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He thinks he is. Mostly it’s important that we lock him up.

“Thanks for coming down voluntarily. I’m Inspector Badgely and I have a few questions for you.”

Saxby crossed his arms. “Fine. Get on with it.”

He sounded pretty rude to me but Inspector Badgely didn’t react. “Where were you this morning from sunrise to about eight A.M.?”

“At home, first, then I went out for breakfast and a morning constitutional with my cousin.”

“What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Evelyn Bickford-Hicks.”

The inspector asked for and received her phone number, then asked, “Where did you eat breakfast?”

“Samuel Pepy’s Café on Yorktown Square. Evelyn requires a gluten-free diet and they have an excellent menu there for that sort of thing.”

They’ve had time to rehearse this. She’s going to say the same thing when they talk to her, Atticus said.

“Receipt?” the inspector asked.

“No, but I’m sure we’d show up on any security footage they may have.”

“And after that, you had a morning constitutional?”

“Yes. We went to the Tamar River Conservation Area. Looked at the water birds feeding, you know, very scenic.”

“You didn’t go to the Cataract Gorge Reserve?”

Saxby blinked a few times. “No. I’m quite certain of where we went.”

“Did you take your bow with you on your morning constitutional?”

“My bow? Whatever for?”

“Was it with you this morning?”

“No.”

“Where is it now?”

“I presume it is in my trophy room, where I left it last season.”

“What kind of vehicle did you drive this morning?”

“My Range Rover.”

“How are you acquainted with William Howe?”

“Well, he’s the—I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know anyone of that name.”

The inspector’s eyes bored into him.

Ha! He almost admitted he knew the victim. She’s asking questions fast and got him answering without thinking.

“What’s this all about?” Royston said.

“Just a few more questions. You said your bow would be in your trophy room. Does that mean you hunt big game?”

“It does. Though I also shoot competitively and I have trophies from those wins in there as well.”

“Ever shoot something on the move?”

“Of course.”

“In the back?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What sort of arrows do you use for hunting? Could you describe them for me?”

“Not really. They’re just normal arrows, nothing special about them.”

That’s bullshit, Atticus said. This man who knows his brand names and cares about his appearance and his trophies would never buy anything he didn’t think was special.

“Do you keep them in your trophy room as well?”

“No, they’d be in storage.”

“May we have a look at your arrows?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not until I know what this is about.”

“You’re saying you don’t know what this is about?”

“No, I—yes, that’s what I’m saying!”

“This is about the murder of William Howe in the Cataract Gorge Reserve. He was shot in the back with a hunting arrow.”

“How do you know it was murder?”

Inspector Badgely glared at him. “He was shot. In the back. With a hunting arrow.”

“It could have been an accident.”

The inspector tilted her head. “Someone accidentally went out to the reserve with hunting arrows when there is currently nothing in season and, instead of poaching something, mistakenly shot a man in the back?”

Okay, Atticus admitted, I really like her.

“Well, when you put it like that—look. I didn’t know this was a murder investigation. If you’re going to question me about that, I want my lawyer here.”

“Who’s your lawyer?”

“Cordelia Griffith.”

Inspector Badgely nodded. “I know her. Okay. Do you have any plans to leave town?”

“Well, actually—”

“Cancel your plans.”

“What? Here now, you can’t just tell me what to do—”

“You are a person of interest in this case and I will need you at hand. I’ll let Cordelia know. For now, you can go.” The inspector didn’t wait for him to leave. Instead, she just walked out of the room in front of him, leaving him to stand there and splutter. She came into our room right afterward and Atticus gave her a thumbs-up.

“Nicely done. He almost admitted to knowing the victim.”

Inspector Badgely sighed. “I know; it was so close. Damn it. But right now, we don’t have a motive and we can’t place him at the scene.”

“Maybe those tire tracks will come through as a match?”

“I’m sure they will, but even that is going to be pretty circumstantial.”

“He’ll be getting rid of all his hunting arrows if he hasn’t already, and I’m sure his cousin will back up his story.”

“Yes. We really need to prove he knew the victim or find the victim’s phone—there’s just not enough here to nail him.”

Atticus relayed the question to the inspector and she shrugged. “Some kind of investment banker.”

“What about his cousin, Evelyn?”

“That I don’t know yet. I’ll bring her in next, but we’ll have a lawyer to deal with, no doubt.”

“That reminds me—why did he come down without one?”

“He knew it would look suspicious if he did. And he had an alibi prepared. Now he knows what we know and he’s given nothing away.”

“Hmm. Mind if I watch the cousin’s questioning, too?”

The inspector shrugged. “I don’t mind, but…don’t you have better things to do?”

“If there’s someone killing people in the woods where I’m working, I’d like to be sure they’re caught. Hard to concentrate when you think someone might be stalking you out there.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “But it’ll be a while. Especially if we have to get the lawyer involved. If you’d like, you can get out of here and grab a bite or something, and I’ll make sure to give you a call when she comes in.”

“Thanks, Inspector.”

Her eyes dropped to me and Starbuck. “May I, uh…” she trailed off, and her eyes flicked back to Atticus, uncertain.

“Yes?” he said.

She pointed at us. “Would you mind if I just give them a nuzzle for a second? I am such a dog person but I’m not home enough to have one, you know? It wouldn’t be fair to them, but damn, I wish I could pet dogs more often. It just makes me happy.”

“Sure.”

The inspector felt she had to elaborate, though, and do so very quickly, which is a thing humans do sometimes when they think other humans might not understand their need to snuggle a dog, which is silly because of course that doesn’t need any explanation. “It’s just that before, I was with Constable Fosse and I couldn’t really relax in front of him, you know, gotta be professional and all that bollocks, and…”

She kept going but I lost track of what she was saying because Atticus started talking to us privately.

Guys, be super friendly but super polite, okay? Do not lick her face unless she asks for a kiss, and do not under any circumstances hump any part of her, all right?

Starbuck? That’s when I realized Atticus was mainly talking to him. Starbuck gets excited sometimes when he meets friendly humans and has humped a few legs on occasion, tenderly and softly.

the Boston said.

Thank you. He used his voice after that. “Pl
ease, Inspector, nuzzle away. There is no shame here and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks!” She promptly leaned over to me and made that happy, growly doggy voice that humans like to adopt whenever they ask us their favorite rhetorical question: “Who’s a good boy?”

I said, and I wagged my tail as she started scratching underneath my jaw on either side.

Starbuck said, and he kinda danced forward, his nails clicking on the tile, to let her know that he was there and was ready for scritches. One of her hands left me and reached down to my buddy.

“Oh, you’re both very good boys, yes you are, yes you are!” And then her voice got really high-pitched as she said, “I could just eat you up!” and honestly, I’ve never understood why humans say that like it’s a compliment, but apparently they think it’s endearing when they threaten to eat you while they’re petting you. Maybe we’re supposed to feel grateful that they’re petting us instead of eating us—and we are, for sure!—but I wish sometimes they had come up with a different way to express their affection. Like maybe they could say, “I’m gonna give you a cow!” or “I’ll never let a cat in my house!” to let us know how much they love us.

She just made tiny happy screams after that, no words at all, and gave us a thorough petting and several hugs around the neck. She had tears in her eyes when she stood up, but she was smiling. She sniffed once and used a finger to dash tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Well,” she said, her voice returned to normal. “I obviously needed that rather desperately. This job has its stresses, you know. Unconditional love is a blessing.”

“Indeed it is,” Atticus said.

“Thank you, Mr. Molloy. That was a lovely gift. I shan’t take any more of your time.”

“Not at all. It was my pleasure.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. We’ll talk soon.” She opened the door and stepped out into the hall but peeked her head back in before the door closed, keeping it open with one hand. She smiled at Atticus. “I really like your dogs. And you. Please don’t turn out to be the murderer in the end, okay?”

“I promise,” Atticus said, and the inspector waggled her fingers at him and closed the door.

I said.

What?

I think she knows, Oberon.

Mostly body language.

Anybody hungry?

Starbuck shouted.

I know Atticus says that whenever he wants to change the subject. I mean, yeah, I always let him, because the subject means I’m going to get something delicious to eat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what he’s up to.

He took us down to the marina just a block or two away from the police station to a place that was actually called Fish and Chips, where we got the featured food and wolfed it down. After that, he took us to the City Park, where we could pee on a tree and smell the pee of other dogs. Starbuck and I were just settling in for an afternoon nap in the grass when Atticus’s phone rang. The inspector said that Evelyn Bickford-Hicks would be in soon with her lawyer to answer some questions if Atticus was still interested in hearing it.

“Yes, we’ll be right there,” he said. “Thank you.”

We jogged back with full bellies to the police station and soon found ourselves in the same observation room as before. This time, there was a table and chairs in there.

Evelyn Bickford-Hicks was definitely the same lady we saw screaming that morning. She didn’t have on the funny hat she had before so she looked younger now. But her eyes were all puffy and her skin was blotchy and she wiped at her nose with a tissue. She’d been crying a lot. Maybe we watched the same soap operas.

Abuzz with Contradictions

INSPECTOR BADGELY INTRODUCED herself to the crying lady and nodded to the woman sitting next to her, who turned out to be her lawyer, Cordelia Griffith. Cordelia had dark, wavy hair, some dangly blue earrings, and a blue scarf around her neck that looked pretty fabulous, so good for her. She had a confidence about her that might have been partly owing to the scarf and partly owing to her law degree. Law degrees can have that effect, I hear. Atticus said they’re like +2 buffs to charisma or something. Scarfs are +1, so she was amply prepared for this interview.

“I just want to be clear that we’re here voluntarily and Ms. Bickford-Hicks may refuse to answer any questions,” she said.

“I appreciate that,” the inspector said, and sat down. “Are you also representing Mr. Saxby?”

“I have in the past,” Cordelia replied, “but he has not informed me yet of any need.”

“I see. Ms. Bickford-Hicks, you seem upset. Did you know the deceased, William Robert Howe?”

She burst into fresh sobs and one of the soft screams sounded like “yes” to me, but I couldn’t be sure. The inspector wasn’t sure either.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. You do know him?”

Evelyn nodded.

“And what is the nature of your acquaintance?”

“He’s my business partner. Or he was.”

Torrential sobs resumed, which I thought was a bit excessive for a business relationship. Evelyn put her head down on her crossed hands on the table, and her whole torso shook with her grief.

“I’m very sorry. When was the last time you saw him?”

Evelyn gulped and gasped and then said to the table, “This morning.”

“Oh. When and where was this?”

“In the reserve.”

“Tamar River?”

“No, Cataract Gorge. We were going to meet and I found him.”

“When you say we, you mean…”

“I was going to meet William. He’d found this feral hive that had access to mixed flowers including leatherwood, and we were going to try to take a small bit of the honey and see how close it tasted to pure leatherwood. We were also going to see about transplanting it and making it our first commercial hive. I had the beekeeping gear with me but he didn’t wait, I don’t know why, and they stung him to death.”

The inspector let her cry for a little while as she made notes. “Again, I’m sorry, Ms. Bickford-Hicks, but perhaps I can ask you to back up just a little bit. Did you find William by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And when you did, what did you do?”

“I screamed and ran. I just ran. I know I should have reported it, I know I should have, but I was so upset and not thinking clearly.”

“Where did you run?”

“Back to the Range Rover.”

“Your Range Rover?”

“No, my cousin’s, Royston. He drove me there.”

“Was he with you when you discovered William’s body?”

“No, no. He never left the car. He was just waiting for me to return.”

Holy shit, Atticus said. He’s guilty and she doesn’t know it.

When you what?

The inspector continued. “We spoke to your cousin earlier and he said you’d gone to the Tamar River Reserve this morning.”

“I know, I know. But it’s not his fault. He came up with that Tamar River story to protect me because I asked him what we should do. I was so scared because you hear about people spending years in jail for crimes they didn’t commit. But I didn’t do anything except lose my head. I mean, he was all stung by bees and it was supposed to be our ticket, I mean—” She dissolved into unintelligible sobbing again.

“Pardon me?”

Cordelia Griffith was just blinking and listening. Apparently, she was content to let Evelyn cry while she sat there earning $400 an hour in her +1 charisma scarf.

&
nbsp; “We were going to be apiarists. Honey-gatherers. Start something that would last, you know? A business that’s good for us and good for the environment. I’m very sorry I didn’t report it.”

“So William Howe was here in Tasmania to collect honey and possibly a feral hive with you?”

“Yes.”

“And your cousin, Royston Saxby, drove you out to somewhere on the reserve this morning, parked the Range Rover, and you left the vehicle by yourself?”

“Yes. He stayed in the car.”

“And he was in the car when you returned?”

“Yes.”

“Did he know William Howe?”

“Of course he did. He knew we were in business together.”

I said,

“Do you know of any reason why your cousin might dislike William?”

Evelyn blinked rapidly and wiped at her nose, looking back and forth between the inspector and her lawyer.

“That’s a strange question,” she finally said. “Why do you ask?”

“Evelyn—sorry, may I call you Evelyn?”

“Yes.”

“Evelyn, William Howe wasn’t killed by bees.”

“Yes he was! I saw him! It was an accident!”

“He was certainly stung, but no. He was murdered.” The inspector flipped open her folder and whipped out a photograph from the crime scene, placing it on the table in front of Evelyn. “He was shot in the back with a hunting arrow. He fell on it, so you wouldn’t have seen it. The shaft broke off and was trapped underneath his back.”

“Someone shot him with a bow and arrow?”

“Yes. And your cousin is an expert archer, Evelyn. Were you gone from the Range Rover long enough for him to kill William Howe?”

“Don’t answer that,” Cordelia Griffith said, suddenly working hard for that hourly rate.

“No…no! He would never! He liked William!”

“Did he bear any grudge against you? Any resentment?”

“No! I mean…” She trailed off as something suddenly occurred to her. “Maybe? But no, wait! When I found him, there were two dogs there! Two dogs, off the leash, one huge, and one small! A cute Boston terrier! I don’t know what breed the other one was, but it was huge.”

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