'That foot was walking the earth at least sixty-five years. No one on the plane had that privilege. I need to establish that this was not crash evidence.'

The sheriff opened a folder and spread its contents on her blotter.

'I've got three missing persons. Had four, but one turned up.'

'Shoot.'

'Jeremiah Mitchel, black male, age seventy-two. Disappeared from Waynesvile eight months ago. According to patrons at the Mighty High Tap, Mitchel left the bar around midnight to buy hooch. That was February fifteenth. Mitchel's neighbor reported him missing ten days later. He hasn't been seen since.'

'No family?'

'None listed. Mitchel was a loner.'

'Why the neighbor's concern?'

'Mitchel had his ax and the guy wanted it back. Visited the house several times, finaly got tired of waiting, went to see if Mitchel was in the drunk tank. He wasn't, so the neighbor filed an MP report, thinking a police search might flush him.'

'And his ax.'

'A man's nothing without his tools.'

'Height?'

She ran a finger down one of the papers.

'Five foot six.'

'That fits. Was he driving?'

'Mitchel was a heavy drinker, traveled by foot. Folks figure he got himself lost and died of exposure.'

'Who else?'

'George Adair.' She read from another form. 'White male, age sixty-seven. Lived over to Unahala, disappeared two weeks ago. Wife said he went fishing with a buddy and never came back.'

'What was the buddy's story?'

'Woke one morning and Adair wasn't in the tent. Waited a day, then packed up and went home.'

'Where was this fatal fishing trip?'

'The Little Tennessee.' She swiveled and stabbed at a spot on a wal map behind her. 'Up the Nantahala Mountains.'

'Where's Unahala?'

Her finger moved a fraction toward the northeast.

'And where's the crash site?'

Her finger barely moved.

'Who's contestant number three?'

When she turned back, the chair sang another verse.

'Daniel Wahnetah, age sixty-nine, Cherokee from the reservation. Failed to show up for his grandson's birthday on July twenty-seventh. Family reported him missing on August twenty-sixth when he puled a no-show for his own party.' Her eyes moved down the paper. 'No height reported.'

'The family waited a month?'

'Except in winter, Daniel spends most of his time out in the woods. He has a string of camps, works a circuit hunting and fishing.'

She leaned back, and the chair squeaked a tune I didn't know.

'Looks like Jesse Jackson's Rainbow Coalition. If it's one of these guys, nail the race and you've got your man.'

'That's it?'

'Folks pretty much stay put up here. Like the idea of dying in their beds.'