Stacey moved his jacket aside to expose the badge attached to his belt. His badge specified that he was retired, but Johanson didn't seem to notice and Stacey didn't feel compelled to call it to his attention. Dolan rolled his cigarette to one corner of his mouth and took out a leather bifold wallet with his badge, which he held up. While Johanson leaned forward and studied it, Dolan took out a business card and handed it to him. Johanson tucked the card in his shirt pocket and glanced at me slyly.

"She's with us," Dolan said.

I was perfectly willing to show him a copy of my license, but I liked Dolan's protectiveness and thought I'd leave well enough alone. This time, when the old man's eyes returned to mine, I looked away. I pegged him as a throwback, some old reprobate who believed women belonged in the kitchen, not out in the "real" world going toe to toe with men. He had to be in his eighties. His eyes were small, a watery blue. His face was sun-toughened, deeply creased, and bristling with whiskers that showed white against his leathery skin. He shifted his attention to Dolan's cigarette. "I'd watch that if I was you. It's fire country up here."

"I'll be careful."

Johanson took out a set of keys and the four of us walked over to the metal rail gate with its ancient padlock. His stride had a rocking motion that suggested an old injury. Maybe in his youth he'd worked the rodeo circuit. He selected a key, turned it in the padlock, and popped it off the hasp. He pushed the sagging gate aside, forcing it back to a point where it was anchored in the grass. The four of us passed through, Dolan and Stacey leading while I tagged behind them and Johanson brought up the rear.

"It was two cops who found her, coming here to hunt," he said, having either missed or forgotten the reference Stacey'd made to their prior meeting.

Dolan grunted a response, which didn't seem to discourage the old man's garrulousness. "We got wild boar on the property. Owner lets hunters come in now and then to cull the herd. Boars is aggressive. I've had' em turn and charge right at me, gash a hole in my leg. Mean sons a bitches, I can tell you that. Peckers like razor blades is what I heard. Mating season, the female sets up a squeal brings the hair right up on the back of your neck."

"Actually, Lieutenant Dolan and I were the ones who found the body. We'd come up to hunt."

"You two. Is that right? Well, I'll be. I could've swore I knowed you from someplace."

"We're all a bit older."