Black Hills

so sure he’d be back this morning, and now . . . it’s twenty-four hours since he should’ve been back. I think I have to call our boys.”
    “You know best.”
    “Jim just got it into his head he wanted to make this trip. Wild Bill, Calamity Jane, Crazy Horse, the Black Hills. We’ve got a three-year-old grandson, and another coming. He said we should practice taking them on hikes. He bought all new gear.”
    “And you said he’d packed everything the guides recommended,” Will began as he led her out. “He had a map, a flashlight . . .”
    Coop walked to the window to watch the rain hammer the ground. He waited until Willy came back and then shut the office door.
    “Another night up there isn’t going to do Jim Tyler any good.”
    Coop turned around. “If he ran into Ethan Howe, he might not have a second night.”
    “Who’s Ethan Howe?”
    Coop told him everything he knew, giving the information in a quick, concise report as he’d been trained to do as a cop, as an investigator.
    “It’s a loose connection to Lil and her animals, but it’s a connection,” Willy allowed. “But as far as you know, or she remembers, this Howe and Lil never had any trouble, any hard words?”
    “She barely remembered him, and then only because of the intern. He’s trouble, Willy. A drifter, a loner, stays off the grid—except for one serious bust. He’d been drinking. Slipped up there. Otherwise, he keeps his head down when he’s around people. He likes to talk about his Native American connection, but he blends. He’s got that temper, and that self-importance, his weak points.”
    “I know a lot of people who have both of those.”
    “Enough of a temper, according to her friends and family, to scare off this Carolyn Roderick,” Coop added. “She was a type, like the one from Montana. Athletic, pretty, strong, single. Molly Pickens emptied her bank account and left with him.”
    Willy sat back with his white mug of soup, nodded as he sipped. “Of her own free will.”
    “And that’s the last I can find her, when she left with him, of her own free will. There’s no credit card activity since that August, and up until then she used a MasterCard, regularly. She’s never renewed her driver’s license. Hasn’t filed taxes. She left Columbus, Ohio, in ’96. She was eighteen. Rumors of an abusive father, who didn’t file a missing-person’s report. She left a paper trail. I’ve picked up some of it. But when she left with Ethan Howe, nothing. No trail.”
    Willy took a thoughtful breath that came out as a wheeze. “You think he killed that waitress, and the intern.”
    “Damn right I do.”
    “And you think he’s the same one who’s been causing this trouble for Lil.”
    “He connects, and she fits his type.”
    “And if Tyler crossed paths with him . . .”
    “Maybe he doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want some guy going back and talking about this man he met on the trail. Or Tyler stumbled over his campsite, found him poaching. Or maybe he just likes to kill. There’s more.”
    “Jesus.” Willy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s have it, then.”
    “Melinda Barrett. Age twenty.”
    Willy’s forehead creased. “That’s the girl you and Lil found.”
    “Strong, pretty, athletic. Alone on the trail. I’m betting she was his first. He’d’ve been about the same age. There’ve been others.” Coop dropped a folder on Willy’s desk. “I copied my file for you.”
    Willy stared, not at the file, but at Cooper. “Jumping Jesus, Coop, you’re talking serial killer. You’re talking about a dozen years of killing.”
    “Which stopped, as far as I’ve been able to determine, during the year and a half Howe was in prison. The problem with tying the first killing to the others I tracked, the like crimes, was the wide time lag between. But when you add in missing persons, bodies that weren’t found, by chance or by his design? It plays then.”
    Willy looked down at the file, started to speak, then broke into a hacking cough. He waved his hand until he’d caught his breath. “Goddamn spring,” he complained. “I’ll look at what you’ve got. I’ll read through it, and I’m going to want to talk to you about it after—one way or the other.”
    He took a last swallow of his now lukewarm soup. “Want a job?”
    “I’ve got one, thanks.”
    Willy smiled. “Cop’s in the blood.”
    “I just want my horses, that’s the fact. But in this case, I’ve got a vested