Page 40 of The River We Remember

“What do you mean?”

“No fingerprints. Not a one. Not on anything.”

Brody shrugged. “Those pigskin gloves we found in Quinn’s truck. He probably wore those.”

“There’d be residual prints on something, Brody. All this stuff was wiped clean. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it look like a suicide or an accident. And if they did that, I’m thinking they probably made sure they left nothing behind that’ll point to them.”

Graff waited for Brody to reply, but nothing came.

“There was a lot of blood on that riverbank,” the old deputy said. “The man bled out there and died. Then he went into the water. A dead man doesn’t move himself.”

“Why would someone kill Jimmy Quinn?” Brody knew it was a stupid question, and it came out limp.

“A long list, that one,” Graff said. “Jimmy knew it. Maybe that’s why he had the Tolley with him.”

“Terry told me his dad only used it when he wanted to impress someone. Who was he trying to impress? And why tell his family he’s going fishing?”

“Something going on he didn’t want them knowing about?” Graff said. “Something to hide? Something out on Inkpaduta Bend maybe?”

“We looked that place over pretty good.”

“Never hurts to look again,” Graff said, rising from his chair.

Brody had no choice but to follow.

Fifteen minutes later, they stood on the Bend, near the great stain of blood. The sun had dropped behind Fordham Ridge, and Brody and Graff were engulfed by the blue shadow of that dramatic formation. Except for the sound of the birds in the birch trees along the riverbank, the evening was quiet. In Brody’s thinking, this was a lovely and peaceful place, one of the most beautiful in all of Black Earth County.

Graff said, “A spiritual place. That’s what Bluestone said about the Bend. Now tell me what could be spiritual about a place where a white woman was killed by renegades?”

Hector was sniffing around in the grass not far away, his tail going crazy as he picked up a world of scents.

Graff slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scanned the whole area. “What brought Quinn here? Why was he wearing only his boxer shorts when he was shot? This place is far from prying eyes. Was he meeting someone he didn’t want his family or anyone else to know about? A romantic meeting, maybe?”

“The sapphire ring would go along with that,” Brody offered. “But why bring the Tolley? Kind of kills the idea of a romantic meeting.”

“Aren’t women impressed by a man with a big gun?” Graff said with a grim smile. “Maybe it was a confrontation with someone he thought he might need protection against. That Tolley’s pretty intimidating.”

“When it’s pointed right at you, any gun is intimidating. It’s an expensive piece. Maybe he planned to give it as a gift.”

“I cracked the breech,” Graff said. “Still one unfired shell in there. Quinn came here with both barrels loaded. He might have been intending to give someone a surprise, but probably not a gift.” The deputy shook his head. “At the moment, nothing makes much sense. What are we missing?”

Brody walked around the place where everything seemed to point to Quinn bleeding his life out onto the dirt of the riverbank. He knelt and carefully studied the ground between the blood and the Alabaster. “No sign that he was dragged into the river. Jimmy Quinn was a giant. If someone killed him and threw him in the Alabaster, unless they were just as big as he was, wouldn’t they have had to drag him? Wouldn’t there be some indication of that in the dirt here?”

“Kind of lends a little bit of credence to the suicide theory, I guess,” Graff said, but clearly with reluctance. He thought a moment, then said, “Or maybe Quinn met more than one person out here. A couple of people could throw him in easy enough. And if he was worried about the nature of the people he was meeting, that Tolley of his would be a good friend to bring along.”

“Okay, let’s be thorough.” Brody stepped to the edge of the bloodstained dirt. “Let’s assume he’s drunk and drugged up on tranquilizers. He’s got his Tolley out, for whatever reason. He either decides to shoot himself or fumbles the shotgun, drops it, blows a hole in his guts. Would the force of the blast itself knock him into the river right away, you think? Or is it possible that in fact he did stand here and bleed out, then, as he took his last breath, stumbled back into the river?”

“Died by himself out here, you’re saying?”

“Not saying, just mulling over the possibility. Because all things considered, I’d just as soon believe that Jimmy Quinn didn’t have any help passing out of this life. It would make everything easier.”

“You wanted easy, you should’ve been a shoe salesman.” Graff looked Brody in the eye. “We both agree Jimmy didn’t die alone out here.”

“I haven’t said I agree.”

Graff ignored his objection. “So the question is why? Was Quinn set up? Did he set up something that somehow got turned around on him? And what was he doing getting himself undressed?”

In the tall grass a dozen feet from where the men stood, Hector began digging furiously. Brody walked over to see what had so taken the dog’s interest. As soon as he bent above Hector, he called the dog off sternly, and the mutt backed away.