“Close all the windows of your car before proceeding across the dam, please.”

I reached back to wind up the rear window on my side. Degarmo held his shield up. “Forget it, buddy. I’m a police officer,” he said with his usual tact. The sentry gave him a solid expressionless stare. “Close all windows, please,” he said in the same tone he had used before.

“Nuts to you,” Degarmo said. “Nuts to you, soldier boy.”

“It’s an order,” the sentry said. His jaw muscles bulged very slightly. His dull grayish eyes stared at Degarmo. “And I didn’t write the order, mister. Up with the windows.”

“Suppose I told you to go jump in the lake,” Degarmo sneered.

The sentry said: “I might do it. I scare easily.” He patted the breech of his rifle with a leathery hand.

Degarmo turned and closed the windows on his side. We drove across the dam. There was a sentry in the middle and one at the far end. The first one must have flashed them some kind of signal. They looked at us with steady watchful eyes, without friendliness.

I drove on through the piled masses of granite and down through the meadows of coarse grass. The same gaudy slacks and short shorts and peasant handkerchiefs as the day before yesterday, the same light breeze and golden sun and clear blue sky, the same smell of pine needles, the same cool softness of a mountain summer. But that was a hundred years ago, something crystallized in time, like a fly in amber.

I turned off on the road to Little Fawn Lake and wound around the huge rocks and past the little gurgling waterfall. The gate into Kingsley’s property was open and Patton’s car was standing in the road pointing towards the lake, which was invisible from that point. There was nobody in it. The card sign on the windshield still read: “Keep Jim Patton Constable. He Is Too Old to Go to Work.”

Close to it and pointed the other way was a small battered coupe. Inside the coupe a lion hunter’s hat. I stopped my car behind Patton’s and locked it and got out. Andy got out of the coupe and stood staring at us woodenly.

I said: “This is Lieutenant Degarmo of the Bay City police.”

Andy said: “Jim’s just over the ridge. He’s waiting for you. He ain’t had any breakfast.”

We walked up the road to the ridge as Andy got back into his coupe. Beyond it the road dropped to the tiny blue lake. Kingsley’s cabin across the water seemed to be without life.

“That’s the lake,” I said.

Degarmo looked down at it silently. His shoulders moved in a heavy shrug. “Let’s go get the bastard,” was all he said.

We went on and Patton stood up from behind a rock. He was wearing the same old Stetson and khaki pants and shirt buttoned to his thick neck. The star on his left breast still had a bent point. His jaws moved slowly, munching.

“Nice to see you again,” he said, not looking at me, but at Degarmo.

He put his hand out and shook Degarmo’s hard paw. “Last time I seen you, lieutenant, you was wearing another name. Kind of undercover, I guess you’d call it. I guess I didn’t treat you right neither. I apologize. Guess I knew who that photo of yours was all the time.”

Degarmo nodded and said nothing.

“Likely if I’d of been on my toes and played the game right, a lot of trouble would have been saved,” Patton said. “Maybe a life would have been saved. I feel kind of bad about it, but then again I ain’t a fellow that feels too bad about anything very long. Suppose we sit down here and you tell me what it is we’re supposed to be doing now.”

Degarmo said: “Kingsley’s wife was murdered in Bay City last night. I have to talk to him about it.”

“You mean you suspect him?” Patton asked.

“And how,” Degarmo grunted.

Patton rubbed his neck and looked across the lake. “He ain’t showed outside the cabin at all. Likely he’s still asleep. Early this morning I snuck around the cabin. There was a radio goin’ then and I heard sounds like a man would make playing with a bottle and a glass. I stayed away from him. Was that right?”

“We’ll go over there now,” Degarmo said.

“You got a gun, lieutenant?”

Degarmo patted under his left arm. Patton looked at me. I shook my head, no gun.

“Kingsley might have one too,” Patton said. “I don’t hanker after no fast shooting around here, lieutenant. It wouldn’t do me no good to have a gunfight. We don’t have that kind of community up here. You look to me like a fellow who would jack his gun out kind of fast.”

“I’ve got plenty of swift, if that’s what you mean,” Degarmo said. “But I want this guy talking.”

Patton looked at Degarmo, looked at me, looked back at Degarmo and spat tobacco juice in a long stream to one side.

“I ain’t heard enough to even approach him,” he said stubbornly.

So we sat down on the ground and told him the story. He listened silently, not blinking an eye. At the end he said to me: “You got a funny way of working for people, seems to me. Personally I think you boys are plumb misinformed. We’ll go over and see. I’ll go in first—in case you would know what you are talking about and Kingsley would have a gun and would be a little desperate. I got a big belly. Makes a nice target.”

We stood up off the ground and started around the lake the long way. When we came to the little pier I said:

“Did they autopsy her yet, sheriff?”

Patton nodded. “She drowned all right. They say they’re satisfied that’s how she died. She wasn’t knifed or shot or had her head cracked in or anything. There’s marks on her body, but too many to mean anything. And it ain’t a very nice body to work with.”

Degarmo looked white and angry.

“I guess I oughtn’t to have said that, lieutenant,” Patton added mildly. “Kind of tough to take. Seeing you knew the lady pretty well.”

Degarmo said: “Let’s get it over and do what we have to do.”

We went on along the shore of the lake and came to Kingsley’s cabin. We went up the heavy steps. Patton went quietly across the porch to the door. He tried the screen. It was not hooked. He opened it and tried the door. That was unlocked also. He held the door shut, with the knob turned in his hand, and Degarmo took hold of the screen and pulled it wide. Patton opened the door and we walked into the room.

Derace Kingsley lay back in a deep chair by the cold fireplace with his eyes closed. There was an empty glass and an almost empty whiskey bottle on the table beside him. The room smelled of whiskey. A dish near the bottle was choked with cigarette stubs. Two crushed empty packs lay on top of the stubs.

All the windows in the room were shut. It was already close and hot in there. Kingsley was wearing a sweater and his face was flushed and heavy. He snored and his hands hung lax outside the arms of the chair, the fingertips touching the floor.

Patton moved to within a few feet of him and stood looking silently down at him for a long moment before he spoke.

“Mr. Kingsley,” he said then, in a calm steady voice, “we got to talk to you a little.”