Sales chewed carefully, but Bolinger could tell that he'd lost whatever appetite he'd possessed.

"This is great," the detective said.

"Caught it this afternoon," Sales said with a mischievous grin.

"That's where you were?"

Sales nodded and carefully recited his alibi.

"You got a lot of guns," Bolinger said. "Any pistols?"

"A Colt forty-five from the service and a Glock I picked up at a bargain," Sales said. "Oh, and a little thirty-eight. The rest are just rifles and bird guns…"

Bolinger accepted this and finished his fish along with one last slug of Corona.

"Not supposed to have one on the job, but sometimes you've got to let it slide," he said, standing up. "Thanks for the fish. You going to be around for the next week or so?"

"Sure. You want coffee?"

"No. Thanks," Bolinger said. "I may want to ask you some questions in a few days or so. So if you decide to take a trip or something, let me know, okay?"

"I'll be right here. The trial's two weeks away. Is this going to move that off?"

"No," Bolinger said, pausing at the door. "That'll still happen."

Instead of driving directly back to the city, Bolinger pulled his car off to the shoulder, right next to where Sales's drive entered the main road. He sat there smoking for a while, then got out of his car and took the long, winding dirt road back through the brush to the cabin. Like a peeping Tom, he peered through a window. Sales wasn't doing anything unusual. He sat in front of the TV in a cloud of smoke, rising only to replenish his beer and another time for a fresh pack of cigarettes.

Now Bolinger's gut was uncertain on this one. His experience told him Sales had done it.