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Cody told him, leaving out the part about him being in AA. Leaving out the part about the missing coins. Saying he knew Hank Winters never drank alcohol.

“That’s your reasoning?”

“Yes.” Cody could feel Larry glaring at him but didn’t look over. Hearing in his head, Don’t ever screw me, and don’t ever put me in a position I don’t want to be in.

Tubman crossed his arms and shook his head. “So what do I tell the press? What do I tell that fucking Skeeter?”

“Whatever you want,” Cody said. “I’m investigating it as a homicide.”

The sheriff set his jaw. “I know you sometimes forget this, Hoyt, but you work for me. And from what I’ve heard, it’s an accidental death. Do you dispute anything Olson told me?”

“No.”

“Then keep your theories to yourself until you’ve got something a hell of a lot better than what you’ve got. The last thing I need right now is an unsolved murder leading up to the primary. Do you understand? It’s an accidental death until you can prove to me it isn’t. Like if the autopsy boys in Missoula find a bullet hole in his skull or a knife in his gut. Then we’ve got something that changes the situation. Got that?”

Cody felt a familiar rage building up in him. But he managed not to lash out.

“Got that?” Tubman said again.

“I hear you,” Cody mumbled.

Deep in the trees from the direction of the main road he could hear the sound of a vehicle approaching.

“Oh no,” Bodean said, zipping up his long yellow raincoat and turning toward the road. “Skeeter’s coming.”

“Shit,” Tubman said, turning away from Cody, dismissing him. “Skeeter’s been showing up places wearing a sidearm lately. He’s trying to hammer home the fact that he’s law enforcement. Let’s see if the joker is packing.”

* * *

Skeeter was called Skeeter, Cody’d been told, because he didn’t like his first name, which was Leslie. SKEETER was stenciled on his vehicle doors. He pulled his four-wheel-drive behind Cody’s Ford, blocking him, and jumped out quickly, already dressed for the weather. Before he zipped his rain jacket, Cody saw Skeeter was wearing a holster.

Skeeter Caldwell was tall, slim, and gaunt with deep-set eyes and a long bladelike nose and he’d recently had his teeth capped so he wouldn’t look quite so much like a ghoul. But, Cody thought, he still looked like a ghoul.

“Sheriff,” Skeeter said in greeting, nodding toward Tubman.

“Skeeter,” the sheriff said, unenthusiastic.

“Where’s the body?”

Four vehicles were lined up shoulder to shoulder with all of their headlights aimed at the burned cabin. Tubman said, “Guess.”

“Can we be professional here?” Skeeter asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then please have your men show me the victim.”

Tubman turned to Larry. “Perhaps you could escort the county coroner to the scene.”

Larry grunted.

“So what is your first impression?” Skeeter asked.

“Accident.”

“We shall see.”

Tubman rolled his eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind if a reporter from the Independent Record comes along,” Skeeter said. “Carrie Lowry. I guess she heard the report over the radio.”

“I bet,” Tubman said sourly. “And I do mind. We haven’t even secured the scene yet.” He turned to Cody. “Put up some crime tape. Make her keep her distance. I don’t want her at the cabin taking pictures or getting in the way. Tell her we’ll talk to her when we’ve got something to say.”

Cody saluted and said, “Yes, sir!”

Before Tubman turned to follow Skeeter, Bodean, and Larry toward the cabin, he said to Cody, “That’ll be more than enough of that shit, mister.”

* * *

Another set of headlights fanned through the lodgepole pine trunks. Unlike Skeeter, the driver was going slowly, picking through the forest, as if unsure that the road was the correct one. Cody had a six-inch roll of yellow plastic tape that read DO NOT CROSS DO NOT CROSS. He’d tied one end to a tree trunk near the entrance to the parking area and was letting it unwind as he walked toward the other side. He shot glances over his shoulder at the cabin as he unwound the tape. Skeeter was bending over the body while Larry provided the light. Tubman and Bodean stood behind them in the rain looking useless.

The vehicle made the last turn and headlights blinded him. Again. He held up his free forearm to block the light and the vehicle braked to a stop with a squeal.

A woman’s voice said, “Oh, come on. You’re telling me I can’t get any closer than that?”

“Sheriff’s orders,” Cody said.

“You’ve gotta let me through.”

“Sorry.”

“Cody,” she said, “you are such an asshole.”

“Hi, Carrie,” he said. “How are you tonight?”

“I thought I was lost,” she said. “Then I finally find it and … it’s you.”

He shrugged. “Did you bring a poncho or something? It’s raining.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded, then continued stripping the tape across the road. She killed the engine and he heard a door slam. He looked over and saw her raise the tape up over her head and start to stride toward the cabin.