The motel was one of those 1950s kind, with the office in the front and the rooms around to the side. Where you park right outside your door. The parking lot was pretty empty. I chose it for those reasons.

We got Jack into bed. He went straight to sleep. I closed the blinds. I locked the door. Turned on the lamp. I ran a bath for Matty and got him in. Then I went to the bed and sat by Jack. I just looked at him. His dirty hair and his swollen eye. The tiredness in his face. His slender hands. Something graceful about them. Gentle.

I’d gotten good at not caring about things.

Now I was caring.

I didn’t like it.

Doyle pulled into headquarters just after seven in the morning and parked and went in. Midge looked up from the report she was typing out at the desk.

“You look tired as hell.”

“Why, thank you, Midge.”

She went to the coffee maker and poured a stream of what looked like motor oil into a Styrofoam cup and set it on the counter in front of him. “Find anything?”

“At the old Palmer place. Somebody’s been there, but they cleared out.”

“Got any idea who?”

“Not for sure.”

“Well,” she said, “I got somethin’ on the truck.”

“What?”

“Officer in Boise come up on that old road warrior about a month ago. On the highway out there. Appeared to have a big tarp coverin’ somethin’ in the cargo space. Officer radioed he was gonna stop them and take a look. Passenger in the truck opened fire. Killed the officer dead.”

Doyle took off his hat and hung it on a peg. “All right,” he said.

“I think it’s good to know just what we got here.”

“It is.”

“I called Boise. They’ll arrive first thing in the morning.”

“That’s real good.”

She pulled her coat from the back of the chair and put it on. “I done a map like you said. Got two deputies from Rexburg comin’ over. We’ll take a closer look now it’s light.”

“Hold up. I’ll go out there with you.”

“Nope. You drink that coffee.”

“All right.”

Halfway out the door, she turned. “Hey, Doyle?”

“What?”

“I hope whoever was drivin’ that truck is back in Boise.”

“I hope so too.”

“I got a feelin’ they ain’t, though.”

Doyle nodded. “So do I.”

Doyle got a can of Coors at the gas station. When he got to the prison, he went through security and down the hall to an interrogation room and went in and closed the door. He sat in the chair across from Leland Dahl. A table between them. He set the Coors on the table. “Hello, Leland,” he said.

Leland hunched casually in his chair, looking at Doyle. His eyes hooded, indifferent. He just sat there staring.

“When’s the last time you saw your boy?” Doyle asked.