“Is that supposed to be a compliment? You don’t know the first thing about me, Warden.”

“I know you’re a Navy veteran. Submarines?”

“What gave it away? Oh, right. The hat. I bet you don’t even know what happened to the USS Thresher.”

“It sank with all hands somewhere off Cape Cod.” I had finally remembered the name and the incident. During the hottest days of the Cold War, a horrible malfunction led the Maine-built submarine to go down. Hundreds of sailors died in one of the worst ways imaginable.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” said Jewett. “I could tell within two minutes of looking at you that you never served. Bone spurs?”

“I decided to serve my country by becoming a law-enforcement officer.”

“A fish cop! Good for you. But you went to college, first. I can tell from your diction. Where?”

There was no right answer to his question—a contempt for higher education rose off Jewett’s person like a foul odor—so I told the truth. “Colby.”

The mocking smile returned. “You’re the first game warden I’ve met with a fancy-pants degree. I bet that helps a ton when you’re ticketing some fisherman for exceeding his daily bag limit. Colby is one of the Little Ivies, right?”

“No one uses that term anymore.”

Jewett snorted and turned again to the ammunition locker. “I’m done answering questions. You’re going to shoot now.”

Whatever sympathy I’d had for him as a beleaguered son caring for a senile mother was gone.

He returned with a paper target which he clipped to the retriever. It wasn’t the same design as the one he’d used himself. This target depicted a cartoonish African-American mugger.

“Seriously?” I said.

“Shoot.”

“No.”

“Then I guess it’s time for you to leave.”

I ejected his shells from the magazine into the ammo can.

“You don’t even want to know what Mrs. Chamberlain told me—the reason why I’m here today?”

“She thinks I orchestrated Eben’s death for some inexplicable reason, despite that being impossible.”

Carefully I pushed my own bullets into the empty magazine. “She said you and Eben were more than friends.”

His face emptied of emotion. His eyes seemed to recede behind the protective lenses. Slowly they reemerged, but now the pupils had grown wide with anger. And his nostrils flared.

“That’s a disgusting lie.”

“Then tell me the truth. How would you characterize the nature of your relationship?”

His hand tightened around the grip of his Glock. “You come into my house and you accuse me of being a degenerate.”

I made no threatening movements but casually let my own hand wander into the vicinity of my reloaded SIG. “I am not accusing you of anything.”

“Butt buddies,” he said. “Fucking butt buddies?”

“Calm down, Mr. Jewett.”