said.
“Dang,” Lawton said. “I sure do like fresh-cooked sausage.”
“An air strike would mess up the crime scene.”
“Those hogs’ve messed it up already, I bet,” Hack said, “and the only clue you got is those feathers you mentioned, right?”
“That’s all,” Rhodes said.
“On CSI they’d have those analyzed for you in about fifteen minutes,” Lawton said. “Tell you what kind of duck they came from, where he spent the winter, and what he had for breakfast.”
“Tell you the brand of vest, too,” Hack said. “Or jacket or whatever they came from. Tell you where it was bought, what size it was, and what kind of aftershave the guy who wore it was wearin’.”
“Maybe I could send the feathers to them,” Rhodes said, “instead of the state crime lab.”
“Wouldn’t be much difference, would it?” Hack asked.
“Just that the time would be about a month before you got a report sayin’ they were duck feathers,” Lawton said.
“That’s all it would tell us, too,” Rhodes said. “I think CSI is a science fiction show.”
“Too bad, because ever’body will expect you to come up with something on those murders,” Hack said. “The commissioners won’t be happy, and Milton Munday’s gonna go for your throat.”
Rhodes didn’t need Hack to tell him that.
“I’m going home,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll listen to Milton Munday tomorrow.”
“You never listen to him,” Hack said.
“Right, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Might be a good time to.”
“There’s never a good time for that,” Rhodes said.
* * *
The first thing Ivy said when Rhodes got home and explained things was “I told you so.”
Yancey yipped and jumped around Rhodes’s ankles as if to emphasize her comment.
“Told me what?” Rhodes said.
“That you were crazy. You might have gotten killed out there tonight.”
“Not me,” Rhodes said. “I’m not ugly enough to be mistaken for a hog.”
“That’s probably what that bounty hunter thought, too.”
“I have a feeling that wasn’t an accident.”
“That’s what I mean,” Ivy said. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re probably right,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 11
The first call Rhodes got the next morning was from Mikey Burns, who, unlike Rhodes, had listened to Milton Munday’s radio show. Burns wanted to see Rhodes at the precinct barn as soon as he could get there.
Rhodes wanted to talk to Arvid Fowler and to get the autopsy report on Rapinski, but he went by to see Burns first. Mrs. Wilkie didn’t bother to respond to Rhodes’s “Good morning.” She just waved him on into Burns’s office.
Today Burns wore a bright red aloha shirt with small white flowers on it. The flowers looked like magnolia blossoms to Rhodes, but he wasn’t sure that there were magnolia trees in Hawaii. He decided that it didn’t really matter.
“What’s going on in this county?” Burns asked, without even offering Rhodes a seat.
Rhodes sat down anyway.
“Lots of things are going on,” he said when he was comfortable, or as comfortable as he was going to get. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The Murder Epidemic.”
Rhodes could hear the capital letters at the beginnings of the words.
“Milton Munday?” he asked.
“That’s what he’s calling it,” Burns said. “The Murder Epidemic. The county’s getting a bad name, Rhodes.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Rhodes said. “So I’m not responsible.”
“That’s not what Munday says. You’re the law here, and it’s up to you to prevent murders.”
Burns probably didn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. It was next to impossible to prevent a murder. First, you had to know who was going to be killed, and that was the easy part. It wouldn’t do any good to explain that to Burns, so Rhodes didn’t even try.
“What does Munday know about the law?” Rhodes asked instead.
“He knows that all citizens
“Dang,” Lawton said. “I sure do like fresh-cooked sausage.”
“An air strike would mess up the crime scene.”
“Those hogs’ve messed it up already, I bet,” Hack said, “and the only clue you got is those feathers you mentioned, right?”
“That’s all,” Rhodes said.
“On CSI they’d have those analyzed for you in about fifteen minutes,” Lawton said. “Tell you what kind of duck they came from, where he spent the winter, and what he had for breakfast.”
“Tell you the brand of vest, too,” Hack said. “Or jacket or whatever they came from. Tell you where it was bought, what size it was, and what kind of aftershave the guy who wore it was wearin’.”
“Maybe I could send the feathers to them,” Rhodes said, “instead of the state crime lab.”
“Wouldn’t be much difference, would it?” Hack asked.
“Just that the time would be about a month before you got a report sayin’ they were duck feathers,” Lawton said.
“That’s all it would tell us, too,” Rhodes said. “I think CSI is a science fiction show.”
“Too bad, because ever’body will expect you to come up with something on those murders,” Hack said. “The commissioners won’t be happy, and Milton Munday’s gonna go for your throat.”
Rhodes didn’t need Hack to tell him that.
“I’m going home,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll listen to Milton Munday tomorrow.”
“You never listen to him,” Hack said.
“Right, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Might be a good time to.”
“There’s never a good time for that,” Rhodes said.
* * *
The first thing Ivy said when Rhodes got home and explained things was “I told you so.”
Yancey yipped and jumped around Rhodes’s ankles as if to emphasize her comment.
“Told me what?” Rhodes said.
“That you were crazy. You might have gotten killed out there tonight.”
“Not me,” Rhodes said. “I’m not ugly enough to be mistaken for a hog.”
“That’s probably what that bounty hunter thought, too.”
“I have a feeling that wasn’t an accident.”
“That’s what I mean,” Ivy said. “You’re crazy.”
“You’re probably right,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 11
The first call Rhodes got the next morning was from Mikey Burns, who, unlike Rhodes, had listened to Milton Munday’s radio show. Burns wanted to see Rhodes at the precinct barn as soon as he could get there.
Rhodes wanted to talk to Arvid Fowler and to get the autopsy report on Rapinski, but he went by to see Burns first. Mrs. Wilkie didn’t bother to respond to Rhodes’s “Good morning.” She just waved him on into Burns’s office.
Today Burns wore a bright red aloha shirt with small white flowers on it. The flowers looked like magnolia blossoms to Rhodes, but he wasn’t sure that there were magnolia trees in Hawaii. He decided that it didn’t really matter.
“What’s going on in this county?” Burns asked, without even offering Rhodes a seat.
Rhodes sat down anyway.
“Lots of things are going on,” he said when he was comfortable, or as comfortable as he was going to get. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The Murder Epidemic.”
Rhodes could hear the capital letters at the beginnings of the words.
“Milton Munday?” he asked.
“That’s what he’s calling it,” Burns said. “The Murder Epidemic. The county’s getting a bad name, Rhodes.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Rhodes said. “So I’m not responsible.”
“That’s not what Munday says. You’re the law here, and it’s up to you to prevent murders.”
Burns probably didn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. It was next to impossible to prevent a murder. First, you had to know who was going to be killed, and that was the easy part. It wouldn’t do any good to explain that to Burns, so Rhodes didn’t even try.
“What does Munday know about the law?” Rhodes asked instead.
“He knows that all citizens
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