'See if any of these guys had foot problems. Or if they left shoes at home. Sole imprints could be useful. And start thinking about DNA. Head hair. Extracted teeth. Even a toothbrush might be a source if it hasn't been cleaned or reused. If there's nothing left from the victim we could work with a comparison sample from a blood relative.'

She jotted a note.

'And be discreet. If the rest of the body is out there and someone's responsible, we don't want to tip them into finishing what the coyotes began.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' she said, her voice chalky.

'Sorry.'

Again the head movement.

'Sheriff, do you know who owns property about a quarter mile west of the crash site? A house with a waled garden?'

She gazed at me, the eyes like pale green marbles.

'I was born in these mountains, been sheriffing here almost seven years. Until you came along I had no idea there was anything up that holow but pine.'

'I don't suppose we could get a warrant, have a look inside.'

'Don't suppose.'

'Isn't it odd that no one knows about the place?'

'Folks keep to themselves up here.'

'And die in their beds.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

Back at High Ridge House, I took Boyd for a long walk. Or he took me. The chow was psyched, sniffing and baptizing every plant and rock along the road. I enjoyed myself on the downhil lap, awed by soft-focus mountains roling to the horizon like a Monet landscape. The air was cool and moist, smeling of pine, and loam, and traces of smoke.

The trees were alive with the twitter of birds settling in for the night.

The uphil run was another story. Stil enthused, Boyd continued to pul on the leash like White Fang mushing across the Arctic. By the time we reached his pen my right arm was dead and my calves ached.

I was closing the gate when I heard Ryan's voice.

'Who's your friend?'

'Boyd. And he's seriously vicious.' I was stil out of breath, and the words came out chopped and ragged.

'In training for extreme dog walking?'

'Have a good night, boy,' I said to the dog.

Boyd concentrated on crunching smal brown pelets that looked like petrified jerky.

'You talk to dogs, but not to your old partner?'

I turned and looked at him.

'How ya doing, little fela?'

'Don't even think of scratching my ears. I'm doing wel. And yourself?'

'Splendid. We were never partners.'

'Did you do your age thing?'

'I was right on.'

I checked the lock, then turned to face him.

'Sheriff Crowe's got three elderly MPs. Any scoop on the Bates Motel?'

'Nada. No one knows the place exists. If anyone's using it, they must beam themselves in and out. Either that or no one's talking.'