In the yard a pair of bird dogs trotted out to greet the cars. Jackson drove straight up before the house and stopped. The other marshal parked the Chrysler by the barn and came and got into the passenger side of Jackson’s car as Jackson got out. The boy was already out of the house, standing on the steps, watching all this take place. The younger of the bird dogs twisted in, tail working, to greet Jackson and he paused and ran his hand over the dog’s head. Looked up at the boy. Tall and lean, muscled the way his father had been, without bulk but strength in the ropy muscles. A rough-cut head of hair, black shining blue in the sunlight. His skin olive like his father’s but with a red cast beneath. A man that would appear suntanned year round, inside or out. His eyes dark, deepset, wide on Jackson.

“What happened to him?” The boy standing on the step above Jackson, looking down at him, his hands loose at his sides. The bird dogs had come up and were sitting each to one side of him.

Jackson took out his badge and spoke his name. Did not try to shake hands, knowing the boy didn’t want it, would resent it of him later. He said, “It looks like he ran out of gas and pulled off at the Forest Hills. We guess he was walking the Agassiz road, maybe hoping for a ride. It must’ve been pretty late. Somebody ran him over.”

“Somebody ran him over?”

“The way it looks. We think, maybe he’d been drinking, maybe was out in the road. If it was late, you know. And whoever came along, we’re thinking maybe they’d been drinking too, going too fast, maybe not even seeing what was in front of them. There wasn’t any skid marks.”

“They didn’t stop?”

“No, son. Not that we know.”

“He’s dead then, you’re telling me.”

“I’m awful sorry.”

The boy didn’t say anything.

Jackson said, “Listen. I never had any problems with your father. You understand me?”

The boy was silent.

Jackson said, “I got to ask you. Was he having problems, anything you knew about? Guessed about even. Anything out of the ordinary lately?”

The boy’s eyes did not go off Jackson. After a moment he shook his head, slowly.

Jackson said, “Clark there filled up the Chrysler with gas. You drive?”

“Yuht.”

“You got any family, anybody I can get ahold of for you?”

“Nope.”

“Anything at all I can do for you?”

“Nope.”

“I knew your mother a little bit. Always liked her.”

“Where’s he at?”

Jackson told him. Then said, “You think of anything, anything at all you want to tell me, you know how to get ahold of me.”

The boy’s lips were a tight line. Then he said, “Am I safe here?”