Page 55 of The River We Remember

“I took a look at those blood samples you brought me.”

“Are they Quinn’s?”

“Nope, Brody, not Jimmy Quinn’s.”

“Who then?”

“Not who. What.”

“I don’t get you, Doc.”

“That blood didn’t come from a human being. I asked Mike Kearney to take a look.”

“Kearney’s a veterinarian,” Brody said.

“Exactly. He says it’s pig’s blood, Brody. Every sample you brought me was pig’s blood.”

“You’re kidding me. How the hell—” But the sheriff didn’t finish. He simply sat there, dumbfounded, holding the phone to his ear.

“You still there, Brody?”

“I’m here, Doc.”

“When you get this one sorted out, you’ll let me know?”

“I’ll let you know,” Brody said. “Thanks.”

Graff took the other chair and waited for an explanation.

Brody finally said, “Pig’s blood, Connie. That was pig’s blood we collected out there on Inkpaduta Bend.”

“Pig’s blood?” Graff seemed surprised for only a moment, then he said, “It’s Bluestone, Brody.”

Graff related his visit with Bluestone’s wife the night before. How the woman had become agitated when he spoke about Quinn. How Bluestone, when he returned from Inkpaduta Bend and found Graff in his home, had pretty much thrown the deputy off his property.

“I’d been thinking that Quinn went out to the Bend to meet a woman,” the deputy explained. “It’s an isolated place, not a bad spot for what Quinn might really have had on his mind. And, consider this, Brody. He’d removed his shoes and socks and shirt before he was killed. What was that all about? Swimming in the Alabaster? I don’t think so.”

“It was Bluestone’s wife he was meeting?”

“Had to be. Think about it. Think about that ring in Quinn’s pants pocket. A ring for a small finger. Maybe a gift for a woman with a small hand. Mrs. Bluestone, hell, she’s hardly bigger than a girl. You ever taken a good look at her hands? And another thing, proximity. Easy walk to Inkpaduta Bend from the Bluestone place.”

“Bluestone told us he goes down there at night. Why would his wife agree to meet Quinn where her husband might be?”

“I had a couple of thoughts on that, Brody. First of all, maybe Bluestone lied to us. Maybe he doesn’t visit Inkpaduta Bend as much as he led us to believe. But maybe he was there that night, and he was there because his wife was there. So either he followed her and something bad went down. Or…” Graff paused dramatically.

Brody bit. “Or?”

“It was a setup. Bluestone’s wife lured Quinn there on purpose, and Bluestone was in on it.”

“Like an ambush? Why in heaven’s name would they do that?”

“Old grudge because of the land. New grudge because of the firing. Or it might have been something darker. When she wasn’t working for Quinn, Mrs. Bluestone was alone a lot on her husband’s place. Most days, Quinn would have known where Bluestone was and how long he’d be gone. In fact, he could have structured Bluestone’s work in any way he wanted to make sure the man was away from home when he wanted him to be away.”

“So that he could visit Bluestone’s wife? Come on, Connie.”

“I’m not saying it was necessarily something consensual. Quinn was a giant and the kind of man who might feel inclined to do that kind of thing. She’s so small, Brody.”

“Okay. But why the pig’s blood on Inkpaduta Bend?”