Page 56 of The River We Remember

“Maybe whatever happened that night didn’t happen on the Bend. Maybe it happened out at the Bluestone place. I don’t know the how of it exactly, but that pig’s blood is the connection. Bluestone raises and slaughters his own hogs.”

“So do a lot of other folks in Black Earth County,” Brody pointed out.

“They don’t all have reason to hate Quinn.”

“I’m sure some do.”

“Brody, that woman when I talked to her was afraid down to her bones.”

“Cops scare people, Connie.” Brody sat back and gave a good deal of thought to all that Graff had laid out and finally said, “Okay, I’m having trouble believing that Bluestone’s wife would be involved in some kind of dalliance with Quinn. But I can buy that Quinn might have tried to force himself on her, especially drunk. Maybe he went out to Bluestone’s place that night with something else in mind. He took that Tolley, so maybe it was really Bluestone he wanted to see, wanted to scare. Hell, maybe he even had murder on his mind. But he finds the woman alone, and, like you said, he’s a man with a big appetite in all ways, and his wife is sickly, and he’s been drinking, and so maybe he does decide to take advantage of Bluestone’s wife. If that’s the way it went down, maybe she defended herself with that Tolley. Or maybe Bluestone intervened and it was him that pulled the trigger. That’s a scenario I could imagine, I suppose. And then Bluestone hauls Quinn’s body to the Bend in the bed of his truck and pours the pig’s blood there so it looks like that’s where Jimmy died.” He thought a moment. “But Bluestone admitted to being out on Inkpaduta Bend that night. Why?”

“Might be he figured that if he denied it and someone had seen him drive his truck out there, it would make him look pretty guilty. So he admits he was there but says he left before Jimmy arrived. Bluestone’s got it all, Brody. Motive, opportunity, and that pig’s blood is a reasonable connection.”

“Let’s take it to the judge,” Brody said. “See if he thinks we’ve got enough for a search warrant.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WHEN THEY CAME bearing the search warrant authorized by Judge Kevin Eide, Kyoko Bluestone was at work in the field. They drove to the farmstead in two vehicles: Graff in his pickup, Brody and Asa Fielding in the cruiser with Douglas Anderson, the truck thief, in the backseat. They’d brought the kid because Brody wanted the help of both his deputies in the search and didn’t want to leave Douglas in the cell of an otherwise empty jailhouse. Hector was also with them, riding in back with Douglas. The big dog and the kid got along well. The lawmen parked their vehicles in front of the farmhouse, and Brody walked out into the field. The old Saint Bernard with the woman stood and barked a couple of times, then wagged its tail. The woman wore a broad-brimmed straw hat that cast her face in shadow and she held a hoe. Without expression, she watched Brody approach.

“Mrs. Bluestone, my name is Brody Dern. I’m the sheriff of Black Earth County, and I’m here to execute a search of your property. Here’s the warrant.”

He held out the document. She glanced at it but didn’t reach out to take it. He explained to her what he and his deputies were about to do and, generally speaking, why. He expected that she might lodge an objection, at least to the reason for the search if not to the search itself, but she said nothing.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’d like you to accompany me back to the house.”

Graff and Fielding and the kid were waiting under the tall Dutch elm tree in the yard, beneath which sat a little bench of ornamental wrought iron. The woman turned her face toward Graff as she passed, and the old deputy looked sorry to have to invade her privacy in this way. At the door of her house, she stopped and finally spoke.

“Would you men like lemonade? It’s already made and is chilling.”

This was said quietly and calmly, with the kind of Oriental accent Brody had expected but with a clarity and command of the language he had not.

“Thank you, ma’am, no,” Brody replied. “We need to be about our business.”

Her eyes settled on the kid. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Lemonade would be good,” Douglas said eagerly. As an afterthought, he added, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“My name is Kyoko,” she told Douglas and turned to go into the house.

“Asa, go inside with Mrs. Bluestone. Make sure she confines herself to the lemonade.”

They began with the barn. Considering what Graff had told him about the butchering room there, Brody figured that might yield something. They took all the tools and utensils they found in the room. Brody gathered long splinters of the blood-soaked wood from the floor.

Graff said, “I’d swear there was a bloodstained canvas tarp hanging on that wall peg when I was here last night. Looked military issue.”

“Maybe it’ll turn up yet,” Brody said.

Fielding came in and reported that the woman and the kid were outside now, drinking lemonade under the Dutch elm tree, and the dogs were with them.

The lawmen searched the barn and garage and work area. The only thing they found that might have been relevant was in a freezer that Bluestone kept in the garage, which was filled with meat from a butchered hog.

“Must’ve been recent,” Graff said. “Looks like the whole pig’s still there.”

They went to the house and moved through room by room. Brody examined the floors carefully, looking for dried blood, scraping the blade of his pocketknife along wood seams and cracks that might have been overlooked in a desperate cleaning. They checked drawers and closets, hoping to find bloodstained clothing or linens or shoes with blood still clinging to the soles. They entered the cellar, a small, dank place without windows, and used a flashlight to scan the dirt floor and dirt walls and some old wooden shelving that held only empty Ball jars.