Page 53 of The Killing Plains

“It’s okay,” Colly said. “Look.”

Above them, dangling by its hocks from a homemade hoist welded to the bed of the truck, hung the half-skinned carcass of an enormous wild hog. Its belly had been slit open, and beneath it sat a plastic tub filled with blood, offal, and strips of hairy hide.

Colly glanced around the garage. A row of four chest freezers hummed against the left wall. Against the right stood a workbench topped with a butcher block. On a pegboard behind it hung an array of meat hooks, cleavers, and knives. A stainless-steel band saw sat in the center of the space, a halo of blood spatter ringing the sawdust floor beneath it.

“Damn,” Colly whispered. “Freddy Krueger’s playhouse.” She cleared her throat. “Anybody here?”

After a few seconds, they heard a toilet flush, and a man emerged from a door in the rear of the garage, zipping the fly of his coveralls. After the stories she’d heard about Jace Hoyer, Colly expected a hulking giant, but this was a short, wiry white man with coarse, mud-colored hair and a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times.

Seeing Avery, he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “What doyouwant?”

Avery introduced Colly, then said, “What’s going on here, Jace?”

“What’s it look like?” Jace Hoyer began washing his hands at a utility sink by the workbench.

“I didn’t know it was hunting season,” Colly said.

Hoyer cast her a scornful look and turned off the water with his elbow. “Not from around here, are ya? Ain’t no rules with hogs. Hell, you can shoot ’em from a chopper, if you want.” He pointed at the half-skinned animal. “I cornered that one with my dogs this morning, then stuck it through the eye with a knife.”

As Colly pondered a reply, Avery waved towards the line of freezers. “You’re not selling meat out of your garage, I hope?”

“Who’s gonna hire me in this town anymore?” Hoyer grabbed a leather apron from a hook and threw it over his head, tying it behind his back. “Jolene ain’t worked in weeks—just lays around popping her damn pills. Gotta keep the lights on, somehow.”

“You know you need a license,” Avery said. “Has the DSHS inspected this?”

Hoyer’s eyes flashed. “Go to hell, why don’t ya, and leave us alone. Ain’t we been through enough?”

Colly stepped forward. “This won’t take long. We’re trying to wrap up a few loose ends regarding your stepson’s death.”

“That case is closed. I got nothing to gain by talking to y’all.”

“You’ve got plenty to lose if you don’t.” Avery jerked her chin towards the freezers. “If I were you—”

Colly cut her off. “We’re not trying to jam you up, I promise.”

“As long as I cooperate?” Hoyer spat in the sawdust. “I ain’t falling for that good-cop, bad-cop shit from someone who got her whole family killed. How’re you still a detective?”

Colly met his eyes. “It’s just a few questions, Mr. Hoyer.”

Jace Hoyer stared back at her for a moment, then shook his head and grabbed a long knife from the workbench. Colly’s gun-hand flinched, but Hoyer picked up a whetstone and began running it along the blade. “Fuckin’ Newlands, you’re all alike. What do you wanna know?”

“I understand you worked at the turbine plant.”

“Till your goddamn brother-in-law fired me.”

“Why?”

“He wanted a cat to kick, and I was handy.”

“Meaning—?” Avery prompted.

Hoyer shrugged. “Screwups ain’t ever Lowell Newland’s fault, that’s all.”

“You’re talking about the accident on the highway a couple years ago?” Colly asked.

Hoyer stopped sharpening the knife. “Wasn’t my fault that lady got killed. Lowell called the shots—I just followed orders.”

“I thought it was a freak accident.”

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