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William has long gray sideburn whiskers that he ties under his chin. He was wearing an insulated canvas work suit. She wore a thermal underwear shirt, black jeans, rubber boots, and a purple beret. She was drunkenly describing a mule ride in the jungles of Costa Rica. She reeled back in the booth and fixed her eyes on the tropical distance, describing the slap in the face of a palm frond. William smiled into his plum brandy and pushed the frond from his face with his forearms. I held up two fingers to the barmaid and made a circular gesture in the direction of William’s booth. The barmaid nodded, and I went over to sit down.
    â€œCecil Younger, the subarctic gumshoe, have you ever considered opening a fishing lodge in Costa Rica?”
    â€œCan’t say as I have, William. Mind if I sit down?”
    The woman with the beret looked up in surprise at finding me so suddenly in the jungle and said, “Well, if you don’t want to open a fishing lodge then just fuck off, both of you.” She stood up and began a port tack to the other end of the bar.
    â€œAn excitable child,” William said. “But she knows Costa Rica. Business or pleasure, Cecil? If you’re here to ask me what I know about the shoplifting, I’m a dead end for you.”
    â€œShoplifting?”
    â€œToday at the gun shop. Someone ran out of the store with a hunting rifle. The police have been tearing up the waterfront.”
    â€œNo, I don’t know anything about that. I’m here to buy you a drink and see if you know any good stories.”
    â€œPlentee stories, the finest kine!” William said in mock Hawaiian pidgin.
    â€œWhat do you know about Louis Victor and Walt Robbins?”
    William smiled up at me and twisted the braid that was tied under his chin while he acknowledged the drinks the barmaid brought to the table.
    â€œA murder, is it? Well, you know the basics, I take it.” He didn’t wait for me to answer.
    â€œLouis and Walt grew up in Juneau together. They stuck out; Walt took a lot of teasing for being friends with this Indian kid. Walt was a year or two younger, I think. Louis was a better hunter, or at least he brought more and bigger game in. Louis was better with the women and always seemed to have more money. I always kind of suspected that it was humiliating for Walt to work for Louis all those years. Louis made his money on the North Slope, enough to buy his guide business.
    â€œI’ve heard rumors that Walt was sleeping with Emma, Louis’s wife. I don’t buy that. Emma’s a knotty piece of wet rope. I don’t think she could loosen up even if she wanted to.”
    â€œDid Robbins want in on the hunting territory?”
    â€œYeah, I guess Walt wanted that territory. It was great bear hunting, it had a fair anchorage.”
    â€œEnough to kill Louis?”
    William drank the last of his brandy. “How the fuck should I know?” He looked down into his drink. “I don’t think he killed Louis. Louis was an Indian and he was kind of arrogant but Walt loved him.” He pulled the tip of his finger around the rim of the glass. “And, anyway, the facts don’t fit all that well. Walt had passed out on his boat. And even if he wanted to kill Louis for the permit, Emma inherited it after Louis’s death and Emma hates Walt’s guts. The poor bastard. I heard he offered to buy the outfit and permit for three times what it’s worth but Emma wouldn’t let him in the door. I mean, I don’t know. I just heard that Emma and Louis had their own troubles. But Walt never got his foot in the door, that I know.”
    â€œSomeone said that Robbins was already in Bellingham when his daughter committed suicide.”
    â€œI never heard that. I heard that Walt was up here. You’re not fishing on me, are you, Younger? Man, you are sick—but I like it. Robbins was worried about her, I know that. She was sleeping with some