McKean S03 The Ghost Trees Read Online Free Page A

sample before the police are through questioning him. Come on, let’s take another wander around town, as Holloman says.”
    On the way to West Seattle McKean called Officer Stanwood to get Sturgis’ address. Clicking off his phone, he remarked, “They tried to pick up Henry George for more questioning but couldn’t find him.”
    “He seems to come and go mysteriously, doesn’t he?” I observed. “But they don’t still suspect that lame old geezer of anything, do they?”
    “Not really. But he’s a witness able to identify Sturgis.”
    “He already told us he didn’t actually see the murder.”
    “Therefore, I’ll keep working on the DNA mapping angle. You’d better hurry, Fin. They finished interrogating Sturgis and he’s been let go. It’s anyone’s guess if he’ll go home or elsewhere. Hopefully, if we’re quick about it, we can be there and gone before he returns.”
    * * * * *
    “This is the address Stanwood gave me,” McKean confirmed as I pulled my Mustang to the curb in a West Seattle neighborhood of modest old blue-collar houses. McKean carefully studied the small, one-story corner house as I parked near its side fence. “As I hoped,” he said, “it looks like no one is home. If we’re quick, we can get what we want without incident.”
    We entered a gate on the side fence, apparently unseen by neighbors. There, at the back of an untidy bungalow, in a fenced yard consisting mostly of ill-kempt lawn, was the remnant of a stump about four feet wide and cut low to the ground.
    McKean took a purple-capped plastic test tube from a pocket of his canvas field coat. “This stump is our source of incontrovertible proof about Sturgis’ claims. If it matches the wood in his cedar pile, then he’s telling the truth. But if it’s a mismatch - ”
    I completed the thought. “Then Sturgis becomes the man with the motive, the valuables in question, and even an ax handle that could have been used in the murder. On top of that, he’s caught in a lie regarding this stump.”
    “Exactly.” McKean knelt and used a large pair of forceps to pry a chip of wood from the cut surface of the stump. Eyeing the chip carefully, he nodded approvingly. “Not yet rotted to any significant extent, so it ought to serve our needs. Cedar is a remarkably resistant wood. If this sample shows a pattern of DNA even slightly different from the patterns of the woodpile and the stump at the crime scene, then Sturgis has lied about the source of the wood. That ought to be enough circumstantial evidence to get a conviction.”
    A noise at the back of the house turned both our heads. A pet door squeaked open and a huge dog emerged, barking fiercely. Turning together, we faced the charge of what seemed to be a mixed breed and a bad mix at that: half mastiff and half pit bull. Desperate to fend off what looked like it might be a fatal attack, I threw my arms up and shouted to match its snarl. The beast paused just short of throwing itself on us, slavering and barking furiously but keeping out of reach of an arm or leg, although neither McKean nor I made an offensive move.
    “Conan!” a harsh voice called from the porch. The dog trotted back, with hackles high, to join a man who was coming at us as fast and furiously as the dog had just done. It was Jay Sturgis.
    “Oh, you guys, ” he growled in concert with the dog’s snarl. “You got a search warrant?”
    “We’re not police,” McKean said.
    “Then I guess that makes you intruders in my yard.” Sturgis drew a pistol out from where he had tucked it into the small of his back. It was a .44 magnum. A look at the business end of it made my blood run cold.
    “So,” he smirked, covering us with one hand while getting a grip on the dog’s choke chain, “tell me why I shouldn’t shoot a couple guys I caught breaking and entering my property?” His dog strained against the choke chain with its eyes fixated on mine like it was beside itself with desire to taste my