Black Hills

They moved around a lot. Then he’s off the grid for a while. It looks like they did itinerant work, around here, in Wyoming, Montana. His old man got busted for poaching right here in the national forest.”
    “Here?”
    “When Ethan would’ve been about fifteen. No record of the mother at that time.”
    “I could have met him,” she murmured. “I don’t remember him, but it’s possible. Or passed him in town or on the trail when we went hiking.”
    “Or he might’ve seen you. Your family. Maybe he and his father came by looking for work.”
    “I don’t remember.” She sighed, irritated with herself, and got up to dig up some crackers. She pulled a hunk of cheddar out of the fridge while she talked. “My parents don’t hire drifters as a rule. I think that policy was mostly because of me. They’re generous, but they’re protective. They wouldn’t have hired strangers, especially not when I was about thirteen and we’re talking about a man and his mid-teenage boy.”
    She paused, worked up a smile as she set the quick snack on the table. “And I’d remember a fifteen-year-old boy who worked around the farm when I was that age. I was just really starting to find boys interesting.”
    “In any case, from what I’ve been able to put together Ethan took off right around that time, and that’s when I lose him for a couple years. I picked him up when he got work as a trail guide in Wyoming. He’d’ve been eighteen. He lasted six months. Took off with one of the horses, some gear and provisions.”
    “A man doesn’t steal a horse when he’s going to hit the road. He steals it when he’s going to hit the trail.”
    With a nod that might’ve been approval, Coop topped a cracker with cheese, then handed it to her. “You might’ve made a half-decent cop.”
    “It’s just plain logic, but what about his parents? Maybe if we were able to talk to them we’d get a clearer picture.”
    “His father died eight years ago in Oshoto. Complications from a lifetime of alcohol abuse. I can’t find anything on the mother. Nothing for the last seventeen years. The last I had, she cashed her paycheck in Cody, Wyoming, where she worked as kitchen help in a diner. Nobody remembers her. Seventeen years,” he said with a shrug. “But up until then she worked. A few weeks, a few months, some space between jobs. But she picked up jobs wherever they were. Then she didn’t.”
    “You think she’s dead.”
    “People who are motivated enough, afraid enough, figure out how to hide. She could’ve changed her name. Hell, she could’ve moved to Mexico and gotten remarried and is at this moment bouncing a fat, happy grandkid on her knee. But I figure, yeah, she’s dead. Had an accident, or maybe her husband tuned her up once too often.”
    “He’d have been just a boy. This Ethan. If that happened, if he saw that happen . . .”
    His face went hard, went cold. “That’s what his lawyer will say. The poor, abused boy, damaged, broken by an alcoholic father and a passive mother. Sure, he killed all those people, but he’s not responsible. Screw that.”
    “Learned behavior isn’t just for animals. I’m not arguing the point, Coop. In my head, killing is a clear choice. But everything you’re telling me says he was predisposed, then he made choices that brought him his life’s work. If all this is true, a lot of people are dead, and those who loved them grieving because of those choices. I don’t feel sorry for him.”
    “Good,” he said shortly. “Don’t.”
    “I don’t feel sorry for him,” she repeated, “but I think I understand him better. Do you think he stalked the others, taunted them the way he is me?”
    “Barrett looked like a killing of opportunity, of impulse. Molly Pickens, by her boss’s account, went off with him of her own volition. But Carolyn Roderick? I think there was some stalking, some taunting there. I’m going to say I think it depends on how well he knows his quarry. And how invested he is.”
    “If Jim Tyler’s dead, at his hand, that would be another impulse killing.”
    “Or a form of release. None of the women whose bodies were discovered had been raped. No sign of sexual assault, no torture or mutilation. It’s the kill that gets him off.”
    “I can’t quite see that as the glass is half full. Anyway, what he’s been doing has put me, put everyone on alert. It’s made it close to impossible for him to get to me, or to mine. So . . .” She read