Eli felt a pinch at the back of his heart, looking at her. His memories of her were vague. “Was she a good student, Russ? Did she have friends?”

Russ sighed, and the sadness in that sound rivaled the hopelessness so visible in Bethanne’s time-faded eyes. “Let’s just say, she tried hard in school. The folks didn’t place a lot of importance on things like that, as you probably already know. As for friends, who can say? Bethanne spent a lot of time by herself, maybe by choice, maybe because nobody else wanted to hang out with her. Shallie was the smart one in this family, and God knows, she was good-looking. Still is.”

Eli was still holding the photo, still searching that face for some indefinable clue. “Can I keep this for a while? I’ll have it scanned and then give it back.”

“No need,” Russ said. “I can print out a copy right now.”

“Thanks,” Eli replied, following Russ into a nearby room, which was much cleaner than the one they’d just left, and outfitted with some very nice equipment two powerful computers.

“I’m guessing you didn’t hear a shot?” he ventured, while Russ approached one of the desktops, tapped a few keys, and scrolled through a steady stream of photos in search of Bethanne’s image.

Russ didn’t look around. “No,” he replied, “I didn’t. But I might not have paid much attention even if I had—lots of grouse-hunting goes on around here.”

True enough.

Presently, Russ selected a picture and pressed print.

Handed the copy to Eli.

“I appreciate it,” Eli said.

“Sure,” Russ said, returning to the living room and dropping into his chair with a force that threatened to snap the framework.

“That’s quite a set-up you’ve got in there,” Eli observed, cocking a thumb in the direction of the computer room.

“I use one for gaming,” Russ told him. “I mostly code on the other one. Taught myself.”

“Impressive,” Eli replied honestly. He’d underestimated Russ, and he was sorry for that. “I’m fairly literate, as far as work stuff goes, but I still have to ask my nephew to translate a lot of things.”

“I didn’t kill that girl, Eli,” Russ repeated, out of context.

“Okay,” Eli said.

It wasn’t a challenge. It was an invitation to say more.

“What motive would I have?”

“What motive does anybody have? Murder never really makes sense, not to most people.”

“Then there are the exceptions,” Russ said, with resignation.

“You ever have any trouble with Fred Lansing or his boy, Freddie?” Eli asked, probably because those two had been at the back of his mind ever since he’d laid eyes on Jane Doe lying there on the hard ground.

Russ looked up, surprise in his eyes. “Nothing recent,” he said. “Why?”