“That’s Yellow Knife for you,” I said, thinking I knew more than this woman about the ways of Baptiste. I thought about telling her she was better off without the son of a bitch. And then I was going to go back inside because I was freezing my balls off. I didn’t consider anything was wrong. It seemed just like Yellow Knife to get a long ride with a woman, chase all over the countryside for Louise, and then dump the woman when he found her. That was Baptiste Yellow Knife. The woman went to the car door and kind of pushed it open with her fingertips to make her point.

Blood was splattered on the dashboard. It looked like someone had taken a beating in the car. I looked to see if the blood had splattered in a certain direction, if there was any kind of clue to what had taken place in there. I figured they’d jumped Yellow Knife in the car before taking him out to the field. But as I squatted beside the car and checked under the seat, the thought of Stoner and Bart hit me, clubbed me. I could feel the heaviness of Baptiste Yellow Knife. I wanted to think that this woman was trying to pull something on me, that she was up to something with Yellow Knife. This was my payback for having left him to the white men. It was my own guilt speaking to me.

I leaned farther into the car, still believing in the possibility of a hoax. My open hand pressed the seat. Thick blood welled up between my fingers sticky and rust-smelling. I wondered why Stoner and the cowboy had returned the car to the woman, but I had my ideas. And my idea was we’d never find Baptiste Yellow Knife again. They’d moved the body and ditched the car. I fought the idea because I didn’t want to face the fact that I was responsible for his death. But I knew I was. I had known Yellow Knife was dying even as I drove away from the Chefler place. And from the feel of it and the smell of it Yellow Knife had gone down hard.

I went back inside, not wanting to call Lake County and the feds, beating my brains for a different plan. I had a sudden idea that I realized might be either a life jacket or a lead vest that I was too eager to strap on. I wouldn’t file a report on Yellow Knife. I straightened my tie, tightened it around my throat. Yellow Knife’s girlfriend followed me. I sat her down across the desk from me. I had to believe Yellow Knife had it coming to him. If it hadn’t been Yellow Knife dead it would have been Louise. I had saved Louise, I told myself.