The dead correctional officer was lying in the snow with his eyes open. His face frozen blue. He looked like he was gazing at something in the sky. Doyle crouched and studied the hole in the officer’s cheek. “Looks like a .40 caliber. Close range.”

Midge kicked a toe full of snow. “Got the call from Jake Willis, who was out huntin’. He saw the car.”

“He see anybody else?”

“Not a soul.”

Doyle put on gloves. He leaned on his bootheels and pushed the officer onto his side and inspected the back of his head. Stiff hair stuck to tissue. White skull. The bullet went clean through. He reached into the officer’s hip pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Got a twenty here. Driver’s license.”

The officer’s name was Frisby. Doyle had known him only slightly but thought he seemed decent enough. “Poor wife’s gonna be heartbroke.”

“Cute kids too. Three, I think.”

“Hmm.” Doyle tucked the wallet back into the officer’s pocket. He stood and studied the boot tracks in the snow. Two pairs.

“What do you think he was doin’ out here all this way?” Midge asked.

“Meetin’ somebody’s my guess.”

Midge rose and pushed down her hat. Adjusted the earflaps. Her nose was turning red. Her coat looked too big. “Well,” she said, “I wonder.”

Doyle watched her. “You wonder what?”

“Well, I was just wonderin’ about yesterday. I was meetin’ a friend for lunch—she works at the prison—and I saw Frisby leave. He took off like a bat outta hell right after Dahl’s kid left. Weird thing happened: kid got his face beat up.”

“Dahl’s boy came to see him?”

“Yup. He sure did.”

“Well, how’d he get beat up?”

“Didn’t see. Just caught a glimpse a him with blood all down his face.”

“And Frisby was there?”

“Yeah. He was.”

“Hmm.”

“What you thinkin’?”

“Not sure. But somethin’ don’t add up.”

Doyle walked along the edge of the bootprints. When he got to the tire tracks, he stopped and studied them. The cruiser made one set. The other belonged to a vehicle with wider wheels. Something four-wheel drive. “Will you get me a measurin’ tape?”

Midge went to her truck and got a tape measure and brought it back. Doyle crouched and extended the tape across the track.

“You think this whole deal’s got to do with the Dahl boy’s visit?” Midge said.

“I got a suspicion.”

He retracted the tape and eased himself up and stretched his back. He looked out over the desert. Hills dark in the grudging light. A bitter wind blowing from the north. He thought about dying alone out here. It bothered him.

“I reckon I ought to go out to this good officer’s place before his wife sees this on the damn Internet.” He handed her the tape. “You know where she lives?”

“Naw. But I can look it up.”