Bitterroot (Billy Bob Holland 3)

"I didn't know he was going to do that. I'm sorry. If you want the film, you can have it," Holly said.

"I think you should leave," Cleo said.

"Excuse me?" Holly said.

"Bad day for photo-ops. That shouldn't be difficult to understand," Cleo said.

"Does this person speak for you, Tobin?" Holly said.

"Why don't all of you stop talking like I'm not here?" Maisey said.

We all turned and stared at her. She wore no makeup, and her face had the bloodless quality of people who have experienced long illness.

"They did it to me, not you. What right have you all to make decisions about what happens around me? You're treating me like a dumb animal," she said.

In the silence we could hear the wind blowing in the cottonwoods and the water coursing around the exposed boulders in the middle of the river. The photographer rubbed the back of his neck, as though he were massaging an insect bite or waiting for a momentary external problem to pass out of his vision. Then he detached the telescopic lens from his camera, got back into the Jeep, and yawned sleepily, waiting for Holly Girard to join him.

After Holly Girard was gone, I drove down to Bonner and called the sheriff's office.

"You kicked Lamar Ellison loose?" I said.

"At eight o'clock this morning. Right after he ate. He said he couldn't hardly let go of our sausages and hashbrowns," the sheriff replied.

"You think that's funny?"

"You give your damn guff to somebody else. If I had my way, I'd pinch his head off with a log chain."

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Because I don't have victim ID. They put a pillow down on her face. Besides, I don't have bean dip for physical evidence."

"There was DNA in her clothes and on the bed-sheets. They took swabs at the hospital," I said.

The line was quiet.

"Hello?" I said.

"It got sent to the lab… We don't know what happened to it," the sheriff said.

"Say again?"

"You heard me. I'm coming out there to explain all this to Dr. Voss."

I could feel my hand opening and closing on the phone receiver, my chest rising and falling.

"These bikers, the Berdoo Jesters? Cleo Lonnigan says they may have been involved in her son's murder," I said.

"That's what she believes. I like Cleo, but the truth is her husband washed money for the Mob. Maybe she don't like to admit where her wealth comes from. There might even be a mean side to Cleo you don't know about," the sheriff said, and hung up.

I called him back, my hand shaking when I punched in the numbers.

"Rapists who get away with it come back. They increase their power by tormenting the victim," I said.

"Take Dr. Voss and his daughter back to Texas. Let us handle it," he replied.

My ass, I thought.

The first call came the next day. I happened to answer it. In the background I could hear people laughing and a motorcycle engine revving.