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this."
    Bill Robinson was beginning to know Jack Morgan in this mood. He sat back and let him play it out. "The ice just went out at Nenana and I won?"
    "Better." Bill waited. "Slim says that the bullet that killed Lisa Getty came from a different rifle than the one that killed the rest of the victims."
    Bill straightened with a jerk. "What!" "Yeah, I know."
    "Shit!" "Yeah," Jack Morgan said thoughtfully. "I know." "Jim?" The trooper shrugged. "We've collected all the evidence there was to collect, and your people have examined it." He nodded at the pile of file folders on Jack's desk. Bill Robinson leaned against one wall, watching the exchange. "Those are all the statements we took. You've read them. Lottie Getty and Becky Jorgensen were together at the time Lisa Getty was shot. We tested Lottie's rifle and it came up clean. Becky was unarmed. George Perry never got on the ground. Hell, it was a Saturday morning. Usually pretty quiet in Niniltna on Saturday mornings, at least until the mail plane lands, and then everybody in town can hear it and they come out. Until then-" He spread his hands. "There's just no reason, or there wasn't, to suspect that anyone else was doing any shooting that day." He paused. "Is ballistics "They're sure. " "Did you have them run another test?"
    "And a third. They all come up the same. Lisa Getty was shot by a different rifle than the others."
    "Damn.,, "So," Jack said, studying his feet. "Where will you start?"
    Heavy lids drooped over the trooper's eyes and Jack couldn't read the expression in them. "I'm. afraid I can't start Jack stared at him in disbelief. "Why the hell not?" Chopper Jim said evenly, "I was involved in a personal relationship with Lisa Getty recently."
    Jack sat up. "How recently?" "Recent enough to keep me out of this investigation The trooper looked up, and the expression on his face was as close to defensive as Jack had ever seen Jim Chopin get. He was surprised it was even possible. He waited.
    "It started New Year's Eve at Bernie's Roadhouse," Jim said at last. "It ended Valentine's Day at hers."
    "Who broke it off?" "She did."
    Jack's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Did you fight?"
    "No." The word was brought out with unnecessary force, and Jack noticed it, and Jim noticed he noticed it, and Jack noticed him noticing. Their eyes met and they both laughed at the same time.
    "Gotta ask, Jim," Jack said, sobering.
    "Yeah. I'm not-I don't-" For a moment the trooper was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Oh hell," he said, and gave a short, humorless laugh. "It's a little different," he said, his voice wry, "being on the other side." "Yeah." Jack waited.
    "It wasn't like we were in love or anything. It was just one of those things." If the legends were true, Chopper Jim went through "one of those things" on average about once a month. Jack sat back in his chair and regarded the man sitting across from him.
    Even sitting down Chopper Jim looked every bit of his six-feet-ten-inch height and every one of his well developed and superbly maintained two hundred and seventy pounds. On his feet, in the Alaska State Trooper's uniform, all blue and gold and badge and gun, Jim simply radiated authority and competence and strength and probity and rectitude; most if not all of the virtues and certainly none of the vices. If you squinted, he looked a little like John Wayne. If you didn't, he still did.
    The appearance was something of a fraud as far as women were concerned.
    Beneath the flat brim of the hat, the calm, blue eyes could turn, without the slightest warning, deadly seductive. His jaw was firm and square and held up a quick, charming and totally untrustworthy smile.
    Chopper Jim always carried with him a musky whiff of having just rolled out of bed, and the seductive sense of being just barely able to wait until he got back in it, preferably accompanied. Jack had hoisted a few with the trooper, off duty and out of uniform, and he had to admit, not without a