Chapter 10 #2
"Because the tree stand was defective. The platform bolt had sheared.
Kyle wasn't careless. He had been using tree stands since he was sixteen.
The bolt failed and he fell twenty-two feet onto rock.
I asked Halvorsen to document the equipment failure in his findings.
He said the physical evidence didn't support it. I said he didn't look hard enough."
"And you raised this publicly."
"Twice. At town meetings. I also filed a complaint with the county. It was dismissed." He paused. "I wasn't quiet about it. I know that. I was angry. My brother bled out in the woods because the equipment failed and the man who was supposed to document that didn't do his job."
"Did you threaten Dr. Halvorsen?" McKenzie asked.
"I told him to his face that he was wrong. I told him his autopsy was incomplete. I didn't threaten him."
"Others have said the confrontation was heated,” Callie added.
"It was heated. I was burying my brother. You tell me how calm you'd be."
Callie let the silence sit for a moment. McKenzie was watching Aspen's hands. They hadn't moved from the table.
"Where were you on the night of August seventeenth?" Callie asked.
"Home."
"And the night of August twenty-seventh?"
"Home."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"I live alone. So no."
"What were you doing those evenings?"
"Same as most evenings. Ate dinner. Read. Went to bed." He looked at her directly. "I don't have an alibi for either night. But I didn't kill anyone."
"Did you know Maggie Coleman?"
"I knew who she was. Everybody did. I never spoke to her."
"Did you have any reason to wish her harm?"
"None."
"And Burt Halvorsen?"
Aspen held her gaze. "My brother bled out in the woods because of how that man handled the scene. But I didn't kill him." He paused. "I wouldn't waste the bullet."
The words hung in the quiet cabin. Callie let them hang. McKenzie shifted slightly in his chair but said nothing.
"Were you at the vigil last night?" Callie asked. "The memorial for Coleman and Halvorsen. At the lakefront."
Aspen was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I was there."
"Did anyone speak to you?"
"I stayed at the back. Didn't feel like talking to anyone."
"How long were you there?"
"Twenty minutes. Maybe less." He paused. "Yeah, I left. I saw police working the edge of the crowd and figured I was the first person you'd come looking for. A man with a grudge against one of the dead, standing at the back of a memorial. I didn't feel like explaining myself."
Callie kept her expression neutral. The height was right. The build was right. The timing was right.
"Which direction did you leave?"
"South. Through the park. Cut through the residential streets back to my truck."
McKenzie and Callie exchanged a glance. South. Through the residential streets. The same direction Noah had chased the figure.
"Anyone see you leave?"
"Not that I know of."
"Mr. Aspen, do you own rifles in .308 caliber?"
"I do. Two of them. A Remington 700 and a Tikka T3. Both in the safe."
"We'd like to submit them for ballistic testing."
She expected resistance. She expected him to ask for a warrant, like Pike had.
Instead, Aspen looked at them for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he stood up and walked to the hallway.
Efficient. No wasted motion. They followed.
In the bedroom, a steel gun safe stood against the far wall, bolted to the floor.
Military grade, not the sporting kind you bought at a box store.
He dialed the combination and opened it.
Four rifles stood in the rack, barrels up, stocks resting in felt-lined slots.
Clean. Oiled. Professionally maintained.
No dust on the barrels. No rust on the actions.
It was clear he took good care of his equipment.
"Take them," Aspen said. He stepped back and leaned against the doorframe. "Test whatever you need to test. I'll sign a voluntary surrender form."
McKenzie looked at Callie. She looked back.
A man who had just killed two people did not open his gun safe and hand over his weapons. Not without a warrant. Not without a lawyer. Not without a fight. Unless, of course, he had another weapon they hadn't found. Or unless he was telling the truth.
Callie studied Aspen as McKenzie lifted the Remington from the rack. He watched them handle his rifles the way someone might who cared about the weapons but not about what a test would reveal. There was no tension in his hands. No flicker in his eyes. Just awareness.
"We appreciate the cooperation," Callie said.
"I'm cooperating because I didn't do it. You'll see."
They bagged both .308s and carried them to the Tahoe. Aspen stood on the porch with his arms crossed and watched them load the weapons into the back. He didn't ask about getting them back.
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” McKenzie said.
Callie paused before getting into the passenger seat.
She looked back at the cabin. The neat firewood.
The game camera. The topographic map she could still see through the kitchen window.
Everything about Todd Aspen was controlled and organized, a life built around self-sufficiency and routine.
The kind of life that could hide almost anything or nothing at all.
McKenzie started the engine and backed down the gravel drive. Neither spoke until they hit the main road.
"Well?" McKenzie said.
Callie stared through the windshield at the road unwinding through the trees. Aspen had the training. The rifles. The grudge. The terrain knowledge. The solitary lifestyle. He fit every line of the profile they had built in that war room. But he had handed them his guns without being asked twice.
“Could be legit, or he could have stored the rifle elsewhere,” she said.
McKenzie turned the cigarette between his teeth. "Aye. That's what bothers me."