We arrived at the Fair Day resort half an hour later. It was situated on the far western edge of the county, built on the shore of one of our largest, prettiest lakes. Color had begun to dot the trees, and the sun was shining, making it a gorgeous October day. A few fishing boats trolled the water. The resort had been around since the 1930s, and a lot of us joked that the towels in the rooms dated back to that era, too. For its time, the place had been elegant, but decades later, it was just a collection of lakeside cabins with outhouses and a communal shower. It was seasonal, and the resort would be closing up for the winter in a few more weeks. I had a hard time imagining Gordon Brink staying here, but seven years earlier, he wouldn’t have had many options.

The owner of the resort was a man in his early fifties named Marvin Faraday, who was the son of the original owners. The Faraday clan went so far back in this area that some of us wondered if there was a Random Faraday centuries ago who gave the town its name. He was a rounded Paul Bunyan of a man, the sixth of six children, and he had seven kids of his own. Marvin was also the town mayor, which wasn’t a job that took a lot of time around here. He knew everyone, so when Darrell and I came inside the lobby cabin that doubled as his home, he was right there to put both hands on my belly to feel you kick. You must have liked him, sweetheart, because you kicked up a storm to say hello.

He poured coffee for himself from an aging Mr. Coffee machine in the corner of the office, and he held up the pot to the two of us, but we declined.

“Awful news about Ajax,” Marvin told us when we were all sitting down. “Awful, awful, awful. You know what happened?”

“We’re working on it,” Darrell replied.

“Ajax came here a lot, you know.”

“Did he?”

“Oh, sure. He had a cabin he liked, probably rented it out once or twice a month. Never came alone. For me, it was hear no evil, see no evil, know what I’m saying? He brought girls here, but I made a point of not noticing who. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and it wasn’t any of my business. As long as there weren’t any awkward scenes, jealous husbands showing up, that kind of thing, I didn’t care. I wish I could be more help.”

“Actually, we’re not here about Ajax,” Darrell told him.

“No?”

“We’d like to ask you about Gordon Brink.”

“You mean the lawyer who got killed last winter? What about him?”

“Did you know him?”