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Whatever he might think to do, Greta solidified his options when she abandoned her “huddling from the cold” posture and flashed her sheriff’s deputy badge.
“Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department. You goin’ to answer my Fish and Game colleague?”
Lawton stared at her. Turned. Stared at Sheffel. Then said, “Well, shit,” and dropped the backpack. Greta pushed him up against his car, had him assume the position of hands on car roof with feet spread, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out his car keys. Sheffel opened the backpack.
“Well, lookee here. Could these possibly be abalone taken out of season? And if I’m not mistaken, almost half are undersized. Shame, shame on you, Mr. Lawton.”
Lawton made no response. Not then, not when she read him his rights, or on the way to the Tillamook jail. They had driven back to retrieve Sheffel’s truck. A handcuffed Lawton rode in Greta’s back s
eat because the doors were lockable—a child-protection feature in the used car she’d bought when first moving to Tillamook. Sheffel followed her to Tillamook City and the county jail. Fish and Game had no such facility itself, and the poaching had occurred in Tillamook County.
They got curious stares as they marched Lawton into the headquarters. Greta put him in a holding cell. Sergeant Donato, desk officer of the day, took details of the booking from Greta and Sheffel. Someone must have alerted Wallace because he appeared while they completed the paperwork.
“What do we have here?” Wallace asked.
“A pretty major abalone poacher,” responded Sheffel. “Deputy Havorsford and I caught him red-handed. Might be one of the biggest poachers we’ve had in a long time. Wouldn’t have caught him if it weren’t for Greta. Good staff you’ve got here, Sheriff.”
Wallace merely grunted and walked away.
“Thanks, Dave,” she whispered.
“No sweat. Everyone knows what a dickhead he is. Well . . . everyone except the voters, evidently.”
“When do you think I could question Lawton about the Toompas case?”
Sheffel grinned. “No time better than right now. Let’s finish up the paperwork, and we can ask him some questions until he demands a lawyer.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them sat in the only interrogation room at the station, Lawton on one side of the plain table and Greta and Sheffel sitting opposite.
“So,” started Sheffel, “want to tell us who you sell the abalone to?”
“I want a lawyer.”
Oh, shit, Greta thought. It’s going to be that way.
“Of course, that’s your right.” Sheffel pushed his chair back and stood as if about to leave the room. “Oh, and besides the abalone, did we forget to mention we’re also interested in you about a murder case?”
Lawton stared at Sheffel, then turned to focus on Greta. He blinked and shook his head slightly. “A murder case? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ll let Deputy Havorsford explain.”
Sheffel faced Greta and winked with one eye hidden from Lawton. “Deputy Havorsford?”
“How well do you know Howard Toompas?” she asked.
Lawton’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Who?”
“Howard Toompas. Also known as Howie Toompas.”
“Never heard of him.”
Greta pulled out a photo of Toompas and laid it on the table in front of Lawton. “Howie Toompas. Also fond of taking illegal abalone.”
Lawton looked at the photo, then up to Greta and Sheffel, then back to the photo. He shook his head. “Don’t know the man. Who is he?”
Greta looked at him skeptically, thinking, It was in the news for weeks!
“Why don’t you take another look, Mr. Lawton?”
