“Right. What are those colors again? Brown is…?”

“Bad. Grizzly.”

“So, black is-”

“Not bad.” He added, “The white ones are polar bears. They’ll rip you apart.” He informed me, “We only have black bears here.”

“Good. And they know they’re black?”

He thought that was funny, then looked at his watch. “Well, again, thank you for stopping by. If… well, if there’s some sort of… fund established for Mr. Miller… please let me know.”

I totally lost it, but I took a breath and got myself under control. I really wanted to gut-shoot him, and watch him die slowly as I explained that me shooting him was very personal, and not at all professional and not what I was paid to do.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say good-bye, but I just stood there, and he said to me, “By the way, a mutual friend of ours, Rudy, stopped by last night.”

Or maybe I could explain to him that I shot him for God and country. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I was fairly certain that he had to be stopped, and if I didn’t stop him right now, then whoever tried to stop him later might be too late. Bain Madox would understand that.

He said, “Rudy. From the gas station in South Colton.”

I put both my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket and felt the butt of my Glock in my right hand.

Madox continued, “He seemed confused about something. He was under the impression I’d asked you to let him know that I wanted to see him.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. Why did you tell him that?”

But if I shot him right here and now, only he would know why. And maybe that was enough.

But maybe I needed to know more. For sure, the police and the FBI would want to know more.

“Detective?”

And maybe, to be honest with myself, I couldn’t just pull my gun and shoot an unarmed man. And to be even more honest, Mr. Bain Madox intrigued me… no, he impressed me. And he’d already been shot-he’d survived a war, and he was, or believed he was, a patriot continuing to do his duty, and if I told him he was actually a psychopathic killer, he’d be shocked.

“Mr. Corey? Hello?”

We made eye contact, and I thought he guessed what was on my mind. In fact, his eyes focused on where my right hand was gripping the gun in my pocket.

Neither of us spoke, then he said to me, “Why did you tell him to tell me that you were a good shot?”

“Who?”

“Rudy.”

“Rudy?” I took another breath and brought my hand out of my pocket, empty. I said, “Rudy. Rudy, Rudy. How is Rudy?”

He seemed to sense a pivotal moment had passed, and he dropped the subject of Rudy. “I’ll have Carl show you out.” He walked to his desk, picked up a walkie-talkie, and was about to hit the Send button.

I said, “I’m here to investigate a homicide.”

He hesitated, then put down the walkie-talkie. He looked at me and asked, “What homicide?”

I moved closer to his desk and replied, “The murder of Harry Muller.”

He appeared appropriately surprised and confused. “Oh… I was told that it was an accident. The body had been found… I’m sorry, I should have expressed my condolences to you. He was a colleague of yours.”

“A friend.”

“Well, I am very sorry. But… I had a call from the sheriff’s office, and the person said this man’s body had been found in the woods and that it was ruled a hunting accident.”

“It hasn’t been ruled anything yet.”

“I see… so… there’s a possibility of foul play.”

“That’s right.”

“And…?”

“I was hoping you could help me.”

“No… I’m sorry. What would I know about…?”

I sat in the chair in front of his desk and motioned for him to have a seat.

He hesitated, aware that he didn’t have to sit and talk about this, and that he could ask me to get out of his chair, his house, and his life. But he wasn’t going to do that. He sat. Technically, I had no jurisdiction here to investigate a homicide-that was still the job of the state police. But Madox didn’t seem to know that, and I wasn’t about to give him a lesson in constitutional law.

We did the old eye-lock thing, and the guy never blinked. Amazing. How did he do that? Even guys with glass eyes blink.

He asked me, “How can I help you, Detective?”

“Well, it’s like this, Mr. Madox. Harry Muller, as you may know, was not here to watch birds.”

“You said he was.”

“He wasn’t. Actually, he was here to watch you.”

He didn’t feign shock or surprise. He seemed to think about that, nodded, then said to me, “I understand that the government is interested in me. A man in my position would be surprised if the government wasn’t interested in him.”

“Yeah? Why do you think the government is interested in you?”

“Well… because of my dealings with foreign powers. Oil pricing.” He informed me, “I’m a personal friend of the Iraqi oil minister.”

“No kidding? How’s he taking this war thing?”

“I haven’t spoken to him recently, but I imagine he’s not very positive about the imminent invasion of his country.”

“I guess not. So, you think the government is interested in you because… why?”

“Because my interests and the interests of the United States government don’t always coincide.”

“I see. So, whose interests come first?”

He smiled a little, then answered, “My country always comes first, but my country is not always well represented by my government.”

“Yeah. I can buy that. But let’s say for argument’s sake that the government doesn’t give a rat’s ass about your dealings with foreign powers. That maybe you’re wrong about that. So, why else would they be interested in you?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Corey. Do you?”

“No.”

“And why would Detective Miller from the Anti-Terrorist Task Force be sent to spy on me? Does the government think I’m a terrorist?”

“I don’t know. Who said that Detective Muller was from the Anti-Terrorist Task Force?”

He hesitated a second, then replied, “He’s a colleague of yours. You’re on the Task Force.”

“Right. Good detective work.”

He lit a cigarette, but again blew no smoke rings. “So, what you’re saying is that this man Miller-”

“Muller. Detective Harry Muller.”

“Yes. Detective Harry Muller was sent here to… spy on me-”

“And your guests.”

“And my guests, and you don’t know-”

“It’s called surveillance, by the way. Spying is a negative word.”

He leaned toward me. “Who gives a shit what it’s called?” He finally lost his cool, slammed his desk, raised his voice, and said, “If this man-Detective Muller-was sent here to… observe me and my guests, then I am damn pissed off about that! The government has no right to intrude on my privacy, or the privacy of my guests, who have lawfully assembled on private property for-”

“Right. Right, right, right. That’s another issue. The issue here is murder.”

“You say it is. The sheriff says it was an accident. And if it was murder, what does that have to do with me?”

If you tell the guy he’s a suspect, then you have to read him his rights, and I didn’t have the damn card with me, and if I did, and I read it, he’d say, “You got the wrong guy, Detective. Excuse me while I call my lawyer.”

So I said, “I didn’t say it had anything to do with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you the truth”-which I had no intention of doing-“I think it might have something to do with one of your security people.”

He really wasn’t buying that, but it was good enough so that we could both pretend we were on to something, and continue our cat-and-mouse routine for a while.

He leaned back and said to me, “That’s… that’s incredible… but… I mean, do you have any evidence of this?”

“I can’t discuss that.”

“All right. But do you suspect anyone in particular?”

“I can’t say at this point.” I explained, “If I name a suspect, and I’m wrong, there’s hell to pay.”