Doyle kept looking at the house. He went over and over it all in his mind. “We have got ourselves two missin’ boys and the burnt-down house of a very serious customer: a known associate of these boys’ daddy, who helped himself to a whole lot of drug money. Money nobody ever found. And here just yesterday there’s a girl got a motel room over at Dunes. And she was seen with a little boy. What are the chances of all that?”

“Not good, I don’t think.”

They stared at each other. The house whined softly as it cooled.

“Get a description out on both vehicles,” Doyle said. “Call everyone. Tell them you don’t know what these folks will do. You tell them.”

“Yessir.”

“Do we have the Bardem girl’s name?”

“Not yet.”

“Get it. I want her name. Then send these deputies out to every hotel and motel within fifty miles. Bus stops. Check those. Cell phones. I want numbers.”

Damn fool mistake not to check that motel room. They’re likely gone now.

Doyle watched Midge set off toward the house, shouting instructions to the other officers, her filthy pink scarf flapping in the wind. He’d make a sheriff of that one yet. Then he got in the cruiser and backed around and headed toward the Dunes Motel.

He wanted to help those boys.

He could stop what was coming.

Surely he could.

XXVIII

Here we are, you and I. Trapped in the circle of time.

All that is straight lies.

There is no end.

After they checked into the Sunshine Motel in Rexburg, they drove around the rear of the building and carried the duffel and the bags up metal stairs to a room on the second floor. Matty climbing the snowy steps in front of Jack. Ava following. Matty wanted to carry the duffel, but it was too heavy so Jack took it from him. Jack stood looking into the room. Cheap furniture. Wood laminate. Two double beds. The bathroom door stood open. Above the tub was a sliding window that looked big enough to fit through. Matty watched him. He felt sweaty. He felt about to fall over. Come on Jack, he told himself. You just need to hang on.

Fill, lungs. Beat, heart.

“Is this a good place, Jack?” Matty asked.

“I think so.”

“I’m kinda scared.”

“We’re okay. This is good.”

He dropped the duffel on one of the double beds and went back to the door and switched on the overhead light. Brown walls. Lace curtains at the window, stained yellow from cigarette smoke. A fetid smell. He got Matty out of his coat and shoes and sat him on the bed and pulled the cheap chenille bedspread around his shoulders. He set the duffel on the carpet and shucked off his own coat. Spot of dried blood on his shirt. Matty kept asking him how he was feeling.