Being new at the game, of course, Thomas Woeshack had no way of knowing that the elaborate helicopter incident had just been the opening move in a very intricate game. By arriving at the scene in such a way that the subjects in question would naively focus on the FBI agent's perceived arrogance and vanity, they would presumably fail to notice later the signs of his carefully contrived traps.
Henry Lightstone, however, had seen this sort of thing many times in his earlier police career, and he was very interested in seeing where this particular interrogation was headed.
"In my opinion, Agent-Pilot Woeshack simply made the best choice he could under what I judged to be extremely difficult circumstances," Lightstone interjected in a courteous but firm voice.
"Ah," the FBI agent nodded noncommittally.
Woeshack glanced over at Lightstone, who gave him a steady look and a barely perceptible shrug that basically said: "Don't let him bug you, kid." A glance that A1 Grynard observed.
"Gave it my best shot, sir," Woeshack shrugged.
"Yes, I'm sure you did. And I'm sure that your Accident Review Board will take that into account. Ah, I assume your agency does maintain a standing AR Board?" Grynard asked, turning to Lightstone.
"Far as I know, we've got every kind of bureaucratic committee imaginable, so we probably have one of those, too. But to tell you the truth, I'm kind of new up here, so I really haven't the slightest idea," Lightstone replied evenly. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep from telling the FBI agent that one of the bodies under those tarps was their senior agent, as well as a cherished friend, and that he really didn't give a flying fuck about overspent equipment budgets or Accident Review Boards right now.
But he didn't tell ASAC A1 Grynard anything of the sort, mostly because he'd interrogated more than his share of homicide suspects in his previous career, and he knew exactly what the FBI agent was doing.
"You have already given your statement for the records," Grynard said to Lightstone. "Now I would like to try to fill in the gaps. I understand that you were injured in the shooting, as well as in the airplane crash." The FBI agent glanced down at Lightstone's torn and bloody jacket. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to continue this conversation back in Anchorage, where we can get you some first-rate medical attention?"
Lightstone smiled and shrugged. "I'm fine right now."
"Okay, well let us know if either of you change your mind and decide that you'd like to be medivaced out of here."
"Appreciate the offer. We'll let you know if either of us starts feeling bad."
"Fair deal. Rough having something like this happen your first day on at a new duty station," the FBI agent offered. "Guess you Fish and Wildlife guys don't run across this kind of thing very often, do you?"
"What? Oh… you mean the human bodies? No, not really."
"I'm sure you see some really gory stuff," the FBI agent said in a tone that somehow didn't quite cross the line of being patronizing, "but as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing I hate worse than working a scene where a fellow law-enforcement officer's been killed. Especially over something as senseless as this."
"Yeah, he knew better than to work by himself," Lightstone nodded. "But I guess we all do it. Part of the game when you're short on agents."
"Yeah, well, it's too bad you guys don't have some kind of portable computer system so you could run makes on your contacts in the field," Grynard suggested. "If your buddy there had known who he was up against, he might have backed off and tried to find you guys first."
"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"
"See the guy lying there next to the bear? Well, we just ran a make on him. Name's Butch Chareaux. Turns out he and his brothers were part of some poaching ring, whatever the hell that is, back in Louisiana. They all have outstanding felony warrants related to the murder of two-" Grynard glanced down at his notebook-"Louisana Department of Fish and Game officers. You'd think that some of your agents would have run across one of these characters during the last few months." Grynard shook his head sadly. "Too bad they didn't. Might have given your buddy a fighting chance."
"You sure none of us ever did?" Lightstone asked carefully. "We're pretty well spread out, and it's a big county."
"I don't know," the FBI agent shrugged. "According to your Records Bureau back in D.C., nobody in your agency has ever worked these guys. Or at least the name Butch Chareaux doesn't show up in any of your computerized case files."
"So Paul stops by to check on a couple of hunters and runs into a buzz saw," Lightstone nodded in apparent understanding. "Any idea what they were doing out here?"
"Probably setting up what you guys call a 'canned hunt.' According to the folks back in Louisiana, that was one of their favorite tricks. Irony of the whole thing, of course, is that our friend Chareaux seems to have been killed by the bear that they had in that cage. Must have gotten loose during the ruckus when your buddy showed up.
"By the way," Grynard added casually, "I meant to ask you something. Did you ever work with McNulty before?"
Lightstone hesitated, trying to remember exactly what Paul McNulty had told him about his file. Something to the effect that he'd gotten it cleared through Washington for Carl Scoby to hand-carry it over from Customs to the Anchorage office, so that he could still function-to a much lesser extent-as a wild card within the region. Although he hadn't told Marie or anyone else yet, he'd already told McNulty that he'd take the job, which meant that his transfer orders had presumably already gone through to the regional office.
The question was whether ASAC A1 Grynard or his men had managed to locate and talk with Carl Scoby or any of the very few senior agents in the D.C. office who knew about McNulty's plans for a regional undercover team. Given that they'd been working the scene for only three hours, Lightstone didn't think that too likely.
"I ran across him a couple of times on previous duty assignments," Lightstone said. "Guess I figured we'd have plenty of time to get to know each other after Tom and I got back from the fishing trip," he added, giving Woeshack- who was looking thoroughly confused now-a meaningful glance. He turned back to Grynard. "You mind if I ask you a question?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"You have any idea who killed him?"
"You mean McNulty?"
"Yeah."
"It's a little hard to tell just yet. Could have been Chareaux, of course, or one of his brothers. Or even one of the people they were working with out here. Apparently you got to see at least one of them close up. The guy you thought you killed."
Lightstone blinked.
"Thought?" he asked, incredulous. "The guy's brains were all over the rocks."
"Well, if he was dead, then apparently somebody made off with the body and the brains." A1 Grynard looked down at his notebook again. "We found a lot of blood, of course, some of which probably belonged to this guy Jackson, the refuge officer. And a couple of expended. 357 and 5.56mm casings."
" A couple?"
"That's right, but no body."
"Oh."
"And we did happen to notice that there was what appears to be a 5.56mm Colt Commando rifle in the debris of your airplane, along with a considerable number of expended casings. I guess some of them could have cooked off in the fire-"
"I explained all of that to your agent," Lightstone said calmly. "We got fired on from the ground when we took Jackson's boat in to check on all the shooting we heard. I ended up killing one of the men who was shooting at us, and I took his weapon because I didn't want to leave it there for the other guy-"