripp.
    “Mike just wants a word.”
    “Is that so?” Suddenly Tripp’s eyes widened and a grin spread across his face. “Wait a minute. I see what’s going on here. You think maybe you can put the blame on someone else instead of your dear old dad.”
    I felt my face warm with blood. “My father didn’t kill those men.”
    He shook his head sorrowfully. “Keep telling yourself that, greenie, if it makes you feel better.”
    “Fuck you.”
    “Come again?” He reached beneath the counter.
    Charley touched the brim of his baseball cap. “All right, Vernon, we’ve taken up enough of your precious time. Come on, Mike.”
    But Vernon Tripp had the last word. “Your old man did it, Mikey boy. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Truman. Don’t try to pin it on somebody else.”
     
    Outside, a logging truck passed along the road, carry ing a load of timber to the dowel mill up the road. I waited for the noise to die down before confronting Charley. “What the hell was that about? How come you didn’t tell me the cops arrested Tripp the night of the murder?”
    “Because they let him go. He couldn’t have done it, Mike.”
    “Well, maybe he helped someone else do it!”
    Charley’s eyes were as flat as coins. I couldn’t tell if he was considering my suggestion or downwardly adjusting his estimation of my character. The more time I spent with the retired pilot, the harder he became for me to read. He affected this patient air, like he was indulging me for a few hours until he had to fly me back home. But he seemed just as eager as I was to grill Vernon Tripp. What kind of game was he playing? The weight of something the store own er said suddenly struck me. “Did Tripp say your camp is on leased land?”
    “That’s right.”
    “So you mean Wendigo is evicting you, too?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I thought you knew.” He smiled that big jack-o’-lantern grin of his. “Does that make me a suspect, Warden? Seems like it should.”
    “You’re not high on my lists of suspects, Charley.”
    “That’s a relief, because I don’t even have an alibi.”
    “You don’t?”
    “Afraid not.”
    I pointed at the barn behind the trading post. “Well, let’s see if Truman Dellis does.”
     
    A fat-tired pickup truck, with an ATV crammed in the bed, was now parked beside the barn. Its engine was making that ticking sound hot engines make as they cool.
    We climbed the external staircase to the top of the barn. Blankets hung over the door window, making it impossible to see what was inside. I found myself reflexively reaching down to touch my sidearm, but of course I wasn’t wearing one. Charley rapped on the door. “Truman? You in there?”
    We listened to the traffic passing along the road. Charley gave me a shrug. I stepped forward and began pounding. “Come on, Truman, open up.”
    “Who is it?”
    “Game warden,” I said.
    “What do you want?”
    “I want you to open the door. That’s why I’m knocking like this.”
    “Go