Black Hills

weather.”
    “Damn right. Word is they haven’t found the first sign of him yet.” As he spoke, Gull saddled a big bay gelding. “Couple day-trippers saw him, even had a word or two with him at the junction on Crow Peak. They took the spur trail south, and he was headed north to the summit, so he said. But that was before noon yesterday.”
    “Did they see anybody else?”
    “At the junction, yeah, and on the spur trail. But not heading to the summit. He went on his own.”
    “Then let’s hope he has sense. If they need more relief, you let them know I’m around. And you keep in touch.”
    Coop drove over to the office, brewed a pot of coffee. Until he was called on, he intended to find out more about Ethan Howe.
    He booted up the computer and picked up the phone.
    He spent the next hour bouncing between cops and investigators in Alaska, North Dakota, New York, slowly, tediously filling in a few blanks. He talked to Howe’s parole officer and former landlords and added a few names to his call list.
    As far as known companions, they were few and far between. The man was a loner, a drifter, preferred low-population areas, and as far as Coop could discern, had rarely stayed in one place more than six months at a time. Usually camping. Occasionally motels or weekly rooms. Paid in cash.
    Employment sketchy. Day laborer, ranch hand, trail guide.
    Kept to himself. Quiet. Hard worker, but unreliable. Came and went.
    Coop dug deeper, followed the dots to a bar in Wise River, Montana.
    Spinning wheels, he thought as he made the call. Chasing my own tail. Might as well throw a dart at a map.
    “Bender’s.”
    “I’m looking for the owner or manager.”
    “I’m Charlie Bender. This is my place.”
    “Was it your place four years ago, July and August?”
    “Been my place sixteen years. What’s the problem?”
    “Mr. Bender, I’m Cooper Sullivan. I’m a private investigator licensed in New York.”
    “Then why are you calling from South Dakota? I got caller ID, buddy.”
    “I’m in South Dakota. I’ll give you my license number if you want to check it out.” He might’ve sold his business, but his license was still good. “I’m trying to find someone who worked for you for a couple months the summer of ’05.”
    “Who?”
    “Ethan Howe.”
    “Don’t ring, right off. Four years is a space of time, and I get a lot of people in and out of here. Why do you want him?”
    “He may be connected to a missing-person’s case I’m working on. He’d’ve been late twenties,” Coop began and gave a description.
    “Sounds like everybody else.”
    “He’d have been fresh out of prison for assault.”
    “Still not cutting him out of the herd.”
    “He claims he’s part Sioux, likes to brag about his mountain-man skills. Keeps to himself, but he’s very polite and charming with the ladies. At least initially.”
    “Chief. We called him Chief mostly because he talked about being blood kin to Crazy Horse after he’d had a couple beers. Just another asshole. I recollect he wore what he said was a bear-tooth necklace—talked about how he and his pa hunted bear and other bullshit. He worked good enough when he was here, but it wasn’t for long. Then he took off with my best waitress.”
    “Got a name on her?”
    “Yeah. Molly Pickens. She worked for me four years before Chief came along. Then she lit out with him, and I was short two people. Had to drag my wife in to wait tables, and I heard about it for weeks. So I remember.”
    “Do you know how I can get in touch with Molly?”
    “Haven’t seen or heard of her since that August.”
    Coop felt a buzz at the back of his skull. “Does she have family? Friends? Someone I can get in touch with?”
    “Look, buddy, I don’t keep tabs on people. She came in here looking for work. I gave her work. She got on fine with the rest, the customers. Minded her own business, and I minded mine.”
    “Where was she from?”
    “Christ, you’re a nosy bastard. Back east somewhere. Said once she’d had enough of her old man—couldn’t say if that was husband or father—and hit the road. She never gave me any trouble, till she took up with Chief.”
    “She left you without notice. Did she take her things?”
    “Didn’t have much. Packed up some clothes and such, cleared out her bank account, and took off in her old Ford Bronco.”
    “Did she like the outdoors? Hiking, camping?”
    “What the fuck? Are you looking for him or her?”
    “Right now? Both