Wicked Eddies by Beth Groundwater Page B

two nights you say you slept there?”
    â€œShit.” Newt’s gaze darted around the small room. “You’ve got me wedged between a rock and a hard place.”
    â€œWe’ll go to your campsite after we finish here, then. Will any of the others be there?” After Newt gave a reluctant nod, Quintana scanned his notes. “So, Gonzo Gordon can vouch for you Saturday evening, and hopefully one of your campsite buddies can vouch for you both nights. Anyone see you at Hecla Junction?”
    Newt waved his hands wide. “Lots of folks, man, but I didn’t know any of them.”
    â€œI’ll ask around there today. Now, describe the scene at Vallie Bridge to me, everything you saw.”
    Newt went into a long description of the body, the campsite, and sleeping bag and fishing equipment scattered around, continually prompted for more details by Quintana. Mandy paid close attention, trying to match Newt’s description with her memory to see if anything didn’t jibe.
    â€œDid you see anyone else at the campground?” Quintana asked.
    â€œNo, no one. Before I reached the dead guy’s campsite, I saw some trash at another site, but no cans, so I just left the trash there.”
    Quintana finished making notes, then raised his head. “So where did you stash the ring that you took off Howie’s hand?”
    â€œWhat?” Newt’s eyes widened. “I didn’t take any ring. As soon as I saw the dead body, I dropped my bag of cans and ran.”
    â€œYou didn’t check to see if he was really dead, to see if you could help him?”
    â€œOh yeah, but when I went to take a pulse on his wrist, I could tell he was long gone. His skin was way too cool.” Newt shuddered. “Then the flies grossed me out and I booked.”
    Mandy wrinkled her nose. The flies had grossed her out, too.
    â€œWhat about the hatchet?” Quintana asked. “Did you touch that?”
    Newt shook his head.
    â€œI’d like to fingerprint you,” Quintana said.
    â€œWhy? I had work gloves on the whole time, except when I checked for a pulse.”
    Quintana smiled. “Then you have nothing to worry about. We won’t find any matches to your fingerprints on the murder weapon.”
    Newt looked skeptical, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.
    â€œDescribe your work gloves to me,” Quintana continued.
    â€œThey’re old lady gardening gloves that I scrounged up, yellow with pink flowers. Worked pretty well, though.”
    â€œYou still have them?”
    â€œOne of them. I can’t find the right one.”
    â€œThat’s because we found it at Vallie Bridge,” Quintana said, and when Newt opened his mouth to speak, added, “And no, you can’t have it back.”
    Newt sighed. “I suppose you’re keeping the cans, too.”
    â€œDefinitely.” Quintana paused and scanned his notes. “Is there anything else you can tell me about what you saw or did while you were there? See any out-of-the-ordinary items, for instance, besides campground trash?”
    Newt thought for a moment. “Well, when I first got there, I went through the day-use parking lot and picked up a few soda cans. You know where the stile through the fence is that leads to a shortcut path to the campsites?”
    Quintana nodded.
    â€œI found a few more cans on the ground under some brush next to the stile. A can of pepper spray was there, too, but since it wasn’t aluminum, I left it. I remember that I thought it was odd for someone to leave it there.”
    â€œGood, that’s helpful. Anything else?”
    After Newt shook his head, Quintana said, “Okay, I want you to stick around town. I may have more questions for you later, especially if your alibis don’t check out.”
    Newt’s eyes widened. “I told you, man, all I did was spot the body and leave on Monday morning.”
    â€œBut you didn’t report