Page 47 of River Wild

“This can be over in a matter of minutes if I can see Jay alone,” the sheriff said. “Either way, Angie isn’t staying.”

She started to go off on a rant about police injustice, but Tick strong-armed her out of the office. He was no small man, which was good because Angie was built like a small tank. Once outside the office, he bent down to say a few choice words to her, then pushed her into a chair before returning.

“Lock the door,” Stuart said.

Tick hesitated, but only a moment. As the sheriff began to put down the blinds in his office, the geologist and part-time lawyer said warily, “What exactly is going to happen here?”

“Jay, I’m sure you want this over as quickly as I do,” Stuart said. “If you would remove your shirt.”

Erickson laughed nervously. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m looking for the man who killed Willow. I need to see your legs. It will only take a minute. Either show me or I’ll read you your rights and hold you for questioning. Up to you.”

He shook his head as he took off his shirt.

Stuart looked at the man’s upper body. He had burn marks all over him—except on his left shoulder—and while there was a scar on his side, it was impossible to tell if it had been a knife wound. He took photos with his camera, but what he hadn’t taken into consideration was that whatever injuries the killer had gotten when he’d attacked Bailey, the wounds had twelve years to heal.

“You can put your shirt back on,” Stuart said. “But I need you to drop your pants.”

“Come on!” Erickson protested.

“I’m looking for the man who killed Willow. I need to see your legs. It will only take a minute. Either show me or I’ll read you your rights and hold you for questioning. Up to you.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the rancher said, and looked to Tick.

Tick merely shrugged and said, “I’d show the man your legs. Unless you have something to hide.”

Erickson considered that for a long moment. “I can’t believe this.”

“Did you drive your truck into town?” Stuart asked. “If you don’t comply, I’m also going to have to take it into evidence until the crime team out of Billings can look at it. Or, once I see your legs, I let you get in it, and you and Angie go home.”

Swearing, the rancher unbuckled his belt, popped open the buttons on his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

“You’re going to have to take off one boot and slip out of that jean leg,” Stuart said. The swearing grew louder, but Erickson did as he was asked.

“This is highly irregular,” Tick pointed out, and the sheriff agreed as he set his phone to Record.

He photographed the front of Erickson’s hairy legs, then the back, noticing a few scars, one that could have been a knife wound low on the left thigh. “Please put your free leg up on that chair.”

The rancher started to object, but Tick said, “Just do it.”

The moment the man did, Stuart saw the scar. It was jagged and deep, high inside the thigh. “What caused that?”

“Bull horn. I used to be a bull rider until one got a little too close to the jewels.”

Moving in, the sheriff photographed the scar. “Okay, thanks,” he said, shaken by the violent-looking scar and his disappointment. He’d thought this was going to be over quickly, but Erickson wasn’t the man. At least, he couldn’t prove that he was. “You can get dressed.” Outside his office, he could hear Angie causing a commotion and was glad the door was locked.

“So, this person who killed Willow Branson,” Erickson was saying. “You hear he had some kind of scar you’re looking for?”

Stuart feared that everyone in the county had heard about the horseshoe-shaped brand by now. “Something like that.”

The rancher nodded knowingly. “You could have just asked me if I had it.”

“I could have,” the sheriff said as he sat down again behind his desk. “But who’s to say you would have told me the truth?”

Erickson smirked at that. “Well, anything to help, Sheriff.”

“Appreciate that.” He didn’t sound any more sincere than the rancher had.

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