Old Sam hated waste worst of all.

Kate looked at the bullet, and at the package wrapped in white butcher paper labeled 5# ROST in black Marks-A-Lot. I‘m as susceptible to bribes as the next law enforcement professional, Uncle, but you know I‘m going to have to tell him where I got it.

Yeah, I know, but not before I get it all hung. Ain‘t nobody, even Dan O‘Brian, going to take it then. Not if they want some of my barbecue.

Because despite the years-long war between Old Sam and the Parks Service, Dan O‘Brian was one ranger who had a standing invitation to the barbecue. Old Sam nodded at the roast. That‘s the part the bullet come out of. Leave it sit out a day or two, it ought to be just about right. He left.

Mutt stuck her head over the counter and sniffed interestedly at the roast. Go catch your own, Kate told her. She put the roast on a shelf up high and then, because Mutt was sulking, said, Want to go into town?

Well, shit. Jim looked at the bullet Kate had placed on the desk in front of him. I thought we were done with that goddamn uncase.

It took until the following Saturday, the day of Old Sam‘s barbecue, before the report came back from ballistics. The bullet taken out of the moose had indeed been fired from the pistol Jim had found in the clearing with the body. Kate had driven in early, and the two of them sat in his office, digesting the news in silence. At length, Jim stirred. Okay. As crazy as I thought your theory was, I‘m bound to say it‘s looking more like that‘s the way it went down. Allen had earned enough money from his various employers, it was time to leave, and he set up Gammons to take the fall so they wouldn‘t come looking for him if they found out he‘d been double-crossing them both.

All neat and tidy, she said, almost a growl.

Boy, Kate, you really want to arrest someone out at the Suulutaq in the worst way, don‘t you?

Don‘t you? she said.

Not as bad as you do, he said. I‘m guessing it‘s because you hate the Suulutaq Mine so much.

She looked up, startled. What are you talking about? I don‘t hate the mine. Jim had been thinking about what Old Sam had told him back in July, thinking and watching Kate and listening to her, and thinking some more. Yeah you do. You hate that goddamn mine worse than anyone else in the Park. Oh, I know, you haven‘t said so, and you‘ve been the voice of reason and responsibility when you‘re in your board chair persona. But you hate it like poison. You see it changing the Park out of all recognition, and you see the dollar signs lighting up the eyes of your shareholders, Auntie Edna selling takeout, Auntie Balasha selling souvenirs, Auntie Vi plain selling out. You hate every bit of it. If you could you‘d shut Suulutaq down and boot Global Harvest not just out of the Park but out of the whole goddamn state. And it‘s not because you really believe the mine will destroy the land or the wildlife. You want jobs for Park rats, industry for a tax base so there can be schools and hospitals and libraries. But you‘d rather do without all of that stuff than have the Park change on you. You‘d rather do without than have your life changed as much as that mine is going to change it.